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rafecameronssl4t · 18 hours ago

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Unfinished Lap || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: One moment, Rafe was dominating the race; the next, it all slipped away. You tried to steady his rising emotions, but his frustration overwhelmed him, leaving you no choice but to walk away from the paddock.

Warnings: angst, kinda toxic!rafe if there’s anything else lmk!

Word count: 1,865

A/n: nfl!rafe x dcc!reader later today!!!

MASTERLIST (F1 driver!rafe x fem!reader au masterlist)

“No! No! What happened?” Rafe’s voice crackles through the radio, his panic lacing every syllable as the chaos unfolds on the screen. Your gaze flickers back to the broadcast, watching his Ferrari crawl around the track, smoke billowing from the engine.

One moment, he was dominating the race, leading effortlessly—now, he’s barely moving. A mechanic’s voice cuts through the air, sharp with frustration. “His engine’s fucked,” a mechanic mutters, his voice heavy with disappointment. The team around them exchanges grim looks, all too aware of what this means for Rafe.

In your head, you can already hear his inner monologue—his fury at the failure, his frustration bubbling to the surface. Rafe was the kind of guy who measures his worth by every lap, every second on the track. Failure doesn’t sit well with him—especially failure that isn’t within his control.

You swallow the lump in your throat. The best you can do now is try to stay positive, to soothe the storm he’s bound to unleash on himself. But you know how hard that will be. Rafe is a perfectionist. The smallest misstep, the smallest flaw, eats away at him. Problems that he can’t control, like this—like his car giving out—will be the ones that break him.

Your gaze shifts back to the screen, where Rafe’s car is now completely immobilized. Smoke still rising, he’s done for the day. You exhale sharply. The screen zooms in on him, his face a mask of frustration. He’s already agitated, you can see it in the tightness of his jaw, the way he rips his gloves off his hands. You sigh, half in pity, half in resignation, when hand suddenly appears on your shoulder.

Austin gives you a sympathetic look. You force a smile, trying to lighten the moment, you both know the storm Rafe’s about to bring. You watch as the safety car pulls up in front of the garage, Rafe soon emerges, his movements stiff, every step heavy with the weight of his disappointment.

He walks past his team, offering a few terse pats on the back, but his face is an unreadable mask. It’s clear he’s holding everything inside, and that’s never a good sign. When he finally approaches you, your heart sinks. You open your arms, ready to offer the comfort you know he needs.

But Rafe, eyes dark with frustration, only snakes his hand briefly around your waist, his touch cold, distant. “It’s okay-“ You start but is cut off my him, “It’s not. It was a fucking shit show, so don’t say that it’s okay,” he spits, his voice low but sharp, full of venom as he practically hisses the words into your ear before brushing past you.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat. His words hit harder than you expected, the sting of them sharper than you imagined. You can feel your heart beat erratically in your chest, a mix of shock and hurt washing over you. You scoff, trying to hold yourself together, trying not to let his outburst tear you apart.

His behavior is worse than you thought—this rage, this venom he’s spewing, it’s not just at the race. It’s at everything. And you, standing here, helpless to make him see reason, feel like the target. Rafe’s PR manager, Mia, watches the exchange from a distance, her eyes filled with sympathy.

You give her a small, dismissive wave, brushing off the weight of the situation as best as you can before turning sharply to head toward Rafe’s room. You close the door behind you, and the silence envelops you both. Rafe sits hunched over, his head in his hands, but when you speak, he doesn’t respond.

“It’s not your fault,” you say, your voice soft but firm as Rafe lifts his head from his hands. His eyes lock onto yours—cold, distant, unreadable. The usual fire you know him for is gone, replaced by a storm you can’t understand. You step closer, your heart tightening in your chest as you meet his gaze. “You know that, right?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just stares at you, his jaw clenched tight, his expression a mask of frustration. There’s something else behind his eyes, something that feels like defeat. “I don’t need your sympathy, Y/n,” Rafe mutters, the words barely escaping his lips, low and edged with annoyance.

You flinch, but you don’t back down. You refuse to let him push you away, not now, not when he’s clearly falling apart inside. “I’m not trying to pity you,” you reply softly, crossing your arms as you take another step forward. “I’m trying to help you.”Rafe growls under his breath, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t need help. I need things to fucking work out for once,” he snaps, the bitterness in his tone cutting through the air like a blade. Your chest tightens at his words, but you stay calm, your hand trembling slightly as you reach out to him, your fingers running through his hair, offering a fragile comfort.

You lean his head against your stomach, holding him in the way you know he needs, even if he doesn’t want it. “You were doing great out there, Rafe,” you murmur, trying to keep your voice steady. “It wasn’t your fault the car broke down. You couldn’t have known—”

“Just stop, Y/n,” he interrupts, his voice rising, harsh and guttural. He jerks his head away from your touch, the movement quick and sharp. He stands up abruptly, pacing away from you as his frustration boils over. “I’m fucking tired of this. Tired of everyone pretending like it’s fine when it’s not.”

You watch him, unsure of how to respond. He’s pacing now, back and forth, his movements agitated, like he’s trying to escape the tension that’s building up inside of him. The room feels smaller now, and you feel more distant from him than ever before. “Why do you have to keep pretending everything’s okay?”

He spits, his eyes flashing with something fierce, something you can’t quite pinpoint. “You keep telling me I’m fine- that I did well- but it doesn’t fucking matter. It’s not fine.” You stand frozen, trying to make sense of his words, your heart sinking with every second. “I’m not pretending, Rafe,” you say softly, trying to make him see, trying to make him understand.

“I know you hate losing, but you were amazing out there. I just… I just don’t want you to beat yourself up over something you couldn’t control.” “You don’t get it, do you?” he snaps, his voice breaking with the weight of his own frustration. “I don’t need your fucking sympathy. I don’t need you trying to make it better with your damn words. Words don’t fix this.”

The sting of his words hits you like a slap in the face, but you hold your ground, refusing to let the hurt show. “I’m just trying to look out for you, Rafe. You think I don’t know how much you’re killing yourself over this? You’re destroying yourself from the inside out when things you can’t control go wrong. But I can’t just sit here and watch you do that to yourself.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes with a dismissive gesture. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want your fucking help.” His voice is cold now, empty of anything resembling warmth. He sinks into a chair in the corner of the room, slumping back as if the weight of the world has finally crushed him under its pressure. “I’ll deal with it myself.”

You stand there for a moment, the silence deafening, before the frustration boils over, spilling from your lips before you can stop it. “I’m sorry for caring about you,” you mutter bitterly, the hurt in your voice unmistakable as you turn away. You can’t stand to be near him right now, not when he’s pushing you away like this.

You grab your bag, the strap slipping off your shoulder as you prepare to leave the Ferrari garage. Your pace quickens, the footsteps echoing too loudly against the concrete floor. The people around you, the team members, staff, mechanics—they all seem to part in front of you, but their gazes follow you, like they know something’s wrong.

And it makes everything worse. As you make your way towards the exit, Austin steps into your path, his eyes scanning you with concern. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asks, his voice low but urgent. You freeze for a moment, his gaze locking with yours. You don’t even know how to begin explaining what just happened.

The words that Rafe had spat at you earlier still sting, his anger, his frustration—none of it was about you, but somehow it felt like it was. “I… I need to get out of here,” you mutter, trying to sidestep him, but Austin’s hand gently grips your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

It’s as if he’s waiting for you to break down, to tell him what’s going on. But you can’t. You just can’t. You feel your chest tighten, your throat constricting. Every part of you wants to leave, to get away from the suffocating atmosphere of the garage, the pitying looks, and the questions you don’t want to answer.

“I… I just can’t right now,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t want to break down in front of him, especially not here. Not now. Not when everything feels like it’s crumbling around you. You shake your head, blinking away the tears threatening to fall. “I just need space,” you choke out, your voice cracking under the weight of it all.

“Please, I just need to go.” Austin doesn’t stop you this time. You step out of the garage, the cool air hitting your face, but it does nothing to numb the pain inside. As you walk past the crowd, the stares feel even sharper now, their judgment cutting through you like a knife. You ignore them, but the weight of their eyes only adds to the heaviness in your chest.

“Y/n, why are you leaving so soon?” A voice calls out from behind, but you don’t turn. Paparazzi surround you almost instantly, their cameras flashing in rapid succession, each click a reminder of the chaos you’re trying to escape. You keep walking, your head held high, your face stoic, their questions are nothing but noise.

You reach your car, your hands trembling as you unlock it, your phone buzzing relentlessly in your pocket. Your phone buzzes in your pocket again, persistent, like it won’t let you escape. You pull it out, knowing who it’s from before you even look at the screen. Rafe’s name is there, multiple texts, all apologies and pleading, the usual dance he does when he’s trying to fix something.

But this time, you can’t bring yourself to read them. Not now. Not after everything that just happened. You scoff, a bitter sound, the frustration and hurt bubbling up again. With a harsh swipe, you shove the phone back into your bag and slam the door of your car shut, the sound of the engine roaring to life offering you a strange kind of relief.

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 days ago

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Hey I saw your post and honestly this is my first time making a request. How about arcane characters with a cat like reader? Idk it's just a thought that came (sorry if that's a bit weird)

Dunno whether this answers your request like you imagined. Also probs shit fire time writing for some of these characters.

Viktor found your cat like personality quite interesting and humorous if he wasn’t within the lab, working with things that normally didn’t capture your interest, unless they glowed of course.

Other than that it felt as though you were intentionally acting up in his lab for a reaction, like a cat would gauge the reactions of their owners before pushing a glass off the table. That’s how Viktor often felt with you

Then he has to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t touch anything dangerous because you were captivated by its light.

‘No, it’s dangerous and could hurt you my dear.’ He so often warms you as he guides your hand away when he felt it was dangerously close to what he was working with. Your mind didn’t head his warning, only the fact that there was a shinny object in the laboratory and it was the only thing you could focus on.

‘If so dangerous, why is it shining as though it wants me to touch it then?’ You responded, daring to touch the object once more and Viktor swore you either knew what you were doing and playing him for a fool, or you had no self preservation skills within your entire body to fight back against your urge to touch a dangerous foreign object.

It’s literally a stand still between the two of you and one that happens far too often that Viktor knows that this was all part of your plan, and unfortunately for him he falls for it almost always. He watches you while you watch him before doing something rash, making think you’ve actually touched the dangerous object, only to look at you unamused when you smiled at him mischievously as you wiggled your unharmed fingers at him.

This often leads you to being banned from the lab for pulling a stunt like that, however this was more for your safety and for him to calm his racing heart. You’ll kill this poor man with your antics but he wouldn’t want you any other way, especially when you cuddled up to him for warmth and sleep there.

It soothes him just as much as it soothes you.

Ekko found himself often wondering where it was you went sometimes.

He sees you in once place and then you disappear the next, returning to base only when you felt it necessary of you to do so, illusive and vague of where you’ve been it was often a bit frustrating. You could’ve been in serious danger for all he was aware and when he confronts you about this behaviour of yours, you’d only shrug and say:

‘Where it is a go on my own time isn’t something you should waste time worrying over.’ Before leaving to go elsewhere within the base and lounge against one of the trees thick and sturdy branches, eyes closed in content as you softly drift off into a light nap.

How the fuck you got up there, he’ll never know other than the fact that you managed to get up there in the first place with effortless ease.

Ekko’s nickname for you was either kitty or something along the lines of a cat based pun. You hated all of them equally but Ekko only feels more vindicated when you only proven his perception of you right whenever you displayed a trait that was common amongst cats. Whether that’d be silently judging everyone from your perch way up high, or lounging in his bed, more specifically where he had laid moments prior, feeding off of the warmth that lingered there or otherwise Ekko would find humour in you cat like traits because they were the things he loved the most.

(In a timeline where they actually have phones I can imagine him sending you cat memes and saying ‘this you?’ Or ‘I found your relative’ he thinks he’s funny, and he is but you won’t admit it out of petty pride)

However the one thing that you could always hold over Ekko’s head was the fact that you could silently manoeuvre your way into a room without him knowing and managing to catch him off guard. Ekko didn’t find it particularly funny but he lets up eventually and admits that it was kinda funny that you managed to take him by surprise. This was why you were more suited to missions heavily requiring a person with an abundance of stealth and agility.

‘Always landing on your feet aren’t you?’ He’d tease but you would let it slid as you shrugged your shoulders and reply. ‘What can I say? It kinda comes with the territory don’t you think?’

‘You sure you weren’t a cat in your past life or something?’ She would ask as she raised a brow at you as you cuddled into her side, much like a cat would when in they wanted to leech off is the warmth of a human.

‘No, why you ask?’ You say as you began to close your eyes, her warmth blanketing you almost immediately, and becoming increasingly sleepy.

‘You act like one for starters with how lazy you are.’ She pointed out and you’d only scoff at her, resting your head on her shoulder, having become too comfortable with your current position to even be bothered to move.

‘I’m not lazy, I’m merely taking advantage of the beauty that is power naps.’ You defend yourself and it was Sevika’s turn to scoff, having heard this excuse countless times before, and it never stopped her from continuing to compare your personality to that of a common house cat.

She disliked it at first, finding it weird and annoying at the fact that you didn’t seem all that bothered with the ongoings of Zaun, instead favouring to rest in high places that provided warmth or close to it and watching everyone with clear judgement within your eyes. However that judgment did end up saving her from time to time, not that she’d ever admit to this, as she was confident in her own abilities to smell a bitch from a mile away.

Though the more as time passed she grew to find it somewhat easier to deal with, though you cuddling up to her for warmth did put her off now and then, affection wasn’t commonplace in Zaun; so forgive her for not exactly taking to it immediately. Though each time you did cuddle into her side, her urge to create distance between you dwindled, from Perivale shoving you away from her, to slowly accepting that this was her life now.

‘Sure, that’s a hell of a way to avoid saying that you’re lazy.’ Sevika smirks when you glared at her, clearly insulted by this, before moving off of her to go rest elsewhere on the bed you shared and making sure your back was towards her in an effort to show your disagreement with her statement. ‘Not. Lazy. I just like napping.’ You retorted.

‘Yeah, sure keep telling yourself that, I’m sure it’ll be true one day.’ Sevika jokes and your shoulders only deflate more, knowing you’ll never win this war with Sevika when her mind is made up. She’s always in the right in most cases.

Mel is all too familiar with your cat like traits that nothing you do is out of the ordinary to her.

She finds humour and amusement in you participating in things commonly associated with felines. A human cat is what you were in her eyes as you slept the easiest you’ve ever slept when besides her, her presence was calming and was more then enough to have you reduced to a relaxed state before succumbing to sleep.

She just had that effect on you and you loved it as much as she does as she got to run her hand down your back.

‘You’re practically purring.’ She teases.

‘It’s not my fault you know exactly what makes me melt.’ You replied as you smiled up at her, never having gotten use to having this absolute goddess of a woman bless you with her smile, her heart, her everything.

Mel smiles softly. ‘You don’t exactly made it much of a challenge.’ She says as she watched the way you practically leaned in towards her touch, eyes closed in content with a smile spread across your face that she swore your nonexistent tail would be swishing from side to side. She has been in this position countless times before and yet it never gets old with how content she felt when moments like these between you and her freely exist within her mind.

You don’t exactly make it hard for her not to love you like she did, it came to you as easy a breathing as that’s how quick you were to fall for her, almost as if it was as though you were breathing; Easy, effortlessly and natural.

‘How can I when you read me so effortlessly and without fail?’ You replied back in almost a purr, a mischievous smile spread wide across your lips, ‘I shouldn’t need to hide myself from my lovers eyes, for she knows me all too well.’ You add. Another thing Mel adored was your cunning but cautious mind and the way you seemed oddly too relaxed for some, watching those very same individuals like they were merely mouses that squeaked about their freedom; like you were being amused by rather was being said in meetings as though you knew something they didn’t.

You were like the Cheshire Cat, often times speaking in riddles that only she herself understands.

Mel kisses the tip of your nose. ‘You smile like the cat that caught the canary,’ she says as she pulls away. ‘Learning more about you is more interesting and intriguing than the last.’

‘Then I hope I stay that way for a long while.’ You said, smirking when you felt her kiss your lips.

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naughtyjjk · 17 hours ago

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jjk men on the last day of no nut november

characters: nanami, geto, gojo, toji | fem x reader warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, orgasm denial, tease, masturbation, dildo, creampie noo!! i meant to post this yesterday on nov 30 but i was really busy. anyway, here it is now. the scenario is: somehow, you and the jjk men have made it to the end of NNN. here's what happens just minutes before dec 1.

NANAMI...

he wants to complete this challenge fair and square. which means that it's 11:40 pm, twenty minutes before november ends, and he won't even let you touch him. he knows exactly how sensitive he is right now, how being deprived of sex this past month has affected him both mentally and physically. if he gives in even a little bit now, he won't be able to stop himself.

and he's so close to winning. only a few minutes away before it's december.

when you try to reach out to him for the fifth time tonight, nanami growls and grabs you by the wrist, pinning your arms above your head on the bed. he leans in to whisper by your ear, "no cheating."

the words make you shudder, only turning you on more as you feel his hot breath next to you. his voice is low and strained; he's holding himself back, too. somehow, that makes this whole situation even hotter.

you've both stripped down to only your undergarments: bra and panties for you, and boxers for nanami. this is the farthest he would let you go. if you took the next step, if you were completely naked, nanami is sure that he wouldn't be able to control himself.

"come on," you beg him. "it's almost time, anyway. we can—"

"no." nanami stands firm. "you wanted this, so we're going to do it properly."

groaning, you think about how it's so unfair. sure, you did suggest this challenge, but you didn't realize just how difficult it would be to avoid having sex for an entire month, how much hornier it would make you to have this restriction.

and it's not like nanami is unaffected, either. you see the way he's looking at you while his body hovers over yours, eyes wandering to where your bra cups your breasts, the smooth skin of your stomach. he wants it too, as badly as you do.

his boxers are tight, making his erection painfully obvious. it stretches against the fabric, wanting to break free from its confines, but nanami makes no move to pull out his cock.

he needs something, though—some stimulation even if it's not direct contact. through your clothes, nanami begins to grind against you, pushing your knees apart and dry humping you on the bed with quick rolls of his hips.

you moan brokenly when you feel his hard cock between your legs, pressed against your wet panties. even this is too much. he rocks back and forth, almost like he's already lost control of himself, rutting shamelessly into you.

you feel dizzy with arousal. you could come like this, if he keeps it up, especially with the way the tip of his cock is brushing past your clit, fuck, he's really going to make you come.

"ken—kento—o-oh my god—"

nanami's hips stutter as his rhythm falters, the pleasure building up for him, and he's almost there as well. his cock pulses in warning, brushing past your clit, a thin layer of clothing separating the two of you.

then—he stops suddenly, too soon, seconds before you're about to come. seconds before he's about to come, too. it leaves both of you right on the edge, denied of your orgasms, so fucking close to that sweet release, but unable to reach it.

"hah—hah—sh-shit—" nanami groans, voice low and raspy. he's still thrusting his hips a little, unable to resist his body's instinct, but never touching you again.

your pussy throbs. you're so wet and horny, panties all ruined, trying to pull him closer. "p-please, just—fuck me," you beg him. you need it so bad. "fuck me already—"

nanami's arms are tense as he holds himself up above you, pulling his hips away from yours. he's breathing hard, panting. his cock leaks precum, soaking his boxers and making a damp spot where the tip is. you can see him twitching, the fabric shifting with every movement of his cock.

fuck, you know that he's going to absolutely wreck you once midnight comes. you know he's been just dying to get his hard, aching cock inside you; to come as he moans in your ear and release a month's worth of pent-up sperm.

but for now, he only looks at the clock, clenches his jaw, and says, "ten more minutes."

GETO...

the two of you are sitting on opposite sides of the room, far enough that you can't act on the temptation of touching each other. but that doesn't stop either of you from touching yourselves.

"this is—fuck, this is a very dangerous game, angel..." suguru's eyes are dark and hungry, he drinks in the sight of you, naked, as your hands roam all over your own body.

you start with your breasts, massaging and squeezing them in your palms, circling around the sensitive nipples but not touching directly yet. getting yourself more and more aroused, body arching forward as you whine for more contact.

across from you, suguru is growing harder and harder by the second. his cock twitches and slowly fills out as he watches you tease yourself until it's standing proud, tall and stiff between his legs.

seeing it now, fully hard, is enough to turn you on, your pussy reacting to his arousal. you pinch your nipples between two fingers, gasping at the tingle of pleasure it sends throughout your body. "mm, suguru... your cock..."

he's touching himself too, holding his cock in a loose grip and stroking, masturbating along with you. he groans when your hands travel down your stomach, along your inner thighs, spreading your legs apart wide to expose your pussy.

"j-just imagine," you say, conjuring up the fantasy in your own mind as well. you use two fingers to circle your clit, unable to resist any longer, and moan at the feeling. "imagine your hard, aching cock sinking into my wet pussy. think about—ngh, fuck—my pussy clenching around you as you fill me up, stuffing me full with your cock. it'd feel so fucking good."

suguru is no doubt fantasizing about it too. his cock twitches, leaking more precum as he continues to pump himself. "fuck, you're such a naughty girl. once i get my hands on you—hah—i'll rub my cock against that pretty pussy of yours, let you feel how hard i am as i tease you until you're begging me to put it in."

whimpering, you feel yourself throb, getting wetter from his dirty words. "please—my pussy is ready for you, suguru." you spread your pussy lips apart, giving him a full view of your dripping cunt. "w-want you inside me already."

suguru groans in frustration, knowing that he can't have you yet. "god, me too. i wanna fuck you so bad."

it's too much; you need to feel something more, anything. reaching for the drawer next to you, you bring out one of your toys—if you can't have suguru yet, this will have to do for now.

"this could be your cock," you say, as you hold out a six-inch dildo and bring it to your lips. it's modelled to look like a real cock with thick veins along the sides. you kiss the tip of it, then trail down the shaft. "mm, you taste so good, suguru."

you lick the toy all over, flicking your tongue just under the crown. suguru inhales sharply, gaze darkening at the sight of you giving the dildo a blowjob. everything you do to it goes straight to his cock, as if he's feeling your mouth on him too.

swirling your tongue around the cockhead, you begin to part your lips, taking the dildo inch by inch into your mouth until the tip of it hits the back of your throat. then, you move—bobbing your head up and down, sucking on the toy while looking straight at suguru.

"f-fuck, yeah, take it." you hear suguru moan brokenly as he jerks himself off faster and faster, hips bucking upward into his fist. he looks so wrecked, chest heaving, his cock painfully hard and flushed a dark red. "take all of it—"

you moan around the toy, wishing that you had his cock in your mouth instead, wishing that you could feel his hardness and taste his precum; feel how he throbs from your actions, head thrown back when you swallow him down all the way.

after a while, you pull the dildo out of your mouth. suguru is squeezing the base of his cock, panting, too close to coming. he twitches once, twice, like he could burst at any minute.

you line up the dildo between your legs and rub it against your pussy, letting the cockhead brush past your entrance again and again. teasing yourself to feel the burning desire inside you grow even stronger. "s-suguru, i need you—need your cock—"

"christ, angel," suguru curses. his hand is moving again, stroking himself, unable to resist. you're both so turned on, so fucking horny that it feels unbearable. "fuck yourself with it. come on, show me what you really want."

at his command, you push the toy inside, crying out as it spreads you open and fills you up. you squirm on the spot as it bottoms out, hips circling around it to adjust to the sensation.

when you start to pull it back out, you moan, feeling it drag and drag and drag along your walls. you imagine that it's suguru there instead of the dildo—his hot, throbbing cock penetrating you repeatedly.

you tilt the toy a bit, aiming upward, and the effect is instantaneous: pleasure bursts all throughout your body as it stimulates your g-spot, thighs trembling from how fucking good it feels. "o-oh my god—suguru—"

and it's addicting; you can't stop aiming there now that you've found the spot. you get closer and closer with every thrust, orgasm building up at an alarming speed.

"t-take it out," suguru rasps. "you're only allowed to come from my cock."

fuck. your pussy throbs in protest as you reluctantly pull the dildo out, instantly feeling how empty it leaves you. suguru is still stroking himself, much more desperate now, his thick cock disappearing and reappearing into his own fist, slick and wet with precum.

you want him so fucking bad.

only five more minutes to go. the longest five minutes of your life.

GOJO...

he's not exactly fucking you yet, but what he is doing is sliding his rock hard cock up and down your pussy, rutting against you like he's been deprived of any contact. which is true—he's been deprived for a whole month. a whole month! god, he's so damn horny he can hardly think straight. he has no idea how he managed to hold off for this long.

but that's why, with only a few minutes before no nut november is over, he lets loose a little. the anticipation has been absolutely killing him; he's going to come harder than he ever has before. and he can't deny himself any longer, not when you're right there, lying on the bed and tempting him with your body.

"i can't—i can't stop my hips," satoru grunts, grinding against you faster and faster. he's losing control entirely, almost animalistic in the way he's moving on pure instinct, chasing after nothing but pleasure. "oh—oh fuck, baby, i need—"

every time his hard, throbbing cock brushes past your clit, you cry out, bucking up into him. you're just as far gone; a month without sex has made you so fucking desperate for it. "ah—! s-satoru, please—"

how is it still not midnight yet? how much longer do both of you have to endure this? shit, you don't know how much more you can take. a few minutes ago, you set an alarm to ring as soon as november ends, but it feels like hours and it still hasn't gone off.

and then—satoru's cock catches on your pussy, slides into you a little, no more than an inch. no more than just the tip. but it makes both of you gasp and moan—moan so loud that you're sure the neighbours could hear you. but you don't care.

satoru quickly pulls out before either of you get too close, his cock resting on your pussy now. you can feel him hot and throbbing, about to burst at any moment. your pussy throbs, too, both of you pulsing against each other, begging to feel it again.

but no matter what, you can't come yet. fuck. fuck.

still, you buck up helplessly and say, "a-again. do it again. please."

not even a second later, satoru has his cock lined up by your entrance, panting as he forces himself to go slow. his cockhead sinks into you and you clamp down on him, refusing to let him go. your back arches, moans falling from your lips as his cock stretches you open.

satoru pulls out, then pushes in again. out, in. out, in. over and over—the shallowest, most torturous thrusts you've ever experienced. but it's all you can take now, both of you dangerously close to the edge for anything more. if he thrusts into you all the way, the full length of his hard cock filling you up, you'd come for sure. just the thought of satoru fucking you properly, fucking you deep, gets you so aroused that it makes you dizzy.

"feels—hah—feels too good," satoru grunts, picking up the pace. he's losing himself to the pleasure again, hips moving uncontrollably. "ngh, shit, too fucking good. i can't—i'm not going to last—f-fuck—"

BRIIING! the alarm goes off.

you both pause, looking at each other. it's 12:00 am exactly. december 1st.

satoru snaps. without warning, without any more delays, he plunges his cock into you, bottoming out deep inside you. the two of you moan at the same time, and then he's fucking you, pounding his cock with urgency and desperation and a month's worth of being denied.

there's no time to catch your breath. you can feel satoru's cock hitting you fast and deep, filling you up, throbbing hot against your walls. he's panting into the crook of your neck, sucking on the smooth skin there. both hands flick at your nipples, playing with the hardened nubs, applying just enough pressure to make you arch into his touch. it's all overwhelming; you feel pleasure throughout your whole body, orgasm approaching fast.

when you clench around satoru with his hard cock buried deep inside you, his pace falters. he chokes out a moan and it sounds so wrecked, so arousing. you moan, too. you're both so fucking close.

"coming, coming, c-coming—"

TOJI...

throughout the month, as the days went by, toji has become more and more cranky. it's obvious that the challenge is really getting to him, putting him in a bad mood no matter what he's doing, and he's never abstained from sex for this long before. never been sexually frustrated to this degree.

there's so much tension between the two of you, and it's only a matter of time before someone snaps.

about a week in, toji starts to work out a lot more, mostly as a distraction. even at home, he's constantly doing different exercises—push ups, sit ups, planks, bicep curls, squats. not that you're complaining, of course. it gives you the opportunity to see him shirtless, to see his toned body glistening with sweat after every session.

as a distraction, though, it doesn't always work. he comes up to you after, pins you against the wall, and says, "i can't fucking stand this anymore. i need to get laid." his voice is strained. the shorts that he wore for the workout does nothing to hide his raging erection. "i need to fuck you."

it's not easy to resist him in that situation at all. his lips are hovering right next to yours, and you have to hold back from reaching out and touching his abs, pressing your hips together until you're grinding into each other like you so desperately want.

still, despite all that, you reply, "no."

and he stomps away, slamming every door in the hall, cursing. you take a moment to yourself too; it's not like you're immune to this, either. your pussy throbs with need, dripping wetness onto your panties. if you had been any weaker, you would've given in right there without a doubt.

when the last day finally arrives, november 30, toji doesn't give a shit about the technicalities anymore; whether it's 11:00 pm, or 11:30 pm, or 11:59 pm, it's all the same to him. he's done with this stupid challenge, tortured himself enough by holding back all month (for what, he doesn't even know; it doesn't feel like he gained anything from it), so he deserves this now.

toji has you bent over the nearest surface, cock already buried in your pussy, grinding into you filthily like he's trying to make both of you come as fast as possible. the abstinence really got to him, delirious with only a single goal in mind: to get the release he's been denied of for so damn long. a whole fucking month's worth of come just waiting to be released from his balls.

they feel so hot and heavy, weighted down by how much has accumulated since the start of november. and his cock—fuck, he's never been this hard is his life. it has a mind of its own, so horny and desperate, standing rigid between his legs and weeping with endless amounts of precum that spill out from the tip.

"t-toji, wait," you try to tell him. "it's not—ah—it's not time yet."

"what's the problem?" he asks, not stopping at all. "all you have to do is make sure that you don't come until midnight. there's no rule saying that i can't fuck you before then."

and... he's right, technically, but how the hell does he expect you to hold back when he's pounding into you so fast and rough? it's like he's fully given in to his primitive instincts, fucking you like a wild animal, hips snapping into you over and over.

"i can't—" you gasp as toji's hands reach around to grab your breasts, squeezing them, flicking your nipples. "feels—feels too good—"

"yeah?" toji asks, panting. "doesn't sound like a problem to me. means i'm fucking you real good."

you can't argue with that. moaning, you try to fight against the pleasure, but it's a losing battle. "w-wait, toji—ah—i'm close—"

"come," he tells you, voice low and sultry and so fucking hot. "just let go if you want it so bad. c'mon, be a good girl and come for me now."

a shudder runs through your body as a fresh wave of arousal hits you. fuck. you're trying your best to hold back, you really are, but it's impossible when toji is whispering right next to your ear, his warm breath on your skin as he repeats the word over and over again: come, come, come.

the assault is constant: toji's hips slamming against yours, his hard cock going deeper and deeper with every thrust, brushing against your g-spot. it's overwhelming when one hand slides down to find your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub with his skilled fingers. you arch into his touch, moaning brokenly, unable to escape the pleasure. your body betrays you as you feel yourself tipping over the edge,

"fuck," toji groans and it's clear that he's at his limit too, thrusts growing erratic now. "gonna come—"

the feeling of him pulsing and pulsing, spilling everything inside you, is what makes you come in the end. it's so much, weeks of stored up come spurting out from his hard cock, finally getting the release that he so badly needed. you clench around him as he rolls his hips, milking every last drop, the two of you riding out your orgasms together.

toji pulls out and his cock gives one last twitch at the sight of you stuffed full of his come, white and sticky as it drips out of your pussy. you're both still breathing hard, all the tension gone from your body.

god, you've never come so hard in your life. abstaining from sex for a month only made it that much more worth it in the end.

turning your head, you glance at the clock. 12:00 am. it's by pure luck that you came exactly at midnight, somehow managing to complete no nut november despite toji's ruthless teasing.

you vow to never do it again, though. not with toji. there's no way you could survive another year of NNN with him.

tag list: @megumisdivinedogs @urlilwhore @l0rdgeosupport3rr @purple-obsidian @l0rdgeosupport3rr @minni-creations @fos-tis-zois @the-reas0n-is-y0u @cantfeelherface @rxmbzzz @lysaray @zelzablues @str4wbrrycandy @that-goth-bisexual @simping4u @iminlovewqr0w @sharks31 @pseudowho @jisoonunn @outkasti @anathemaspeaks @fushigur0slut4 @barryatsumu @d0nk3y-k0ng @shasaaa15 @wil10wthetree @maskedpacific @genshingeeksworld @itsnotmelo

i'm going to cry tumblr is not letting me tag people so i'm sorry if it didn't work for you :( (comment to be added)

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v6quewrlds · 17 hours ago

Text

LOVE TALK, JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x wife!reader. word count⠀⁎⠀1.9k.

summary⠀⁎⠀with your toddler off with the cousins at her grandparents' house, it's a quiet night in the burrow household. you take advantage of the quiet to spend some one-on-one time soaking in your warm tub.

author's note⠀⁎⠀requested by an anon, i hope you like it bae <3 changed up the layout a little bit, we'll see if i stick to it lmao warnings⠀⁎⠀suggestive at worst. hubby!joe, dad!joe, frosted tips!joe, warnings about joe being a softie in general.

"Thank you, baby. That feels so good," you moaned, your eyes drifting closed as Joe's strong hands gently kneaded your tense shoulder muscles. You leaned back into him, feeling the warmth of the water and his body enveloping you. His touch was magic, easing the constant ache that seemed to follow you around lately.

"You're welcome," Joe murmured, his voice a low rumble that resonated through you. He kissed the top of your head, his breath tickling your scalp. "How's that?"

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Perfect."

The conversation lulled for a moment, the only sound the soft splashing of the water. Joe's fingers danced over your skin, tracing the curve of your stomach down to your thighs before returning to massage the tension out of your neck. You felt a rush of warmth spread through your body, the stress of the week dissipating into the steamy air.

"So, have you thought more about the birth plan?" Joe asked, his voice careful, as if tiptoeing around a minefield. You two have had this conversation before, but you had never really put a bow on the details.

You exhaled deeply, your body sinking deeper into his warmth. "You know me, I'm flexible. But I do want an epidural this time. I was a champ with Amara, but I don't need to prove my strength twice."

Joe's grip tightened around your shoulders in an anxious squeeze. "Well, that's my only concern. No more natural births for you. I don't want to see you in that much pain again."

You leaned your head back, peering at him with a smirk. "Were you worried? You were about 10 seconds away from passing out when Amara was born."

Joe rolled his eyes, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. "I was not! I'm just saying, if modern medicine has a solution to that kind of pain, I want you to take it."

You chuckled, the sound echoing off the tiles. "Alright, alright. Point taken." You paused, brushing your fingers against your bump. "But other than that, let's just keep it low-key. Just you, me, and the midwife. I love our moms but I don't need an audience this time around."

Joe nodded, his eyes flickering with relief. "Deal. Just as long as you're comfortable." His thumbs dug into the knots in your shoulders, and you couldn't help but let out a contented sigh. "We're still doing a water birth at home? I have the pool in our Amazon cart but haven't pulled the trigger yet."

"Yes, Joe. At home, with the pool," you said, your voice a mix of exasperation and amusement. "I feel like you're more excited about the water birth than I am."

"What? It's just... I don't know. It seems like a cool experience," Joe replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but failing miserably.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound rich and warm in the stillness of your bathroom sanctuary. "Cool? Having a baby is cool?"

Joe shrugged, his hands pausing in their ministrations. "Well, it's not like we're throwing a party, but it's definitely an experience. And I'd rather you be comfortable than anything else."

Your eyes popped open as a sudden jolt of movement from within your belly made you jump. "Whoa, baby girl's definitely got her daddy's athleticism," you said, placing a hand over the spot where you had felt the kick.

Joe leaned forward to peer at your stomach, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "Was that a kick?" His hand hovered over your belly, waiting for another sign of life.

"Yeah," you said, your eyes shining with affection. "Keep talking, she's a fan of your voice."

Joe grinned, leaning in closer so his cheek was against yours. "Hey, angel," he whispered, his voice tender and filled with wonder. "You're gonna be here so soon, and we can't wait to see you. You have the best big sister in the whole world, she's so excited to play with you." You felt the baby give another kick, and Joe's smile grew even wider as his hand finally felt your little baby Burrow's response.

"My boobs are killing me," you said with a grimace, breaking the momentary silence. The baby's kicks had subsided, but the pressure in your breasts remained. Joe laughed wholeheartedly, his hands moving from your shoulders to cup your breasts gently.

"You're telling me," he teased, his thumbs circling your soft nipples. "They're like two basketballs about to pop." You shot him a glare, but the sensation felt heavenly. You leaned into his touch, letting out a contented sigh.

"Asshole. You did this to me, remember?" you murmured, your voice thick with both pleasure and frustration.

"What can I say? I missed seeing them all heavy like this," Joe said, his voice a playful purr in your ear. He pinched them gently, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers. You couldn't help but let out a low whine, the sensation shooting straight to your core. "But seriously, baby, you're so sexy right now." He kissed your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

"Sexy but swollen," you corrected, though you couldn't help but feel a flutter of pride at his compliment. You reached up to stroke his cheek with your thumb, feeling the two-day-old stubble against your palm. "How do you feel about doing something with Amara before the due date? I read that it's good to spend some one-on-one time with the older sibling before the new baby arrives."

Joe nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, your mom mentioned that to me, too. Maybe we could take her to the zoo closer to the date?" He kissed your neck, his teeth grazing the soft skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You considered it. "That's a good idea. She loves animals." You leaned into his touch, enjoying the way his fingers danced over your swollen breasts. The intimacy of the moment made you feel cherished, despite the weight of your pregnancy.

"It's not like she'll remember the zoo trip in a few years," Joe pointed out, his voice a whisper against your skin. "But she'll remember the attention she got from us before her world gets flipped upside down."

"True," you said, your breath hitching as Joe's touch grew more insistent. "Do you think she fully understands what's happening?"

"Probably not," Joe replied, his breath hot against your ear. "But she'll get it when she sees her little sister for the first time." His hands slid down to your bump, his palms cupping the underside of your belly. He gently lifted the bump up, shifting the weight of your baby girl from your spine for just a brief moment. You sighed in relief as your head fell back against Joe's shoulder again.

"I hope she's as excited as we are," you murmured, your hand joining his on your stomach. You watched in awe as your daughter began to kick in response to your touch. "Look at her go."

Joe's eyes never left the sight of your baby moving beneath your skin. "I can't believe we made this happen," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "Two little miracles."

Your hand squeezed his. "We make a good team," you said softly, your gaze meeting his. Joe's eyes met yours, finding the love and certainty that had carried you two through so much already.

"Of course we do, babe," he agreed, his voice soft with emotion. "And we're gonna rock this whole two kids thing, just like we do everything else."

You felt a sudden surge of love for him, your heart swelling in your chest. You turned your head fully, your lips finding his in a soft, lingering kiss. "Thank you for this weekend, Joey. I really needed it."

He reciprocated the kiss eagerly, his eyes smiling when you pulled away. "Anything for you, babe." His hands drifted down to your thighs, his touch light and exploratory. "With how this season is going, these moments with you are the only thing keeping me sane. If you need anything else, just let me know."

You couldn't argue with him. You felt like a new woman, the tension of the disappointing season and the weight of your pregnancy anxiety both lifted away in the blissful weekend. "Mm, I definitely needed this more than I thought," you admitted, a shy smile curving your lips.

Joe's grin widened, and he leaned in to kiss you, his hands still resting lightly on top of your thighs. "Good," he murmured. "Because I'm gonna take you to bed and make sure you sleep for the rest of the night."

Your eyes widened, and you turned to look at him over your shoulder. "Now, that's a plan I can get behind," you said, your voice a purr.

Joe stood, water sluicing off his muscular form, and offered you a hand. You took it, letting him help you out of the tub, the water running off your curves like a waterfall. He wrapped a towel around you, his eyes raking over your body with a softness that had only grown since you had conceived your first child.

"Alright, let's go," Joe said, taking your hand and leading you out of the bathroom and into your bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering candles on the nightstand. He gently laid you down on the soft, plush bed and began to dry you off with the towel, his touch lingering on your damp skin.

You watched him, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the warm towel. "You're too good to me," you murmured, your voice sleepy with satisfaction.

Joe kissed the top of your head, his eyes glittering with love. "Not nearly enough, babe," he said, his voice soft. He finished drying you off, his touch lingering on your swollen belly as he worked your lotion into your skin. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

Your heart swelled with love, and you reached out to trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips. "And you're the best thing that ever happened to me."

Joe leaned down to kiss your stomach, his lips pressing softly against the firm mound of your growing baby. You felt the baby kick in response and you couldn't help but laugh. "I think you're already her favorite," you said, watching Joe with a warmth in your eyes.

He grinned up at you, his own eyes alight with love and excitement. "Well, I've got to start early. Can't have you stealing all the love, now can I?"

You chuckled, your hand sliding over your belly to rest on top of Joe's. "You're going to spoil the two of them rotten, I just know it."

Joe looked up at you, his smile turning mischievous. "Is that a challenge?"

You rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was full. "No, it's a fact," you said, your voice filled with affection. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

Joe leaned over you, his hands framing your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as he kissed you deeply. The kiss was slow and gentle, a promise of the passion you would share again once your baby girl was born. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the warmth of the water still clinging to your bodies.

As the two of you broke apart, Joe whispered, "I can't wait to see your beautiful face when you hold her for the first time." Your eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Me too," you said, your voice soft with emotion.

#&. cassie writes.#joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow x reader #bengals #cincinnati football #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow fluff #black!fem!reader #x black fem reader #x black reader #black!reader #black reader

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heegyukeluv · 1 day ago

Text

it's okay... (sjy)

pairing: jake x afab!reader

synopsis: Jake's sensitiveness was, ironically enough, a sensitive topic to him. What would you think seeing him getting so desperate over a few gentle touches on his back?

my's note: inspired by ari's talking w me about jake being sensitive lol

warnings: established relationship, jake is very sensitive to readers touches and is shy about it, SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, jake cums untouched, desperate, needy and sensitive jake, dry humping? kinda?, literally reader caressing jake's back and him coming with that lol, he nearly cries. lmk if i missed something!

wc: 4.3k

NOT PROOFREAD.

taglist 💖: @yvnempire, @marigold-sunflowers, @ikeuverse

Jake was sensitive. So sensitive. And everywhere.

You and he started dating not so long ago; three months into a beautiful and comfortable relationship, he showed you plenty of possibilities of how to like and eventually love someone. He was steadily and easily climbing to the rank of being the man of your life.

Every nuance of your relationship with Jake was delightful, cozy, gentle. He cared for you with genuine affection and always tried his hardest to give you the best of the best – if felt contrastingly effortless and intentional, offering you a reliable safe haven.

The physical side of your relationship was equally fulfilling. From the start, your boyfriend had been nothing but respectful towards your boundaries, leaving the pace entirely in your hands. Jake let you decide when the touches were just innocent, light ones, and when they started to dive deep into something more profound, more intense, something you eventually named as lust, laced with passion and need.

Jake was fucking hot. He didn’t disappoint – never did. With his skilled tongue and mouth, he made sure to send you to heaven, to hell and back to earth in minutes of work on your pussy, leaving you panting, breathless, aching for more, chanting his name like a messy mantra. And down onto his body he didn’t lack as well, allowing you to see stars with deep and precise thrusts, touching your g-spot as if he knew ever since the beginning.

Jake knew how to please a girl – his girl.

But there was a constant lingering, unspoken tension whenever you touched him.

Jake was the most sensitive person you ever met. Just the idea of your fingertips grazing his biceps was enough to make him rock hard – an information he for sure didn’t give you and prayed you didn’t notice either.

What would you think if you knew? If you realized how easily and powerful your touch flustered him? How the mere fantasy of your hands roaming his body could make him feel like the world’s most hopelessly horny man?

The thought haunted him and he kept it locked away, terrified of what you might say if you uncovered just how badly he wanted – needed – you.

Jake came to realize that you put his entire being under a specific and delicious spell as soon as he fell for you. Better: as soon as he saw you.

The first encounter was unplanned and with no expectations attached to it, after all, who thinks a party fling could turn into something real? Jake still had a vivid memory of how the curves of your hot body fitted your outfit that night, hugging your figure with care and just the right amount of temptation that got his body weak, pulling close like a magnet.

He paid for your drinks willingly, thinking a pretty woman like you deserved to be treated just how she wanted to; he didn’t ask for anything in return, though – a kiss nor your number. He just cherished your presence, your sweet talk and your way of gesticulating when speaking.

Jake sat by your side for the rest of that night sharing his interests, genuinely happy with your warm and approachable reception.

He also cheered silently when you pressed your soft lips onto his before heading your way out without faltering or looking back, leaving behind a desperate man missing the touch of your gorgeous fingers on his locks and your tongue against his.

The following encounters happened at a pace you wanted. Yes, you wanted.

When you got home, you couldn’t help but notice how affected you felt by the gentle, caring touch of that respectful guy you had kissed. It wasn’t typical for you to attend parties, let alone kiss strangers – or even recent acquaintances. Your values nudged you towards something more reserved, something more personal.

But Jake awakened a sense of ease in you, offering a space of trust that utterly charmed you. Maybe it was the sweet way he spoke, or the way the corners of his lips curled up into that soft, boyish smile. He was gorgeous – and he seemed so affectionate, not to mention undeniably hot.

You looked Jake up on Instagram and found him effortlessly, and your meetings happened casually, until they culminated in an intimate moment: when he asked you to be his girlfriend.

Not long after, you guided him into the beginning of your shared sexual journey as a couple. And it was so, so good to find someone whose tastes and desires aligned so well with yours.

You felt powerful and confident knowing the effect you had on Jake. It was almost funny to notice how even something as simple as you wearing one of his shirts could leave him hard and needy.

Alongside that, Jake also shamelessly acted as if you owned him, from casually asking your permission to go out with his friends, to making sure he was never out of your sight for too long. You never asked him to behave that way, but when you questioned his actions, he simply shrugged it off, claiming it was for his own pleasure. He liked the idea of you having control over him.

And you definitely did.

Yeah, Jake was sensitive with any type of touches, even when his friends hugged him he would squirm if their hands caressed his back in certain places, but you… You got him wrapped around your finger easily.

He never found the right words to describe the amount of pleasure he felt when your fingers grazed his arms, or caressed the back of his neck, or touched his hair, or just got in contact with any other place of his body.

Just you and your beautiful hands traveling through each inch of his skin were more than enough to elicit soft moans, a pathetic roll of eyes and a shiver down his dick.

You were now sitting on your bed, back lazily resting on the headboard with your legs stretched forward, while Jake napped by your side, lying on his stomach and hugging one of your many pillows; his soft snores getting lost in between the sounds of war coming from the TV, proving he was getting deep into his sleep little by little.

The agreement between you both involved Jake watching the movie with you, but he was so, so exhausted from work that you didn’t even consider starting an argument – though, honestly, you probably wouldn’t have anyway. Jake was such a sweetheart, and in your opinion, he had already done so much by coming to your place instead of his, even though yours was half an hour farther.

After you demanded him to go to sleep and he demanded you to go watch the movie without him, you found yourself in that exact position; your boyfriend sleeping and your hands wanting to caress his silky strands, as a way to casually fidget with something.

You didn’t hold yourself and softly placed your fingertips to thread through Jake’s hair, just like you always did when he laid on your lap.

Jake thought he was dreaming, his mind confused, caught somewhere between reality and sleep, making it difficult for him to figure out why his body was tingling.

But it wasn’t a bad tingling, no. In fact, it was the same sensation he felt whenever you touched him – the pleasant shiver of your fingers tracing warm wonders wherever they wandered, the rush of pleasure melting away the self-control Jake had worked so hard to maintain, just so you wouldn’t see how completely he had fallen apart before your mere touches.

...

Jake’s eyes snapped open, and his body tensed immediately when the realization hit: you were gently stroking his hair with the same affection you always did, that natural, tender gesture of love shared between those who cared deeply for each other. But your daring hands didn’t seem to want to stop there. They trailed down the back of his neck, sending an instant shiver through his body.

You didn’t notice right away, but your boyfriend shifted slightly, fighting the moan that threatened to escape his throat as you obliviously continued your loving touch. It quickly became a difficult task for him to remain silent when you began to play with the small hairs at the back of his neck, absentmindedly pausing and resuming your movements while your attention was entirely on the plot of the movie, as if your touch had become as instinctive as Jake's exaggerated reactions.

He didn’t want to alarm you or draw your attention to the growing – hard – problem beneath his pants, however, with each delicate stroke of your skin against his still covered one, waves of pleasure washed over him, making it nearly impossible for his breath to maintain its stability.

The sensation was intoxicating and desperate, because it fueled the fear of getting caught together with the craving to keep going, to keep driving through that induced high Jake was slowly allowing himself to go.

As your fingers continued their gentle, nonchalant exploration, Jake’s body began to contort a bit more, especially when your fingertips started to softly draw random shapes along the sensitive surface of his back.

His fucking back.

Jake had a certain spot that, when touched just the right way, could completely unravel him. A single, subtle touch there and his body would jolt, almost instinctively trying to pull away, but if the one doing the touching was you, the reaction was entirely different.

The sensation, instead of causing discomfort, flooded his body with warmth, sending a slow, delightful buzz straight to his lower parts, where stood his growing desire mixed with the pleasure that seemed to bloom with every caress.

Completely unaware of how affected Jake was getting, you continued to calmly trace your fingers along the contours of his spine, leaving trails of warmth on it. Eventually, you felt the hardness of his back underneath your touch tensing, but you didn’t mind, knowing Jake was sensitive and was probably only automatically shifting away, the way he always seemed to do.

The movie drew your concentration intensely enough for you to barely hear when Jake whined, blending almost perfectly with the fight scene unfolding before your eyes on the TV. You took another quick notice of his body writhing with more constancy, nearly matching your movements, yet again, you didn’t give it any proper attention.

Jake was on the verge of crying in despair, whines and moans getting lost amidst the soft pillow and his mouth pressing onto it, aware that he would snap into a complete mess if he lost control over his body – and he felt it slowly slipping through without giving him the chance to fight for it, swelling the urge, the yearn for more.

Instinctively, his eyes shut close and hips started to rut against the mattress, hoping that the sheet covering his body would occult his nasty attempts of getting some relief, knowing that he could cum just by the way you touched his body.

Jake also silently prayed for the loud scene on the TV to continue on for just a few more minutes, long enough for him to savor the tantalizing sensation coursing through his veins and stifle his sounds. It was as though he were on the edge to melt – a relaxation that wasn’t calming at all but instead left him craving more, his mind hazed in a state of unbearable anticipation, building up something intense and way too addictive.

Suddenly, his entire body trembled, almost like a spasm, a wave of numbing electricity surging through every inch of him. It pulled a rather loud moan from his previously pursed lips, escaping together with his failed attempt to squirm away.

You had, entirely by accident, let your fingertips graze featherlight over that spot on his back – right in the center, where even the faintest touch, especially one as delicate as yours, had the power to drive him completely insane, unraveling every shred of control he thought he had.

A puzzled expression immediately crossed your face as your gaze fell on your boyfriend, still lying on his stomach but now visibly tense, his breathing uneven. Slowly, the pieces began to fall into place: the way his body wouldn’t stop shifting, the sounds – now unmistakably coming from him, not the movie.

Jake fell nervously silent right after, his dick twitching, already wetting his underwear with the leaking precum; the heat travelled towards his neck and face, leaving his skin flaming hot with embarrassment, because for his misfortune, the scene in the movie was now calm, with no soundtracks or voices to cover his noises.

You lowered the volume from the TV, so you could be heard by Jake as your quiet voice filled the room.

“Baby, are you alright?”

Perhaps Jake was feeling sick with the amount of movements he was doing and the small painful sounds he was letting out when you finally paid attention to. Consequently, you halted your action of brushing your fingers randomly on his back, now resting your palm completely flat on it, oblivious of how hot Jake was feeling under your touch.

“No– D–Don’t stop–”

His voice was muffled due to his position and the fact that he wanted to actively hide himself from you, ashamed of his pathetic reaction with such innocent touches. Nonetheless, in a twist, he threw all restraint to the wind, fully surrendering to the blissful sensation you were providing him, embracing his embarrassing helpless, meek persona.

You, however, furrowed your brows, confused. “What?”

“Your hand–” He exasperated the exact moment you hinted to remove your hand away, arching his torso towards where he thought you could be, as if searching for them. “Please, don’t stop…”

Reading through his words and demeanor, you struggled to comprehend entirely what they were about, so you simply stayed there, waiting for further instruction, because the only reasonable conclusion you could draw was that Jake was silently asking you to keep touching his back, in a whimpering voice.

“Jake, love… I don’t think I understand…”

“Just keep going,” he mumbled, now grabbing your wrist without facing you, to place your fingers back on where they should be, forcing the motion you were doing before. “Your fingers on my back. Please, just… Keep going.”

Even without Jake looking at you, you blinked twice and cocked your head to the side, utterly bewildered.

“You mean…” You trailed off, resuming to trace gentle patterns with your fingertips, still uncertain. “This?”

The answer was immediate. Even without Jake’s verbal response, you knew you got it right because he jolted slightly and moaned under his breath, trembling.

“Fuck– Y–Yes…”

You positioned yourself better to keep drawing random things on his clothed back, just like he solicited.

Part of you was still a bit confused, but you couldn’t ignore the soft, breathy moans that Jake was starting to let out again. Slowly but surely, you began to piece the puzzle together – the way his hips shifted, grinding ever so slightly into the mattress, his movements gaining a rhythm, a near-thrusting motion, his sudden breathy moans, his needy voice.

Your touch, innocent and unintentional, was being turned into something far from pure under Jake’s judgment; each subtle graze of your fingertips across his skin seemed to push him further into a state of intoxicating desperation. It was ridiculous, lascivious, and utterly delicious to your ears and your growing curiosity.

"Aw, baby," you cooed, your voice dripping with a mix of amusement and teasing affection. "Are you really this sensitive?"

A muffled hum was all he could manage to mumble, his face now buried in the pillow in a feeble attempt to hide the flush spreading across his cheeks. But shame couldn’t hold his need; his pleasure was overwhelming, spilling out in brazen sounds and increasingly shameless movements.

"Or," you taunted again with a smirk, letting your hand glide a little lower, earning another gasp from him, "is it me? Am I the cause of this?"

"You," he murmured, his voice broken but certain. "Always you."

His unwavering answer sent a thrilling shiver down your spine, and though his face was hidden, you could feel how much control he was losing, surrendering entirely to your touch. His hips moved with more purpose now, and his muffled, constant moans were a symphony of surrender and desire, a beautiful melody that let your panties ruined with your growing arousal.

“So dirty, aren’t you?”

Jake didn’t assign to have you playing with his most sensitive spot while talking in such a velvety voice when he chose you as his girlfriend, but he was definitely happy knowing you were enjoying it as much as him; your low chuckle to his instant, urgent reaction reiterating it.

“N–No…” He shook his head. “‘M not, it’s just–”

“It’s okay…” A soothing whisper escaped your lips, eyes once full of amusement now dropping to a darker shade, hooded, as the air grew thicker; the necessity of pleasuring your man bubbled within your core with each passing second, an ache you didn’t know existed until now. “Does that feel good, baby?”

Jake groaned a soft hum, his body betraying him with a wave of desire flushing through it. He squirmed beneath your touch, his shoulders jerking upward involuntarily when your fingers traced a deliberate, lingering line from the base of his spine up to the nape of his neck. The movement was slow, tantalizing, and precisely intoxicating.

Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten as he whimpered softly, his voice muffled by the pillow. His reaction only spurred you on, your touch becoming a little bolder, savoring the way his body responded so beautifully to every slight motion of your fingers.

“Can you really cum just by this, my love?” Your voice curled through the air, low and calm, yet amused with how responsive Jake’s was being, his shameless impulses of getting himself off untouched eliciting a clench on your pussy.

“I dunno…”

In between Jake’s answer, you propped yourself with a knee on each side of his waist, not completely leaving your full weight to sit on him, but mainly to give a proper access for your fingernails to wander carefree in direct contact with his skin, as they sneaked beneath the soft white fabric of his shirt, meeting the goosebumped flesh that yearned for more of your sweet, slow touches.

Jake could feel his underwear growing wetter with the steady, uncontrollable leak of precum seeping from the swollen tip of his dick. His damp forehead pressed into the pillow, leaving only a narrow space for him to breathe, his breaths coming in shallow, ragged gasps as the heat consumed him.

Was your room always that hot?

“Should we try?”

You let only a hand inside his shirt so you would be able to support yourself with the other, as you lowered your torso forward, enough to have your lips finding a place on his sensitive neck, your warm muscle dancing deliberately against the flesh that reacted instantly to your stimulus.

Jake was far from thinking straight, aligning his body to settle you more comfortably, though his true intention was to drive through the delicious high that was building up in his lower stomach, his abdomen tightening within each subtle draw you were tracing, teetering towards the dangerous edge of coming undone and untouched before your caress.

“Shit–”

The curse spilled past his parted lips amidst a sequence of messy moans due to the overwhelmness of your presence over his whole body, leaving him writhing, wincing, trembling with need. His hips moved slightly frantic with the crescent blazing necessity of releasing his orgasm, grinding against the mattress as he desperately chased relief.

“Feels good, Jakey?” You murmured, lips brushing against the top of his ear, tickling the sensitive area, causing more shivers to run his body.

“Yes, fuck– Yes– Mhm–” His stuttered words were music to your ears, loving how he was melting, falling, dissolving under your control.

However, deep down Jake felt a sudden wave of despair and remorse mingling with the lustful desire that had been fueled by your constancy. His thoughts spiraled, and for a moment, he felt utterly pathetic, questioning how he could be so stupid, acting like a desperate fool just from a few gentle and innocent caresses.

It was like his mind got so lost in pleasure, that it dived too deep into his past and consequently revisited those reminiscences that once was his biggest fear. Panic seized him, his thoughts racing in horror at what you might be thinking, terrified of how vulnerable and broken he must look in your eyes.

“I’m so sorry...” Jake whispered, his voice thick with emotion, almost breaking into a sob, his back arching within a wave because, even apologetical, he kept on drifting through the amazing feel of getting closer to his climax.

Aware of the possible overthinking nature of your boyfriend threatening to bloom, you shook your head softly, the tip of your nose grazing sweetly against his neck.

“Shh, it’s okay, Jakey,” you reassured in a quiet whisper. “This is completely normal, my love. You look so beautiful falling apart for me.”

You dared to lower your fingernails to his sides, tickling the area ever so slightly before dragging them out of his shirt to play with the inner part of his exposed biceps, as he laid with his arms tucked under the pillow and gave you easy access.

Your eyes tried to search for him, but Jake was actively avoiding his pathetically broken expression to be read by your curious gaze, especially as he felt his release getting extremely near to snapping into a complete wet mess.

“‘M so close…”

It was clear by the way he sounded – shaky – and how his crotch area sought for even more friction within his frantic grinds that he wasn’t lying.

Jake’s moans shattered into whimpers that you had never had the special privilege of hearing until now, grateful that your boyfriend had, albeit initially unknowingly, allowed you to witness such a delectable piece of his existence, drenched in rising desire and pleasure.

You found yourself hoping he would feel comfortable enough to show you more, now that you knew just how deeply it affected you to experience this moment with him.

It was a melodic symphony that melted your self-control, pushing you to the edge, to the point where you almost, almost fell into the idea of rubbing yourself against any available part of his body, desperate to join him in his search for release that night.

Jake looked so beautiful, so irresistibly sexy, as he got lost in the vastness of his own sensitivity, surrendering completely to his instincts, to the overwhelming need to come, no longer caring how foolish he might appear to you, driven by pure, raw desire.

“Come for me, baby,” you whispered, your voice inviting, tempting, your hand back to lightly graze the curve of his spine as you guided him towards where he needed the most. “Lemme see your mess, mhm?”

“Fuck–” Jake let out a louder moan, at the same time his fingers grasped the sheet beneath his palms, and his whole body trembled with an unbearable sensation of flood, as though his failed attempts of preventing to burst out embarrassingly prematurely, untouched, poured through his every pore within an intense force when he let go. “Fuck, fuck, fuck– Cumming–”

You couldn’t deny that Jake’s whole reaction was driving you, yourself, insane. The desperate way he sounded, so vulnerable, helplessly chanting a mix of your name and parted whimpers and groans, as if he got lost into a maze of a lustful bliss he didn’t want to go away from so easily, and let the responsibility on you, you to lead the way.

“I’ve got you, my love,” your hot breath fanned his nape, a small smirk gracing the curve of your lips as you murmured against the shell of his ear, fingers still dancing lightly on his heated, smooth flesh. “My messy, sensitive boy… Yeah?”

Jake rolled his closed eyes in pleasure, because he was still a bit tipsy from your scent, your mild touches, your comfortableness that allowed his particular part to shine without shying away completely.

“Mhm…” He quietly nodded. “Yours.”

Though Jake was the one achieving his climax, you also felt completely satisfied after your not-so-hard work; you enjoyed, no, you loved to explore this new possibility, this new slope of your relationship. It gave you a sense of confidence that flattered your ego in the best way possible, since you managed to make your boyfriend to cum with just soft touches. And he was beautiful while doing it.

“I’m shy.”

Jake’s mumbled voice cut through the heavy air that slowly calmed down, and you chuckled lightly with his choice of words, removing yourself from his back to sit on your knees and playfully nudge his sides.

“Lemme see you. I miss your pretty face.”

Jake shook his head and giggled, the warmth of your naturally cozy and reliable relationship taking place deliberately in between Jake’s rigged breath; he could feel how soaked his underwear and shorts were, and the bedsheet would very much be dampened with his arousal as well.

He was slightly bashful about showing you the obvious – after all, you were fully aware that he had just come in his pants. And while he was drowning in embarrassment, you were practically biting your tongue to keep from screaming about how ridiculously turned on you were by it.

But, as always, knowing your boyfriend's nature, you said the one thing guaranteed to make him hard all over again, something that would not only crush his lingering shame but also ignite his confidence to finally meet your gaze.

“You have no idea how desperate I am to ride you right now.”

#jake x reader #jake smut #sim jake x reader #jake sim x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #jake hard thoughts #heegyukeluv works

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grooveology · 2 days ago

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. . . haha . . . imagine being tashi's childhood best friend, growing up beside her and getting into stanford together . . . meeting patrick and art then she starts dating patrick but reader is never left out (and neither is art) hmmm why does patrick wrap his arms around readers waist?? why does tashi smile at the sight??? why is art so touchy with tashi AND in front of patrick??? why are you all so affectionate?

i may have gone a bit overboard, but i did kind of forget about tashi x art sorry ): hope this gives your genius thoughts justice!!

you and tashi? the epitome of the sun and moon, two peas in a pot—but with way more codependency than either of you would admit to. you were attached by the hip. how could you not be? you grew up together, lived on the same street, went to the same school, and eventually went to the same university. you were each other's first kiss, first makeout, first homoerotic friendship! it was only natural for you two to share boyfriends–friends. you aren't sure how it happened, but one night you both meet patrick zweig and art donaldson (although, they were both on your radars way before the party.) the boys immediately take an interest in you and tashi, inviting you over to their hotel room. surprise, surprise, you both make an appearance.

patrick shares his touching story about teaching art how to jerk off and suddenly tashi gives you a look and you can't help but burst into laughter. okay, alright, maybe you were a tad bit drunk. you snort, laugh, and then, before you can stop yourself, the words slip out.

"that reminds me of the time when tash offered to give me kissing lessons."

tashi, unfazed as ever, takes a casual sip of her beer and grins.

“well, you were nervous about kissing guys,” she says, her tone maddeningly matter-of-fact. “you needed all the help you could get.”

you groan, burying your face in your hands. "tash—oh my god.”

now, it was patrick who bursts out laughing, nearly spilling his drink. “wait, wait. are we talking, like, full-on tutorial?”

“shut up,” you mutter, cheeks burning. “it wasn’t like that.”

oh, but it was!

art is too amused by the conversation to say anything, but you can feel him watching. his pretty blue eyes flicker between you and tashi, it's almost like he’s taking mental notes on this whole conversation.

"what?” you snap, more defensive than you mean to be.

art’s grin widens just a fraction, and he takes a sip of his beer, shrugging. “nothing. just… you two are close. closer than most."

you don’t know how to respond to that, but tashi, of course, doesn’t miss a beat.

“so are you two,” she says casually, her eyes flicking toward the beds shoved together at the center of the room.

and somehow, just like that, the room shifts. one thing leads to before you know it, your lips are on tashi’s, soft and searching, the taste of beer and laughter still lingering in her mouth. patrick’s mouth finds art’s, and the sound—a soft, startled hitch of breath—pulls your attention for half a second. you glance over, catching the way art’s hand curls around patrick’s neck, pulling him closer.

and then, somehow, art’s lips are on yours. the shift happens so naturally it barely registers—his mouth is soft, he's not rushing, instead, he's savoring as if he's trying to memorize the feel of you.

besides you, patrick’s mouth crashes against tashi's with urgency, his kisses hungry, almost desperate, as though he’s been holding back all night and finally let the dam break.

since that night, things changed—with art now attending stanford alongside you, and patrick going pro (yet he always found a way to visit) the four of you only grew closer.

patrick and tashi were the first to make it “official.” you’d think that would’ve made you the third wheel but no. it was the opposite. they invited you and art to their dates. your opinion mattered—on everything. what they wore, where they went, what they ate.

you and art? you were “friends.” friends who held hands when no one was looking—or even when they were. friends who kissed each other at parties or on lazy afternoons when the sun hit his dorm room just right.

and then there was patrick. it didn’t matter that he was tashi’s boyfriend—there were nights when his mouth found yours instead, kisses that were playful but lingering, his hand never failing to slip to your waist.

tashi never seemed bothered. if anything, she found it amusing. eventually, she’d roll her eyes, a small smile twitching at her lips. "he’s a sloppy kisser, isn’t he?” she’d say, tone so casual it could’ve been about the weather.

"i'm a great kisser." patrick would shoot back defensively, pulling away from you.

“sure,” tashi would reply, deadpan, her eyes cutting to yours like she was about to make a point. she’d tug you away from patrick and kiss you herself—wolfishly and possessively.

when she pulled back, her lips still brushing yours, a small smirk played on her face as she turned her attention to patrick, just as quickly, her gaze shifted back to you. her smirk softened into something almost affectionate—almost.

"i’m the better kisser,”

oh, and patrick and art? they were affectionate with each other too, in their own way. patrick was never shy about grabbing art’s thigh in the middle of a conversation, drawing lazy patterns. and art had his ways of showing care—kissing patrick’s head or brushing a soft kiss against his lips whenever he had to leave for a tennis match.

despite it all, though, you and tashi were the closest.

when patrick was away, you made sure to take care of her, her legs would part for your fingers found her cunt, moving slowly at first, then deeper, curling just right until soft gasps turned into desperate moans that filled your shared dorm room.

“tashi, you look so pretty." you murmured, your lips brushing her neck as she arched beneath you, her head tilted back, her breath hitching as your thumb found her clit, drawing lazy circles that sent her spiraling.

and tashi? she had her ways, too. every morning, she’d wake you with a kiss, her lips brushing yours softly and every night, she’d kiss you again—she’d press you up against the wall, her breath warm against your skin as her hands pushed down the shorts you’d “borrowed” from her.

her fingers found you easily, sliding between your thighs, drawing out a gasp as her lips trailed down your neck. “mine,” she’d murmur against your skin, a claim as much as a reminder.

at the end of the day, it was always you and her. the boys were just playthings, distractions from the way her nails dug into your skin, the taste of her on your lips, the way she said your name like a prayer. you were hers, and she was yours—always.

#first time writing smut in about a year #art donaldson #challengers #patrick zweig x reader #artrick #art donaldson smut #art donaldson x reader #tashi duncan smut #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan #art x tashi #patrick challengers #patrick zweig #challengers 2024

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mono-dot-jpeg · 2 days ago

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inextricably bound - viktor, jayce

summary; stuck in a plane above all else but at least you're together

genre/extra tags; oneshot, fluff, bad jokes?, a dash of angst?, czech viktor, jayvik are canon fuck whatever christian linke was saying, just two bros being soulmates in every timeline and they're each others everything (but not in a gay way am i right chat /j), god forbid two dudes be canonically gay in every timeline, sorry im pissed off, im coping with jayvik being gone, OOC jayvik??, i dont know how to write for jayce well, jayvikreader poly sloppy toppy (jk), it's like implied that reader just got pulled in and doesn't know the dramatic moment they had n the astral plane before finally making up., headcanon that the astral plane is almost like being in limbo for death or reincarnation

[reader's gender not specified or mentioned]

word count; 808

a/n; can you tell im mad that there are jayvik non believers? like hate them all you want, but you can't just say that they were just bros and im glad most of the fandom can understand that. am i absolutely greedy for viktor? yes, but im not taking him away from his literal soulmate/twin flame/whatever the fuck gay shit they got going. also i feel like this isnt my best work but anyways enjoy :)

empty.

that's what being in the astral plane feels like. but it's calm. most of your body is engulfed the stars that you once looked up to. now you were part of that. not as a star but as a being. your face is illuminated a white gold shimmer.

"love?" a voice echoes and before you know it, two familiar faces are close to yours.

"vik? jayce?" your voice echoes in the listless space. and it's only then do you register how.. normal they look again.

despite the stars that cover their body and shimmering light of the ethereal, they look like themselves. it was the viktor and jayce you knew. your hands move, your body floating as you hold viktor's face.

"it's you. viktor.." the mentioned male looks at you, guilt and love in his eyes. jayce's hand rests on the small of his back, a silent encouragement for the shorter man. "it's you.." your voice trembles. viktor can't look you in the eye until jayce's hand gently nudges him, and it's only then that he sees the absolute love pouring from your eyes. "i should be more concerned that we're stuck here, but fuck.. i missed seeing you."

you can't exactly cry in the astral plane. your tears end up sparkling and twinkling away and become part of the galaxy you've been pulled into.

"miláček.." you don't even realize how much you've missed his normal voice until now. even if it did have that ethereal echo, it was still him. your viktor. your forehead presses against his for just a moment.

"you... i have a lot to say, but let me be happy for just a moment." viktor tenses at your words, but he relaxes in your touch. you pull away to give jayce the love you missed giving him.

"jayce.. you did so well. more than well. i don't know everything of what you experienced, but you never gave up. didn't know i could be more thankful for you." jayce smiles brightly at your words as you hold his face between his hands in appreciation.

he looks at you with that look he used to give you and viktor when things we once normal. that silly lovesick grin on his face, but you know he can't express how thankful he is for you and him. "i missed you so much, too. you have no idea." he said softly.

"now, with that out of the way, what exactly happened?" the two men look at each other before slowly explaining how everything started and ended with them. and they definitely ended it, seeing as they were taken here by the crystal that jayce held so dear to him. "but why am i here then? i mean, it makes sense for you two to be here. you're basically soulmates."

"don't say that, miláček. we love you too. whether you're in this timeline or not." viktor said gently, floating to you and holding you in his arms. "we won't allow you to think so lowly like that. especially when jayce is around. and especially because that line of thinking does not seem to do well for us. my insecurities blinded me to want to fix everything to a dangerous degree.." he confesses.

"you’re ours whether you like it or not. and it's not like we can find a way to leave here." jayce smiled softly, his large arms wrapped around yours and viktor's shoulders. he hugs you two close, not missing a moment to hold you both in his arms.

"i guess it was really meant to be when i said you're both stuck with me forever." you joked, kissing them on the cheek. "but we're really stuck here?"

after your kisses, viktor starts giving his share of kisses. "it would seem so. not that i'm complaining." jayce joins in on the sweet kissing session, making sure to give as much as he could before you or viktor start telling him to stop. echoing laughter rings out in the empty void. the cold of the astral plane could never make you shiver when you were with the men who did nothing but give you warmth.

"maybe we'll just reincarnate. do you believe in reincarnation?" you asked between kisses. they pause for a moment, contemplating your words.

"eh.. well, i'm sure it wouldn't be crazy to believe in reincarnation." viktor said with the slight tilt of his head, his look silently conveying his uncertainty but uncaring of it.

"if we do get reincarnated, i'll make sure to find you two before anything else." jayce whispered, his face firm with determination and love.

"that's so sweet. and sappy." you laughed lightheartedly.

the two men can't help but join in with their own laughter and just for a moment, the stars twinkle a little brighter as if joining in on the joy.

#arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor #arcane jayce #lol arcane #arcane x reader #league of legends jayce x reader #lol jayce x reader #jayce league of legends #jayce x reader #lol viktor x reader #lol viktor #league of legends viktor #viktor x reader #league of legends viktor x reader #viktor league of legends #viktor x reader x jayce #jayvik x reader #viktor arcane #league of legends x reader

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hyunebunx · 18 hours ago

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˖˙ ᰋ ── you, blanket forts and heated kisses

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff!! (and some heated kisses lmao)

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: hiii! this is a continuation of this fic right here! you don't need to read that one to understand this, but they're taking place in the same universe. enjoyy and let me know what you think!! <33

“Let’s build a blanket fort.”

Said Hyunjin randomly on a stormy day, right after kissing you stupid and taking away your ability to think.

Unfortunately for him, you later engaged in an activity far different from the one he suggested, so different that he forgot all about his initial idea for the remainder of the week.

Until now, when you’re found in the same predicament – your beloved has come over with the biggest smile, elated to see you after spending the past month apart. Everything was fine and dandy until the sky suddenly darkened and it started pouring, trapping you both inside the apartment and cancelling all plans you might’ve made outside.

At least this time, the harsh weather took pity on your unfortunate soul and allowed the power to stay on.

“Alright, so it says here we can use chairs, a table, or even the couch for our fort.”

“Did you seriously pull up a wikihow article?”

You turn to him, a little embarrassed at being caught, his genuine laughter making heat rush to your face at an alarming pace. No words escape you and he coos, dropping the big pillows he got from your bedroom before stepping over them to hug you from behind, holding you close while his lips pepper sweet kisses from your cheek down to your neck.

“That’s adorable, baby.” Hyunjin nuzzles your neck, placing one last kiss on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder. “What else is your little article recommending?”

“Don’t make fun of me.” You whine, attempting to turn around in his arms with no success, quickly settling on hiding your face and embarrassment in your hands, just so he won't see them.

He’s laughing again, tenderly spinning you around by your hips so you’re face to face. “I’m not, baby. I’m just curious why you thought I don’t already possess all the knowledge we need.” He points to his temple, after prying your hands away from the beautiful face that has started to appear in his dreams almost daily.

“Alright, Bob the builder, knock yourself out.” You nod towards the mess he’s made on the floor, to all the pillows, blankets, and sheets he’s stolen from your room. His wish to build a fort made a lot of sense if you take into consideration his ferret nature he always denies. The tiny animal thrived on alone time, hid away in a secluded place away from everyone.

He gasps, bringing his hands to his chest as if he could really fool anyone into believing he’s actually offended. “I’ll have you know I’m an artist! An architect if you will! That guy has nothing on me.”

Giggling, you can’t help but get closer to kiss his pout away, bringing his smile back instantly. “Of course, you are love. The best of them all.”

“Are you making fun of me?” And just as it disappeared, his natural pouty lips can’t help but jut out.

You shake your head, amused at how the tables have turned. “Never.” Then, with the softest touch, you intertwine your fingers and begin dragging him along to the materials he abandoned in the middle of the room. “I’ve never built a fort before.”

“Never?” The look on his face is incredulous, pulling you by the hand to his chest to tenderly kiss your temple, feeling clingier than usual. “Let’s get down to business then.”

Turns out, building a blanket fort is as easy as reading a wikihow article, especially when your Loverboy does most of the work and knows exactly what to use to make it all happen. With the tripod he left at your place, you balance the sheets, keeping them up and creating the perfect opening to your little den of comfort and secrets. Your U-shaped couch was sturdy, assisting your building activities with the many ornamental pillows that became trusty pillars.

You don’t know how much time passed, absorbed into your current task, laughing away with your beloved and teasing each other in good fun. At some point, you get distracted and as he’s ranting away about something that happened at practice, one of your soft pillows collides with the side of his head. Hyunjin stops dead in his tracks, words dying on his tongue as he slowly stands from his crouched position while you try everything in your power to not burst out laughing in his face.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” You feign innocence, gingerly hiding the pillow behind your back like nothing has happened.

Hyunjin stares you down, the intensity in his gaze almost making you confess. Almost. The obvious glint of mischief in his eyes tells you he has an unused card under his sleeve, one you should not ignore.

Without another word, he stretches his arm and beckons you closer with two fingers, obviously expecting surrender. And the pillow that has now become his number one enemy.

When you shake your head and smile brightly, he pauses for a total of five seconds before stepping closer to take matters into his own hands. That’s your cue to flee, so you run in the opposite direction, laughing loudly when he follows and you begin chasing each other around the apartment like little kids.

He’s letting you get away, pretending to be slower and clumsily stumbling over his feet just so your laugh can continue warming his heart, providing the flowers in his chest with the sunshine needed to bloom to maturity.

Then, out of nowhere, he manages to sneak behind you, arms circling your middle and pulling you to his chest with ease, lifting your feet off the ground as both of your laughter blend beautifully. Hyunjin begins attacking you with kisses all over your face and you stop pretending you want to get away, melting into his embrace and fully accepting your fate.

“Caught you.” He says in a sing song voice, over the moon at having you in his arms once again.

Your hands move over his, pillow falling to the ground with a soft thud as you lean back, head on his shoulder to reach his plump lips and press numerous kisses over them. When you move to pull away, one of his hands instantly comes up to cup your cheek to keep you there, tongue sneaking past your lips cheekily. The air shifts instantly as he hugs you closer, kissing you as he needs it to keep living, strong arms serving as an anchor while your body’s buzzing like you’re intoxicated, tingling all over.

Summoning all of your willpower, you manage to pull away from him for the briefest moment. “Just because I let you.”

Hyunjin smiles but you have a feeling it’s an automatic response, his brain not actually processing any of your words as he dives back in, impatient to feel your lips on his once again.

Kissing Hyunjin was always an experience, full of love and passion that had you weak in the knees – but kissing him after not seeing each other for a while felt like the air in your lungs was running out and him, out of the kindness of his heart, kept you alive by sharing his breath with you.

You turn in his arms, just like earlier, but oh so different, one hand gripping his tank top while the other sneaks its way into dark hair, pulling lightly to deepen the kiss which makes him groan lowly. Hyunjin’s grip on your hips burnt, your whole body on fire as he explored it to his heart’s desire, handling you in the exact way one would a priceless sculpture, a work of art he couldn’t look away from no matter how hard he tried.

He tasted divine, and his cologne made you dizzy, just like everything about him did. Without warning, he begins moving, pushing back and guiding your body expertly, biting down on your bottom lip right before breaking the kiss, to your great disappointment.

“Baby.” His voice is hoarse, breath shaky, a nervous laugh escaping him at the look on your face. “Our fort.”

With a groan, you ignore him in favour of placing sweet, open-mouthed kisses up his neck. “You have been driving me crazy with that fort of yours, Hyun.”

His grip on your hips is a warning, sending you mixed signals as he can’t resist but connect your lower halves, needing you as close as possible while he tilts his head back with a heavy breath. “And here I thought that was my irresistible personality.”

You grin, looking up at him while holding onto his biceps for support. “Nope, only your blabbering mouth.”

The tension dissipates as he laughs, eyes wandering and pupils blown even as you tear yourself from him and exhale, trying your best to calm down before going back to the fort you’ve both worked so hard on.

In the end, after weeks and weeks of waiting, you and Hyunjin are finally in your very own blanket fort, giggling like two children who have somehow forgotten what has just transpired a few moments ago.

“This is nice.” You hum, resting your head on his shoulder, glancing at the fairy lights he somehow managed to hang up. You’re both sitting cross-legged on some pillows, surrounded by snacks and blankets.

“I told you I got this. I didn’t need any help or tutorial.” He puffs out his chest, obviously proud he impressed you.

You nod, eyes almost fluttering shut, his bare shoulder surprisingly comfy. “Good job, Bob.”

The words barely have time to escape before you get a pillow to the face, the soft feathers getting into your mouth and startling you awake. You’re frozen in place, not realizing what happened until Hyunjin starts laughing next to you, delighted at the stunt he just pulled.

You push his shoulder, biting back a smile and he laughs harder, toppling over while hugging the pillow to his chest. A part of the sheet gets caught under him and before you know it, the whole thing collapses on top of you, trapping you under along with all the decorations and food neither got to enjoy.

It’s silent for a second before your laughter joins his as you reach to help him sit up, only for him to lose his balance and fall over you, feeling a little claustrophobic under the restrictive sheet. Holding himself up above you with his bulging arms, eyes two crescent moons and engulfing the whole room in a light that could only be produced by him, you move to squish his cheeks together. Lovingly, of course.

“I love you so much, my little liar. But I’m revoking your architecture license.”

Fortunately, Hyunjin didn’t look disappointed in the slightest.

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soulofapatrick · 1 day ago

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The Bat Boys and their Kinks

Summary: Just what I think the bat boys main kinks would be

Words: 951 words

Warnings: smut

➩ Overstimulation - Rhys takes immense pleasure in seeing you unravel completely. He doesn’t rush—he’s patient, thorough, and relentless, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you until you’re trembling in his arms. He whispers soft reassurances, telling you how beautifully you fall apart for him, even as he gently coaxes you into another wave of bliss. To him, overstimulation is about worship, proving just how deeply he can satisfy you.

➩ Praise kink - Rhys thrives on building his partner up, and this extends seamlessly into the bedroom. His velvety voice is full of admiration as he murmurs how beautiful, strong, and perfect you are. He takes pride in watching your cheeks flush and hearing the little sounds of pleasure you make in response to his words, each one spurring him on to give you more.

➩ Brat taming - Rhys relishes a challenge, and when you act out, it only excites him further. He’d let you push his buttons just enough before stepping in with a commanding smirk, pinning you down and reminding you exactly who’s in charge. His punishment is never cruel—just firm enough to leave you breathless and begging for more, ensuring you remember your place at his side.

➩ Cunnilingus - Rhys loves giving, and he takes his time with it, savouring every moan and tremble he elicits from you. His strong arms hold your thighs steady, even as you try to close them around his head. His tongue is deliberate, teasing, and relentless, ensuring you fall apart completely before he’s satisfied. He considers it his favourite way to worship you, often finishing you there alone because your pleasure is his reward.

➩ Semi-public - Rhysand is daring and loves the thrill of intimacy in risky places. Whether it’s a secluded balcony overlooking Velaris or a shadowed alcove in the Court of Nightmares, the danger of being caught only adds to the excitement. He delights in the way your cheeks flush with the risk, always leaving you aching for more once you’re safely alone again.

➩ Thigh riding - Azriel loves watching you come undone in this way. He’ll sit back, hands firmly gripping your hips as you grind against his thigh, guiding your rhythm but letting you take control. The tension in his jaw, the way his shadows curl around you like they want to pull you closer, makes it even more intense. He murmurs dark, filthy things as he watches the flush creep up your skin, savouring every sound you make.

➩ Hair pulling - There’s something about the way your head tilts back when he winds his hand into your hair that drives him wild. It’s not just dominance—it’s the control, the soft gasp you make, and the way you arch into him, fully at his mercy.

➩ Cockwarming - Azriel’s patient and intimate nature makes this a perfect fit. He’d relish the quiet closeness and the trust it requires, enjoying the stillness and connection before building to something more intense. Sometimes he's just so bone tired from it all. he just needs to feel you, nothing more. sitting you on his lap and sinking his cock into your welcoming walls. face burying into your neck and savouring the feeling.

➩ Marking - Azriel has a possessive streak that comes out in moments of passion. His lips find the tender places on your neck, his teeth pressing just enough to leave reminders of him behind. He loves knowing you’ll carry those marks, a secret only the two of you share.

➩ Silent sex - Azriel thrives on quiet intensity. The thrill of needing to stay quiet, of muffling your cries into his hand as he thrusts into you, makes every touch electrifying. His shadows keep watch, ensuring your secret moments remain just that—yours alone.

➩ Face fucking - Cassian’s dominance shines in moments like this. He loves the rawness of it, his hand gripping your hair as he looks down at you with that predatory gaze. There’s a wild edge to the way he thrusts into your mouth, groaning at the sight of your lips stretched around him. It’s not just about the act—it’s about the trust, the way you surrender completely to him, and the smug pride that comes with knowing you’re his.

➩ Breeding - Cassian’s primal side comes alive with this kink. The thought of you full of him—marked by him—drives him wild. He growls promises in your ear, holding you tight as he whispers how good you’d look carrying his child. It’s not just physical; it’s deeply emotional, tied to his protective instincts and desire to build something lasting with you.

➩ Dry humping - Cassian finds this teasing and playful, a way to build anticipation until you’re begging for more. The friction, the way you move together with clothes still in the way, and the growing desperation in your eyes all fuel his desire. He’d laugh lowly in your ear, loving how frustrated and needy you get, knowing he’s in control of when things escalate.

➩ Rough Sex - Cassian thrives on intensity and passion, and rough sex is where he truly lets loose. He’s all growls and harsh grips, pinning you against the wall or bending you over whatever surface is closest. His sheer physical strength makes every moment thrilling, and he loves the way you cling to him, leaving scratches down his back as he pushes you both to the edge.

➩ Body worship - Cassian adores every inch of you, and he makes sure you know it. His hands roam your body with reverence, his lips pressing kisses to places you didn’t even know were sensitive. He’d take his time, murmuring how perfect you are, marvelling at every curve, scar, or freckle. For him, this is about making you feel like the goddess he sees you as.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout @angelbunny222 @illyriassweetheart

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hhughes · 2 days ago

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ok ok so i just read this (which i adored btw) and i have been having this daydream for days now.. so its usually at the rink (ofc it is right?!) ANYWAYS.. he wraps his arm around your hip but, he slips his hand somewhat under the waist of your jeans in a non sexual/cute way and, he’s rubbing circles on your hip bones.. asking if you’re warm enough. [ sighs dreamily ]

i have this daydream atleast three times a day. so, when read that post i geeked out bc it fit my vision of lukey and, it made me all 🥰 so yeah.. i thought i would share.

omg luke needing to sneak his (big) hands under your clothes to feel your bare skin is just canon at this point I fear > _ <

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ whenever the two of you walk side by side his hand is always on the small of your back , never staying there long before it sneaks under your shirt or sweater and caresses your bare skin

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ especially if he says goodbye , he needs to slip his hands under the waist of your pants and hold your hips, feel the heat radiating off your skin

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ there’s something so cute and intimate about the way he touches you too, like he’s claiming you in a very subtle but powerful way. he’s not just holding your hand , he’s creating a private moment where it’s just the two of you , no matter how many people may be in the room with you.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ he’ll pull you gently towards him, his hands going to rest on your hips. his fingers steadily make their way to the edge of your sweater, lifting it up slightly and slipping his hands into the waistband of your jeans, hands going to rest on your bare hips under the material

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ "I should go," he says, his voice low and reluctant

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ his hands press a little harder against your hips, pulling you close until there's no space left between you. he leans down, his forehead resting against yours and he speaks again as you shiver slightly

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ “you warm enough?” he asks, brushing a kiss against your cheek as you nod

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ “love you baby. good luck and be safe okay?” you say, going to brush a kiss against his lips but he follows as you pull away , keeping his lips attached to yours and what’s supposed to be a quick peck turns into a toe curling , heart squeezing , thighs clenching kiss.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ when you finally pull away both of you are a little breathless and luke keeps his eyes closed for a moment, a stupid smile on his face as he allows himself to soak up the warmth from your skin for a few more seconds before he pulls away

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ “i’ll see you after. love you” he mumbles with another quick peck on your lips , already longing for the feeling of your warm skin against his palms

#꒰ 🗄️ ꒱ — 𝓗hughes #꒰ 📂 ꒱ — 𝓗hughes > drabbles #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes fluff #luke hughes x reader #꒰ 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 ꒱ — 𝓜utual ; harls

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glitteringdust · 2 days ago

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Rookanis request: Something where they actually talk about Spite and set boundaries or whatever for their relationship? I *really* wish the game had mentioned that at some point (also I’m just interested in seeing how folks handle it in their stories).

All Spite wants is Rook’s touch.

Ever since she’d started thanking the demon directly for his help, he’d been head over heels at every interaction.

She sees us. She talked to me! Let me talk to her.

It was hard enough for Lucanis to separate his own wants from Spite’s, when they aligned this close. Rook was always giving praise honestly where it was due yet Spite had such a craving for it, it was hard to contain. On top of that, the demon began to crave the usual high fives, the handshakes—any brief moment they were close Spite almost buzzed along the crow's nerves with interest.

Lucanis however…found the thought of her touch much more complicated than that.

The very thought of her touch stoked a desire within, one he could not indulge in while there was a job to do. Entanglements such as this were detrimental to an assassin. Even more so with an overeager demon tugging at the chains.

Then they'd almost kissed.

Exchanged heated glances, after that. Thanks to Spite, he knew the exact number of footsteps it took for Rook to get to his room from the eluvian. He knew what those footsteps sounded like, light against the stone floor. A distinct rhythm, not unlike a heart beat at rest.

It doesn't surprise him, when she knocks twice and enters the room. The last ten steps have her standing before his seated spot on the bed.

It does surprise him, when she runs a finger under his chin, pulling his gaze to hers.

“Stop me, if this is not what you want.”

As she moves forward, he moves back until she is straddling him, his back inches from the wall. Her weight is welcome against him, anticipation tingling along his skin as her breath ghosts over his face.

Rook was so close. So close.

She was going to kiss him, a fact he was only just becoming aware of when her lips meet his.

Mierda.

Lucanis kisses her in a calculated way, slow and specific and bleeding a kind of desire he’d never afford himself usually. He wanted to get each one right, savoring this moment as long as he could. He rests one hand along the small of her back, and cradles her head with the other as he tastes her lips again and again. He can't help the pleased sound that escapes as she runs her fingers along his temples, and then through his hair.

Everything is abuzz, every nerve and inch of him consumed by her. He can barely feel the shift in the air, the scent of blackberry and ozone dancing along his tongue. The fingers in his hair grip him tighter, Rook's breath quickening as his lips travel from her mouth down her jaw, along her neck, teeth grazing her throat and the junction between shoulder and neck…

“Lucanis.”

She's pushing him away, albeit so, so gently. He grunts out what he hopes is acknowledgement, untangling the haze over his mind. Brown eyes meet her blue, and as he regains a sense of reality he releases the grip his one hand had on her hair.

They both catch their breath.

“That was not only you, kissing me just now.”

He goes still. Rook makes no move to leave his lap, arms still draped around his neck and gaze nothing but soft.

“Spite has always been intrigued by you, but he knows what I feel, too. It's… hard to explain.”

“Does it bother you, what Spite thinks of me?”

He doesn't answer for a moment.

“Sometimes, it's hard to know where he ends and I begin. Especially when we agree on something.”

Rook tastes good. Feels good.

“Sharing a body must only make that worse.”

“It amplifies it. Makes what I feel more real than anything.” He looks away briefly, “What he and I feel for you… cannot be separated anymore. Are you okay with that?”

She doesn’t even hesitate, “I am. Are you?”

Most of his life had been decided for him by Caterina. Lucanis had very little say in most of the things he’d faced, and he’d faced betrayal and possession by a demon. If it hadn’t been for Rook’s understanding and kindness, where would he even be?

For the first time in his life, this choice was up to him.

"I want you, Khalia, with all that I am."

He'd ask the demon what he thought, but the only decisions Spite wanted to make were new places to kiss Rook. The buttons of her shirt had almost succumbed to Spite's clumsy fingers, but demons lacked dexterity.

Next time, we tear it open.

“Spite, can you not? Mierda.”

Rook laughs, “What's he saying?”

“Thinking of new places to kiss you. He's mad you have so many buttons.”

A cheeky grin, one that sets his insides fluttering, “Well, I can't say I don't like where that's going.”

She leans in, capturing his mouth in hers again. Nimble fingers slowly work their way along those buttons.

He could do this all day.

#dragon age veilguard #lucanis dellamorte #rookanis #lucanis x rook #rook x lucanis #my writing #khalia aldwir #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #rookanis fanfiction #dav #datv #spite x rook x lucanis

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seasprincess · 2 days ago

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ok another one. im sorry this man is PLAGUING my mind helppp

teaching stiles how to kiss you. Just, fully talk him through it- where to put his hands, when to move them, other places he can kiss, not to cover up his sounds-- and then it gets a little heated, but reader has to go and stiles is left a flustered hot and bothered mess but hey! now he fully understands the joys of kissing

sorry im constantly requesting the same character hes just USHDFDJSK yknow? no? okay bye 😭

kissing practice with bf!Stiles

warnings: suggestive so mdni! mainly fluff

Stiles Stilinski has never had a girlfriend. Well not until now. But seeing as he’s not had a girlfriend before. He doesn’t know a lot of…relationship things.

“Is this fine?” Stiles says as he looks at you sitting on the bed, pulling away from the kiss.

Stiles is meters away from you, to scared to get to close and fuck this up. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable either, even if you were the initiated it.

“You can move closer.” You say as you look over at him. Slightly moving closer to him. He’s just so far away.

“Yeah, sure, right okay.” He says as he moves closer before looking at you. He’s so nervous it’s honestly so cute. He cares so much about making sure you’re okay that he’s forgotten to act like a human. “You sure this is okay?”

Stiles constantly checks in with you whenever anything slightly sexual happens. When you’re cuddling, kissing or even just holding hands. He stresses so much.

So much that you decide to take things into your own hands.

Literally.

You grabs Stiles hands and place them on your hips as you look at him.

“Let me help you.” You say as he looks at you with those big brown puppy eyes, waiting for this moment to happen.

“Sure, okay, cool. Coolio.” He mentally slaps himself. His mouth just speaks and embarrasses himself more and more.

But when you laugh he just breathes out a breath he didn’t know you were holding. Thank god you don’t think he’s weird. Well. Not too weird.

“Just keep kissing me like you were, you can add tongue too.” You say as his cheeks turn a rosy pink, visibly getting flustered by you. “And your hands, touch me more. Okay?”

Stiles nods quickly. Embarrassingly quickly.

You place your lips back on his as you start your practicing. He takes a few seconds before kissing you back. His hands moving over you before coming up to cup your cheek. Pulling your face closer as he takes your words in account as he gets more needy.

You move closer to him before slowly slipping your tongue into his mouth. Smiling.

But as you do a little whine comes from Stiles, his eyes widening as he pulls back to look at you.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to do tha-“

“It’s okay Stiles.” You cut him off as you smile at him. “It’s normal. Don’t need to hide it.”

“I don’t?”

You shake your head as you smile at him. Gently stroking his cheek.

Stiles can’t help but feel more safe with you, feeling less embarrassed about the noise that came out. You make him feel so safe.

“Why don’t you kiss my neck?”

Stiles perks up at this as he looks at you. Nervous about this idea but also so excited.

He nods as he leans closer to your neck before his lips attach to it. Kissing it softly as you are the one now making noises.

You decide to move and straddle his lap. Which earns some panicked expressions from Stiles as he looks at you.

“Okay. We’re doing that now.” He says as his nerves pick up.

“Is this okay?”

Stiles quickly nods as his hands land on your hips as they slowly start to rock.

And god is Stiles enjoying this, little noises falling from his mouth as he captured you in a sloppy kiss.

This moment is perfect. Your perfect. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He wants it to last fo-

Your phone dings so you have to pull away. You check your phone to see your dad’s wanting you home.

“I gotta go home.” You say as you place your hands on his cheeks.

And Stiles is disappointed by this. He pouts as you climb off him. He can’t even speak, he’s just too flustered.

He’s so worked up and flustered and you’re leaving him like this?

Now that’s got to be a form of torture.

“I’ll ring you later.” You say as you kiss him before heading to the door, having to get home quick.

“Yeah. Call you.” He says as he smiles. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

And with that you’re gone.

And he’s still flustered. He’s going to be thinking about that kiss while he does some…activities in a moment.

a/n: not proof read and i LOVED this request!

tags- @inlovewithdob @allydiass

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles fic #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinski smut #void stiles #stiles x reader #teen wolf stiles #stiles stilinski #teen wolf

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m1ssunderstanding · 1 day ago

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My thoughts on Beatles 64

Am I a terrible person or something because I’m genuinely having such a hard time wrapping my head around these people’s reactions to their president getting shot. Like I can count on one hand the people I’d give a fuck about in DC and I’m not crying if that happens. I’m angry. I’m scared. But I’m not sad.

Who is this covering all my loving? It’s pretty.

I will forever love Paul and George’s big and little brother dynamic. Deep, cloudy scouse: they’re in perfect synchronization. Bright, squeaky scouse: Are they? Like, where is George’s little chimney sweep costume?!

And Paul’s sharp tone calling John’s name. I don’t know, I could obsess over any little scrap of footage of them. I just love picking apart details that reveal dynamics.

George’s insecure, curious, “Are you filming now?” Compared to his over-it, sardonic, “Are you recording our conversation?” He aged about twenty years between 64 and 69.

John’s reaction to his own voice in his ears is always a straight shot of joy.

I like that they’re showing all the boys. You know, because if only girls like them, then they’re just a silly pop group, but if boys like them too, well. That’s something else, isn’t it?

One of my favorite moments. No wonder Paul took so well to shepherding. His blood pressure spiking if John gets out of arm's reach. And John is of course so happy to be pulled back in.

Their hair really was so fluffy!

John spreads his legs when he’s playing because he’s an anxious attachment. Paul keeps his legs closed because he’s avoidant. In this essay I will.

This mix of She Loves You is really highlighting Ringo’s drumming for me. He’s so talented and attractive.

This is why Paul’s my favorite, genuinely. Because he goes from the most polite, people-pleasing, tender-heart to an absolute mean girl cunty bitch in the span of less than a second.

Ringo is the quickest wit, I’m telling you, and if anyone says otherwise, I’m cancelling you for classism.

Why is it always Paul these middle aged creeps feel the need to touch? I mean, I know why. But it makes me sick. That kind of thing is reserved for the mutuals. Definitely not cops.

It’s literally sooooo funny for me seeing this guy choke up about She Loves You. Like I’m genuinely happy for him, but I was literally just over at my husband’s grandparents double-wide and they Still go on about how stupid the Beatles haircuts were and how they remember the days before the Beatles when there was ‘real’ rock and roll on the radio.

So, Paul’s been telling the story of Jim critiquing She Loves You for literally sixty years now, and originally it was with mix-ins from John and George and without a lot of artificial sweeteners. Here’s the sixty-year-old version:

Back home in Liverpool, we used to sing over some of our songs to relatives—I did to my Dad and my aunties,” he recalled. “My Dad would look at me looking disappointed. ‘I don’t know young Paul,’ he’d say. ‘I try to get you to speak properly, and you drop your aitches. Why sing ‘Yeah, Yeah’ when you mean ‘Yes, Yes?’ I tried to explain this was the whole point of the song,” Paul continued. John broke in: “Anyone ever heard someone from Liverpool singing ‘Yes’? It’s YEAH.” Paul continued: “Well, we just laughed. My Dad gave us some of the worst advice ever. He said this music thing will never last. It’s all right on the side, he’d say, BUT PAUL IT WILL NEVER LAST!” “Remember,” said George, “he always wanted us to sing ‘Stairway to Paradise’?” – Ray Coleman article 1964

What a cutie. Shouldn't be allowed.

“That wasn’t really the case.” (that America was the land of the free). He always almost gets to his political views. You know? Microdosing? Left-bating? Maybe both. Whatever.

I LOVE their funny little accents with all my heart. John does posh scarily well.

Ringoooooooo!

“Go on! Defy convention!” Quotes that define the speaker. He should sell t-shirts with that slogan.

This girl’s Brooklyn accent and her confidence are so beautiful!

Why did they buy John an ID I’m actually dying! Oh! They don’t mean, they mean like Paul’s and Ringo’s bracelets. Got it. Okay. I was like ‘are you trying to help him ten years in advance with his immigration struggle?’

The juilliard girl is phenomenal.

I want the nylons and I want the shoes.

“Would you do me a tremendous favor?” “I’m not gonna kiss you like Elisabeth Taylor.” See? Ringo is the funny one. Ringo is so fucking sharp and nobody gives him the credit he’s due.

Ronnie Spector you deserved better, Queen! I love her. She’s so gorgeous, she’s so cool, she’s so young and energetic!

Two excellent Lennonisms right in a row. “Have you been watching the newsies?” and “I don’t care,” I say as I care caringly. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, he has the most sunshiny smile in the Beatles.

Ringoooooo!

Not the picture of JohnandPaul singing together as “with lovers and friends” plays.

Love Paul offering Ringo a candy. In yet another accent. People need to make them talk in goofy accents more in fic because it’s incessant. But I just love them offering each other food. It’ll always get me.

See, this is what I love about John. “People have been tryna stamp out rock and roll since it started.” “Why do you think that is? What are they afraid of?” “I always thought it was cause it came from black music.” He’s not ‘honest to a fault’ or whatever the boomer men love to say. But he’s very, very blunt, and he’s not going to try and skirt anything. You know?

Literally the most embarrassing thing a person can ever be is white.

“I thought it was very weak. You know what I think, I call a spade a spade. I thought it was weaker than weak.” Cook him! And then the mimicking! I love him so much! Holy shit, that would’ve been so enraging.

And then the quiet sass of the guy being interviewed right after. “Well, the versatility, the originality. I like anything that’s original.” I love some clever tumblr web-weaving in my documentaries.

In my husband’s grandparent’s defense, the “real rock and roll” they loved before the Beatles was literally only black artists.

I love this picture for ever. Look at how tight he’s holding on to John with one hand and the other hand raised in joyous triumph, engagement bracelet visible. This is Paul in heaven.

“The whole assumption of male vs female is not prominent. They’re sort of in-between.” Yes. Love. Keep going.

Ringo’s got all the quips, again. “Ringo, look over here!” Puts his hands up. “Don’t shoot!”

I didn’t know Smokey Robinson and the Miracles went to the Cavern, that’s cool! And here I was thinking I wouldn’t learn anything new from this doc. His whole interview is very lovely and generous.

I always think “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me” probably spoke to John in terms of his relationship with Paul, but I go there so easily. Anyway, Smokey Robinson had every right to be pissed that they released a cover of his song without even asking. Like that would be illegal nowadays, right? And yet he’s so kind about it.

We talk about how scary Beatlemania was and we should because it was, but it really puts it in perspective for me personally hearing Smokey say he was shot at for trying to use the bathroom.

Oh I love that we have footage of Paul taking Ringo’s picture! Makes me think of “eye of the storm” obviously, but also the way he’s mocking the photographer's jargon of the time as he’s doing it. The fact that he ended up marrying a photographer who made a point to depict him as not just “some doe eyed sex object” in her pictures, and also of his song “pretty boys” and his quotes about the sexualization of “male models”. Definitely not about anything he himself experienced. Anyway, thoughts. Strings. Pins. Etc.

Also Ringo turning to the camera still filming him, “what do you think I am, a monkey?” Remember that part in this footage where Ringo says something like, “are we ever going to have a break from all these cameras?” And he’s exhausted. It really seems like, from the footage selected by this doc at least, that Paul and Ringo were doing the bulk of the lifting at this time just with cooperating with the show biz stuff. And isn’t that (interesting? Sad? Poetic? Good?) that they’re the ones still cooperating sixty years later.

How dare they cut out “but we ain’t written no poetry!”

As John’s panicking, “how are we gonna – have you seen the kids? How are we gonna get in, then?” Paul’s just calmly going, “Hi girls!” With a patient smile and a cute little wave. “I’ll just go in and speak to the people first, okay?” I love Paul “calming-down-other-people’s-hysteria-is-my-calling-in-life” McCartney.

Cute, George introducing a song he’ll do a viral backflip to in twenty years.

I wonder what that letter is. John’s being very tender with it.

“You’re fired!” “It’s Love Me Do, whacker!” With the sweetest most innocent smile. I love when John is John, you know?

“To me they’re all obviously low or middle class, highly illiterate, unintelligent wild kids seeking a little fun and pleasure . . . I think there’s something very strange about it at the same time, something very sick. . . . I’m sure that sexual reasons have something to do with it. They find the Beatles sexually attractive and they’ve made some kind of psychological tie with them. I think the whole thing’s a little bit frightening and quite sick.” Where’s that old meme with Trump describing the democrats in the most hateful terms he can think of and people being like “yep that’s me”?

Paul stopping to say goodbye by name to each of the people who've been in their hotel room one by one. It’s giving *Opra voice* “and you please don’t hate us and you please dont hate us and you please don’t hate us”

Ringo coming back because he went the wrong way is the most me-core thing.

Paul will come in with the random shouts and yelling in the middle of a song he’s singing lead on all the way from the very beginning and all the way to the very very end, huh.

I just get filled with so much rage at this image of the Bernstein family, especially after the footage of the Gonzalezes. Like, I know I need therapy. I know. But it costs money. Anyway, all rich people can go straight to hell. “I was allowed to wheel the TV set down from the library, down the corridor and into the dining room.” Oh, were you! Well, you must be very special, then.

I wonder if Paul’s title of his exhibition has anything to do with this quote from John about “It was like being in the eye of a hurricane.”

The girl hanging on Ringo like a jungle-gym is me. I love the way he flirts, it’s so smooth, physical, casual.

Classic John moment and he doesn’t even open his mouth.

My dearest wish is that these two are happily married now, holding hands in the theater watching this.

The voice of the woman asking Paul “what do you think of the American TV” sounded extremely like Linda’s. I sort of panicked for a second. Linda’s voice is lower, but the accent and cadence and the sort of wealthy slouch is the same.

I love them picking up on the dystopian beginnings of America’s version of late-stage capitalism and broadcasting the ridiculousness of it all to a public that didn’t know any different. “The situation in China is very bad. Have you ever wondered, when you’re eating at home?”

The guys setting up wearing Beatles wigs? Ew. Why?

Ringo’s so funny! “Watch any band. If anything goes wrong, they go – Blame the drummer.” And he’s so endearing and sweet. “I just always wanted to be IN the band, not like ‘oh, I’m over here.’” Reminds me of his quote about being lonely as an only child and ending up with three brothers. What a tenderheart.

Huh. Always thought some idiots just set up his rostrum backwards. The rest of the stage spinning around it makes much more sense.

That little smile between the two of them.

George in tears! Poor baby! I really do think, with the way this affected him on another level than it affected the others, and with the way he talked about his experiences at the Inny compared to Paul (not that you can trust Paul to say anything actually gets to him) that George maybe was more sensitive to classism than the others.

I hope Paul said something to that affect to George after. “They’re working at an embassy. We’re on the road, rocking. I don’t give a flying fuck.” You know? I could see it.

Another thing I love about John. You need that guy on your team, whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish. That when people are being bitchy, you tell them to fuck off and you leave. I bet Paul, George, and Ringo were so relieved that John did that for them.

After Ringo talked about not wanting to be back behind and separate from the band, I’ve noticed all three of them stepping back sometimes to stand more in line with him when they’re not singing. I don’t know if it was conscious or natural, but either way, I love that they did that and I’m sure Ringo did too.

The looks and smiles

I usually maintain that Paul is only sexy from 60-61 and from 68-98 and from 18-now. But. This is just objectively hot, I don’t care who you are.

It’s so sweet to see George being such a ham, getting John to do silly bits with him, putting on a waiter’s uniform and passing out drinks, climbing up in the luggage compartment. I wish they could’ve somehow kept it at a pace that was manageable for him so he could’ve kept on being so happy with his life, you know? I mean it’s not like it just disappears completely. There’s some of it in Get Back and even in Anthology, but it’s just not the same.

This is what happens when you’re a slut, Paul. You get paternity suits that ruin your mood. Shame, shame.

Interesting that Paul points out Brian’s “defying convention” by having them play their scandalous rock and roll shows in all these “hallowed halls”. I’d never thought about it as Brian’s conscious decision but obviously it must’ve been, and that’s very clever and snarky of him.

“That man, who is strong enough to be gentle, that is a new man.” Betty Friedan is pro-beatle. We love to see it!

Watching Paul try to behave like a human being on stage with all of his early twenties energy is honestly painful. It’s like Kurt Vonnegut’s Harrison Bergeron, you know? Like I can just see him aching to let himself free, but there are weights put in place for a reason. I know Brian was right to calm them down, and this documentary is proof that if he hadn’t done his taming, either they never would’ve made it or there would’ve been all-out class warfare or something, but it breaks my heart, it really does.

Ronald Isley, again, just like Smokey Robinson, being so so charitable here, and managing to do so without playing down the fact that things were absolutely rigged against him and his group at the time. “We should be on the Ed Sullivan show doing . . .” Yes. Yes.

I looked it up, and this quote is genuine. “If it wasn’t for the isley brothers, we would still be in Liverpool.” – Paul McCartney. That’s one thing I love about him. He’s always giving – very much due – credit to his black contemporaries. People ask him about Elvis and he always says, “yes, and Little Richard.” People say he was the most innovative bass player of his time and he says, “yes, and Fred Thomas.”

Ringo literally gets me every time. George: I don’t remember Wales. Ringo: It was before you joined the group.

The way Paul talks about George living “the good life” is very much in the tone of an older brother who’s helped his little brother do well for himself, you know? It’s adorable.

Of course Paul’s out feeding seagulls.

Not even going to comment on the “i love you” thing. Nope.

Okay I do have to say, the end of this guy’s story about going to liverpool and getting deported is incredibly sweet. I was kind of ignoring him, and then when he said he met John during Imagine, I sort of braced myself. But it turned out absolutely adorable. I love John’s little antenna miming and that he promoted this guy just for having made the front page of the Liverpool Echo. It’s all very John, very endearing.

I hope Paul and this weepy old guy had a talk about healing yourself from abuse through music. There’s like a 1/100 chance, but I still hope they did.

John loves a good boat analogy, doesn’t he? “There was a ship going to discover the new world. And the beatles were in the crows nest on the same ship [as everyone else] and we just said ‘land ho!’

Love the use of “Roll Over Beethoven” as the final song.

#paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #george harrison #ringo starr #brian epstein #beatles 64

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gloomwitchwrites · 1 day ago

Text

Summer Camp Slasher

Serial Killer Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: 1980’s AU, Summer Camp AU, swearing, survival horror, suspense, brief sexual content, blood & gore, descriptions of corpses, brief mention of alcohol, smoking, second chances, ambiguous/open ending

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: Requested by @kylies-love-letter for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (80's Summer Camp Slasher)

Hillford Camp, 1985

Hillford Camp is having a reopening. As owner and operator, you’re excited for a restart after a string of grisly murders took place on the old campsite. You’ve hired on Simon Riley as Camp Director. Not because he’s your ex, but because he’ll be great at the job. Everything is going great—until it’s not. Two camp counselors go missing only to reappear in morbid display in the dining hall.

With only yourself, Simon, the local sheriff John Price and his two deputies MacTavish and Garrick, it’s a race to find the killer before they find you.

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

"I can't believe this. It's finally happening!"

A dream has come to fruition. Not yours exactly, but your mother’s. You’re on your toes, a bouncing ball of energy. Simon Riley, the man you hired on as Camp Director, stands next to you, a beacon of solid muscle and calm energy.

Hillford Camp is the place your mother spent her youth as a camp counselor. She loved it so much, she eventually bought the land and intended to run the camp herself. She’s gone now, but the land is yours. The camp is yours.

With the tip of his index finger, Simon pushes the rim of his sunglasses down, revealing whiskey-brown eyes. “Give me the word and I’ll make them leave,” he says, gaze fixed on the herd of media in the parking lot beyond the wooden fence.

“Leave them,” you mutter. “Won’t matter if they stay or leave.”

The corners of his mouth turn downward. "You know what they're talking about."

"I'm aware," you grumble.

"And it doesn't bother you?" he counters.

"I'm not allowing it to bother me," you reply.

Hillford Camp was popular for years before people started disappearing. It started small, just one or two people a season. Their bodies were never found, and many chalked it up to accidental deaths. The forest beyond the camp is wide. Local authorities believed the missing campers likely wandered off.

Everything changed ten years ago.

People started disappearing, and this time, their bodies started to turn up in gruesome display. Hillford Camp was shut down completely and left to rot in the shadow of the forest. The Hillford Camp Murders remain unsolved.

No one knows who did it, or why, but the rumors persist, especially now that you’re reopening the place.

Simon crosses his arms over his chest. His high-waisted khaki shorts stop mid-thigh, showing off thick, muscled thighs. The Hillford Camp shirt he wears beneath his jacket is a size too small, the material stretching tightly across his pectorals.

"I don't like it,” he says cooly, gaze still fixed on the herd of media.

A little flare of heat blooms in your chest and rolls outward to steam your cheeks. You may have hired Simon as Camp Director, but he’s no stranger. There was a time when the two of you shared secrets in the dark, when he learned your curves, and made you moan for him.

An old memory resurfaces and you quickly wave it off like a pesky fly. You will not venture into old territory.

“They can’t cross the property line. It’ll be fine, Simon,” you reassure him, patting his arm.

Your hand lingers a little longer than necessary, that old memory resurfacing again. As you pull back, Simon gently grasps your wrist, keeping you close to him. That one touch sends a little reminder to your clit of just how sweet he can be.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs. "I can make them go. Just say the word."

He's always been protective. Even now you're reminded of just how gentle he can be with you.

"It's fine," you emphasize.

Within his grasp, you twist your wrist, presenting your palm. Simon glances down at it, his thumb rubbing against your pulse point. A little shiver runs through you, and you know Simon notices by the way he smirks.

"All right, love," he says, dropping your wrist.

The moment with Simon is there and gone but your heart rate remains a pounding thing that doesn't cease. All day through orientation, introductions, and team activities, you float around the grounds, moving from place to place. That feeling never abates. It clings to you like gum on the bottom of a shoe until your head finds your pillow.

When you awaken, you expect the feeling to pass. Instead, it stays, and it is Simon's first words to you in the morning that turn that sensual anxiety to bleeding stress.

"Two of the counselors are missing."

"Missing? What do you mean missing? Who the fuck is missing?" you hiss, leaning close as the two of you monitor breakfast.

“Jessica and Michael.”

“Oh, God.”

Simon sighs and nods at a passing camper before he speaks again. “Their bunk mates said they weren’t in their beds when they woke up this morning. No one’s seen them.”

“Do their bunkmates know where they might be?” Simon shoots you a look and you already know. “Fuck,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Is anyone looking for them?”

“I have the Activities Director and Lead Lifeguard discreetly searching all the possible spots.”

"You're fucking with me," you groan.

Simon smirks and then leans in a bit closer. "Blood runs hot at that age. Remember how we were together?" You smack his chest and he laughs. "Just saying."

"These are college freshmen we're talking about, Simon. They’re here to earn a little extra cash. Nothing more."

"That's my point." A group of teens walk past and Simon waits until they're gone. "They probably found themselves a cozy spot in the woods to get drunk and fuck. They're likely trying to avoid their walk of shame."

"They better be,” you snap. “Calling the local authorities on the second day is the worst possible scenario."

Simon laughs and takes his sunglasses off his head, cleaning the lens with his shirt. "I'd think calling them at all would be the worst."

"Simon. I swear—"

He places his hand on the back of your neck. It's a protective yet possessive gesture. Your body instantly calms—instantly submits to him.

"Let me handle this,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle caress. “It's my job."

You do allow Simon to handle it even though your stomach is a knot the rest of the day. After everyone moves through the dinner line and evening activates wrap, Simon appears at your private cabin.

You open the door, and Simon leans against the doorframe, taking up far too much space.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

You step aside, and Simon enters. Closing the door behind him, the small space suddenly feels incredibly cramped. Staff cabins are slightly larger than those the campers live in, and they aren’t communal.

Simon drops onto your bed, taking up the entire surface. He fishes around inside his grey windbreaker, retrieving a small bottle of whiskey.

"Care to join me?" he asks, offering the bottle.

"What's the occasion?" you counter, taking it from him. You uncap the lid and bring it to your lips.

"An update on our missing lovebirds."

You take a massive swig, the whiskey burning as it goes down. You grimace and offer the bottle back to him. Simon takes it and sits up, taking some for himself.

"And?"

Simon sighs loudly. "And we haven't found them."

You place your head in your hands, groaning with frustration.

Simon sets the bottle down and reaches for you. "Come here," he murmurs.

With the whiskey warming your veins, it's easy to go to him, to settle beside him, and rest your cheek against his firm chest. Simon's arm drapes over you, keeping you close to him. You inhale his scent, remembering the way it felt to be in his arms like this when the two of you were lovers.

"Simon," you sigh, shifting your face toward him.

You don't mean to sound so breathy—so needy, and yet Simon responds, closing the distance, gently pressing his lips to yours. Calmness washes over you, chasing away the day's anxiety. The missing campers are pushed to the back of your mind.

With his arm draped over your hip, Simon uses that leverage to gently roll you onto your back, pinning you beneath him. His hand roams upward, trailing over thigh and stomach before exploring the valley between your breasts. Further he ascends until his hand comes to your throat. He grasps it, a sign of dominance and possession.

Is he not over you? Is this simply going to devolve into sex? A distraction? And does it even matter?

His kisses deepen and you greedily accept them, wanting to consume like you did the whiskey. Forgetting would be nice right now. The trials of the last two days can wait until the morning.

You part your legs and Simon slots himself between. His hardness presses against your pelvis, an insistent sensation that you want to explore. You haven't been with anyone since Simon, and your body yearns for him now.

His free hand explores. Roams. It delves beneath your shirt, stroking skin until you're both tugging at the fabric in an effort to remove it. Your bra is gone next. Then his jacket and shirt. The two of you are skin against skin, fingers digging in, mouths meeting repeatedly until you're both gasping for breath.

"Let me in," he murmurs softly as he fumbles with the front of his pants.

You reach for him, helping him out of his shorts before removing your own. The moment there is nothing between you, his lips find yours again, limbs entwining on the small bed.

Simon's hand delves between your legs, stroking until a pressure builds. Molten and bright, it explodes outward. You moan into his mouth, and Simon swallows it down, enjoying every second.

The head of him replaces his fingers, and your body greedily accepts him, devouring every inch until you're full and perfectly stretched. Simon rocks his hips. The damp, sticky air clings to your skin and his, mixing with sweat.

"I miss you," he whispers into your ear, lips brushing along the curve.

Another release builds, swamping your senses until all you know is Simon and the humid air. The fan in the corner of the ceiling spins and clangs, but it is a distant thing. He groans, lower back stiffening against your hands as you press him closer. You come undone before him, shuddering, and Simon follows soon after.

The two of you linger above the sheets, a tangle of limbs. There is rest for a bit, and then you're reaching for him again. Simon happily complies, the two of you further tiring yourselves until sleep seizes you both.

Early, just before the sun rises, you and Simon grab flashlights and hike out to the place you want to forget: the old Hillford Camp.

Not a single building was torn down. Due to the police investigation, the buildings remained standing, but after they cleared out, the buildings were boarded up and left alone for years. It's not like you didn't try to have it all demolished.

The case is still open. And the buildings are nothing more than skeletal structures.

From a clip off his belt loop, Simon produces a massive set of keys. Shuffling through them, he finds the one he's looking for. Placing it into the lock, it clicks, the chain holding the metal fence together sliding away as Simon gives it a tug. He pushes it open, the metal screeching loudly, echoing amongst the trees.

Before you are the old cabins. The rec center and communal buildings are further in. While most of those went untouched, the cabins are another matter entirely. Each one is a crime scene. Each one tainted by the killer's bloodthirst.

"Should check them all," says Simon, pointing his flashlight at the nearest cabin. "Look for signs of entry."

"There's thirty cabins,” you counter. “We can't cover them all one-by-one. We should split up. Cover more ground."

Simon's response is immediate. "You're not leaving my sight."

You casually shrug. "We’ll find nothing except a few empty bottles and dust." You shrug absently. “Maybe a dead racoon or two.”

"I'd feel better if you're in my line of sight at all times."

His “line of sight”. As if you’re one of his old targets. A part of you loves the protectiveness while the other wants to smack him over the head. The two of you aren’t a couple anymore, and this isn’t the military. He won’t boss you around.

"Seriously?"

"Dead," he grumbles, striding toward the first cabin.

The two of you walk around the perimeter checking windows and the front door. All of them are sealed tight. Cabin by cabin, the two of you walk, finding nothing out of place.

"No fresh tracks," mutters Simon. "Not of the human variety."

The sun is starting to rise, the dark giving way to the light.

You shine your flashlight on the nearest cabin door and frown. "Simon. Look at that."

He turns, flashlight beam joining yours. The door appears askew as if it's not entirely on its hinges. Simon strides toward it, you following on his heel.

As you near, you notice the crack.

The door is open.

Simon holds up a hand, a sign to stay put. You nod. In this, you will do as he says. Simon reaches out with the flashlight, pushing the door open further with the tool. It creaks but swings inward.

Inside, it is dark. Simon slowly swings the flashlight back and forth across the interior. You step up behind him, peering around his shoulder.

The two bunks are empty, all four stained mattresses on the ground. Next to them are several used condoms, crushed beer cans, and a half-consumed bottle of off-brand vodka.

Simon snorts. "They left vodka." He tuts. "A shame."

"At least we know where they snuck off to." You turn the beam of the flashlight outward toward the rest of the cabins. "Just need to find where they went."

Simon leans against the doorframe, a sultry smile on his face.

"What?" you prompt.

He nods toward the mattresses. "You want to get on all fours for me?"

The image of you on your hands and knees as Simon fucks you from behind invades your senses, momentarily seizing your sanity. With it comes the feel of his hands, of how large and strong they are, of him grasping the back of your neck as he holds you in place.

You roll your eyes in an attempt to hide your sudden arousal. "You're disgusting."

Simon barks a laugh, slapping your ass on the way to the next cabin.

Each one is searched, and the remainder are all untouched.

“We should search the communal buildings,” you suggest.

Simon shakes his head. “I don’t have my walkie,” he replies, patting the empty spot where he usually clips the behemoth of a device. He glances up into the sky. “We need to return. People are going to start questioning where we’ve run off to.”

You give the old campsite one last long look. "I wonder where they went," you murmur, the unease starting to settle in again.

Simon relatches the lock on the fencing. "I'll radio the sheriff when we return."

John Price, the sheriff of the nearest town, is a good but stubborn man. You’ve only talked to him a handful of times, but he was always polite to you.

Approaching the communal dining hall, you notice a large crowd of campers gathered outside. The main doors are shut when they should be wide open for the breakfast crowd. Several of the older camp counselors stand in front of the doors, barring entry.

Simon arrives first at the edge of the crowd. They part for him like Moses and the Red Sea. The eldest of the camp counselors, Jesse, a senior in college, has a stony expression on his face. His tanned skin is pale, eyes sunken as if he's sickened overnight.

"What happened?" asks Simon, keeping his voice low. Jesse shakes his head, keeping silent. "Is there anyone inside?"

Jesse licks his cracked lips. "Yes," he murmurs. "But they're not—" He glances at the crowd like a wounded animal looking for an escape and grimaces.

Simon lowers his voice further, trying to soothe the young man. "Let us see."

Jesse steps aside and Simon cracks the door open. The smell hits you first. Rotten. Fetid. Like garbage that's been left out in the sun.

Simon pokes his head in and then retreats, turning toward you. His mouth is a thin line, and his face is grim.

"You shouldn't," he whispers.

You shouldn't? What the fuck is in there?

"I will," you insist.

Simon’s nostrils flare slightly. It’s his tell when he’s irritated with you. But he doesn’t push back. Simon opens the door, ushering the two of you inside.

The smell is worse with the door closed. The lights are off and all the windows are shut, the blinds down but cracked, allowing in some of the morning light. The large ceiling fans overhead are still, leaving the air stale and unmoving.

At this hour, the place should be full with people at tables stuffing their faces with eggs and pancakes. But the place is utterly silent. You check the switches on the wall but none of the lights turn on, nor do the ceiling fans.

"Are the generators not working?" you ask, staring up at the unmoving fans.

"I think we have worse things to worry about," replies Simon.

You follow his line of sight, coming to rest at the far end of the dining hall.

At the center table closest to the kitchen are the two missing camp counselors. Jessica and Michael appear completely normal at first, but as you move closer, you suddenly realize the horror before you.

The two lovebirds sit across from each other at the communal dining table. Before each of them is a plastic tray. In front of Michael on his tray is a small pile of open condom wrappers. On Jessica's tray is a lone pregnancy test. You have no idea if it's used or brand new, and you don’t really care to know. Between their trays in an empty liquor bottle, the label partially removed.

They are posed with arms outstretched; hands clasped. Their skin is grey and sunken, mouths terribly stretched into loving smiles. Flies swarm them, switching between bodies and buzzing about in the air. Their eyes are gone. Not vanished, but crushed to pulp.

Your gaze lingers and then moves beyond them toward the kitchen. It's designed to be an open kitchen, giving an airy feeling to the space. It’s also designed with space in mind and for the kitchen staff to keep track of how many people are eating and still need to fill their plates.

All six cooks stand behind the buffet line and yet nothing is on. Nothing is cooking. They are posed with tongs and spatulas in hand as if ready to serve the horde outside. Most of them are upright as if they're completely fine. Yet as you look closer, you notice the hooks and wires digging into their clothes and flesh. You follow those wires, and how they're anchored to heavier objects to counterbalance their body weight.

"They're all dead," murmurs Simon.

You wretch, the stink and horror becoming overwhelming.

"Fuck," says Simon, placing his hand at your back.

Another wave of nausea hits you. Simon grabs your arms, guiding you away from the grisly scene toward the side door. He kicks it open, the two of you almost falling down the short stairs to the hard ground.

Yanking yourself from Simon’s arms, you fall to your knees in the dirt, gagging. Saliva pools in your mouth.

You spit into the dirt. "What the fuck was that?"

Simon is far more experienced in the art of brutality. Before all this, he was military. He’s seen war—worked on countless mission.

"I'm calling Sheriff Price," says Simon. "We're shutting this place down. Sending everyone home."

"Oh my God," you murmur, rubbing your dirt-stained hands against your legs in anxious agitation.

Simon's hand finds your shoulder, and you flinch. "I'll handle this," he reassures, helping you off the ground.

His embrace is comforting, reminding you of how much you’ve missed him. It’s cruel and unfair, and somehow completely needed. In this, Simon is your rock. An anchor in a stormy harbor.

"We handle this,” you reply. “Together."

Simon cradles your cheeks, thumbs brushing away your tears. "You need to be out there. Put on a brave face. Smile. Take everyone to the amphitheater. Have a couple of the remaining camp counselors go to storage for water bottles and packaged snacks. Feed everyone. Keep them entertained."

It’s the smart thing to do until a plan is formed. Keep everyone in one place. Nobody wanders off.

You nod, swallowing.

Simon presses his lips to your forehead. "Take a deep breath. You can do this." You follow his instruction, exhaling slowly. Simon holds you the whole time, not letting go until the shaking stops.

“Ready to face the crowd?” he whispers against your hair.

“No,” you reply. “But I will.”

"Tell me what happened again."

Sheriff John Price lights up a cigarette, his sunglasses low on his nose as he stares Simon down.

"I told you," replies Simon, his voice nearly a growl. "They're all dead."

“You said that.” Sheriff Price takes a long drag on his cigarette. Expelling the smoke from his lungs, he returns the cigarette to his mouth. "You also said," he checks his notepad, "you're missing five additional personnel."

Simon sighs heavily, clearly irritated. "We are."

"You didn't check to make sure everyone was accounted for before you left?" The accusation is clear, and Simon is clearly agitated by it.

"Sheriff," you interject, placing your hand on Simon's bicep in a comforting touch. "As we noted earlier, there were signs of tampering to the generators and vehicles. We needed to do what was best for the campers. And that was getting them to town as quickly as possible."

"By leaving personnel behind?" counters Price.

"All of the campers are accounted for,” you reply, ignoring the question. “We need to start reuniting families with their children, Sheriff." You emphasize his title to get your point across.

Sheriff Price sniffs and puffs on his cigarette. It hangs from one side of his mouth while he exhales smoke from the other side.

Not long after you herded everyone to the amphitheater, Simon sought you out to report damaged generators, a severed power line, slashed tires on the Jeeps, and missing fuel. Calamity after calamity. Something had to be done.

"Unification is important. Is it not?" you continue, wanting to move on from this.

Sheriff Price tucks his notepad and pen into the front pocket of his uniform. "It is," he agrees. The sigh he releases is heavy.

You aren't upset with him. It's understandable. You showed up with an entire summer camp. There are now hundreds of people occupying the Hillford Library. You've dumped far more in Sheriff Price's lap than he can handle. And that doesn’t even begin to tread on the crime scene of a communal dining hall back at camp.

Without removing the cigarette from his mouth, Sheriff Price presses the button on his walkie attached to his shoulder. "I need Sergeants MacTavish and Garrick to report to the library's south side exterior."

A pause. Then the radio crackles. On our way.

"So, we have dead staff. Busted generators. Slashed tires. Missing fuel. A severed power line," lists Price. "What else am I missing?"

You sense a snarky remark ready to fall from Simon's lips. "Nothing, Sheriff,” you answer before Simon can interject.

Sergeants MacTavish and Garrick appear. They both look a little weary. Price begins rattling off orders the moment they arrive.

"The five of us are heading back to Hillford Camp. Return to the station and pick up a squad car. Grab a camera and the evidence emergency bag. We need to collect what evidence we can." He turns toward MacTavish. "Tell Deb to call the federal bureau in the city. I want them here now. We need to prepare for media coverage. Everyone else needs to be here. I want families contacted. We need cots. Blankets. See if any of the locals are willing to assist."

"On it, sir," replies Sergeant Garrick. He pats MacTavish's shoulder, the two men briskly walking away.

Sheriff Price watches them go. When they disappear, he turns back to the two of you. "Well then. Let's go catch ourselves a killer."

It's full dark by the time you, Simon, Price, MacTavish, and Garrick arrive at Hillford Camp.

With the generators damaged, all the outside lights are off, submerging everything in utter darkness. Your quintet stands in front of the squad car, headlights and brights on to cut through the void. Each of you holds a flashlight but even that doesn't seem to pierce the night. Forests are always more sinister in the dark.

"This is fucking creepy," mutters Sergeant MacTavish, slowly sweeping his flashlight beam back and forth.

An owl hoots and insects buzz but otherwise there is complete silence.

"Show me the bodies," says Price.

"They’re this way," says Simon, guiding the group forward.

The smell of the corpses is worse now that they've been sitting. Covering your nose and mouth helps a little, but the stench is nearly overpowering. You and Simon linger near the main door, watching the three men move about the communal dining hall, flashlights illuminating the horror. Simon places his hand on the back of your neck. With just the slightest pressure, he pulls you into him, lips pressing to the top of your head. He's trying to comfort, to bring you peace, and while his touch and closeness is pleasant, you're still on edge. Still wired and unsure.

"Look at this," says MacTavish, tracing the wires and hooks with the flashlight beam.

"This can't be one person," observes Garrick.

"If it is, it's goddamn impressive."

"I want to take a quick look around. Show me those damaged generators. And the severed power line," says Price.

As you exit, you sense a presence. A lingering sense of dread, as if a knife hovers above your head, ready to drop.

"Simon," you whisper, reaching out in the dark for his hand. His fingers find yours, tangling, pulling you close.

"What is it?"

Something wet drips onto your face. It's just a drop. Lukewarm. On your forehead. As you reach up to wipe it away, you feel another.

"What the fuck," you mutter, smearing whatever it is. There’s no rain expected in the forecast.

Simon brings his light closer, and then his hands are on you.

"Are you hurt?" he asks sharply.

"I'm fine. I—"

You see it then, the deep dark red smeared across the back of your hand.

"What the fuck," you mutter.

"Move!" yells Price, waving. "Move.”

Simon grabs hold of your arm, drawing you away, all the flashlight beams pointing upward into the trees.

A scream lodges in your throat. It sticks, twisting.

The five missing personnel dangles from the overhead tree limbs. They are naked, skin split and splayed open as if they are descending from the heavens.

"We need to leave," growls Simon.

"Back to the squad car. Now!"

One moment Simon’s arm is around you, and the next it’s gone. You stumble forward, flashlight beam swinging wildly as you try to find balance.

Behind you, someone cries out.

"MacTavish!"

You glance over your shoulder as the sergeant takes a swing at something in the dark. His flashlight goes tumbling as he draws his gun. Shots ring out. You flinch at the first one, cowering as MacTavish unloads his weapon.

There is silence, and a groan.

"MacTavish!"

Price and Garrick go down on their knees beside their coworker. MacTavish is on his back attempting to sit up.

But where is Simon?

His name forms on your lips, and then you feel hands on your arms. You shriek and swing out.

“It’s me. It’s me.”

You throw yourself into Simon’s arm, chest heaving.

“We gotta get him back to the car. Lift in one…two…”

Sergeant MacTavish howls as they lift him. “My bloody fucking ankle. Goddamn it!”

The five of you shuffle toward the exit only to find that there is no escape. At least, not by car.

“You’re fucking joking,” mutters Sheriff Price.

Sergeant Garrick sighs. “Tires are flat.”

Price turns to you and Simon. "Where can we hole up until morning?"

"My office," replies Simon automatically. "I have a first aid kit."

When you arrive, Price barricades the door and checks the windows while Simon and Sergeant Garrick lift MacTavish onto the desk.

“Just twisting. I’m fine,” mutters MacTavish.

Price lifts MacTavish’s pant leg, revealing the bruised and swollen skin. “You can’t fucking walk on that.”

Simon opens up a nearby cabinet. From it, he removes a hunting rifle. He turns to you, and you realize that you might not see him again.

“You’re staying here. With him.

“Simon—”

“Stay. We can move faster with three of us. You don’t leave this room. Not unless one of us comes to the door. You understand?”

You nod. “I understand.”

Staying is hard. But you do it, because what other choice is there? At some point, you help MacTavish off the desk and into a chair, elevating his leg. All you can do is pace, tapping the side of the baseball bat Simon left for you against your leg.

"Where are they?" you murmur to yourself.

MacTavish grunts. "They'll be fine."

"What if there's more than one out there!"

He shrugs. "It's possible, but I doubt it. Killers don't like to hunt in packs. They're lone wolves."

In the distance, you hear a gunshot. You and MacTavish both jump.

Another shot. Distant.

“What if that’s them?” you whisper. “We should check.”

“We are staying here,” replies MacTavish. “I have to protect you.”

“With that ankle?” you counter.

MacTavish snorts, and then flinches when another shot rings out.

“That sounds like Simon’s hunting rifle,” you murmur, saddling up to the window. You partially open the blinds, but see nothing in the empty dark. You quickly close them and back away.

MacTavish has a deep frown on his face.

“We should—”

You hear you name. It’s shouted, but muffled as if from a distance. You and MacTavish’s heads snap in the direction of the noise.

The two of you remain quiet, lingering in expectation.

Your name, again. Closer now. And clearly Simon’s voice.

“Stay here,” you insist, handing MacTavish the baseball bat.

“You can’t leave,” he replies sharply, attempting to get out of his chair but failing as the pain radiates up his leg, causing him to fall right back in it.

“It’s fine. He said not to come out unless one of them called for us. I’ll be right back.”

Hope blooms in your chest. Unlocking the door, you step outside, and into the utter dark. The reality of the darkness begins to creep in, invading all your senses. The forest is eerie at night without light. Simon may have called out to you but he’s nowhere to be seen.

You linger on the small stoop, listening for anything. When you’re greeted with silence, you plaster yourself against the side of the shed, moving slowly, unwilling to step away. If he calls out to you again, you might be able to discern direction. Part of you longs to call his name, but another part knows better.

The killer might still be loose.

As you approach the north side of the shed, the darkness moves. It is human shaped and tall. Towering.

A flashlight clicks on, but the light does not illuminate the figure. It’s pointed at you, the beam incredibly bright and blinding. They have it aimed at your face, causing to shrink away from the light and squint.

“Simon?”

The beam lingers on your face, and then it arcs up, illuminating the figure before you.

“Simon,” you sigh with relief.

Your limbs relax, and you start to reach for him, but hesitate at the last moment. There is something strange about him. His demeanor has changed. And there’s…blood. Lots of blood.

“Simon,” you whisper, eyes widening as you notice just how much there is. He’s nearly soaked to the bone but he stands tall and unafraid.

This isn’t his. It’s not his blood.

As you glance up to meet his gaze, you find only coldness there. A deadness.

A scream sticks in your throat as he reaches out with one bloodied hand. It wraps around your forearm and squeezes. Like iron, there is so much strength behind it. With a yank, Simon tugs you away from the wall of the shed, shoes sliding and skidding against the ground as you resist the pull.

“Simon!” This time you do shriek. This time you yell. “Let me go!”

Has it been him all this time? And where are Price and Garrick?

When you swing out at him, Simon gives your arm a firm yank. It sends you spinning, twisting until you’re pressed into his side. He hooks you against his body, half-dragging you in the direction he’s walking.

“Was it you?” you whisper. “Did you do all this?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Why?” you ask. “Why?”

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sammyluvr · 3 days ago

Text

✶ . ၄၃ . noticed — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, hurt/comfort, implied depression, feelings of guilt and inadequacy, overall just poor mental health, swearing, 1.1K words. requested !

summary : your depression isn't making things easy for you these days. sam notices and gives you what small comforts he can.

sam can see you slipping. he can see how hard you’re trying not to, how you’re trying to hide it. he lets you, for a bit, because he knows that sometimes you don’t like for anyone else to give it any attention.

but you’re falling behind on research and dean doesn’t know why, so he’s cutting no slack. sam is soft and understanding with you, but he knows he can’t control dean and that you wouldn’t like him to intervene either. all this, and you hate to ask for help, too.

you’re in the library, stuck by your computer and overwhelmed by the amount of books on the topic for this long and tiring case. so you rest your head on the hard wood for a moment, trying to gather energy that you don’t have. then you hear the loud front door swing open, signaling dean’s return from the grocery store. you have to at least look busy, so you drag yourself back up into a sitting position and scan over the pages of a book that you’re not actually reading.

dean passes you with arms full of plastic bags and a half assed greeting. he’s tired from last night, and anything’s fine by you as long as he doesn’t say anything passive aggressive like he does sometimes. you know he’s frustrated with you, wishing you’d find something actually helpful. you just can’t bring yourself to do much of anything at all.

when you’ve finally heard the door to dean’s room shut, after staring at the page and listening to the sounds of him putting away groceries in the kitchen, you drop your head back down, feeling useless and restless but unable to act on it. the next time you hear footsteps, they’re sam’s. you can tell just by listening for a moment or two. he’s taller, but he walks quieter than dean. though his footfalls are a little heavy now, in the comfort and privacy of the bunker.

he approaches faster than you expect and most definitely catches you with your head on the table before you sit up to look in his direction.

the smile you give him when you lift your head is unconvincing and the one he returns to you is soft and understanding. it’s clear to you that he can see you’re unwell. you sigh and your smile fades.

“hey,” he murmurs, all gentle and kind, never pitying but certainly careful. he closes the gap between your seat and the doorway, quietly shutting both your laptop and the book before placing a hand on the side of your head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “let’s take a break, yeah? grab lunch in town, or maybe some ice cream. or both. how’s that sound, honey?”

you purse your lips, feeling loved by the gesture but wanting to do anything except go out right now. you lean into his touch anyway, then after a moment of hesitation, mumble back, “i’d rather stay inside.”

“okay,” he agrees immediately, “we can do that, too. why don’t you sit in the kitchen with me? i’ll make you something simple. dean should’ve gotten the stuff for those sandwiches you like, yeah?” he holds his hand out for you to guide you away from the library.

“alright,” you accept quietly after a moment of just looking at his hand, waiting for you, reaching out to you to pull you up. when your hand lands in his, it’s a little easier to breathe, somehow. he closes his fingers around yours and gives the gentlest of tugs to urge you up. you start to stand and the hand on your head reaches down to pull your chair out for you. his hand stays in yours as he leads you to the kitchen.

he has you sit as he makes a sandwich for the both of you, talking aimlessly about a documentary he watched last weekend but didn’t have the chance to tell you about until now. his voice stays muted and constant, knowing you don’t want anything loud but shouldn’t stay stuck in silence.

he’s right, of course. the lull of his voice keeps your mind off of all else, and you find yourself actually able to pay attention to the words that fall from his lips. it’s nice to watch him, too.

sitting across from you, watching you take the last bite of the simple food he made you, spreads the warmth of satisfaction through his chest. frankly, he’s worried about you, but it’s nice to know that you’ll let him take care of you like this. subtle and easy, but essential. not too loud and not too outwardly worried, but showing he’s noticed and is going to actually do something about it. there’s no judgment in his eyes or his actions, only care and softness and love.

sam’s serious about taking a break. he doesn’t let you go back to that library table to wallow in your self-criticism of being unable to get anything done. he brings you back to his bed and holds you in his arms and kisses the top of your head, maybe more times than he needs to.

“you can tell me when you need me,” he murmurs into your hair, his arms wrapped around your middle. “doesn’t have to be out loud. but if you can, and there’s something i’m not doing that i could be, you tell me, yeah? ‘cause i’ll do it. i want to, for you, honey.”

you take a deep breath in, let it out slow. “thank you,” you whisper, “this helps, really.” and you mean that, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. sometimes, walking away from the things you should be doing just makes you feel worse, like you don’t really deserve to do anything nice. if you can’t do what you should, it feels like the least you could do is sit there and beat yourself up about it.

sam pulls you away from that mindset. his love isn’t burdensome, he lets you believe you deserve it. his arms are a shield and his chest is a place for your head to really rest. he brings you both sleep and consciousness without guilt or anxious embarrassment.

and when you inevitably get antsy again, he notices that, too. he tells you sternly, sweetly, to stay comfortable on the bed as he fetches your laptop and book. once back, he still insists on keeping you settled right against him, your head slotted perfectly into the crook of his neck as he reads the book aloud to you, either until you find something useful or the pages run out.

no matter what, he’ll keep you held, keep you steady in his arms.

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