#i always say my intros will be short..... and then they are not | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

simpjaes · 2 months ago

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✘ WIP DIARY ── LAST NIGHT, I READ YOUR DIARY. (p.sh) ✘

Sunghoon has been trying be everything you need since your mother passed. A father, a friend, a therapist. You never really understood what your mother saw in him in the first place, if you’re being honest. He’s awkward, quiet, and typically used to keep to himself up until now. You’re impressed with his efforts by the time you’re entering into your senior year of college, though his entire demeanor towards you seems to have changed. or the one where your step-father grows obsessed with you minute by minute.

── step-dad /weirdo park sunghoon x afab reader

── minors dni

── tags: sunghoon is in his 30s, reader is in her 20s so, age gap, step-cest, heartbreak, obsession, manipulation, coercion, stockholm syndrome-ish, fluff if he manipulates you as a reader lmfao, angst, smut. don't read this if you are easily triggered. ── side characters: heeseung as reader's ex boyfriend, jay as reader's closest friend

── !WARNINGS!: this work contains non-con, dub-con, and stalking behavior. your mom isn’t alive in this fic. warnings will be updated as i write.

── a/n: this one is gonna be a wild ride, that's all i gotta say.

due to safety concerns regarding the nature of this fic, it will be posted on patreon, ao3, and wattpad (links on pinned). i'm not sure about posting it on tumblr because i do genuinely expect to be bullied off the platform.

LAST UPDATED: 2.1.25

⨯ est wordcount: 20k+ ⨯ current wordcount: 8k ⨯ est release date: tbd ⨯ taglist: my tag list is now closed due to the length.

playlist ⨯ recommended song: last night i read your diary - gürl She's got me down on my knees I beg, I beg, I, I beg, I beg, please! I want it more than I need And I need it like I need to breathe Like I'm losing my- Choke.

PREVIEW (3.1k):

no warnings apply to the preview, it's just the first couple of thousand words for this fic. aka, the intro and the set up for what will inevitably happen later:

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Your first heartbreak is meant to be painful, but this? This is more painful than you could have ever imagined.

Heeseung was one of your only constants in life. From childhood to high school it’s like he was there more than your own mother was, and certainly more than your own father. Even when she passed, Heeseung was the one who held you through it, he’s the one who made you smile again, he’s the one who made you feel like it was okay to heal and keep going.

It’s the fact that it was a mutual break up that hurts the most because deep down, you couldn’t see yourself without him. Yet, still, you willingly watched him hop on the plane with a short kiss and long goodbye. It felt so final to you. You could have handled a long distance relationship, truly. But Heeseung didn’t want that. He wanted to explore the world, he wanted to try new things, be with new people.

Do things without you clinging to him all the time.

In a way, you understand that. After all, you’re the only girl he had ever been with up until now. Senior year of college. You think you knew your relationship was coming to an end by the time he announced he was going to be studying abroad for his final year without ever once even telling you he was applying to do so.

So, yeah, it was mutual solely because you want him to be happy and he’s made it clear that he believes that can only happen without you. Such is life. Painful, painful fucking life.

Just last year when your mother passed, you nearly dropped out and Heeseung had been your rock to make it through class after class with a grade barely high enough to pass. You’re certain some of your professors took pity on you and raised your grade just enough to move forward. You’ll forever thank them for recognizing how hard you were trying. But now? Without your mother, without Heeseung, you’re at a loss.

And there’s a difference between loneliness and isolation, you think. Loneliness to you always hits hard during small spaces in your day, like when you’d get into Heeseung’s car and he would close your door for you. The silence always hurt your ears while he was still making his way around the car to the driver’s seat. A shallow loneliness that you could feel right at the top of your gut, like it was squeezing inside of you and making you lose your appetite. Solely because that silence reminded you of what you always had, a lack of loneliness because of him.

But then there’s isolation. Where it feels forced upon you by other people. Your mother fucking died, Heeseung fucking left, and now you’re just here expected to wake up like you always do, go to class, study hard, sleep well, when the reality of it is– you’re genuinely struggling just to look at yourself in the mirror.

Then there’s Sunghoon. The only person close enough to you now that you can reach out to. The issue with that is– you’ve never actually been close. And that’s what sucks. The fact that he of all people is all you have now? May as well just assume you have nobody.

His regular calls mean close to nothing to you in the grand scheme of things. Despite him calling twice a week every week since your mother died, your step-father is just as distanced from you as you are him. You’re aware that it’s his obligation, not because he cares. And that hurts, because it’s all you have now.

Now, you have to try and find meaning in those short calls. After all, Sunghoon fell apart when your mother passed all on his own and you had only called him out of obligation too. You were already in college and stressed, falling apart yourself with someone to love beside you helping you through it. Calling him when it all happened felt empty because you knew both of you were trying to hold it together and save face.

It wasn’t like this before she died. In fact, he never called and you never cared for him to. You’d see each other when you were home, share awkward pleasantries, and that’s it. It’s hard to believe that now you feel like you need a father, after all those years of practically rejecting him as one. He seemed fine with that after you hit your teen years. He knew by then that he could never be the father you want, but at least he could be the husband your mother needed.

You have grief in common now though. Loneliness. Isolation.

You try not to think about how you were okay up until now though. Having Heeseung to fall back on to soften the blow of your loss, you guess Sunghoon didn’t have that. Maybe his monotone voice and empty words were his way of coping, his way of hearing a voice that wasn’t the one in his own head when he calls you.

It’s just you and a man you never considered family past the titles and obligatory respects. Finding meaning in his short phone calls does nothing to help your growing isolation, but you cling to them now that Heeseung is gone. You wait for the calls, you ask him to check in with you every day now, to the point Sunghoon starts to notice the difference in you.

No longer rushing to get off the phone. Now, you’re dragging on meaningless conversations. Now, he hears cracks in your voice.

“You feeling okay?” Sunghoon asks you, in a way that makes you wonder how he’s able to tell that you’re definitely not. The way his own voice has a bit of life to it when he asks it…strange too. Like he’s concerned.

“No–” You trail off in your meek voice, staring at your ceiling and mind swirling with all of the work you need to get done for classes already. “I’ve only been in classes for a week and I already feel like I’m drowning.”

Sunghoon sighs into the speaker, contemplating how to further the conversation with you in a way that isn’t too intrusive. After all, who is he to pry? Still, he never intended for you to feel neglected or like you couldn’t come to him. After all, you were too happy about his lack of parenting you throughout his presence in your life.

He finds solace in the fact that you’ve been accepting him now, though he hasn’t the slightest idea as to why. He’s checked in with you since the passing, but lately it feels to him like something more is going on with you. He may be somewhat estranged, and he may have his own problems to deal with, but you’re still someone he needs to be here for.

Plus, it makes him feel needed again, which is nice considering the circumstances. After living in this bustling house with you and your mom for so long, to it just being him and your mom, to now just him…all that remains now is dread, dissociation, and unwashed dishes in the sink.

“Did something happen?” Sunghoon keeps his questions short, offering more silence if anything for you to use this call as a therapy session if you need.

You pause for a long moment, realizing that you want to talk about your issues so badly but don’t quite feel the need to share it with him of all people. You’ve already ranted day after day to Jay. To the point you’re sure he’s about one rant away from blocking your number.

Probably because you’re not that close to him either. Not these days, anyway.

You sigh instead.

“No…” You trail off. “I think I just miss being home. My dorm mate is never here, class work is already piling up, and I can’t even find the energy to look at the assignments.”

Sunghoon can tell you’re feeling much like he does and he can’t imagine the weight on your shoulders dealing with these feelings while also in college. But, you have Heeseung, do you not? You’ve been fine for the most part until now, and you haven’t even brought him up. Not once in the past few weeks has his name been uttered by you. Which is strange, after all, the two of you were practically attached at the hip growing up, to the point of choosing the same college, working the same jobs, and even keeping that middle-school puppy love in full swing throughout highschool and college.

If anything, after your mother passed, Sunghoon felt okay knowing you had Heeseung there with you to help you through it. It meant he could focus on himself and getting through the day-to-day. He could barely handle his own mournful thoughts, let alone the daughter’s feelings of the woman he loved so dearly. He was forever grateful for Heeseung during this time.

He has his suspicions now though, and his heart aches for the voice he hears from you these days.

“Why don’t you come home for a while?” He lends a pause to see if you’ll jump for the opportunity before selling the idea to you. “I have the bills here covered and your campus is only a forty minute drive. I’m sure that’s inconvenient but you won’t have bills to worry about on top of everything else.” He doesn’t want to sound too desperate, of course.

After all, the loneliness he’s feeling is also becoming unbearable. Even if the two of you never were able to see eye to eye, or to form a bond together, you’re all he has left of your mother. He, arguably, is nothing to you, but there’s no one else in this world he’d rather heal the loneliness with outside of you. Only because you knew your mother on a level deeper than he did, and to have someone to share those memories with, or even laugh with, would help him tremendously too.

“I think being at home may do you some good.”

You think it over in your head, wondering if being home will help you at all. In reality, you know it may make you feel more trapped than you do now. All those memories with your mother, with Heeseung, with all of your friends that have since moved to different colleges.

But…you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be with someone who knows how to give you space because he’s never even tried to shrink your existence to that of your bedroom and your bedroom alone. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent, food, or anything aside from studies, gas money, and trying to heal from your heartbreak.

Your dorm is small, you note as you look around the room and wonder how long it would take you to pack your things up. Two hours, give or take. The longest part would be taking all of the little decorations off the wall, if you’re being honest.

You find yourself nodding before answering, solidifying in your mind that– maybe you’re not the only one who needs company in your space. Not too close, but close enough to not be totally isolated.

“Okay.” You mutter into the phone, for some reason feeling the tears well up behind your eyes.

You’re just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. Knowing you’re going home feels like a relief you didn’t know you needed.

“Yeah?” Sunghoon confirms. “Just let me know when and I’ll drive up there to help get your stuff back home.”

You agree, sighing into the phone with a shaking voice. Sunghoon takes note of it, always remembering and quite frankly missing how loud and obnoxious you used to be. Hearing you like this pains him. He wants to help. Now more than ever is his chance to be someone you need, and he hates knowing he feels happy about it.

Getting to be your father now? It feels awkward, but at least it’s a feeling other than loss.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sunghoon sighs at you through the speaker. “I know I’m not someone you like coming to but–well, I’d like for you to rely on me more, okay?”

You find a lot of comfort in those words, despite hearing him say them time and time again. This is the first time he’s ever shown that he means it through the offer of bringing you home, rather than just saying it and accepting whatever you say back to him at face value.

“I know…” You trail off. “I’m okay though, really.”

Sunghoon hates himself for never forcing you to accept him. Sure, there may have been some teenage defiance towards him, but eventually the two of you could have seen eye to eye. He could have been someone you needed. You could have relied on him too, rather than just Heeseung. That’s all he can really think right now.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?” The man nearly pleads in his tone, desperate to have someone rely on him again. “I’ve never heard you sound so exhausted before, I can’t help but worry.”

You’d tell him, but honestly, what grown ass man wants to hear about a first heartbreak? It would just get awkward again, he’d just feel obligated to do something about it, and worse, he might end up feeling like he’s supposed to dislike Heeseung now.

You choose to remain silent in the final straw that broke your back this semester.

“Really, I’m just tired.” You nod to yourself as you hold your phone loosely against your ear. “I might not go to class tomorrow and just pack instead. I’ll just call you when I’m ready, is that okay?”

Sunghoon smiles to himself, wanting to mean something to you in a way that can hopefully help you out of this slump. Your mother would be throwing a fit if she heard how you’ve been sounding, he can’t help but take over that role and try to make damn sure you are okay.

“That’s fine,” Sunghoon confirms. “I’ll call and let them know what’s going on so don’t worry about any of that. Just get yourself ready to come back home.”

You find yourself smiling, relieved that you don’t have to be the one to contact your school and tell them that…well, you’re breaking your student-lease, dropping your food plan, and need to be reimbursed for partial tuition costs since Sunghoon insists every semester that you purchase tuition insurance. You should no longer be charged to live on campus, or for the facilities within the dorm.

Knowing you’ll at least get back a couple thousand dollars is a nice change of pace, and already you’re feeling weirdly excited to go back to a space that will likely make you miss your mother more. It’ll hurt, but at least you won’t be alone anymore.

The forty minute drive to campus feels less horrifying now, and maybe your friends will still come and hang out with you in your actual home rather than a tiny dorm.

“Sounds good.” You say, as if to end the call before you mutter out again. “Thank you, by the way. Sunghoon, really.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon knew he was spiraling further and further into his loneliness. He knew it wasn’t healthy either, but now. Oh, now he realizes just how bad it’s gotten as he demonizes himself upon picking you up.

You haven’t come home since your mother’s funeral, and even on that day he barely remembers what you looked like. Eye contact was never a thing for him, but looking at you now, he sees how much you’ve matured since you went off to college.

Your once bright, excited eyes have turned dull and empty. The bags under them are heavy from lack of sleep. Your lips appear to be in a permanent state of pouting, though he isn’t sure if you’ve noticed. You appear to have lost weight, which is concerning for him of course, but…there’s something else about you.

Something that sits in the pit of his stomach and rots.

“Uh–” You cough, noting the way Sunghoon looks at you as you try to hand him a large box. “Thank you for helping me move my stuff back…”

Sunghoon snaps out of his thoughts, grabbing a heavy box and then waiting for you to stack another on top.

“No big deal,” He mutters, feeling the weight in his hands double as he prepares to carefully carry your things out to his car. “You haven’t come home in over a year, but I’ve fixed up your room for you and went ahead and connected my gaming system in there.”

You nod quietly, feeling awkward for how fatherly he seems.

“Thanks…” You trail off, flopping a pile of your things into his trunk before stopping to look at him. “You look like shit.”

Sunghoon furrows his brows, noticing for a split second how that facial expression you made is very similar to one his wife used to throw at him when he’d have hair out of place, or a wardrobe malfunction. And then he smiles.

“You’re not looking too good yourself.” He jokes back.

You smile back at him, feeling a bit of the awkward air fizzle away.

“Well, I’m not doing well, so.”

You were continuing the joke, but his face falls before yours does.

“You can talk to me–” He starts.

“I know, I know.” You wave him off. “I’ll feel a lot better once we get back and I can settle in.

There’s a nod from him now, and then silence as the two of you continue to put the rest of your belongings into both his car and your own.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” You say now, awkwardly.

Sunghoon nods, looking you over once again.

“See you in a bit.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Shame.

Pure fucking shame.

Sunghoon knew he needed another presence in this house but upon seeing you again, he knew it may have been a mistake.

He likes to think of himself as level headed. He’s never gotten into any trouble, never had a stray thought, never cheated, lied, or stole anything. He can’t think of a single thing that he’s done in life to be considered taboo. But looking at you feels…incorrect?

Indecent?

You’re his step-daughter for fuck sake but it’s the fact that you don’t feel like you are. When he looks at you, he just sees another person. He did this to help you, he did this to feel needed, to be your fucking father.

He did not do this to look at you this way or to feel his eye stray even without his intention.

Why do you look so much like her? Why do you do that thing with your pinky when you carry things like she did? You even have a similar smell, probably having picked up on your mother’s habits throughout childhood.

You being here…It’s like she’s still here. Except it’s you, and he can’t be thinking this way.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

This fic will be dark, very taboo, morally bad. Not a grey area, it is blatantly bad. sunghoon will do bad things. Please be aware of your own triggers once it's completed and posted. remember that I write within my own triggers, not yours. That being said! Please do show lots of love if this is a fic you're interested in reading! If you want to be tagged, I have a permanent tag list, there are not any separate tag lists for individual fics so keep that in mind. ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

#enhypen smut #park sunghoon smut #sunghoon smut #wips

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sturniqlo · 6 months ago

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LOVE YOU FROM THE START- CHRIS STURN

summary: more bff!chris and bff!y/n and a bit of bf!chris and gf!y/n headcannons

cw: fluff, slight cursing, a pinch of angst ntm, very minimal smut

an: tysm to @probablyoutyappingorsomething and this anon for all of these ideas💋 | lowercase intended

masterlist

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bff!chris who loves tickling you to make you laugh

"chris! stop it!" y/n cant stop laughing as chris' fingers dig into her sides and tickle her. chris also giggling and smiling so hard that he gets to hear her laugh and he's the one who's making her laugh and smile. "okay, okay!" chris' fingers eventually stop tickling her and he rolls on top of her and smothers her face in kisses, missing her lips.

bff!chris who always buys her online shopping carts without her knowledge

"oh my god no!" y/n whines, rubbing her hands over her face in disappointment, her laptop placed on top of her blanket. "what is it? what happened, hm?" chris asks worriedly. "my sephora cart! it's gone, i was going to buy it right now!" she goes to the sephora search bar and starts searching up the products she remembered she had in her cart. "wait, don't do it." chris stops her and grabs the laptop from her. "what? why not." she tries to look at the screen but he moves it from her view. "because," chris flips the screen back to her and shows her an online receipt. "i bought it for you when you were showering." he continues. y/n gasps. "chris, you didn't! it was almost three hundred dollars." she looks at his in disbelief.

"your package got here!" chris enters y/n's room. "my package? i didn't order anything." she's confused. "you didn't, i did. but, it's for you. i bought your amazon cart." y/n swats his arm. "chris! what'd i tell you about buying my cart without telling me." she grabs the huge box from him and opens it up. "thank you though."

bff!chris who takes y/n on many shopping sprees

"come on, it'll be fun!" chris drags her through the mall. "you know i don't like spending your money." chris groans. "i've told many times, i don't care! i'll buy you a fucking house and i wont complain! i love spoiling you." he wraps his arm around her shoulders. "fine, let's go to bath and body works first!" she soon gives in.

"i'd say this was a successful shopping trip!" chris lightly kicks y/n's room door open and places her many shopping bags down. "thank you for my new stuff chris, how can i pay you back?" y/n says. "i can think of a few ways." chris smirks and wraps his hands around her waist. "you dirty animal! not like that!" she throws her head back and laughs.

bff!chris who takes the opportunity to pretend to give y/n backshots whenever she's bent down

"i felt that!" y/n scolds chris when she feels a small gust of wind coming from behind her as she tries to grab a new sponge from under the sink. "not sure what you're talking about." chris acts clueless.

"boom! boom! boom!" chris grabs y/n's hips as she's bent over and pretends to give her backshots. "chris! you're so stupid!" she laughs as she's used to his behavior. "stupid for you." he lets her go and places a kiss on her neck.

bff!chris who teases you when you two are filming for his channel with his brothers

"behave." y/n mutters to chris once they're out of the frame from the camera. "but you look so good in this." he whispers and runs his hands over her ass in her shorts. chris, throughout the video, has been rubbing his hands over her ass and y/n is concerned that nick will miss it while editing and fans will take notice of them.

"and today we're here with y/n and we're going to be-" nick says and chris hugs y/n from behind and grabs her boobs for a second before letting go. "chris! i'm going to have to cut that out! let's redo the intro."

bff!chris who give you his honest opinions on your outfits and accessories

"okay, what about with this necklace?" y/n turns back around and shows chris the new necklace on her neck. chris, laying against her headboard, looks her up and down seeing if the necklace matches. "mm, i think the second one is better. this one is so thin and you can't really see it. i almost ignored it like you ignore my love for you."

"absolutely not." chris shakes his head at the shirt y/n is currently trying on. "yeah, i thought so." y/n looks down at the shirt as if it's going to magically change and look any better. "looks like something my eighty year old neighbor would wear." y/n gasps and they both look a girl who is walking into the changing room going to try on some clothes wearing the same exact shirt. "chris!" she covers her mouth and locks herself in the changing room leaving chris on his own.

"yes, this one looks so good on you!" chris immediately gets up as he sees her in a tight fitting dress. "look at you, holy fuck." he rubs his hands up and down her figure. "thank you, i'm guess you love it?" she looks up at him. "oh yeah." he pushes her into the tiny room.

bff!chris who will sit and yap with you for hours on end

"and i told him, no you're fucking crazy if you think i'm touching that snake!" chris tells y/n a story of what happened on his hike with his friends and they encounter a small snake. "remember when we accidentally kissed?" he forgets all about the snake talk and moves onto another topic.

"really? tell me more about it." chris looks into her eyes as she takes chris about a time where she was into pottery. "i have a few pieces in my family storage unit. maybe we can go one day and i'll show you. i think there's this one piece you'll like and you can have it." she fixed his earring as it moved out of place. "i'll keep all of 'em if i have the chance to."

bff!chris getting jealous when he sees you talking or laughing with another guy who isn't him

"who was that you were just talking to?" chris says in an angry tone. "not sure, he just came up to me and started talking to me." she says casually. "well i don't like him." y/n sighs. "chris you don't even know him." she says.

"woah, calm down. looks like you're about to explode." matt says next to him as chris looks at y/n talking to one of her guy friends. she's told chris about max, one of her old friends, and how close they used to be. "am not." he lies, feeling jealousy all over him. he then sees y/n wave him over and he goes up to him. "chris, this is max. max, this is chris." max sticks his hand out for chris to shake it. "it's nice to finally put a face to name, she's told me so much about you." max says and y/n blushes. "hush!"

bff!chris introducing y/n as 'his girl' to new people

"y/n! come, let me introduce you to some people i just met." chris says in her ear as he finally found her. "okay!" she grabs his hand and follows behind him. "guys! look, this is my girl, y/n." he puts a hand on her waist and y/n blushes at what he just called her.

bff!chris doing anything and everything to make her smile when she's upset

"come on, give me smile. please?" chris hovers over her, trying to pull her hands away from her face. "noo!" she whines. "please? just a small one." he finally manages to remove her hands. "look how pretty you are." that makes her break out in a smile. "there she is." chris smiles. "i promise you, that grade doesn't define you, okay? that professor doesn't know what he's talking about."

bff!chris overhearing y/n tell his brothers she doesn't like him, but he misses something.

chris could help but eavesdrop on y/n's conversation with his brothers. he was currently standing on the stairs behind the wall. "so, do you like him?" he hears matt's voice. "i- uhm, i don't know? no?" chris' heart breaks and he freezes for a couple of seconds before turning back and slowly walks down the stairs back into his room. however, y/n continues. "fine! yes, i do, i fucking love him. i'm just scared to tell him." back in his room, chris sniffles into his pillow. the girl who he has major feeling for doesn't like him back. was she just leading him on the entire time?

bff!chris ignoring y/n after overhearing what she said

"hi, i'm back." y/n comes back down happier than usual. chris stays silent on his phone. "wanna watch a movie or something?" she says, plopping down in her usual spot on his bed. he ignores her. "chris? do you want to watch a movie?" she tries once more, maybe he didn't hear her. "hello? earth to chris?"

bff!chris and bff!y/n expressing their love for each other

it's been an hour of chris ignoring y/n and he finally break the silence. "i heard you up there. heard what you said." he mumbles. "you heard me? like everything?" she questions. he nods. "oh i heard everything, alright." he says. "then why are you ignoring me, i thought you'd be happy." chris finally snaps. "happy? why the fuck would i be happy? you clearly told my brother you don't like me after all these years of me flirting with you? we fucking kissed for crying out loud! were you just leading me on?" he gets up from off the bed and runs his hand through his hair. "what?! no, chris you missed the part where i clearly said i was scared of telling you that i love you!" she says back. "what?" chris says, pausing his movements. "i said no at first because i was scared of admitting it. but then i said i do, i love you, chris." she gets up off the bed and walks to him. "i feel so stupid, oh my god." he groans into his hands. "i love you too, y/n."

bf!chris who can finally show y/n how much he loves her

"can i?" chris kisses down her neck. "can i show you how much i fucking love you?" he nips at her sweet spot making her let out a soft moan. "yes, please. please show me."

"mm, you feel so good around me, baby." chris groans into her neck. her nails scratching down his back. "fuck- keep- keep going." y/n gasps as she feels the familiar knot in her lower belly. "gonna come for me, hm?" she can only nod.

gf!y/n who overhears bf!chris telling her mom he wants to marry her

"you really love her don't you?" y/n hears her moms voice in the kitchen. she had came down because chris was taking a bit to long from getting water. "i do, i really do." she stands behind the wall that goes into the kitchen feeling bad for overhearing this conversation. "i want to marry her one day." y/n gasps quietly and smiles. she goes back upstairs once he mentions that he's going to head on up. once he enters the room he sees y/n slightly out of breath and smiley. "you head me down there didn't you?" he throws himself on top of her. "maybe." she giggles. "i really mean it, okay?" he kisses her lips. "okay, i agree with you too. i want to marry you."

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menagerofmischief · 3 months ago

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hi!! i have a big order i hope it’s not too much trouble :’)

could i get a charcuterie board (but maybe married instead of dating) with a cold appetizer? for the mains, i’d like lobster, gyros, sausage rolls, and sarma. and for drinks: white wine, fanta, coca cola, coke zero and a strawberry lemonade all served by sir lewis hamilton, please and thank you!!

my favourite track on the calendar is zandvoort because of the banked curves 😋

charcuterie board dating/married cold appetizer rough sex lobster "I love watching my cum leak out from your pussy" gyros "Gonna fill you up" sausage rolls "I'll make it fit" sarma "Gonna put a baby in you" white wine sir kink fanta size kink coca cola somnophillia coke zero free use strawberry lemonade breeding kink + sweet tea morning sex

lewis hamilton x wife!reader

cw: somno, waking up with sex, no plot just porn, seriously straight to smut no intro, oral sex f!receiving, PiV, unprotected sex, cumming inside, bit of breeding, aftercare implied not included

wc: 0.9k

a/n: back to diner orders because I have over a 100 in my inbox and they're fun. this is short, and probably shit, but I hope you enjoy.

You woke up with a gasp, mouth falling open as a moan slid past your lips, body jerking upwards as pleasure coiled in your belly.

“Fuck, ah, Lewis!” You moaned, fingers tightening around the edges of the blanket as you lifted it up, your eyes meeting his. Your husband looks up at you, his strong hands pushing apart your thighs, lips wrapped around your clit

You go to speak when he nips at your clit and then sucks immediately afterwards, like he’s trying to soothe you, and your head falls further back into the pillow, a gasp of pleasure slipping past your lips.

You push your tongue out, running it over you lips as Lewis continues to eat you with more excitement that he’s ever shown any food. Finally you find your voice to speak. “Holy shit!” You breathe out, pushing the blanket completely aside and bringing one hand down to rest on his hair, careful of the braids. “Good morning, baby.”

He hummed in reply, sending vibrations straight into your core. “Good morning,” he said, pulling back a bit, a string of saliva still connecting him to your clit. He flashed you a smile before dipping his head back down and pushing his tongue inside of you, his thumb coming up to rub your clit.

It’s not long after that your legs are shaking, still held down by his hands, and you can feel your gut tighten with every stroke of his thumb and tongue. “I’m gonna cum!” You whine, fingers grasping onto the bed sheets.

“If you wanna cum then go ahead and beg for it,” he orders, thrusting two fingers into you and stroking against your g-spot as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks.

He doesn’t really have to say anything more, you already know what he wants. And like rehearsed speech, pleas start falling from your lips as you beg for your approaching orgasm. “Oh sir!” You whine, your voice high pitched. “Please let me cum, sir. I wanna cum for you, please.”

“Cum,” he uttered, his voice muffled by his face being buried in your folds. That was all it took for your orgasm to crash over you, tipping you over the edge.

Lewis pulls back, giving you a few moments to calm down before he’s pulling down his sleep shorts and briefs and crawling over you. He leans down to kiss you, lips pressing against your in a gentle show of affection and you can taste your arousal on him.

His cock slides through your folds, the tip nudging against your overworked clit, which has you whining as you grab onto his biceps. “Too big, Lew.” You whine, feeling his hardness pressing against you.

He chuckles his eyes meeting yours as he guides the tip of his leaking cock to your entrance, the mushroom head barely slipping in. “Don’t worry baby,” he cooed, his lips brushing against your forehead in a calming manner. “I’ll make it fit, yeah. I always make it fit.”

Lewis pushed himself inside inch by inch until his hips were flush with yours. After all this time, taking him fully was still a stretch. One you would welcome with open arms every time.

He started thrusting slowly, groaning leaving his mouth. “Fuck you feel so good, baby, so tight. Squeezing my dick so well.”

You nodded back at him, too overwhelmed with pleasure to properly speak and he started speeding up his actions. His thrusts holding a bit more power behind them now as he fucked you into the mattress, shaking the bed with each thrust and driving the headboard into the wall.

It wasn’t long until you felt your orgasm approaching, wrapping your legs around his waist and throwing your head back in pleasure. “Fuck, Lew, gonna cum. Cum with me please.” You begged, your nails digging into the skin of his back.

“You gonna cum, baby?” He teased, the rhythm of his hips not slowing down. “Go on, be a good girl and cum for me. Then I’m gonna fill you up.”

You moaned at his words, clenching around him as your second orgasm crashed over you, eyes rolling back in pleasure as you clawed at his back. Still, he kept thrusting.

“Yeah, you want that. Don’t worry, sweet girl, you’ll get my cum.” He groaned, his hips faltering as his dick twitched inside of you before you felt his cum spilling along your walls. “Gonna put a baby in you, you want that? Want to be all round and swollen with my child. You’d look so good, the prettiest mama.”

He pulled his now softening dick out of the warmth of your pussy, his cum spilling immediately now that his dick was no longer acting like a makeshift plug. He groaned at the sight, his fingers sliding down to collect the spilled cum and push it back into you, making you whine at the overstimulation he was providing.

He hummed, bringing his coated fingers up to your lips. You wasted no time to lean forward and take his fingers into your mouth, licking them clean. “I love to watch my cum leak out from your pussy.” He told you, his words making you shiver in delight.

Lewis leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, his hands stroking the skin of your arms. “Let me pamper you a little, baby.” He asked, and you found yourself nodding back at him. It was a very good morning, indeed.

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karlachismylife · 5 months ago

Text

Wrote the intro the day I started this work and decided to leave it since it reflects the shitstorm in my head quite well, eh.

Okay Idk what it is with me today (I actually do know, I'm having a bad fucking night as a consequence of my own actions but I prefer not to think about it), but I just thought about task force 141 and reader that has such a bad withdrawal after their orgasm that they actually cry and not in a fun way (cue my lack of understanding how crying in bed can ever be fun, but i'm not here to kinkshame)

CW: NSFW (so minors and ageless blogs DNI, I'll block you), but there's barely any sex, hurt/comfort, body image issues, low self-esteem, chubby/fat!reader, written with afab!reader in mind (but most parts can be read as gn), potential mental health issues (?), thoughts of selfloathing and selfharm, smoking mentioned once at the end. Very self-indulgent and I'm definitely unwell, so yeah. It's also more focused on reader's inner shitstorm than the guys in many places so idk if this even really is enjoyable...

Starts as a single piece, then splits into individual blurbs/drabbles/oneshots + some polyamory cuz I'm spoiling myself today having done nothing to deserve it, lol.

They vary in size and tone since I've been writing them through several ups and downs in my own mental state, so please don't take this as a sign of which characher/combo is my favourite. I'm greedy, I like everything.

This is unfair.

Like, you just had wonderful sex, probably came more than once in a short period of time, ears stuffed with cotton, limbs weak, head spinning... and it keeps spinning, sweet tingling on the skin turning into nasty rushes of cold, muscles too tense, but it's not a cramp.

You feel like shit, every possible hormonal and neuromediator crash downing on you, a hollow, depressing weight in your chest instead of a sweet afterglow. Sweat and cum feel disgusting on you skin, your skin feels disgusting, strangling, your whole body seems revolting, too heavy, too sluggish. A sticky, suffocating heatwave on your nape, but your chest is cold and covered in goosebumps, a feverish feeling clogging every pore. Nausea wrenches into your stomach and stops just before you can relievingly barf and get rid of this parasite inside.

You simply want to dig your nails into your own shoulders instead of his and rip the skin and meat off, free yourself from this burden (you're the burden). Each second as he stays blissfully unaware, holding you tightly with his big hands and panting into the crook of your neck, drags on like a hundred hours of pure torture - the torture of being yourself.

Throwing up feels like an appropriate reaction to how unappealing and ugly you feel.

You're spiraling. You couldn't fucking keep your own messed up emotional outburst - completely unreasonable and unprovoked, by the way - to yourself, and now it's going to be noticed. You'll ruin someone else's fun. Make it all about yourself when you've already been nothing but doted on, cared and provided for. Fucked so good that your body is still clenching around that magnificent cock deep inside you.

And you're fucking crying, like an ungrateful, egotistical brat. Never having enough, unable to provide something as simple as a hole to make someone else happy without fucking it up.

Ghost notices immediately. There's nothing that can escape this man, and definitely not his love's distress. He's not reacting immediately for a sole reason: he's frozen in fear, horrified that he made you cry. How - he's not sure, he always takes great care to stay within limits, never allows himself to push you further than you both agree on. But what if he slipped up? What if he got carried away? Did he cause pain? Did he say something hurtful in the heat of the moment?

"Fuck. Hey, hey, lovie... look at me... wha's wrong? Did I... did I hurt ya?" Good thing you're hiding your face and your red eyes so desperately that you can't see how distressed and downright terrified Simon looks, lost at the sight of your tears. When you shake your head and attempt to push him away to hide your pathetic sobbing, he somewhat calms down and brings his big calloused hands to cradle your face, gently prying your own palms away and holding your puffy cheeks tenderly. His thumbs brush your tears away as he holds you, holds you through the growing rage fit of touch aversion, through the shudders and actual wailing. At some point he moves his palm to cover your eyes, a dry, dark blinder to keep the world around you shut out, help you concentrate on his voice.

He's not talking, just humming, a familiar, deep, grumbling noise that soothes all the flashes of anger, hate and disgust in your brain. You're tired now, like you're always are after such an intense outburst, and as you go limp, he finally pulls away, only to pick you up - barely a strain, a direct spit in the face of your own insecurity - and bring you to the bathroom. A warm shower evens your distorted body temperature out, his hands running over your body and cleaning all the stickiness away bring back peace with your own skin. After a quick rinse Simon holds you, your head cradled against his chest, until you make a weak attempt to help him wash too - he lets you trace his body, that perfection you adore with all its old wounds, sores and scars, for a bit, and then finishes himelf.

Gives you fresh cotton underwear and his hige T-shirt, still holding you around your shoulders and keeping the comfortable pressure even while he changes the bedsheets, kissing your temple as you find it in yourself to help.

It's only after you settle on top of him, nice, clean comforter protecting your back against the world, head on his chest right next to his heart beating in a steady rythm, he finally breaks silence.

"Need anything else, lovie?" Just like that. No prying, no occusations, nothing that would put you on the spot. You can ask him to bring you the moon soaked in unicorn's milk, and he'll just nod, kiss your hand and start dressing up, already calling Johnny to ask where the fuck did Scots hide their last horned horse and if he happens to know where they enlist astronauts.

"Just you."

His grip on the small of your back tightens and you feel his uneven, scarred lips graze the top of your head.

"Ya've got me. Always."

Soap is running hot like a furnace, still shivering and panting after what he considers the best sex he has ever had (every time with you is). He lifts his face, buried into the crease of your neck previously, and starts peppering you with slightly sloppy, grateful kisses - your neck, your jaw, your lips, your...

When he tastes your tears and opens his unbelievably blue eyes to see your expression contorted in disgust, he panics. Pulls away immediately, hands both itching to grab you and shake a reason for that look on your face out of you and too scared to touch you in case this hatred is directed at him.

"Whit's wrong, leannan? Are ye a'right? Ye didnae lik' it? Shite, lass, Ah'm so sorry, Ah didnae mean tae-" He stops yapping only when he notices the way your lips tremble as you try to plead with him, sobbing that it's not his fault.

"'M sorry, I ruined it... I'm so sorry, sushine, I just... fuck I wish I wasn't so bloody sick in the head and ugly..." Speaking out loud only worsens your anger, directed solely at yourself, and you try to wipe your eyes furiously. As the tears keep rolling, your frustration only grows - maybe if you yanked your own hair really good or slapped the disgusting pudgy cheek you've despised ever since chidhood as everyone kept pointing out how big they were...

"Ye didnae just call the love of mah fucking life ugly." Johnny's voice is a mix of a harsh order to cut your bullshit and pure disbelief. His huge paws wrap themselves around your wrists, stopping you both from harming yourself and covering your face. You're forced to look at him, and as you do, you see his handsome face flushed with a passionate anger at the intrusive thoughts in your head, heavy frown in his thick eyebrows and the sea in his eyes dark and deep enough to drown a whole fleet. You'd be scared if it wasn't obvious how hurt he is underneath it all - like a kid whose favourite plushie just got mocked by his classmates.

"It's just a toy," adults would say, and they would be bloody wrong.

"Tis not a toy, tis mah friend."

You're his friend. His love. His heart, his soul, his everything - he whispers that frantically, kissing you over and over, hot palms running over your body, wiping the cold, the stickiness, the goosebumps away. You don't have time to think, to spiral again, you're drowning in that exact sea that's spilling from his eyes, staring at you with pure devotion - a sea of affection, admiration, love, love, love.

Johnny nuzzles up to you like an animal seeking comfort, hides into your chest, right after he kisses your sweaty double chin, breathes in deeply, lets go of your soft shoulders only to grab two handfuls of your tummy, kneading it, warming up the stale blood, squeezing your big thighs between his and getting lost in the frenzy - he honestly doesn't even remember already that he was comforting you, he's fully in the worshipping mode, leaving you no chance to dip even a single toe into the self-conscious thoughts again.

You'll just have to stay there, every single tear lapped up from your face, and accept every greedy touch and word of a man utterly in love with you. Even the messed up parts.

Gaz keeps his cool despite how distraught even the thought of your sadness makes him. First of all he moves aside to give you space, makes sure you're not hurt, asking in his usual kind - unbelievably kind, so much that you burst into tears again, feeling undeserving of such unapologetically soft treatement, tone.

"Shh, shush, gorgeous, you're not hurt, are you? It's okay, c'mere, jus-st like tha', very good, love," praises keep spilling from his tender lips as he carefully helps you sit up, simply dragging you away from the damp from sweat and everything else spot on the sheets. He ends up balancing half his bare ass off the edge of the bed, but it doesn't bother him in the slightest as he feels you already coming back from that hopeless place as soon as your body gets stuck between clean, dry and a bit cool sheet and Kyle's firm lean body of a litearal god - or a prince, at least.

His deft fingers are already at work, massaging your scalp, chasing the tension away, but the second he feels you grow uncomfortable with the repetitive movement, he stops and retreats to simply holding you in a steady, reliant embrace. You know he's good with his words, that's how he got you, swept off your feet completely and made you swoon with sweet compliments, hilarious snark and smart talk.

You just don't expect him to do it all over again in the face of your burdened mind crumbling in the paradise.

"Talk to me, angel. Let me inside that pretty head, hm?"

It takes this sweettalker just a couple of words to coax whatever that ugly, slimy knot in your throat is, out. You sob, retelling Kyle every single thought that has been stuck in that coagulated mess in your head, spill the bile that has been burning your retching throat, out in the open, for him to see the disgusting ugliness of your insides - matching your outside.

Somehow throughout your choking trade his soft, careful hand never leaves your back, rubbing circles of different radius and intensity into your skin to keep the aggression at monotonous touch at bay.

"Must've been some terrible person to overbear your spirit and plant all those lies in your mind, angel." You don't catch the meaning of his words at first, glancing at him confused and whoozy after you exploded with self-deprication. Those dark, calm eyes look at you no different than before: quiet, calm reverence and determination. A thread of spider's silk, thin as a hair, but stronger than steel, his love does not waver. Were you in the right state to actually pay attention, you would've seen it only grow.

"Well, beautiful, this isn't how I planned to start writing poetry, but since you insisted... maybe I can think of a diss track about you."

"A diss track?.." Poor you, so upset that you can't catch onto the mischievous glint in his eyes and that silly smooth sarcasm slipping into his words. You're actually half a step away from believing he would diss you, destroying that already non-existent self-esteem once and for all.

"Yup. Gotta diss-tract you from all that bullshit in your head for good. Unless you'd rather me fuck it out of you instead?"

You cannot not smile at that, even if it's a weak, timid smile. Kyle's face still lights up as if he sees an actual angel, bringing the good grace or whatever.

"There ya go. First step of the mission? Success. Permission to continue? I repeat, permission to continue?"

"You spend too much time with Simon. Permission granted..."

Price undrstands what's going on before he even hears your first sob, the tension in your body and the change in your breath telling him all he needs to know. There's enough experience in this man for the both of you, he has learnt to read people and immediately accomodate them in a way that serves a common goal so long ago that it's a secong nature already.

Your comfort is that common goal.

With a grunt, he rolls you over, planting you firmly on top of his warm, burly body. Untucking your head from his hairy chest, he holds your face and does not let you concentrate on anything but his stern, focued gaze under those bushy eyebrows - but there's still that undeniable tenderness in his eyes that's always there whenever John looks at you.

His voice sounds usual too: a calm, commanding, but not harsh tone, not a loud bark any of his subordinates would hear, yet still an order. "Look at me, darling. Tha's right, look at me, look at your John. You shut whatever's going through that troubled mind of yours out and let me take care of the rest, a'right? Can you do that for me, darling? I know you can. I'll do all the thinking for ya, eh?"

Giving control over to him feels natural at any other moment, but right now you're too deep in the trenches of the war with your own mind, hissing at you with pure disgust for being so selfish. Really, now? Had to use this sweet, caring man for your own needs, and now you're dumping all your perverted, fucked up baggage on him too?

"Nuh-huh, ya're still thinking. Told ya to cut if off. You know that's not you thinking right now, dontcha? You're a smart one, love, ya know shit like this happens. And when shit happens, who are you going to to deal with it, huh?" His deep voice rumbles in his chest, seeps into your clogged ears, fills your skull with the unyielding determination and leaves no room for your own dark thoughts.

When you hesitate to answer, John slides his rough palms over your back, tracing your soft rolls and landing onto the pudge of your hips, squeezing lightly to remind you who's in charge and what your task is. "Who is there for ya to deal with shit that happens, hm, darling? Need ya to tell me."

You want to hide, escape his demand for an answer, but he keeps you firmly in his embrace, a gaze of steel unmoving from you. It almost makes you tear up again, almost feels mean of him to put you on the spot, when all you want to do is curl up in a dark corner and stay there for all eternity. But the love you have for this man overpowers even the seething hatred you bear for yourself, so you give up and murmur meekly: "You..."

"Tha's right, darling, it's your John. I'm here to deal with everything that bothers ya. Everything, ya hear? Tha's me job. Your job is to stay wit' me 'n' not overthink, eh? Especially not when it's just hormons making ya feel bad." You have nothing else left to do, other than sniffle into his chest and melt under a warm kiss he plants on your crown. "How about a cuppa, eh, darling? And something just as sweet as ya for a bite. Ya'll feel better in no time, I promise."

Ghost and Soap cancel each other's panicking out. As soon as both you and Simon slip out of the sweet afterglow, falling backwards each into your own pit of self-doubt and spiraling, Johnny starts babbling, terrified at the thought of both his beloved people feeling worse after being with him. His slurred, panting words and frantic kisses help Simon shake of his own horror - in return, he squeezes Johnny's shoulder to slow the worried mutt down and redirect his energy into helping you. Soap tenses up under the firm touch of his Lieutenant, then relaxes again, leaning into him for a moment to collect himself - they charge from each other, mere seconds of feeding off each other's energies in the middle of a time-limited mission with the highest stakes: your well-being.

They exchange glances, no words needed after the way their work together almost makes them mindreaders to each other, and turn back to you as you lay there, face painfully contorted in an attempt to keep the black foamy bile you feel rising in your throat from spilling. Slow, sticky, angry tears run down your flabby cheeks, and with each millimetre they go, your scalding wish to gouge your eyes out with your bare hands grows, just to punish yourself for being ungrateful after two perfect men spent so much of their time making you feel good.

"Dinnae cry, bonnie. Ye're a'right, ye're 'ere, wit' us. Right, LT? We're nae gonnae let ye marinate in whitevur got ye so upset." The pressure from inside your body that threatened to burst you open into a messy explosion of bile and rot, gets evened out from outside by Johnny's tight hug. He squeezes you up to the painful point, cradling against his broad chest, holding the fort while Simon leaves the bed, but not without kissing both your palms and holding them against his lips until he feels the cold leave your fingertips.

"Oi, Johnny. Help lovie get in 'ere," he calls out several minutes later out of the bathroom. Soap, who has been holding you and allowing you to sob against his heart this whole time, stroking your sweaty hair and murmuring every word of love he knows, scoops you up immediately. He pads over with you in his arms to where a warm bath is already filled thanks to Simon, and when you react to the temperature with another wave of tears, they both reach out to the tap simultaneously.

"Is tha' a'right, bonnie?" You make a strangled noise as Johnny finally sets you down into much cooler now water. It soothes you, makes you feel instantly cleaner, smaller, lighter. Breathing gets easier, that swollen blob of anger and disgust shrinking down in your chest and allowing you to inhale bathroom's damp air normally. You open your mouth to apologize and get cut off before even a single syllable leaves your mouth.

"Don't," Simon's voice sounds gruff, but even his murky reflection in the rippling water looks genuinely soft towards you. They're both perched on the cold bath edge, naked and seemingly not caring about that at all. "Jus' let us take care of you, yeah, love? Tha's what we're here for. Tha's what we want to do."

"Well, actually, there's one more thing," Johnny interjects, causing you to finally lift your sullenly lowered head and look at him, Simon's big palm using this moment of distraction to press onto your back in silent support. "Can Ah make ye a foam beard? Please, bonnie? Ye jus' 'ave the prettiest sweetest cheeks fur tha'."

Soap and Gaz feel like their world is sinking into a whirlwind of stormy clouds, the kind that sucks all light out of sky in mere seconds and can't be cut through even by blinding flashes of lightnings. There is no sun in their skies if you're not smiling, and the sound of your muffled sniffles hits their eardrums harder than thunder or explosions. The frowns distorting their faces only make you more self-aware of the fact that you ruined things between you - the initial hysteria starts rapidly flowing into complete shutdown, threatening to turn you into an emotionless shell for unknown period of time, when several warm, big hands intervene and cut the depressing trajectory down at its root.

"Damn, we did a shit job fucking all your thoughts out, didn't we, angel?" Kyle's joke sounds soft, teasing, but empathetic, ready to be met with sobs or silence instead of the usual laughter that flashes your teeth at him and makes his own smile grow brighter.

"Aye, we did. If anythin', Ah think we put more thoughts intae 'ere instead," Johnny scratches his head dramatically, and then you feel his big, hot palm on you sweaty forehead, as if he's trying to get a feel of the thoughts inside your skull. It doesn't linger there for long, though, rough fidgety fingers digging into your hair and tugging at the roots. This makes the hot-and-cold collar around your nape unclench, uncouth and chaotic massage confidently pulling every ounce of anger out of your brain. From time to time his calloused palm slips lower, squeezing your scruff, wiping the cool sweat away and taking control over what seems to have escaped your own.

"How does it feel to be the first person to get knocked up mentally, love? Having any cravings yet? Feeling your brainworms kick yet?" Dry cotton comforter suddenly covers your exposed to be looked at with disdain body, and before you can choke out a protest and something about you being sweaty and sticky and disgusting, Kyle grips your shoulders firmly, rubbing up and down as he slowly helps you sit up a bit.

"Ye eejit, how dae ye think thay can kick? They're brainworms, thay dinnae hae any legs!" The sheer passion in Johnny's heated counterarguement does the impossible - makes the corners of your deeply upset mouth twitch against all the weight the sadness put on them. Your knights in shining (from all the sweat your lovemaking covered them with) armor of their own warm skin seem to not notice the slightest twitch of your lips - there's no excessive attention drawn to you, none of them puts you on the spot. Their touch isn't going anywhere, but it almost seems mindless, simply their need to have something soft and pleasant to squeeze in their restless hands. "'N' wasnae Mary th' first lassie tae get up th' duff through th' heid?"

"That wasn't mentally, that was spiritually, read your books, Soap," scoffs Kyle, as if it was the most obvious thing, and ducks just in time to avoid a pillow thrown at him with sniper's precision.

"Oi, ye sayin' Ah cannae read now?!" Whatever snarky retort Kyle was ready to shoot, gets wiped out as Johnny tackles him, barely avoiding pushing all three of you off the bed. Their scuffle consists of chokeholds and sneaky kisses, legs getting caught in the sheets and somehow tangling you into the mess too.

Until you laugh, finding yourself squished into Johnny's hairy chest with Kyle in a gently headlock somewhere under your arm.

"Hey, hey, careful, mate, our lovie's expecting, we can't just throw 'em around!" However obvious that deflection is, Johnny reacts as if you were actually with child and grabs your face, boring his eyes into yours, slowly widening his two blue lochs in pretend horror.

"Och naw! Ah think we lost 'em, Ah cannae see nothin' there now!" Flushed after the playfight, you avert your gaze, still a trace of self-consciousness about yout outburst somewhere deep inside, but none of the "brainworms" that clogged your insides in sight indeed. Johnny's little drama earns him a soft nip on his thumb from you, and he smiles at you, clearly satisfied with the effect their little scheme had.

"Aw, damn, and here I was, ready to hear the pitter-patter of 'em little feet," Kyle's warm lips somehow find their way to kiss your temple, eliciting another shy giggle.

A pillow crashes onto both of you with the force of a small bombshell.

"THAY DINNAE HAE FEET, GARRICK, THAY'RE WORMS!"

Price and Gaz fall into their usual ways seamlessly, responsibilities and tasks split between the two seemingly without even any verbal communication. Clearing out the space around you with the same quick efficiency they clear out enemies with, they prop you up on some pillows, assess your condition in case they got carried away and hurt you, and finally settle on both sides of you, warm hands on your knees squeezing softly.

"Are ya gonna talk to us now, lovie? Or will we have to use interrogation tactics to learn what made our love so upset?" John's voice bears no trace of threat, but it still makes you cower and try to take up even less space that your curled up body already has, which earns you a sigh from the Captain. "I see. Take over from here, Sergeant. I expect results once I return."

The matress sighs with relief a Price's weight leaves it, bare feet padding a few steps before he reaches his slippers and leaves the room. The pit that the sound of your bedroom's door closing opens in your chest is crushing your ribcage with the iron fist of vacum. You can't blame John for not willing to deal with your bullshit, but the hearbreak only reenforces the choking smog in your head that's rasping in a hundred different voices that the only thing you deserve is pure repulsion.

Kyle's soft thumb pads wipe the tears teetering on the arrows of your lashes, and in a smooth movement you find your face cupped and pulled close to his shoulder. His smooth skin sticks to your wet cheek and you find yourself crying like a little kid, the unbearable pain of the revolting dark knots inside somehow replaced with surprisingly more bearable grief over what you consider an ending reltionship. Perhaps John leaving our bed finally shattered your heart, letting the ungodly pressure out and allowing it to beat - and bleed - again.

"We'd really like if ya talked to us, angel. Don't think Captain can stand there bare-ass naked much longer, might catch rheumatism at this point, he's not getting younger, you know..."

"I hope you know I can hear you perfecrly clear, Garrick." You stop mid-sniffle, eyes snapping to the closed door. You can finally see the shadow of a man standing just outside, and the air slowly feels with some flavour you can't distinguish through all the snot yet, but seem to like a lot...

"Good, so your hearing's still intact, sir. You're in good shape," Kyle's cheeky remark must've broken John's famous patience and restraint, because the bedroom door finally opens, and you see him there. With a tray with a whole bunch of tea mugs and little plates of treats balanced in his hands.

"Still not talking? Well, we'll try another method then, lovie. Sandwich for your thoughts, eh?"

His cheeks are round with a kind smile, confusing your tortured mind even further - Kyle uses your stupor to fetch John's big, slightly scratchy bathrobe, successfully wrapping you into a cocoon of grounding stimulation all over your feverish skin. With a huff and a grumble about staying butt-naked a bit longer, John puts a pleasantly warm mug into your hands and looks at you, arms crossed and tucked into his armpits now that he got rid of the tray.

Expecting an answer.

"'M sorry..." seems appropriate right up to the moment when a little finger-sandwich gets shoved into your mouth. The bread is soft, nice, salty ham and crunchy cucumber filling your senses and cracking a bit fat line of light right in the middle of the dense cloud in your thoughts.

"Try again, love," Kyle gives a hint and wipes a crumb off your lips, licking it off his thumb. "We don't need an apology, we just want to know what's troubling ya. John, tell 'em."

"Already did," grumbles Price in response and clears his throat, sitting back down on the creaking bed. "Food's working though. Eat up, darling, get your energy. Then we'll talk properly, a'right?"

You chew slowly, still stiff in your own body, but regaining control gradually. Yes. Then you'll talk.

Ghost and Price exchange a single glance over your from, choking on the self-destructive rage, and John shakes his head so slightly that one can barely notice, but it's clear enough to stop Simon from tumbling down the traumatic spiral staircase of his own. Grounded by his Captain's presence, he shrugs his broad shoulders, shaking off the creeping up feeling of his own monsterous nature, and rolls onto his back, pulling you out of the miserable wet ball of wrinkled sheets and onto his firm lap, sideways, his big palms resting comfortably around your hips; he's not squeezing or digging his fingers into the fat like he usually does, but it's a secure hug you can't really escape.

Exposed held too far away from his chest you could hide on, you shrink, rising your shoulders protectively and trying to cover up your soft belly, spilling over your pelvis in a shapless manner - that's when John's arms come from behind, catching yours and instead of pulling away forcefully, simply repeating your own safety cocoon, hiding your body from your distorted sight and keeping you warm.

"You're not thinking straight right now, darling," every phrase he murmurs gently, calmly, convincingly into your ear is accompanied by a little kiss, beard tickling and burning your already irritated by tears skin. "So good for us, so kind. Can you spare some of that kindness for yourself?"

Even though it doesn't sound like a rhethorical question, Simon cups your cheek and shushes you tenderly, pressing his thumb to your lips, allowing John to continue with his little speech aimed to dispel the storm coagulated in your chest.

"'Cos if not, it's a'right, love. We know it's hard, and ya're doing good already. Ya 'ave us, eh? To love ya, to cherish ya. No need to overthink, jus' let us hold you, a'right?"

He finally pushes you onto Simon's chest, his big heart stuttering with worry as you seek shelter among his many scars that paint a horrifying picture once you put all the fragments together.

"How'd you do that, sir?" Simon's voice sounds vulnerable - so much that it strikes through all the layers of your egocentric self-hatred and shifts you almost immeditely into a completely different mindset; one where you throw your whole self into loving your scarred and battle-worn men in such abundance that it's ought to compensate for all the unfairness they've gone through.

There's no need for it now, you realize a little too late: Price is there, keeping Simon away from the darkness. They're fine. Better than ever. It's a distraction, a trick, a play to make your bleeding heart stop the internal self-destruction and turn to healing.

A sly little switch you're not sure they were planning to flip, but it worked.

"Hm?" As if emerging from the depths of his thoughts in response to Simon's question, John caresses your cheek as gently as his rough thumb can and then smiles, maybe catching onto the change in your mood or simply remembering all the times he pulled Ghost out of the same gloom and darkness. "Jus' taking care of me own, Simon. Tha's what a Captain does, no? Now, love, how about a shower? I reckon we can squeeze in all together and papmer you really good, what do ya say, eh?"

Ghost and Gaz manage to keep their cool. Kyle's confident and gentle presence serves to reassure any doubts Simon has about hurting you, he shoots a single glance at his sergeant and recieves support immediately. Two pair of hands cradle you with all the tenderness two soldiers are capable of, which is always enough to drown you in fully. It's a tight hug, a hot mess of limbs, too much skin on skin contact that makes your brain flare with undirected rage, but as seconds trickle by and you're still trapped between two firm bodies, you have no choice but to slip into the exhaustion phase of your outburst.

It's not pleasant, nor could you say you feel calm; if anything, you just petrify, a permanent frown on your face and blindly staring forward glass eyes. You're tired, you'd still rather be anywhere but inside your own body that still feels like a useless deformed bag that should be gutted and emptied to lighten up, inner layer of your skin scrubbed with a knife to peel off the suffocating thickness of fat trapping this heated rage inside...

Instead, you get a kiss.

It's Kyle, soft, full lips touching your wet with tears cheekbone, then again - your temple, your cheek, the overheated spot behind your ear. They're light, soft kisses, too gentle to be playful or arousing. Calming. They do not demand anything in return - he allows you to stay in your inner world where you feel secure, even pauses to kiss Simon the same way right in front of your eyes. A silent demonstrationg of the love and reverence these pecks carry, Simon's hooded eyes fluttering shut as if his own compartmentalized demons get exorcised by Garrick's touch.

"Wanna talk about it, angel?" Kyle's voice rumbles at a nice, grounding, smooth timbre, and your still-too-slow mind struggles to grasp how is it possible that he's talking and you're still getting kisses - until you recognize the uneven texture of Simon's scarred lips, trailing along your skin tenderly. "Whenever you're ready, love. But we would love to know what's going through your head right now."

It feels strange to say it out lound when you're held and caressed like this, but their kisses and solid embrace cleared your windpipe enough of the mental gunk for you to be able to speak.

"I hate myself... 'M disgusting, and-" A displeased grumbling kiss from Simon interrupts you, and even Kyle pushes his huge shoulder to reprimand his own Lieutenant for the interference. Kisses his temple immediately to make amends, though, and turns back to you, prompting you to continue.

"Wot? Don't like when someone talks shit 'bout mine," grumbles Simon like a dog that got flicked on the nose for growling at welcome guests.

"Let 'em talk, mate, it's good to get things off your chest." At least their little bickering coaxes a tiniest hint of smile out of you, and Simon, noticing it immediately, stares back at Kyle with such pride, as if he just did something great.

The thing is, in the way his arms squeeze you a tad bit tighter, pressing into his firm body, you can read that for him - your smile is the greatest achievement.

"Don't tell me you prefer his silent treatement, angel, I'm trying to be the attentive boyfriend here, and for what?" Your smile grows a little braver. A little brighter. You would've kept talking if you could remember what it was that hurt so fucking much in your chest.

"Shower. Then a cuppa. Then we have the talk." No one dares to argue with the Ghost and his gruff commands. You feel the sheet sticking to your skin as he lifts you up, Kyle already sneaking off to prepare towels and clean clothes for you three. He'll stay with you and help you wash the remaints of the mind attack off. Simon will make fresh tea.

You're going to be alright.

Price and Soap take quite an intense approach the second they notice your distress. You feel Johnny's weight disappear from you after the first strangled sob that escapes you, and if you could open your eyes glued shut by the hot, messy tears, you would see John practically dragging the poor Sergeant away by his scruff. It's easy to suspect that Johnny couldn't contain himself and went too hard, too rough on you - with no malice, but pure passion that's spilling from his big, hot heart every time he gets to be close to you.

But it's not Johnny's fault, neither is it John's. It's all you, a useless, pathetic thing, good for nothing and holding two gorgeous men to yourself like a greedy glutton hoarding delicious food.

"Ah'm sorry, bonnie- ow, Ah got it, Ah got it, Ah'm not touchin'!"

"Did we hurt ya, love? Was Johnny boy too rough wit' ya? Wha's wrong?"

You feel big warm hands gliding over your skin, quick assessment of your state in search of potential harm caused. This immediate care only makes you feel worse, every cold sweaty patch of your disgusting hide shivering and twitching under Captain's careful touch. You struggle against your own spiraling anger, fight it with what's left of your exhausted resilience - and lose, curling up with another burst of tears, shoving the loving hands away and dusting the lingering warmth off your body.

After all, you do not deserve to be treated with such kindness after the fit you just threw.

"No, no, no, it's not his fault, it's not Johnny's... it's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault, I ruin everything, I'm- I'm disgusting!"

The silence that follows you blowing up on them is heavy. Just as bad as the knot in your chest.

"Johnny."

When you open your eyes to find a way out, run away, scatter and hide in the furthest corner of the apartment until everyone who tried caring for you leaves again, you're met with Johnny's bright blue eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

It's a shocking sight, pushing you out of the muffled misery into an alerted worry - his face is red with unexplainable pained anger, fists clenched as John holds him tightly by hunched shouders, seemingly trying to prevent a violent outburst.

"Ah wanntae ken names of th' bastarts who made ye feelin' tis wa'. Ah swear Ah will mak' thaim fuckin' choke oan thair ain tongues, Ah'll rip thair spines oot 'n' shove thaim up thair-" - "Enough, Johnny. Stand down. This won't solve anythin'. Ya calm down and help our lovie feel better, a'right?"

Still a bit shells-hocked, you stir on the bedsheets and push yourself up to sit upright, stretching your arms hesitantly to the men in a weak attempt to remedy whatever shitstorm you caused in their minds.

"Don't get mad, please," you whisper sheepishly, and the shy sound of your still choked voice seems to wash Johnny's explosive anger away better than the firm grip of his handler's (Price's) hands. With a look of a beaten dog, Johnny huffs loudly, cuddlng up to you and hiding his face in your lap. His heavy jaw sinks in the plush of your thighs, accomodated nicely with the softness of your body.

"'M nae mad at ye, leannan. Jus' dinnae say tha' again, a'right, bonnie? If ye need me tae prove ye-"

"No..." your hand finds it place in his damp mohawk and brushes through, while you glance at John. His eyes are shimmering with love and love only as he looks at you and Johnny, and you feel a wave of shyness - the good, giddy, warm kind - replacing the paralyzing shame. "I'm fine already. With you."

"Maybe we should 'ave a little chat 'bout it, love," John's hand meets yours on the sad mutt's head in your lap, intertwinig fingers with you through Johnny's soft hair. "When ya feel better. Jus' so we know what we're dealing with, eh?"

"Yeah. A bit later. Thank you."

All four of your men get frozen witnessing your reaction, struck with a horrifying sense of helplessness - it feels like the biggest failure among many unsuccessful missions, operations where lives were lost and enemies missed, to have you curling up and crying in misery between all the love they've been pouring onto you just mere seconds ago. As if everything they touch is bound to go up in flames, drown in blood and rot, be it on the outside or from the inside.

They're lost, and as always, they turn to the Captain, giving themselves up for him to direct, trusting that he knows better what use they can be of.

And, frankly, he does.

They're barely talking, but the commotion around you is decipherable even through the red mind fog and closed eyes - it honestly only makes you feel worse, unsafe, exposed, despite that simply being Soap, sent off to fill a bath ("Ye want it hot or a tad bit cool, bonnie?" - Silence. Your nails dig into your scalp, the soud of someone simply breathing, even more so talking to you, sending you into a new fit of rage. "Make it warm, Johnny, we'll adjust later."), and Simon, leaving for tea duty - silently, your favourite way to have it attentively observed in the first two weeks you've been together and memorized ever since.

It's Kyle whose voice, murmuring into your ear sweet, reassuring nothings as he keeps you caged in a tight embrace, your back pressed against his warm chest, forces you out of the highly irritable state. You have no choice between his short, chaste kisses on the crown of your overloaded head, and John's calloused hands massaging your calves, soft flesh dipping under the firm pressure.

"Ya jus' focus on fighting tha' storm off, a'right, darling? We'll take care of th' rest. It happens, we know it does, 's not your fault. Jus' a funny lil' thing your mind does, eh? Yeah, love, we know wha' it's like when your mind does funny things. Don't we, Kyle?"

"That we do." Maybe it's just your own depressive state rubbing off on them or distorting your perception, but Kyle's voice sounds almost solemn. You would turn to look into the smoky quartz of his eyes, but either he holds you too tight, or you have barely any strength left in your upset body - you simply can't.

Maybe it's alright. Maybe tonight they don't need you ripping your heart out to tend to their restless minds, and you can just allow them to take care of you.

Allow Kyle to carry you to the bathroom.

Allow John to stay there and help you wash yourself with a nice, scrubby loofah.

Allow Johnny to bring in his huge, baggy loungewear that doesn't hug your curves too snugly and allows you to simply forget what you were so angry about for a while.

Allow Simon to serve you perfect temperature tea in your favourite mug and keep you quiet company on the balcony, night air cooling your wet and clean now skin and hair further and blowing all thoughts out of your troubled head away.

As you share a cigarette with rich clove aftertaste, breathing ironically becomes easier. Behind your back the bedsheets are being changed, proper meal is being cooked, a good movie you won't be upset falling asleep to is being chosen.

"Simon." - "Hm." - "You sure you're okay with me being like that?" - "Standin' in the wind with your hair wet, tryin' to catch a cold?"

You grunt, not appreciating him taking the piss while you're tryig to be vulnerable, but allow him to pull the hood of Johnny's hoodie onto your head.

"No. I mean, fucked up in the head?"

You don't actually know what answer you expect. With an unreadable expression, Simon turns his head, looking through the glass door at the men crowded in the living room and waiting for you, and then stares back at you with a smirk, a permanent scowl carved into it by someone's cruel hand.

"Nah. Tha's how I like 'em."

He throws the cigarette butt away and chuckles, cupping the back of your head and pulling you inside, into the warmth of home.

"Oi, bonnie! C'mere, As saved ye a spot." There is no spot as you look at the two-story cuddle pile on the sofa and the blanket nest in front of it, unless of course... ah, yes, Johnny's patting his lap. "Ah promise Ah'll behave. Mostly."

And as his warmth envelops you through a big hug, his hands clenched humbly on your belly and behaving indeed, you feel stupidly happy.

Because you're enjoying touch again.

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puripurin · 1 year ago

Text

— Cute!Yan!Monster, who is nothing more than a literal cutiepie. Sure, his jaw is bloody and quite literally hanging by muscles, but his mannerisms are totally different than by how he looks.

The first time you saw him was in an abandoned building you were exploring for fun, dangerously stupid, but quite frankly stupid was in your middle name with all the dangerous stunts you had pulled, so this was the usual.

Until you saw him jump out of nowhere but still didn't come close to you as he banged his head on a piece of hanging metal, to which tears started forming in his eyes.

You pouted as you got a closer look. The monster that had tried to scare you had strawberry blonde hair and deep red eyes. Overall, the monster was cute except for his hanging jaw.

"Erm... are you okay?" You stooped down near him and handed him a napkin. He stared at you before taking it gracefully and wiping away his tears.

"I... I'm sorry for doing a poor job of scaring you... I'm just bad at what I'm supposed to do..." He weeped some more as he patted his tears. His voice was soft and slightly scratchy, but you had no idea where it came from, so that was a bit eerie.

"Hey, no... you actually scared me. The atmosphere was really scary as I heard your footsteps periodically, and I was always looking back. Even if it was botched, you did a good job." You patted his head as his eyes widened in happiness.

"You mean it??? I am so happy that I was able to scare you! Ah! My papa says that if you love someone very much you should marry them!" He nuggled into your chest, leaving you in confusion. "I am not letting you leave here. My papa says you should never let the person you love the most leave... I think that's for the best for you..."

"Wait, what--"

"Ah, anyways, what do you mean by you heard my footsteps periodically?" He looked up at you and tilted his head.

"Oh, it just meant I heard you walking around. Is there an issue?"

"But I don't make sound when I walk."

"Wait... then, who...?"

"Oh! Wait, you're talking about my papa!"

"Your papa?"

Just then, a horned monster layered in short black fur appeared in front of you both and screeched loudly. The cute monster giggled as he ran up to hug his papa. Meanwhile, you pass out in fear.

Eh, i think ill make a fic about his papa later. Oh also, i did post an intro, but deleted it because it was ugly so I'll have redo it, plus i was tired while doing it, so uh yeah. Also, he's not really yandere in the beginning, but once you spend more time, the more he wants to lock you up and keep you as his wife <3

#yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere monster x reader #cute yandere #yandere monster

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greensagephase · 4 months ago

Text

"Made by Spider-Man himself"

Pairings: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: After failing to find spider webs for Halloween decorations at the store, your husband surprises you. Word Count: 2.4k Warnings: fluff; established relationship, marriage; Spanish spoken, but translations are provided within text; suggestive comments, so MDNI; terms of endearment; I think that's all; this was just an idea I had the other day and needed to write it🥺 Masterlist

You sigh heavily next to Miguel, your eyes scanning every single spot on the shelves in front of you, hoping to find at least one box.

Next to you, Miguel glances at you. “Why the heavy sigh, mi vida [my life]? What are we looking for?” he asks, turning to the shelves again.

“Some spider webs for Halloween decoration to put on our front windows, but I’m too late.”

“Too late? Baby, it’s still about two weeks before Halloween.”

“I know, but people start buying as soon as the stores put things out, and the norm now is that stores start putting a holiday’s decorations like two months in advance.”

“Which is insane, by the way,” Miguel murmurs, eyes scanning for spider webs. “Are they normal spider-webs, or…?”

You sigh again and pull out your phone to show him a screenshot from some short video that seems to have come up on your feed. The video displays the LED spider webs, attached to the creator’s windows. He nods, realizing there’s nothing like that on the shelves.

“Maybe we can go to another location?” your husband offers.

You smile softly at him but shake your head. “No, mi corazón [my heart]. It would be pointless. I’m certain we won’t find them anywhere. It’s too late at this point. The video popped up last night on my feed, and again, most stores put everything out two months before the holiday, so… I’m sure every single box has been sold at this point.” You shrug and put your phone away. “Maybe next year I’ll have better luck. Do you want to go somewhere else?” you ask, already deciding that next year will be your best bet.

“No, I don’t need to go anywhere else, mi vida [my life]. I just wanted to come with you,” Miguel says as you both begin to head out of the store. He frowns, not failing to notice your little pout. “Are you sure, preciosa [precious]? We can make the drive to another location. It’s no problem.”

You smile again and take your husband’s hand, which has been brushing against yours this entire time, as you head to your car. “I’m sure, mi corazón [my heart]. Let’s just go home, okay? I’m going to make some delicious, cozy, and warm food for us.”

With a smile, Miguel pulls you closer to his side, still walking. “Alright, preciosa [precious]. Let’s go home,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before he opens the car door for you, always the gentleman.

A few hours later, you’re on the couch with a blanket over you while re-watching one of your favorite autumn shows in the living room. You glance towards Miguel’s workroom, wondering what he’s working on. Earlier, after having dinner and cleaning the kitchen together, Miguel told you he needed to work on something regarding the Spider Society, so you decided to settle in the living room by yourself.

Fixing your position on the couch while the intro of a new episode starts playing, you hear Miguel’s footsteps, signaling that he’s left his workroom.

“Mi vida [my life]?” Miguel says, his footsteps growing closer.

You lift yourself up, smiling just at the sound of your husband’s voice, thinking that maybe he’ll join you now and you can cuddle.

“Baby,” you start, your eyes landing on him, but freezing when you see what’s on his hands. You stare in awe. “Wait…”

Miguel grins as he walks closer to show you, displaying the item in front of you for a better view. “Are these okay, preciosa [precious]?” Miguel asks, still wondering if the amazing and sweet gesture he’s made for you is ‘okay.’

“Miggy, you made spider webs out of your own for me?” you ask softly, in awe. You look up at him as he gently hands the spider net over to you, your heart filled with so much love for Miguel, your sweet husband.

“Cualquier cosa para ti, preciosa [anything for you, precious]. I know it’s not the sam -” Miguel starts while you accept the spider web and carefully place it on the couch before lunging yourself at him, catching him by complete surprise.

“I love you!” you say, throwing your arms around him. “You’re the sweetest! What did I do to deserve you?” you ask, hugging him tightly.

Despite being caught off guard, Miguel’s arms instantly wrap around your body, pulling you closer. He smiles and lifts you up easily, he’s Spider-Man after all. Smiling, he presses his forehead to yours. “I couldn’t stand seeing mi hermosa esposa being disappointed [my gorgeous wife]. That little pout pulled at my heart strings. It always does,” he whispers, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “When we were having dinner, I remembered I’m Spider-Man and I build things. So, I figured, why not build some spider webs out of my own for my lovely wife?”

Slipping your fingers into Miguel’s dark locks, you nuzzle your own nose against him. “Eres el esposo mas dulce [you’re the sweetest husband]. So kind and loving to me — so much that you entertain my silly shenanigans,” you whisper.

Miguel hums and lift his face just to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. “It’s not silly shenanigans. You have no idea how much I love seeing you getting excited about decorating our home for the holidays.” Miguel pulls you closer before settling on the couch with you attached to him. He smiles and positions you so you’re sitting on his lap comfortably before cupping your face with his large hand. “For so many years, I went on without celebrating anything. It brings me so much joy to see you excited over the decorations and being able to decorate with you. It was a great joy to make these for you, too,” Miguel gently states, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“You made more than one?” you whisper.

“I made you a few so we can place them all over the front of the house,” Miguel whispers back with a grin. “And the best part? We don’t need any extension cords or batteries.”

You chuckle and give Miguel a kiss on the lips, gentle and sweet. “Thank you, mi corazón [my heart]. You’re truly the sweetest.”

More than content with your reaction, Miguel grins. “Want to go ahead and put them out? I’ll get the ladder and hang them for you. I’d do it without the ladder, but…”

“We don’t need our neighbors to know they live next to Spider-Man,” you finish with a smile.

“Right. It’s our little secret,” Miguel responds, leaning forward to press another gentle kiss to your lips before the two of you collect all the spider webs Miguel made and head outside.

It doesn’t take long for Miguel to place them around the front of your shared home with your assistance, and by the end, your home looks amazing with the spider webs and the other decorations you have out. You’re so happy that you take a few pictures just for memory keeping, something you always do, while Miguel watches you fondly.

After finishing taking pictures, the two of you head back inside to warm up by cuddling on the couch, just like you were hoping. The show you were playing earlier is still going, but you don’t even care much about it at this point since you’ve re-watched like a million times anyway, so you focused on caressing Miguel’s face, who looks more than happy with the attention. He leans into your touch, his crimson eyes fluttering in delight due to your soft hands.

“I bet everyone is going to say how wonderful the spider webs look when we host the little party on Halloween,” you whisper, remembering that you both decided to host a small Halloween party for the neighbors. “I’m going to have to pay you back.”

“Mmm, yeah? What do you have in mind?” Miguel asks, his hand moving to your hip, caressing it lightly.

“Hmm, I’ll think about it,” you reply. “I have an idea,” you add, earning yourself a gentle squeeze at your hip and the sweetest, laziest smile from your husband, who you know doesn’t care if you reciprocate the kind gesture in any way since he did it out of love.

Halloween Party

Dressed in matching costumes with Miguel, your Halloween party is a success. You set up age appropriate games for the kids and made sure to have plenty of delicious food and candy, on top of what the neighbors brought over. At the end of the party, Miguel and you stand outside on the front of your home to see the last couple out for the night.

“You two have a great night. Thank you for the good time,” Mrs. García says with a smile. “It was lovely!”

Miguel and you smile, standing next to each other. You feel your husband’s arm around your waist from the back, his warmth seeping into your own body.

“It was a pleasure, Mrs. García. I’m glad you enjoyed it,” you reply, pleased with yourself since the small group of people you invited seemed to have enjoyed themselves.

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, but those spider webs! They’re so wonderful. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but where did you buy them?” the older woman asks, her husband looking at the spider webs with interest, too.

You grin, recalling that the very next day after Miguel and you hanged them, the spider webs were a point of discussion around the neighborhood. You can only guess why.

“My mom bought them for us, but I’m not sure where she got them from since they don’t have a company logo or something like that,” you lie, finding it easy to do so because it’s not the first time that you’ve been asked where you got them from. Of course, you had to fabricate some lie because you can’t tell them your husband made them.

“That’s a shame. They’re so wonderful. I was thinking,” Mrs. García starts, staring at one of the spider webs. “They look so much like our superhero’s. It’s as if they were made by Spider-Man himself.”

You grin at that, feeling Miguel’s hand squeeze your side. “They do, don’t they?” Miguel says quietly. “But my mother-in-law got them for us. Where from? Solo Dios sabe [only God knows].”

After cleaning up and completing your night routines, you lay next to Miguel on your shared bed. You can’t help but stare at him with full admiration and love. You find yourself doing that often, wondering how everything led to this beautiful life with this beautiful and gentle man. Smiling, your eyes move over that beautiful chiseled face, loving how cute your husband looks with his reading glasses. You watch him flip the page on his current read, seemingly unaware of his wife’s eyes.

You can’t help yourself — he looks so handsome laying on his side of the bed, shirtless with grey sweatpants as bottoms.

“¿No te han dicho que es de mala educación cuando te le quedas mirando a alguien [Haven’t they told you it’s rude to stare?]?” Miguel asks, smirking softly and looking at you.

And God, no matter how long you’ve been together, that smirk and voice does things to you. Your cheeks feel hot and suddenly you turn shy under your husband’s gaze. “I was just admiring the view,” you confess softly. “Can’t help it.”

Still smirking, Migue places his book on the nightstand and removes his reading glasses. In seconds, he has you straddling his lap with ease. He wraps his arms around your waist, his hands caressing your sides. “Mm, I find myself doing that too often with my lovely wife,” Miguel whispers.

You smile and cup Miguel’s face. “Is that so?”

“Mhm, so much. I’d be a trillionaire if I was paid for looking at you,” he replies, making you chuckle.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For making the lovely spider webs. I love them so much!” You press a soft kiss to his lips. “You have no idea how many compliments they got and how many times I had to lie about my mom buying them for me, so they wouldn’t get any ideas about where they came from.”

Squeezing your sides, Miguel grins. “Anything for you, preciosa [precious]. And it seems our little white lie worked. Hopefully no one thinks too hard about them, like Mrs. García.”

“’Made by Spider-Man himself’ — she got it right on the head,” you whisper, amused before leaning forward again and pecking Miguel’s lips. “I’m gonna have to thank Spider-Man himself for lending me a hand.”

“Hmm, yeah? I’ve heard he loves cookies and sweet tamales [I think everyone knows these; Latin dish],” Miguel replies in a whisper, brushing his lips against yours, still holding you close. “Perhaps you can thank him like that, with something sweet.”

“Ah, ah,” you tease. “I did have a feeling he has a sweet tooth.”

“The worst,” Miguel answers, grinning. “He loves sweet things… Like his sweet wife, who has the sweetest lips, voice, and….” Miguel trails off and begins to pepper your face with gentle kisses.

“Hmm, what were you going to say there, arañita [little spider]?” you ask, amused, while Miguel continues showering you with kisses.

Pulling back, Miguel smiles. “The sweetest soul I know,” he whispers.

“I don’t think that’s what you were going to say.”

Miguel chuckles. “No, but it’s the truth all the same. You’re the sweetest and I’m so thankful to be yours,” he adds, his hands moving to your ass, squeezing gently, before leaning forward to kiss you slowly, tenderly, and lovingly on the lips.

You kiss him back, still cupping his face. “I love you,” you whisper against his lips when you pause the kiss just to tell him that.

“Y yo a ti, mi vida [and I you, my life],” Miguel replies in a whisper. “Te amo [I love you].”

You kiss again before you pull back, feeling something poking you. You grin. “Spider-Man really does love sweet things, hm?”

“Mhm, he has a craving for something sweet right now,” Miguel answers.

“Did you know Spider-Man's wife loves it when her husband wears grey sweatpants?”

“I may or may not know that,” Miguel murmurs, using a hand to caress your cheek with a mischievous grin.

“Something tells me you do know,” you only manage to say before your husband rolls over on top of you to get his sweet tooth satisfied.

A/N: Thank you for reading!!

Alondra❤️

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keerysfreckles · 8 months ago

Note

lando norris x albon!reader (younger sister) inspired by the content of him alex and george where they answer questions or went karting again was so cute

no shame — LN4

pairing: lando norris x albon!reader

summary: y/n albon goes karting with the 2019 rookies, but lando has to help her during the short race.

warnings: none, just really short :/ not proofread!

a/n: i actually hate this, im just trying to clear out my inbox

masterlist !

⋆ ˚ ｡ ⋆ ୨୧ ˚

y/n albon was always close with her older brother. despite them being almost four years apart, they got along quite well through childhood and after their school years.

when alex started karting y/n couldn't help but feel left out. she was always excited to attend the karting events, but was upset she couldn't get behind the wheel herself. her parents barely had enough money to support their son, so y/n's small dreams of racing had to be put on the back burner.

y/n wonders how her life would've turned out if she had karted with alex. would she still be racing?

well, to put it shortly, y/n was racing again.

she got a call that morning from her brother, asking if she wanted to join a karting video with himself, lando and george. how could she say no?

so the girl was quick to change into the plain racing suit after she met up with the three friends at the circuit.

with her bright pink helmet in hand (one she designed years ago), she ran towards the rookies, who were in the middle of filming the intro to the video. crofty kept explaining how the events would go, while y/n squeezed herself between george and lando.

"ah! here's the other albon," crofty smiles, pointing to y/n.

she waves and smiles, not used to being filmed.

crofty finished explaining the rules, and the four were getting settled in their karts.

as y/n was strapping herself in, lando came up next to her.

"you seemed pretty excited when alex called you earlier," he smiles, picking up the helmet on the floor beside the kart.

y/n nods, "i can't remember the last time i've been in a kart. of course i had to say yes."

"be careful out there, yeah?"

y/n nods again, watching lando tighten the strap above her shoulder before he leaves to go to his own kart.

y/n pushes the helmet onto her head as she hears crofty speak into his microphone. soon enough, crofty and the two cameramen were up above the lights, and y/n was just patiently waiting for them to go out.

y/n couldn't help but laugh as lando jumped the start, and she followed behind the three of them going into the first turn.

she was able to pass george and alex on the inside, but had trouble getting past lando. they stayed in those positions for the next lap, until she finally passed lando going down the straight.

she laughed before turning her head to see the three behind her. at one point she saw alex go into the dirt after hitting a barricade, but she was too busy focusing on beating the trio.

just as the group turned into a small corner, the edge of george's kart hit the side of y/n's. the action caused her to turn involuntary, making her engine stop as she pulled off into the dirt.

she groaned and hit the steering wheel.

"really george!" she yelled as the three crossed the finish line.

she tried turning the kart on again, but had no luck as the engine sputtered out uneven sounds as the kart shook.

she turned, more confused than anything as she watched lando run towards her kart.

"you okay over here love?" lando calls out, a nickname he's used more recently with the girl.

"yeah, some idiot just hit the side of my kart," she laughs, pointing to george who's simply waving from the finish line.

"steer for me, will you?" lando asks once he starts pushing the back of y/n's kart.

y/n does as ordered and helps lando get her kart over the finish line. both herself and the kart were covered in dirt.

"oops?" goerge mumbles as y/n walks over to him.

she simply punches his shoulder, and he can't help but hold his hand over the area.

"that's what you deserve for shoving my sister into the dirt!" alex lsughs.

"you didn't do anything to help her!" george defends.

the three continue to bicker until crofty steps between them, officially announcing lando as the winner. y/n gives him a side hug, him reciprocating while keeping his hand on her back afterwards.

"oh, and for george, a five second time penalty for hitting y/n's kart," crofty states, earning laughs from everyone but the tallest driver.

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la2yn0va · 1 month ago

Text

Some intro dialogues with their s/o

Game: Marvel Rivals

Characters: Magik, Luna, Star Lord, Winter Soldier

(Short cause I still need to learn the lore of this game and the characters)

——

Magik

Magik: Stay close. I’ll prevent any of your blood being spilled.

M/n: That’s sweet Illyana. But I can take—

Magik: I wasn’t. Asking.

…

M/n: Magik, Whoever gets the least KO’s pays for dinner

Magik: Hmm? Do you truly wish for defeat this much love?

M/n: Don’t worry, your dinner will be you eating those words.

….

Magik: With us fighting together, our victory is assured.

M/n: Obviously, just feel bad that they’ll go back to their timeline with their pride destroyed.

Magik: That’s not the only thing that’ll be broken.

…

M/n: Illyana, is it cool if you do the heavy lifting? I’m getting sleepy.

Magik: I do not mind. Come. I’ll allow you to rest on me.

M/n: During battle…? Yeah no, better if I just power through.

Luna Snow

Luna: M/n—

M/n: I’m not singing to you.

Luna:…sheesh… could’ve at least let me finish saying it.

….

M/n: Seol, keep me alive yeah?

Luna: Duh~ I wouldn’t love you the same if you were dead.

M/n: Right…that was a stupid thing to say

…

Luna: M/n! We gotta finish this quick!

M/n: Uh… why?

Luna: Our reservation for that fancy restaurant is in 3 hours!

…

M/n: Think about it Luna. This is definitely better quality time then having to be bombarded with the paparazzi and media.

Luna: Yeah.. least this way I can assault without it being a crime.

M/n: Now your learning my language hot stuff. Or.. cold stuff….?

Star Lord

Peter: Aww yeah!! Time to—!!

M/n: Quill. Loud doesn’t equal attractiveness.

Peter: okay sorry.

…

M/n: Yo Pete! Got some bangers on that headphone?

Peter: Ya know it hot stuff!

M/n: Well don’t hog it, come on over space boy

….

Peter: Hey! After this, let’s go to the bar!

M/n: Pete… I don’t want to have—

Peter: Da— HA HO HEE wait! Hold on! I didn’t— why would you—!

…

M/n: Peter, if you carry this battle, I’ll kiss you.

Peter: Only one kiss? Come on babe, I come in high demand.

M/n:…Two and half kisses.

Winter Soldier

Bucky: Long way from Brooklyn, ay m/n?

M/n: As long as I’m with you, I’ll always be content

Bucky: You always know how to lighten my mood.

….

M/n: What else can that metal arm do?

Bucky: Uh… now isn’t the time to—

M/n: Dude, I was talking about battle. Save that stuff for the bedroom.

…

Bucky: If hydra comes from you, I’ll end them

M/n: Pretty sure you’d do that anyway. But it’s nice to know you’re protective of me.

Bucky: Obviously.

….

M/n: Bucky, wanna switch weapons for this?

Bucky: Nah. Don’t think I can handle anything you have going on.

M/n: Oh? We oughta test that theory out.

…

The end, this shit sucked 😭

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pupcuntz · 3 months ago

Text

intro post ~ 🌀

he/him, 18, 7mo on T/pre-op, sub

hello!!! you can call me keith or whatever nickname your mind can conjure up ^_^

im ftm and gay! i am almost strictly t4t mlm. i’m a total puppyboy bottom! i love being a good boy, but don’t be fooled.. i’m a total brat too >:3

im a short and skinny dude, around 5’3 and 115 lbs.. i don’t mind being petite, in fact, use it to your advantage! 😵‍💫

this’ll be my blog to rant about all my horny puppy thoughts.. testosterone is a hell of a drug!

🌀 more under the cut ;3

asks and dms are always welcome, just don’t be too creepy! as cutesy as my blog is, i don’t want to be disregarded as a trans guy or infantilized. take me seriously and i’ll take you seriously! :3

i do not send pictures. i do not want to receive pictures. don’t ask me to send you any, because you will be blocked.

☁️ kinks :

petplay/puppyplay, praise, pet names, breeding, bratting/brat taming, size difference, body worship, impregnation fantasy, hypno, forcemasc, bondage, dumbification, slight corruption, royalty (prince/knight mostly), more to be added…

🌧️ hard no’s :

daddy/mommy kink, piss/scat/vomit, heavy forcefem/detrans, and anything i explicitly say no to. you can interact with me if you’re into these things, i likely just won’t reciprocate any of it!

⛅️ terms :

✅: cunt, pussy, boycunt, boypussy, hole, puppycunt, puppy parts, womb, boywomb, boytits, chest, tdick, dick, cock, boyclit, clit

❌: tits, breasts, vagina, clitty, anything with the word “girl” in front of it. i am a man!

send me an ask, won’t you? have fun on my degenerate little blog ~

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cryptidghostgirl · 11 months ago

Note

Yo can you do a part 3 of Cover Up where y/n is introduced to the rest of the members of the hotel.

A/N Yes?? I love me some fluff like that. I also had another request for a part three to this series but yours came in first so I am going to make that one a part four and because you didn't super specify anything you wanted besides intros, I am gonna spin this to line up with that request. I hope that is okay.

Cover Up pt. 3 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Previous Parts:

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Cover Up pt. 2

Warnings: mentions of murder, Angel briefly flirts with you, jealous/minorly possessive Alastor. I think that is it, please correct me if I am wrong.

Word Count: 1,885

Master Lists:

Master Lists

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

Once Alastor had given Y/n the full tour, she had absolutely insisted that she be allowed to meet the rest of the guests. Alastor could never say no to her and so, he had taken her by the arm and walked her back into the lobby. It did not come as a surprise to him that in the short time they had been away from the hotel's central area, Charlie had managed to set up a welcome party for his darling wife. Y/n on the other hand, gasped in shock when everyone jumped out from behind the various couches.

"I literally... okay, I have no clue who any of you are but thank you? This is so sweet? I..."

Before Alastor could do a thing about it, Y/n was whisked away from his gentle grasp by Charlie. The demon Princess brought Y/n to the center of the room, Alastor watching from the sidelines with crossed arms. She seemed to happy, so absolutely filled to the brim with joy. As much as he wanted to take her away from the crowd, to be alone with her, he allowed the party to occur. Her joy had always been his priority, first and foremost. There would be time.

"Everyone!" Charlie excitedly announced, "This is Y/n! She is going to be our newest guest. Our cook? Our newest maybe guest who is going to work as a cook."

Y/n laughed lightly at Charlie's confused words. She took a slight step forward.

"Hi everyone." she waved with a soft smile.

"Oh she's good." Angel Dust muttered and Husk elbowed him in the stomach, catching the glare Alastor had shot the spider demon's way.

"Ow!" Angel exclaimed, rubbing the spot the cat demon had hit as he turned to him, "What was that for?"

Y/n chuckled a bit uneasily, looking over at Alastor and his wide smile. Vaggie quickly stepped in, breaking the tension she felt slowly building in the group.

"I'm Vaggie." she announced in an unfounded and unexpected display of friendship, "Charlie is my girlfriend, we run the hotel together."

Y/n lit up at her words, shaking the hand Vaggie held out to her enthusiastically.

"I didn't realize she had a partner in all this! And in afterlife too, I guess. That's so sweet!"

Vaggie smiled, letting out a light laugh as Charlie stepped up behind her, placing her hands lovingly on her girlfriend's shoulders.

"She is just the best." Charlie warmly noted as Y/n and Vaggie released their clasped hands, "I wouldn't have been able to come this far without her or any of the other sinners we have working with us."

"I thought everyone else here were just guests." Y/n mused aloud and Charlie shook her head.

"No, no! We tried doing it on our own in the beginning... but then Alastor showed up. He brought along some friends and, well, he's really been such a help. We are so grateful to have him and them on our team."

Y/n shot her husband a sidelong glance, smirking mishceviously.

"You really know how to work magic, princess." she hummed, "Getting Al to be a team player? I'm impressed."

"Oh, no!" Charlie frantically waved her hands, desperate that Y/n not get any wrong impressions, "We didn't pressure him or anything, he showed up of his own accord, actually."

"Really." Y/n laughed lightly as she fixed her gaze back on Charlie, "Well, I'd love to meet these alleged 'friends' of his he brought along."

"Of course!" Charlie exclaimed, smiling brightly once again as she stepped to the side with Vaggie, "Husk is our bartender and Nifty is our maid. She was our cook too but, I suppose you'll be taking care of that now."

Husk nodded his head in polite recognition of the introduction Charlie had given him. Nifty on the other hand, was incapable of such restraint and, her curiosity getting the better of her, rushed up to Y/n. In a split second, she had climbed the demoness' body like a ladder and was perched on her shoulder, messing with her hair.

"You smell nice." she hummed, smiling and Y/n's cheeks flushed slightly pink.

"Why, thank you. That is very sweet of you to say."

"Will you help me in the war against the bugs too?"

"Come on, Nift." Angel sighed before Y/n could respond as he walked over to the pair and grabbed the smaller demon, "Don't freak her out."

Nifty made grabby arms towards Y/n as Angel lifted her into the air and Y/n's smile only widened at the sight.

"No, please don't worry. You didn't freak me out, Nifty. I am actually looking forward to working with you, I like your enthusiasm." Y/n sent Nifty a wink and the little demon's smile grew as her feet found solid ground again.

She shot a look up at Angel, nodding her approval as Y/n fixed her gaze on the spider demon as well.

"And you are...?" she prompted and Angel immediately fell into character.

Stepping forward, he leaned down towards her, running a hand through his hair while resting one of his elbows on her shoulder.

"Angel Dust is the name, but you can call me whatever you want."

He expected her to be flustered, to at least blush a bit. He waited for her to take a step back or even to be teased or jabbed the way Husk did when he was like this, but nothing of the sort came. Instead, Y/n's eyes glinted in the light, narrowing with intended mischief.

"Oh yeah?" she asked, taking a step closer to him and batting her eyes oh so prettily.

"I... uh..." Angel stuttered, completely taken aback.

Y/n dissolved into a fit of laughter, hands clutching at her stomach as she doubled over.

"I'm sorry!" she wheezed, "I couldn't help myself. I'm actually taken."

"You are?" Angel asked, growing more confused as she straightened back up, wiping a stray tear from her eye.

In a split second, Alastor was behind Y/n, his claws wrapping around her shoulders.

"She is." he replied and though his voice was calm and even, it sent shivers down Angel's spine.

Angel took a step back, scratching the back of his head as he looked away in discomfort.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Didn't realize you and the strawberry pimp here were an item."

"Strawberry..." Y/n laughed again, craning her neck to look up at Alastor behind her back, "I am not letting you live that one down."

Angel smiled, regaining his composure and placing his hands on his hips.

"Oh yeah? You shoulda heard what that girl who was in here a few days ago called him. 'Tall dark and creepy' was it?"

"And what girl might that be?" Y/n asked after a moment, crossing her arms over her chest as she sidled her way out of Alastor's grip, turning to face him.

"Mimzy." Husk answered before Alastor could reply, "She's just some lowlife who always hangs around when she needs Alastor to take care of some trouble she's caused."

Y/n let out a gasp.

"Mimz is here?" she asked excitedly, bouncing on her toes.

"She's here, darling." Alastor replied, "But she is no longer welcome in the hotel. Caused quite a bit of trouble for us when she visited after all, can't have her ruining my newest project."

"Well, can we go visit her? I miss her so much!"

"You know her?" Charlie asked, her voice laced with confusion.

Y/n turned to face Charlie, nodding intently.

"Yeah, she introduced us actually."

"Introduced certainly is a word for it." Alastor admitted and Y/n chuckled.

"Back when we were alive, she used to throw these 'singles parties.' As it turned out, Al and I both were using them as a hunting ground so to speak. When we met, he offered to walk me home and then pulled a knife on me. Of course, I already had my gun trained on him so we found ourselves in a bit of a sticky situation. It was so romantic." Y/n wistfully replied.

"Uh, yeah." Angel laughed, "Romantic. That's the word."

"So you guys knew each other when you were alive?" Vaggie asked.

"Yeah, we did." Y/n nodded, "You guys can ask whatever but first, I think there is one more person I have yet to meet?"

She turned expectantly towards Sir Pentious who up until this point had been standing quietly near the back of the group. At the redirection of the rooms attention, he felt his cheeks grow warm.

"This, Y/n, is our other guest." Charlie announced, gesturing towards the snake demon with an outstretched hand.

"Sir Pentious." he bowed lightly, "It is an honor to meet a demon as... as stunning as yourself."

There was a heartbeat, a single tense moment of silence. Then Y/n laughed, waving him off cheerily.

"Oh you, what a charmer."

"So you guys knew each other when you were alive? And you're... you're together?" Angel cut in, drawing Y/n's attention back to him as he lead her by her arm over to the bar.

They sat down beside one another, Husk slipping behind the counter and pouring them each a drink.

"Yep." Y/n replied, downing her drink and meeting Angel's eyes.

"How?" he prompted after a moment and Y/n laughed.

By now the rest of the gang had brought themselves over to where the pair sat and were listening intently. Alastor stood near the edge of the group, all the seats near his beloved having been snatched up before he had the chance. He crossed his arms over his chest, his patience beginning to wear thin.

Nearly one hundred years. It had been a lifetime since they had seen one another and the brief tour of the hotel he had given Y/n earlier was not enough to satiate the rabid hunger in his chest. Still, for her, he tried.

"Well, it was a ruse at first. Just a partnership. I watched for cops and he provided me with the brute strength I lacked. We were actually in the middle of chasing down one of his victims when he finally asked me out."

"You were a killer?" Pentious asked, enthralled.

"I was." Y/n nodded, "Until Al died and I was under too much suspicion to do so anymore."

"So you..." Charlie trailed off, counting on her fingers in deep concentration.

"Have been married for a hundred years give or take? Yep."

"Wait, hold on!" Angel exclaimed, "Married?"

"Did Charlie not tell you anything? More importantly, did Al never talk about me?"

Y/n raised her eyebrows, meeting her husband's gaze across the crowd. Alastro looked away, nearly bashful under her persistent gaze. It was Husk's turn to step in now, taking a sip of his own drink as he leaned across the bar.

"Alastor has enjoyed keeping his secrets." he candidly stated, "But there were one or two times he drank a little too much and let your name slip."

Alastor glared at Husk and Y/n grinned at her husbands reaction to the revelation.

"Always the troublemaker, that one but, god, do I love him."

-----

Next Part -> coming soon

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170@wendyphan01203-blog @fairyv-ice @clarakainda @lunaramune @mcueveryday @luxky-aish @peterpankat @corvid007

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rafescvntyclubgf · 6 months ago

Text

Sorry, Top… Again - Rafe Cameron Blurb

+18 Minor

CollegeStudent!Rafe x Topper'sGF!Reader

⭐️ NEW DROP ⭐️

+18 Minor DNI

2k - lightly edited

🪄 warnings: cheating, name-calling, degradation, fingering, cum tasting, male masturbation, female masturbation, teasing, unprotected sex, hair pulling, rough sex, spanking, creampie, ownership kink.

Based off of this ask. Also, thank you for this ask as well, nonnie! 🌺

Part 1

📖 Topper's GF (reader) can't stop thinking about Rafe and the feeling is mutual. When Topper tells Rafe that he's finally going to take your relationship farther than kissing, Rafe knows he has to ruin you first.

✨"Mmm… Mhmm – Where did Topper’s perfect little girlfriend go? Huh? I know she's in there somewhere?" He mocks. “Aren’t you gonna tell me to stop?” He mumbles as his hands trace up your inner thigh. “Aren’t you gonna tell me you don’t want this?”✨

Readers POV:

“Fuck, you are a pussy, Top. Take another,” Rafe smirks, his lust-filled eyes trailing down to yours.

“M’Done. I - I… Damn,” Topper stutters and laughs, waving the blonde off.

“Bitch,” Rafe clips, giving you a little wink before downing his second or third of the night, perfectly sober as he continues to feed your boyfriend alcohol.

“M’gonna black the fuck out before we even get back from the barrr,” Topper draws out the word as he lifts the tequila shot to his lips, swallowing fast.

“Rafe…” You caution him, but he looks down at you and scoffs, rolling his eyes away.

“Your boy can hang,” Rafe teases, punching Topper playfully, still rough enough to make him stumble back. “Right, buddy?” He asks your shit-faced boyfriend who answers with a hiccup.

“M’sorry, baby,” Topper slurs as he turns into your neck, mumbling against your skin, his hot, thick breath reeking of booze. Tonight was the night the two of you were going to go farther than kissing. Poor Topper. The man is utterly ignorant to the reality of the situation, his best friend and roommate, all but clearing all the bases more times than your guilty conscience would like to admit.

The twinkle in Rafe’s eyes and the satisfied smile on his lips tells you that his plan is falling into place. Topper must have said something. There’s no way Rafe’s gonna let him do more than kiss you unless he ruins you first. To Top, you were his sweet, innocent girlfriend, as pure as the freshly fallen snow, so far from the truth.

Rafe always left you wanting more, pushing it further each time. Last night was the farthest you had ever gone, Rafe getting the both of you off just sliding through your slick folds alone, pressing his fat tip in your drooling hole enough to fill you with his sticky load.

I can't stop thinking about it. The feeling, the pleasure, the way my body pulled him in, and I know he felt the same way. The moan that left his lips was deep, guttural, thirsty for more. His eyes rolled back in his skull, goosebumps flaring across his toned, tanned skin. We both wanted to finish what we started.

The PornHub intro plays softly, barely heard over the whooshing of the ceiling fan and Topper’s obnoxious snoring. Rafe lets out a deep, drawn-out moan, letting his head fall back on the cool brick wall as he continues to stroke his thick dick.

“Fuckkk,” Rafe grunts, his husky voice, and deep moans filling the room, as well as the sounds of his fist slopping wetly through lube as he rubs it out. Rafe’s head rolls to the side, catching you staring, making your head snap to the ceiling. He laughs breathily as you watch him out of the corner of your eye, shaking his head in faux disappointment for you being such a slut for him, as he loves to say. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t crave those words from him too. Your hand slips down your body, pushing past the elastic band of your silky pajama shorts, trying to mimic how he moves when his hands are on you.

“So…” Rafe breaks the silence, the depth of his voice making you throb, knees drawing in with want. “Top’s gonna finally do it. Huh? Gonna have to share that greedy little hole with him? Maybe you’ll finally be satisfied? Won’t be fingering yourself right next to your boyfriend just dreamin’ about my dick,” Rafe chuckles cruelly. You stop your movements, looking over at him with innocent eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper as you slide your panties back in place, feeling the chill of the arousal-soaked lace.

“Your panties are wet. Huh?” He asks. You shake your head ‘no’, your eyes unable to look away as he continues to fist his dick. “Now, princess…” He chides condescendingly. “I’ve had that whore pussy enough to know that isn’t true. Just say the word. I’ll let you choke on my dick just like you like, I’ll play with your pussy like only I can, and then I’ll fuck you in front of your boyfriend; stuff those filthy little panties in your mouth so you won't make a sound.” You breathe deeply, letting out a frustrated breath, making Topper stir on the bed. Rafe releases a teasing gasp. “Uh oh, baby. You better get off that high horse of yours before your saint of a boyfriend wakes up-”

"Shut up, Rafe."

Rafe lifts his hands, surrendering to your wishes. "Whatever you say, angel," he bullies, his thick cock standing straight.

“You’re an asshole-”

“Yeah? No shit.”

“Goodnight.” You close your eyes, accepting defeat almost instantly, opening them once more.

You lick your bottom lip, watching the way the lube sheens his hard skin, imagining him filling you up. Would you be able to take it all? Rafe's large ringed hand wraps around the base, making a show of it. "You know... I saw you pass him those two shots, princess."

"I didn't know he was drunk-"

"Bull... mmpfh," he moans, his ab muscles flexing, his words getting caught on his lips as he rubs his rough palm over his tip. "Bull-fuckin'-shit, princess. Now get over here and suck my fuckin' cock."

You shake your head ‘no’, turning away from Rafe toward your boyfriend, snuggling into the covers, trying to concentrate on Topper's shallow breaths, the delicate features of his sleeping face, and the way that even when he's asleep, he finds a way to be close as the tips of his fingers skim your bare thigh.

"Rafe!" You yelp as you feel your body yanked from the bed; his bare frame presses up against yours. "Stop."

"Do you really want me to stop, princess. I swear to Christ we do this every fuckin' time and every time you're lyin'. You're a bad fuckin' liar. You know that? N'if you think for a second you're not gonna be fakin' every orgasm you have with Thornton, you're deeply, deeply mistaken," he mumbles against your lips as his large fingers press against your cunt, quickly circling your clit like you wish you could. "I want you so bad. Been thinkin' about it since last night. I can't get you out of my head, and I think," he snickers as he lifts his dripping fingers to his lips, sucking them clean. "The feelin' is mutual. So... I'm only gonna ask you this one more time. Are you lyin'?" He asks as he cups his cheeks in your hands, pressing a soft kiss against your lips.

"What am I to you?" You ask gently, your voice shaky with need.

"You're somethin' else. You know that?" He laughs.

"What am I to you?" You ask with a little more conviction, Rafe responding with a deep groan and a devilish smile.

"You're a slut. That's all you are to me. My filthy fuckin' slut who lets me use you in front of your boyfriend. My pretty little cock sleeve," he whirrs, brushing his lips against yours as you melt at his words. You loop your fingers around your shorts and panties, pulling them to the floor. "Atta girl." Rafe lifts you into his arms before taking a seat on the bed next to Topper. You look down at your boyfriend and back at Rafe. “His bed or mine, baby,” he sneers as he unfastens the buttons of your shirt, already knowing what you desire. “Tell me.”

“Right here,” you breathe as he pulls your shirt off your body, flinging it to the side, the two of you watching as it lands on Top. His hands drift up your body, threading into your hair, making you shut your eyes. “Fuck,” you whimper as he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling it back, making your back arch before his lips meet your neck, kissing your hot skin. Rafe sinks his teeth into you, making tears prick in your eyes as you try your best to stay quiet.

“Tough girl,” he murmurs, gliding his tongue along the bite marks. His hands move down your body, tracing the sway of your spine. You bang your fists against his chest, gritting your teeth to hold back your cries as he slaps your ass, your eyes quickly flashing to Topper.

“Do you wanna get us caught, Rafe? Stop,” you whimper.

He gives you a challenging smile, doing it again; tears of pleasure and pain slip down your cheeks. “I haven’t decided what I want. Maybe I’ll keep this pretty pussy all for myself. What would he think if he knew what a dirty whore you really are? You got him fooled, princess. Good thing I fuckin’ love it,” he smiles as he snags your wrists off his chest, overpowering you before slamming you against the mattress. Topper’s limp body bounces slightly, blissfully unaware, letting out a yawn.

“Can’t believe you like this shit,” Rafe teases, catching the high you're getting from it. "Tell me."

"I fucking love it, Rafe," you blurt, "I love it. Please, just don't stop." "Mmm… Mhmm – Where did Top’s perfect little girlfriend go? Huh? I know she's in there somewhere?" He mocks. “Aren’t you gonna tell me to stop?” He mumbles as his hands trace up your inner thigh. “Aren’t you gonna tell me you don’t want this?”

You quickly shake your head ‘no’, pushing your last shred of dignity aside as his lips kiss down your chest, tongue flicking across your nipple as he pinches and twists the other side, making you buck your hips into him for more.

"Fuck my pussy, Rafe. Please," you pant.

"Begging for my cock… So… Fucking…. Needy…” He digs as he grips your hips, giving you a few experimental thrusts. You look down, watching as his cock rests against your lower stomach, eyes rolling back as you see just how deep he’ll go.

"You know, angel. My cock's bigger than his…” Rafe smirks as his fingers meet your heat, trailing slowly through your glistening cunt, teasing your entrance. “I’m gonna ruin you for him, baby,” he sighs as he pushes his fingers deep. Rafe’s cock is aching at this point, precum leaking from the tip as he watches you plead for your pleasure underneath him. He can feel how soaked you are when his head meets your warmth, teasing not only you but himself as he presses the tip in.

A deep growl leaves his chest as he thrusts deeply, robbing you of your breath. You clamp your hands over your mouth to cover your cry with one hand, your nails digging into his muscular shoulder blades with the other. "Fuck. You're so tight, y/n," he moans lowly. You can feel him stretching you out as he pounds you into the bed, the mattress responding with creaks and squeaks. Rafe glides his dick in and out, over and over again. Your moaning and panting mixes with his.

Rafe slips his hands under your neck, propping your head up so you can watch. "Fuck, princess. Such a good fucking girl. Look at you taking me so well," he burns, his forehead pressed against yours. You watch his thick cock plunge deep, a familiar heat building inside you. You close your walls around him, squeezing him harder. His lip tucks between his teeth, brows knitting tightly. "This pussy. Fuckkk,” he groans as he grabs your leg, hooking it over his massive shoulder, somehow driving even deeper. His lips crash into yours, messy kisses between gasping breaths.

"I'm going to cum, Rafe," you weep.

"No, you're not," he scoffs as he swings his hips a little more; body clapping against your clit.

"Rafe, please let me cum," you beg.

"What was that? You're not going to cum. Are you, baby?" He pouts mockingly, punctuating every word with a rough thrust. “Can’t believe you're tappin’ out already?” You slam your eyes shut, trying your best to fight back your climax. Rafe flips you to your stomach, raising you to your knees; you scramble to grab the sheets as he stuffs himself back in, gripping your ass tightly.

He hits a new angle, tip prodding your g-spot; heat rippling across your skin. His hand comes down against your ass again, the cracking of skin blending with the clapping of his thighs against your own. You drop to your elbows, burying your face in Topper’s pillow. Rafe hand comes down, grabbing your hair again, pulling you back, using the other hand to cram your wet panties in your mouth. "Cum.” Your jaw falls slack as Rafe fucks deep, flooding you with his climax, his fingers dig into your ass as you cum on his cock.

Rafe keeps his grip on your hair and ass, pulling you up on your knees and letting your back rest against his chest, the two of you coming down from your highs. His heart bangs against you as he nuzzles into your neck, pressing wet kisses against your dewy skin . You whimper around your panties, turning your cheek into him as he lowers his hand, circling your clit nice and slow.

“I know your Top’s girl, princess, but this pussy is mine. You understand?” He asks as he pulls the lace from your mouth.

“I understand.”

#rafeyscurtainbangs library 📚#rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe #obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe x fem!reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #college rafe cameron #rafe x reader smut #rafe x reader

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nadvs · 5 months ago

Text

push and pull (part one)

pairing twin!rafe x female reader x twin!zach

summary life felt complicated enough when you started falling for zach. then you meet rafe. he’s the complete opposite of his twin brother, but he captures your attention just the same.

author’s note finally wrote the zach/rafe twin au!! i won’t be making this a series but it was so fun to write as a one-shot (that had to turn into a two-shot because i ran out of post space lol)

tags college au set in the obx universe. mutual pining. angst. love triangle. miscommunication. no smut. rafe endgame (s2 bangs supremacy) (sorry to my zach girlies)

content warnings alcohol use, mental illness, mentions of parental abandonment

» intro post

» masterlist

Everyone can tell the Cameron twins apart by their hair.

Zach’s is short and unkept, always looking like he just ran off the soccer field, while Rafe keeps his a little longer, soft strands hanging over his forehead, every edge neat and clean.

From the moment you first see them together, you can tell that the two couldn’t be more different. And you don’t need to rely on any tricks like looking at their hair to know who’s who.

It’s their eyes that give them away. While they’re the same captivating shade of blue, Zach has a sense of hope in his eyes that Rafe doesn’t.

────୨ৎ────

Your father has been coaching your college’s men’s soccer team for most of his career. When the directors of the athletic department kept pestering him about the team needing a social media presence for the school’s PR, he asked you if you’d be interested.

As a freshman, the part-time job seemed like a fun way to get to know people, so you accepted the position and made a TikTok account for the team.

Since the start of the season, of all the soccer players, Zach has been the most welcoming. He goes along with whatever you need for work, humoring you when you hold up your phone and ask him trending questions for videos, like what his lockscreen is or what superstitions he follows before a game.

As time went on, you felt yourself gravitating more and more towards him, watching him in awe whenever you came by the field during practices and games.

Eventually, he started inviting you to the close-knit team’s hangouts. You quickly and seamlessly joined the friend group within a few weeks.

Before you knew it, you had a serious crush on him. He’s handsome and funny and a total sweetheart. What makes it so complicated is that you can’t read him at all.

He’s nice to you, but he’s nice to everyone. Maybe your feelings are unrequited, but you hold onto hope that he looks at you the same way you look at him.

It’s a Friday night when you visit Zach’s place for the first time. You’re sitting in the living room with a few of his teammates and their girlfriends, your empty takeout containers scattered over the coffee table, the sound of the autumn wind rushing past the windows reduced to a whisper beneath your loud conversation.

Zach had already told you he had a twin brother that he lived with in a loft off-campus, but when you rest your eyes on Rafe for the first time as he comes through the front door, it’s surprisingly jarring to see someone identical to Zach.

The chatter continues around you as you watch Rafe toss his keys onto the end table, drop a duffle bag, and silently walk into the open-concept kitchen. He swings open the fridge, keeping his head down.

His hair is damp, sweat glistening on his skin. His shirt is plastered to his torso, the planes of his muscles angular and sharp, not leaving much to the imagination.

“You haven’t met my less handsome brother yet,” Zach jokes to you. He points to Rafe, then to you, introducing you to each other.

“Hi,” you say kindly.

When Rafe meets your gaze, he stills for a moment, eyes almost imperceptibly widening. A couple seconds of silence pass.

“Hey,” he finally offers with a quick, tense nod.

“How was your workout?” Zach asks.

Rafe pulls a protein shake out of the fridge and swings the door closed.

“It’s so fucking busy in that gym,” Rafe replies, stepping away. He turns the corner and paces up the stairs towards his bedroom.

He and his brother have always lived in different worlds. They host parties sometimes, but that’s usually as close as their social circles overlap.

Right now, though, it’s like his aching muscles are willing him to turn around and keep talking to the pretty girl sitting in his living room. But while he’s never been good at ignoring his impulses, he’s not about to flirt with his brother’s guest, knowing how much it bothers him.

Before Rafe reaches his bedroom to get ready for a shower, he hears Zach come upstairs to stop him in the hallway.

“I’ll make sure they’re out by nine,” he says quietly. “That cool?”

Zach has always enjoyed having people over and surrounding himself with friends. But he’s aware of how much it annoys his moody brother when he just wants to chill at home. Despite how much Rafe parties and hooks up, when he wants quiet, he wants quiet.

Because Zach naturally wants to keep the peace, when they moved out of Tannyhill, he set ground rules. One of them is that they’ll check in with each other to make sure they don’t let guests overstay.

Rafe looks at his watch to see it’s nearly eight and says, “Sure. Whatever. I’m having a girl over later anyway.”

As soon as Zach left the living room, you heard one of the other soccer players, Chance, quietly make a joke about how that was the most words he’s ever heard Rafe say.

It makes Rafe all the more intriguing to you. Everyone here has some sort of history with him, albeit small and meaningless. But you’re still fairly new to the friend group. You know nothing about Rafe. For some reason, you want that to change.

Zach’s eyes meet yours when he comes back into the living room.

“Still a warm and fuzzy guy, isn’t he?” Chance says.

“Like always,” Zach quips with a shrug. And that’s that. Nobody brings up Rafe for the rest of the night.

When the hangout comes to an end about an hour later, Zach trails you all out through the front door. You bump into a girl you recognize from one of your classes.

“Hey,” she says. “I know you.”

“Hi,” you say with a laugh, holding the door open for her when you realize she’s coming into the loft.

Rafe appears behind Zach and by the way his eyes hungrily travel down her body, you quickly surmise she’s here for him.

And for some reason, it stings that she’s physically the complete opposite of you. If that’s Rafe’s type, you definitely don’t measure up.

You’re not sure why your mind is running away from you so fast. Why do you care about Rafe’s type? It’s his brother you’ve been pining over for the last month.

“How’d you do on that quiz?” she asks you.

“The grades are already up?” you reply.

“On time for once,” she laughs.

“Let’s go,” Rafe mumbles to her, his hand finding the small of her back.

You know it isn’t personal. He clearly just wants to hang out with her, not entertain any small talk. But the way he’s acting like you’re not even in the room hurts.

You say bye to Zach one last time before you follow your friends down the hallway towards the elevator. Your shoes are padding over the tiles when you hear your name half-whispered.

Zach stands with a foot out his door, beckoning you. Butterflies swirl in your stomach as you scurry back to close the distance between you. You look up at his warm eyes expectantly.

“Sorry. Don’t take it personally,” he murmurs with a gentle smile. “Rafe’s like that with everyone.”

You’re sure he’s not like that with the girl he just led upstairs. But you don’t know why you even care that much.

Zach’s the one you like. Obviously if you find him attractive, you’ll find his twin brother attractive, too. You figure your brain is just getting used to it.

You return his smile, appreciative. Stuff like this is why you like him; he cares enough to try to comfort you after his brother brushed you off.

“It’s okay,” you reply. Your friends call your name, urging you to get to the elevator before the doors close. “Thanks. I’ll see you.”

Zach watches you rush away, hoping he managed to make you feel better. He loves his brother. He understands why he is the way he is. But he doesn’t like that he made a girl who was nothing but nice to him feel bad.

As he tidies up the mess in the living room, thinking about how sweetly you had offered to help clear the table, Zach realizes that he enjoys not having housekeepers.

He never liked watching people have to clean up after him. Getting used to cleaning took some time after he and Rafe settled in here when the school year began, but now, it feels good.

Moving out was the best thing they could’ve done. Even though Zach’s only minutes older, he always felt protective of his brother, and being at home with their dad and stepmom just messed with Rafe, bringing out his self-destructive tendencies.

About an hour later, Zach’s doing schoolwork at the kitchen island when he hears the front door shut. He’s used to his brother’s habits, having random girls over, never letting them spend the night.

“She’s new,” Zach says when Rafe saunters into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Rafe says, ducking into the fridge. “Do we have any food?”

“I saved some takeout for you.” Zach points to the container by the oven.

“Sweet.”

“What’s she like?” Zach asks.

Rafe shrugs. Thankfully, his hook-up wasn’t interested in getting to know him, either. She just wanted to be physical. Losing himself in the feeling of a girl’s legs wrapped around him, melting into emotionless pleasure, shutting his mind up, is Rafe’s comfort zone.

“She’s cool,” he mumbles. “It’s nothing serious.”

Zach watches his brother pick at his dinner at the counter, not bothering to sit down.

He never understood how he could have these meaningless hook-ups. Zach can’t imagine sharing a bed with a girl he has no connection with. Or never talking to her again after.

He shuts his laptop, pinching the bridge of his nose before he speaks.

“Hey, you think you could be a little nicer to my guests?” he asks. Rafe tenses up.

“This again?” It isn’t the first time Zach is giving him shit for how he talks to his friends.

“It makes them feel unwelcome when you act like that,” Zach replies. Rafe’s temper flares.

“Did they tell you that?” he snips.

“They don’t have to. Just… be decent, okay?”

“I am. You care too much about what people think,” Rafe mutters.

“Maybe you don’t care enough.” Zach’s lips firm into a thin line. “I don’t want to have to apologize for you.”

“Oh, come on,” he chuckles. “Who’d you have to apologize to? For what?”

Zach mentions your name and how sad you looked as you were leaving. Rafe sighs, but a hint of anxiety pricks at his skin. This happens a lot. He thinks things are fine, and then he finds out later that apparently, he was rude.

“I hope you’re at least nicer to the girls you bring over,” Zach says.

“Not every girl wants a nice guy,” he jokes with a snort. “Can we skip the lecture?”

“Dude,” he sighs in exasperation.

Rafe rolls his eyes. Zach never got that Rafe doesn’t have the ability to read people all that well, that he doesn’t know when he’s expected to tiptoe around feelings. Rafe wishes everyone was just upfront like he is.

Despite the frustration rolling through his body, he hates to lose his temper on his brother. He always regrets it after if he does. So, he relents.

“Fine. I’ll be nicer,” Rafe sighs. He thinks back to the way you looked sitting in the living room earlier tonight, your voice sweet, your smile pretty.

“She’s cute,” Rafe mumbles. “New girlfriend?”

He wonders if Rafe’s mocking him. Or maybe Zach’s just being overly sensitive. His younger brother has teased him in the past for how he’s hardly ever single for very long.

Zach does prefer to be in a relationship, to live in a promise of commitment with someone who wants to love him. But is that so bad?

They deal with their trauma in different ways. Zach runs towards comfort and connection, while Rafe would rather die than be vulnerable with a girl.

Zach would never say it, but he believes he copes much better than Rafe does. But then again, Zach is pretty sure Rafe has mental health issues that he refuses to acknowledge.

“Just a friend. Her dad’s my coach,” Zach replies flatly. “She does social media for the team. She’s off limits.”

“Off limits?” Rafe echoes. “Why? You like her?”

“No,” Zach lies on impulse. It’s not just his brother he considers you off limits to. He can’t pursue you, either. Although he wants to.

But if he admits to not wanting to date the coach’s daughter because it could end badly and leave things awkward for everybody, Rafe’ll whine about how stupid it is to be living life like that, always afraid to upset people.

They’ve had this exact conversation so many times. Zach would say that it’s not stupid to be considerate. Rafe would tell him to be selfish for once. And they’d get nowhere.

“I already told you that you can’t hook up with my friends,” Zach states.

Rafe sighs. He’s done it in the past, had flings with girls Zach befriends, then caught shit for not calling back, even though he’s always clear that he’s not looking for a relationship. Zach hates losing friends as a result of Rafe’s impulses.

“I know,” he finally says. “Relax.”

It frustrates Zach how much his brother acts like he’s high-strung. In reality, he is relaxed. Among his friends, he has a reputation for being chill and fun.

But with Rafe, he has to play this role. He’s had to since they were kids.

Zach stands, taking his laptop with him as he paces towards his bedroom. It’d be nice to talk to his brother about how much he likes you, about how excited he gets when he sees you coming to talk to him, even when it’s just to film a video.

It’s not like he can tell any of the guys on his team. As close as he is with them, he’s sure it’d spread and get back to you.

Rafe’s the only person he’d gush to, but he’d rather not listen to him whine about how Zach needs to stop giving a fuck about consequences. Because that’s who Rafe is.

“Night,” Zach says curtly.

“Hey, I’m sorry, alright? I don’t try to be a dick,” Rafe says. “You don’t want any more of this?”

Zach looks at the food.

“I’m good.”

It’s another lie. He still has an appetite, but he’d rather let someone else eat if they’re hungry. Because that’s who Zach is.

────୨ৎ────

“Whoa,” you say, scrolling through your notifications.

“What’s up?” Zach asks, leaning closer to you.

You’re sitting in a loud and overcrowded on-campus bar with your friends. It’s been a few days since you hung out at Zach’s, being pulled out of the conversation from your phone buzzing incessantly.

Zach’s chin is almost touching your shoulder as you drag your thumb over your phone screen. He smells like soap and warmth, making your heart race.

“This one video randomly blew up,” you say. “From like, two weeks ago. It has almost ten thousand likes.”

“Which one?” Chance asks, sitting across the table from you.

“The one where I asked you guys what’s on your lockscreens,” you tell them. “I’ll send the link.”

Your friends gaze at their phones around the table after you share the video in the group chat, but Zach stays in his spot, preferring to watch over your shoulder, closer than he’s ever been to you.

It’s stuff like this that makes you think he’s crushing on you, too.

“Well, that’s good, right?” Zach offers. “Makes you look good if you get us viral.”

You breathe a chuckle as you read through the comments.

“I don’t know,” you say. “You’re all kind of getting objectified.”

“What?” Kacey, Chance’s girlfriend half-shouts.

“Oh, that explains why I’m getting all these random follow requests,” Chance laughs. He looks at his girlfriend. “I’m not accepting them. Don’t worry.”

“Sunrise guy is so pure,” Roy, the goalie, reads a comment aloud in a teasing tone. “102 likes. Jesus.”

“Am I sunrise guy?” Zach mumbles to you.

You smirk, finally turning your head to meet his eyes. In the video, Zach said his lockscreen was ‘a cool picture he took of a sunrise.’

“I think you are,” you reply. Admittedly, he looked adorable in the video, just coming out of the locker room after a game, his hair messy and his skin flushed.

“Pure,” he repeats, his lips twisting. “Is that good?”

“I’d say it’s good,” you shrug.

“Sunrise guy is fine as hell,” Roy reads, laughing. “And there’s a whole thread under trying to find your Instagram.”

You swear you notice Zach blush as he shuffles to take his phone out of his pocket.

“What are they saying about you, huh, Roy?” Zach teases. “Share with the class.”

“Nobody’s saying shit about Roy,” Chance laughs, scrolling.

“Shut up,” Roy says, punching Chance’s shoulder.

Your stomach twists with unease when you see Zach open Instagram, the red message bubble mocking you.

Sure enough, a few girls dm’d him. He opens a message from a girl with a pretty profile photo.

Hiiii :) please don’t think I’m a stalker lol I just saw you on tiktok and I’m wondering how I haven’t seen you around campus?

You look away, feeling guilty for snooping. It’s a girl who goes to the same college. A girl he could very easily meet and date.

He’s not your boyfriend. You have to remind yourself that he owes you nothing. But jealousy doesn’t care if you’ve claimed someone as yours or not. It still finds a way to seep in.

You shift in your seat, pretending to continue to read comments while your heart squeezes in a vice.

────୨ৎ────

The next weekend, Zach and Rafe are hosting a party. As you get ready, you put extra time into getting pretty. You wonder if you haven’t been obvious enough.

You’ve been flirting with Zach like always, but he might think you’re just being nice, so if the air feels right tonight, you’ll try to make it more clear that you’re interested.

You arrive at the loft, trying to act unfazed when Zach pulls you in for a quick hug. He does it with everyone, though, so you’re not sure if you’re special to him at all.

Rafe notices you walk in. He’s standing just outside the kitchen, a cold beer bottle in his hand. You’re even prettier than he remembers.

Zach leads you to the kitchen where drinks are laid out on the counter, then quickly gets pulled away by the doorbell ringing again.

You pace into the bright space, gazing over the ridiculously large array of alcohol. Ever since you saw the size of this place, you’ve wondered if Zach comes from a wealthy family.

Regular college students couldn’t afford a home like this. And they wouldn’t so generously buy all the many drinks scattered atop the counter.

You meet sharp blue eyes. Rafe raises his beer bottle slightly in greeting. You offer a smile in return, your body numbing.

You notice yet another difference between them. Zach dresses like most other guys on campus, while Rafe is in a crisp button-up, a small logo stitched on the front. You know that brand isn’t cheap. Neither is his watch.

They must be well off. Zach doesn’t seem to want to show it. Rafe does.

You find a drink you can stomach, picking up the cold glass bottle and looking around for an opener.

“Apparently, I was rude to you the other day?” Rafe’s voice cuts over the music.

You look up to see him stepping a bit closer, putting his beer down on the marble with a clack and gripping a metallic bottle opener. You take his silent invitation, handing him your drink.

“You weren’t not rude,” you reply.

Rafe’s dimples cave into his cheeks when he chuckles, looking down, popping the lid off with ease. He likes that you call him out on it, instead of appeasing him.

“My bad.” His voice is husky, his words said with a drawl. He hands your drink back to you. “Zach’s always giving me shit about my manners.”

“He’s right to,” you joke.

You take a small sip from the bottle, your face pinching with a hint of distaste, and Rafe finds it ridiculously cute.

“Don’t like it?” he asks, eyes glinting.

“Just a little bitter,” you admit. You look out at the crowd, some faces familiar, some faces not.

You’re not close enough to the girl in your class, the one you saw Rafe with, to have asked her what their deal is. The curiosity has oddly been gnawing at you.

It’d be weird to mention it to her. Or to him. But you do notice that she’s not here. You take another drag from the bottle, tapping your nails against the counter to the familiar song.

Rafe can’t tear his eyes off of you, noticing the way you’re slightly mouthing the lyrics. If he wasn’t this close, he wouldn’t be able to tell.

“You know this song?” Rafe asks.

“You do, too?” you say, looking up at him again as he towers over you.

“It’s my playlist.”

“Oh,” you laugh, surprised that you have something in common with him, that you both like this fairly unknown artist. “Yeah. This whole album is good.”

Rafe nods. You try not to stare. He has a magnetizing pull that you can’t really make sense of. There’s something so naturally dominating about him, like he’s silently demanding your attention.

The night Zach mentioned your job, Rafe looked through the account you run for his soccer team. Truthfully, he wished you were in the videos instead of behind the camera, but at least he could hear your voice.

You intrigue him. There’s no way to ignore it. His brother doesn’t want him hooking up with his friends, but what’s the harm in talking?

“So, you do TikTok stuff for my brother’s team?” Rafe asks. Zach has obviously talked about you to him. You wonder what else he said.

“My job description technically says ‘content creation’,” you reply. “But I guess ‘TikTok stuff’ works.”

Rafe can’t stifle his smile. He thinks Zach’s an idiot not to like you.

Maybe he’s lying. But it’s unlike him to lie when it comes to girls. He always wears his heart on his sleeve, so much so that it confuses Rafe why, after growing up around so much instability, he’s still so open to being hurt.

“You’re not into soccer?” you ask. He shakes his head no. “Do you play something else?”

“Nah,” Rafe says. “I golf sometimes, but that’s it.”

You can’t help but breathe a chuckle. Of course a rich guy like him would play golf of all sports.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say.

“What’s funny?” he teases, his stare penetrating.

You have to look away, heat flushing through you. Everything about him, about his appeal, is overwhelming.

“Come on,” he beckons, teasing.

“I was going to say that I’m not surprised.” Your eyes dart down to the small logo on his shirt. “You would play golf.”

Rafe’s amused. Zach never liked making it obvious that they come from money because he says it’s in ‘bad taste.’ It’s another thing about his brother that never made sense to Rafe.

“Really? Who’s being rude now?” he asks.

You look up at him with doe eyes. Right now, it’s really hard for Rafe to give a fuck about you being off limits.

“Still you,” you reply. He laughs.

It’s a surprise, the way Rafe’s not as cold as you first thought. He has a guard up and he doesn’t smile much, but he has his own type of charm.

You continue to chat with him about music and school and even your dad being the soccer coach. Zach must have mentioned that, too.

Thankfully, you’re not quite drunk yet, because if you were, you might ask him what else Zach has said about you, and that could be a giveaway of your feelings for him. And if you show interest in Zach, that would probably kill your chances with Rafe.

Uncomfortable realization pools your senses. While these men are complete contradictions of each other, unalike in so many ways, you like them. Both of them. Shit.

You down the tiny bit left of your drink, a sign of just how long you’ve been standing here talking to Rafe. Time with him has a way of slipping.

You gaze out at the party again, noticing that the living room has gotten much more crowded. And then you see Zach, sitting on the couch, beaming brightly as he talks to a girl.

Rafe catches the way your face falls. When he sees your eyes on his brother, he’s sure of it. You like him. And here you are, making conversation with him while you’re pining over Zach.

He thought you were having fun together. He felt a spark. The sting of rejection tears into him. His gut reaction is to be spiteful. To say you should just go talk to Zach if he’s boring you. Or to really make it hurt, to tell you Zach said he doesn’t like you like that.

Truthfully, as much as he loves Zach, he’s always been a little jealous of him. Everything just seems so easy for him, while every minute of Rafe’s life feels like a fight he’s losing.

Instead of hurting you, he swallows down his words with a swig of beer. Maybe all of Zach’s scolding for his lack of manners is finally working.

“Enjoy the party, yeah?” Rafe says to you. He steps away before you can reply.

Later on, you’re chatting with Kacey when you feel rhythmic buzzes in your pocket. You pull your phone out to see Zach’s name on your screen.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Finally,” he laughs. “Can you open the front door for me? I got locked out.”

A moment later, you meet Zach on the first floor, wishing your heart didn’t skip the way it does when he smiles at you through the glass door.

“I’m an idiot,” he says once you let him in. “I forgot my keys. Thanks.”

“Sure,” you laugh.

“You know, you’re the fourth person I called.” Zach puts an arm around your shoulders as you walk through the lobby. He’s never touched you like this and it’s comforting, but then again, everything about Zach is comforting. “Nobody else answered.”

By the way he’s being more affectionate than usual and slurring his words, you can tell he’s drunk.

“Why were you outside?” you ask.

“I walked someone down,” he answers. “Actually, a girl I met because of that video you posted.”

Likely the girl you saw messaging him just a few nights ago. He must have replied and liked her so much that he invited her tonight. Your heart aches.

“How’d it go?” you ask, feigning indifference.

“Good,” Zach replies. “I think she had fun.”

Of course he answers selflessly, more concerned about what she thought of him. You enter the elevator and he parts from you, pressing the button.

“Was Rafe being nice?” he asks. He obviously noticed you talking to his brother.

“He was actually telling me to leave,” you reply. Zach’s eyes widen and you laugh. “Wow, you’re gullible. I’m kidding. Yes, he was nice.”

He did leave your conversation pretty abruptly, but you’d rather not tell Zach in case he feels the need to apologize for his brother’s behavior again.

“Okay. Good.” Zach looks up at the changing numbers on the screen, smiling proudly as he leans back against the elevator wall.

His younger brother can be brash and reckless, but Zach knows it’s all because his feelings overwhelm him. He sees right through Rafe’s attempts to hide it from everyone, including himself.

Everyone thinks Zach is the emotional one. He isn’t. He doesn’t even come close to how sensitive and unstable Rafe can be.

“He’s a good guy,” he says. “I love him to death. We’ve been through a lot together and when our mom left, he…”

You look over at Zach’s profile, his lips curved into a frown.

“He took it hard and I don’t think he ever really got over any of it,” he finishes his sentence.

His inhibitions have clearly been silenced by alcohol, and you’d ask for more information if it didn’t feel like you were taking advantage of his drunken state.

The elevator dings. The doors slide open. Rafe’s standing in the hallway, holding his phone, having just caught up with Zach’s missed notifications.

“Where were you?” Zach says, mocking offense. “Do you even care that I was left out in the cold? You know I don’t like being alone.”

“Alright, come on,” Rafe says, shaking his head in disapproval as he pulls Zach forward by the shoulder. He meets your eyes for a second. “How much did you drink?”

“Relax,” Zach says, then laughs. “Wow. For once, I’m telling you that.”

The three of you walk down the hallway towards the loft. Your arms are crossed, still confused about your feelings for Rafe, still hurt that Zach doesn’t see anything worth pursuing in you.

“I love you, you know?” Zach mumbles to his brother. “I was just saying how much we’ve been through and how much I love you.”

Rafe’s body goes cold. He glares at you.

“What did he say?” he asks you, tense.

“I could barely understand him,” you fib. You don’t want to embarrass either one of them.

“You’re not gonna say you love me back?” Zach says to Rafe.

“Dude,” Rafe scoffs. “You cannot hold your booze. You’re going to bed.”

“Never,” Zach murmurs.

After everything that’s happened tonight, you feel too disoriented to be able to laugh.

(part two)

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #zach maclaren and reader #zach maclaren and you #zach maclaren and y/n #zach maclaren x y/n #zach maclaren x you #zach maclaren x reader

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reality-detective · 7 months ago

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“I gathered all vaccine ingredients into a list and contacted Poison Control. After intros and such, and asking to speak with someone tenured and knowledgeable, this is the gist of that conversation.

Me: My question to you is how are these ingredients categorized? As benign or poison? (I ran a few ingredients, formaldehyde, Tween 80, mercury, aluminum, phenoxyethanol, potassium phosphate, sodium phosphate, sorbitol, etc.)

He: Well, that's quite a list... But I'd have to easily say that they're all toxic to humans... Used in fertilizers... Pesticides... To stop the heart... To preserve a dead body... They're registered with us in different categories, but pretty much poisons. Why?

Me: If I were deliberately to feed or inject my child with these ingredients often, as a schedule, obviously I'd put my daughter in harm's way... But what would legally happen to me?

He: Odd question... But you'd likely be charged with criminal negligence... perhaps with intent to kill... and of course child abuse... Your child would be taken away from you... Do you know of someone's who's doing this to their child? This is criminal...

Me: An industry... These are the ingredients used in vaccines... With binding agents to make sure the body won't flush these out... To keep the antibody levels up indefinitely...

The man was beside himself. He asked if I would email him all this information. He wanted to share it with his adult kids who are parents. He was horrified and felt awful he didn't know... his kids are vaccinated and they have health issues...”

~ By Iris Figueroa

Here are just SOME vaccine ingredients present in routine vaccines:

◾️Formaldehyde/Formalin - Highly toxic systematic poison and carcinogen.

◾️Betapropiolactone - Toxic chemical and carcinogen. May cause death/permanant injury after very short exposure to small quantities. Corrosive chemical.

◾️Hexadecyltrimethylammonium bromide - May cause damage to the liver, cardiovascular system, and central nervous system. May cause reproductive effects and birth defects.

◾️Aluminum hydroxide, aluminum phosphate, and aluminum salts - Neurotoxin. Carries risk for long term brain inflammation/swelling, neurological disorders, autoimmune disease, Alzheimer's, dementia, and autism. It penetrates the brain where it persists indefinitely.

◾️Thimerosal (mercury) - Neurotoxin. Induces cellular damage, reduces oxidation-reduction activity, cellular degeneration, and cell death. Linked to neurological disorders, Alzheimer's, dementia, and autism.

◾️Polysorbate 80 & 20 - Trespasses the Blood-Brain Barrier and carries with it aluminum, thimerosal, and viruses; allowing it to enter the brain.

◾️Glutaraldehyde - Toxic chemical used as a disinfectant for heat sensitive medical equipment.

◾️Fetal Bovine Serum - Harvested from bovine (cow) fetuses taken from pregnant cows before slaughter.

◾️Human Diploid Fibroblast Cells - aborted fetal cells. Foreign DNA has the ability to interact with our own.

◾️African Green Monkey Kidney Cells - Can carry the SV-40 cancer-causing virus that has already tainted about 30 million Americans.

◾️Acetone - Can cause kidney, liver, and nerve damage.

◾️E.Coli - Yes, you read that right.

◾️DNA from porcine (pig) Circovirus type-1

◾️Human embryonic lung cell cultures (from aborted fetuses)

You can view all of these ingredients on the CDCs website: 👇

You are always welcome to do your own research, in fact I encourage you to do so. 🤔

#pay attention #educate yourselves #educate yourself #knowledge is power #reeducate yourself #reeducate yourselves #think about it #think for yourselves #think for yourself #do your homework #do your own research #do some research #ask yourself questions #question everything #government corruption #cdc corruption #lies exposed #medical corruption

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l-in-the-light · 2 months ago

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About his "trigger warnings"

I mentioned here on tumblr that I used to have a number one favourite book writer. I guess not anymore. After all the SA allegations and other stories that got leaked by people around him (his collegues, co-workers etc.), I realized he's an abusive asshole and I owe you all to say that openly here. And some of the assaults date back decades now, which means he didn't just wake up one day and changed into an asshole, he most likely was always one.

I read the foreword to his book Trigger Warning again. I feel like I took a peek beyond his fake persona there. He writes about trigger warnings like it's some exotic curious little trend that kids on the internet came up with, finds it a bit peculiar like a daddy trying to understand their kid's hobbies, then proceeds to use them like a funny teasers for his short stories ("can you find the big tentacle hidden among the pages somewhere?"), only to finish it all up with a punch straight to your face: real life doesn't have trigger warnings, so always watch out for yourself. On the surface level? This all sounds like a slightly misguided, maybe even witty intro. Nothing is said with malice, right? And yet, the message underneath it all was always to discredit trigger warnings as a concept. That's why that delivery line is at the very end of that intro. You're supposed to be lulled into agreeing how silly it all is. I dunno if he did it on purpose or did it without thinking much about it, by habit, but that intention is there and it's disguised with concern and attempts to sound kind. A peek beyond the nice guy mask. No wonder I could never finish that anthology of short stories. The cognitive dissonance caused by the foreword sticked with me like a bad aftertaste. My intuition told me this was all wrong, I just couldn't find the words to express it.

And you know why it works so well as a disguise and why we tend to believe he didn't do it on purpose? Because hey, he just said the facts, the truth! Reality indeed doesn't have any trigger warnings, what's wrong with saying that! Yes, that statement is true. Using real statements in carefully woven context to sell a lie, is an example of an excellent manipulation. So allow me to untangle it or, in other words, to reveal the magic trick behind it.

Why do trigger warnings exist? Isn't Gaiman right, aren't they counterproductive, you might think, because by avoiding triggers you will never get better at dealing with them? Indeed, here's the catch, because the answer isn't a simple yes or no here. Yes, often to recover from trauma, you need to expose yourself to it in some way - like for example, through exposure therapy (or even just classic psychotherapy). But also No, because there's no rule that says you will officially recover only after you're fine reading fiction about sexual assault (for example)! Some triggers will dimnish, some will not, and the best you can do for the latter is to avoid them altogether. Triggers are extremely personal, but you can learn to manage them, in ways that respect your own boundaries, but never by giving up your right to selfcare. You see the difference?

Back to therapy bit for a moment. To recover, often you need to go through with it. But here's the thing - you do it in *controlled environment*, accompanied by a specialist that is there to help and calm you down afterwards. And you only start to do that once you feel *ready* to face it. Now compare it to a situation of reading a book (yes, a book, which usually never has any trigger warnings, because that's such a silly fanfiction thing). You come upon your trigger without any warning, preparation or support around you, you're left with the aftermath of possible panic attack or other symptoms completely on your own. It might take you weeks to recover from it, because perhaps you weren't yet in any therapy that could help you manage your triggers more effectively. But then you tell yourself it's fine, minimizing your own emotional reactions, because *it was just a book*. But, you realize, even years later you still remember it and you might finally accept the harsh truth that you're still not fine with it.

Now imagine same situation, but the book did have trigger warnings listed. For example, about sexual abuse. You would see that and leave the bookstore without the book, because you would know you're not *ready* for that. And it's fine not to be ready, be it yet or ever. This is about consent and selfcare, both are essential to process through trauma and recover. The books without trigger warnings rob selfcare, consent and a choice from us. They teach us we should always ignore our triggers and push through. It's sadly a reality that is widely accepted so Gaiman is right, nothing in reality will flash you a warning. But he's also wrong: it doesn't mean we can't make the life a tiny bit easier for those of us who are traumatized, instead of leaving them with all of that on their very own. This part, he doesn't want you to even consider. He doesn't want you to imagine the positive side of living in a world in which real books warn you about triggers, because then it would prove that it *can* become a reality in which real things (like books) warn you of triggers. They can't shield you from everything, but that's also not the point: it's just to make some things feel more safe, for everybody.

(As a side note, being triggered is not the same as stepping outside your comfort zone - those are two different matters! Though yes, stepping outside your comfort zone in an extreme way CAN become traumatic as the result as well).

I guess Neil Gaiman just thinks some people are too sensitive and should just get over themselves. You don't need those warnings, they won't protect you anyway. Have you tried not getting traumatized? How dare you think your selfcare is more important than reading my questionable fantasies? You're missing out if you skip my book (that has no proper trigger warnings) and you have only yourself to blame! I provide you a safe environment to explore your traumatic triggers, you should be grateful! And how is your book providing a safe environment exactly, author? Did you even try to put a safety net there for your reader? Do you even care? Of course you don't. But you will pretend like you do: by providing a very ingenuine effort that is mostly meant to be a pat on your own back for cleverly dismissing the very concept of trigger warnings, while pretending to play along with it and exposing their lack of power in the process. Disguised as a coincidence, lack of understanding or unskillful attempt written by a slightly ignorant daddy-like figure. What an irony that you do it by nearly surgically focusing on the blind spots of the concept, proving at the same time you do know the mechanism behind it pretty well. You knew what you were doing and how you were doing it.

Or at least, this is how I see it: I might be wrong on the details, but I'm sure I caught the gist of the manipulative behaviour there. An abuser always wants you to step out of your comfort zone, get surprised by a trigger, and to make sure you're outside your safety net. Because then you're an easier target, more likely to agree to harmful things (be it real actions or just harmful beliefs delivered to you by the author of a book, like in case of *trigger warnings being pointless*). They want to groom you into thinking that you're just being silly and see things that aren't there.

Trigger Warning's foreword is exactly that and I feel disgusted, now that I finally recognize my own feelings about it. I probably didn't find words for it before, because I wanted to believe Gaiman had good intentions behind it, they just didn't work out very well. Except that was never the case and that's why it never felt right. That good intention was never there, but it sure *looked* like it was. Also it took me way too long to realize people do things like that on purpose. You know what, Gaiman? Thanks to gaslighting efforts like yours it took me also way too many years to accept that selfcare IS OKAY.

So many people now think nothing was ever genuine about Neil Gaiman because his nice guy mask slipped. A mask he used to hide his autism behind and appear neurotypical/feel accepted thanks to it. Whenever a really advanced mask like that slips, the cognitive dissonance becomes a huge gap between a mask and actual self in perception of other people. Still, your autism is not an excuse for things you do and say, and definitely doesn't excuse assault as simple miscommunication - and yes, he did try to justify lack of consent this way. "I'm autistic, I read the body language wrong and wasn't even aware of it". Hey, you could have, like, asked. There's no shame in getting confirmation in words :P but it's just a poor excuse anyway, the truth is he didn't care if it was wanted or not, as long as he got adoration and powertripping thrill out of that, and that's the best case scenario here.

I believe the allegations. I won't be able to read Gaiman's books anymore, I honestly can't see them the same way I used to anymore. I loved Coraline and The Graveyard Book, and Smoke and Mirrors. I feel disgusted knowing that he openly claimed to be a feminist while at the same time assaulted so many people and used emotional manipulation so they won't #metoo him. He even went as far as to claim "always believe the victims", but once the allegations flew his way, what did he do? Blamed the victims, even called them mentally ill! I also feel now like his books are also just full of deception, meant to hide harmful beliefs under quirky words and imaginative tales. And I might never be able to stop feeling this way and I don't owe him a second chance anyway.

Good Omens stays in my heart though, because sir Terry Pratchett put a lot of work into it and it shows. I feel like I would show him disrespect if I discarded it. Let's say it becomes a Gaiman Who Might Have Been But Never Was, for me.

#neil gaiman #neil gaiman allegations #gaslighting #emotional manipulation #please use those trigger warnings #they really can help people #this post might be uneccessarily spiteful and very very angry #but my feelings need a safe venting space #and I owe people explanation why this guy is not my fav author anymore #everyone deserves to know the truth #especially because bots and algorithms push positive posts about Gaiman to hide the allegations from sight #the allegations been known for months but I only learned about it lately thanks to random vid on YOUTUBE ffs

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