#the way they just hold and rub each other’s back

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Can’t live without your love inside me now

Tags: sextherapist!Nanami x fem!reader, nocurse!au, taboo romance, heavy topics such as sexual assault, dead dove due to the power imbalance and heavy conversation.

Synopsis: In which Kento Nanami is a sex therapist, and his client is a young neglected wife with an emotionally absent husband. He teaches you what love is really all about.

An: Was really on the fence about posting the first part to this series. i’m glad most people seem to be enjoying it though :) so sit down and let sextherapist!nanami be your comfort for today

Part one. | Part two. |

‘I guess it makes me feel like I’m not good enough for him. Every time we have sex I try to cater to him, but it just feels like it’s never enough. If he had it his way, we’d probably have sex everyday, but I just don’t have that kind of time, energy, or desire.’

Those words burned Nanami’s ears. He knows it’s only your first session, but he can see that there’s already progress being made just by having these discussions of sex out in the open..

It reminded him just why he was so passionate about safe sex measures.

“I was only going to take the tea to placate you…”

Even if he knew that was the truth behind your answer, it still left a heavy somber feeling on his heart. He nodded, keeping his face trained on an empathetic expression.

“Do you do that often..? Put your needs behind the wants of others..?”

God, why was he reading you to filth right now? You took a deep shaky breath, reaching for more tissues because you’re definitely going to need them.

“It’s just easier..” Your throat feels like it’s trying to close as you’re attempting to force back your tears.

“Shh, let it all out..” Nanami knows that he shouldn’t be taking this tone of voice with you. He shouldn’t be shushing you and cooing to you that it’s okay, but he can’t override his innate biological need to protect and nurture.

The tears begin falling down your cheeks once again, and your shoulders shake with each small sob that wracks your body.

Nanami can’t resist himself. He leans over, and his big thick palm rests on your shoulder, feeling like a secure anchor out in the middle of the ocean.

“Such a kind, caring soul..” he whispers to you, using his hand to rub on your shoulder soothingly.

You feel the urge to press your face into his chest and vent out all of your innermost feelings and thoughts to this man while he strokes your hair lovingly, but you hold yourself still in your chair, knowing it’d be highly inappropriate.

Soon, your tears dry and you take a sobering breath. That was a lot, and the session isn’t even over yet.

“So, what do I do about.. him hounding me..?” For some reason, you still can’t come to terms with using the word coercion. It feels like a betrayal to your marriage, even if you do implicitly know that he’s been coercing you to get what he wants.

“Well, what can you do?” Nanami asked softly. He eased back into his chair, preparing himself mentally to get back in his counselor mindset.

“I guess I could…” you search your mind for answers. The only obviously wrong answer is to continue giving into him. “I could tell him how it stresses me out when he does that.”

Nanami nods his head. Inwardly, he doesn’t think that’s going to be enough. If your husband was anywhere near a halfway decent person, he would be able to understand how asking multiple times is inappropriate.

“What do you think will get in your way from telling him about how it makes you feel?”

You imagine telling your husband and how he’d react. “I guess I can be scared of him going in the complete opposite…”

Nanami’s eyebrows furrow, and he pushes his glasses up on his nose. “What do you mean by that?”

“Like… I imagine telling him, and he’ll probably respond by saying that he’ll never ask again and that I’ll need to initiate sex anytime I want it.”

Nanami can feel his eye twitch. Is there any manipulation tactic that your husband isn’t using? “I can see how that’d be discouraging. You unfortunately can’t control how your husband responds, but you can control how you phrase the question. Let’s roleplay this conversation if that’s okay. Pretend I’m your husband.”

Your face heats a bit. A tiny voice in your head tells you that if Nanami was your husband, you wouldn’t be having this issue. After taking a deep breath, you try and pretend that you’re speaking to your husband.

“When you ask me to have sex with you multiple times in a day, it really stresses me out and puts a lot of pressure on me.”

“So? What do you want me to do, Y/n? Am I suppose to read your mind and know when you want it?” Kento’s voice is uncharacteristically sharp and irritated. He watches your eyes widen in response, hurt coils on your face. “Is that how he’d respond?” he adds in a much softer tone, trying to remind you that this is just a roleplay exercise.

After a long pause, “Yeah, you got it spot on somehow…”

Because I know how narcissistic assholes act, he thinks to himself.

“Let’s try that question again, but this time, I want you to phrase your statement so you put blame on the questions and not your husband, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe out, trying to find the words to say. “Those types of questions make me feel really pressured and make it hard for me to feel ready for sex.”

“Perfect. You did so well,” Nanami praises you with a warm smile.

Butterflies swarm your stomach. It’s not often you hear those words instead of hearing more things you need to work on. A small, timid smile curls on your lips.

“Do you think he’ll react poorly to that too?” you ask, wanting to know Nanami’s opinion.

“There’s no way for me to know how he’ll respond, but there’s only one way to find out, right? If we get no where with this plan, we’ll do something else,” he assures you, sitting back in his chair.

His eyes flick down to his watch. The session needs to come to an end soon, but the thought of you walking out of his home makes his stomach feel tight. He’s not ready to let you leave yet.

“Let’s briefly touch on the second thing—“

Your phone’s ringtone interrupts Nanami’s words, and you quickly apologize before fishing your phone out of your purse.

“It’s my husband. He’s probably wondering how much longer I’ll be.” You click the reject button and lock your phone, but Nanami can see how the simple act of rejecting his call makes you feel nervous. Your fingers shook lightly, and you gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“That’s okay. We can wrap it up here for today… During our next session…”

The sound of vibration fills the room this time.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Nanami. He gets worried..”

More like controlling. It’s just barely been one hour.

“Send him a small text and let him know we’re almost done.” Nanami gives a kind smile, even while he’s having violent thoughts about your husband.

He watches as your fingers fly across your keyboard, quickly typing out a small message. You then lock your phone again, stow it away in your purse, and you return your gaze back to Nanami.

If you keep your husband waiting too much longer, you’ll hear about it later today.

“During our next session, I want you to tell me how it went with your husband. I also would like to touch base on the next thing you said while we talked about your lack of sex drive. You mentioned that you try to cater to him, but it’s never enough. We’ll get into what that means next time, okay?” Nanami says, finally getting his words out without an interruption.

You swallow thickly, immediately feeling nervous for the next session. You’re not sure if you’re ready to talk about the act of having sex, but you knew it’d come up eventually.

“Okay… I’ll see you then, Mr. Nanami. Take care,” you wish him farewell before rising from the small couch. Nanami rises with you and guides you toward his front door.

His eyes can’t help but glance down towards your figure, and he feels his hatred for your husband grow. He must not truly understand how lucky he is to have a wife like you.

“Take care, Y/n. You have my number if you need to come in earlier than scheduled.”

As soon as the front door closes, you dial your husband’s number, ready to explain that the session went over in timing.

Meanwhile, Nanami also picks up his phone, and he dials a peer’s number, Atsuya Kusakabe. Nanami’s known Kusakabe since they were in graduate school together. They often shared phone calls with each other and their other friend, Hiromi Higuruma. While Higuruma wasn’t a therapist, he did work in legal, which helped Kusakabe and Nanami out a lot with legal questions.

After a few rings, Kusakabe answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, you’re not in a session, are you?” Nanami asks, holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder. He pours water into his kettle to start on some tea.

“I wouldn’t have answered if I was in one. I only do intakes today, and I finished those up hours ago. Why? You needing to talk?” Kusakabe’s voice sounds even more gravely over the phone than it does in person. Nanami imagines he’s probably enjoying a cigarette right now.

“Yeah, I just got out of a first session with a female patient. It’s weighing on me.”

“I don’t know how you do what you do, Nanami. You know, you’d probably have a better quality of life if you focused on something else.”

“Not an option. I didn’t spend years of my life researching to do something else. This also isn’t weighing on me like my other cases do.” Nanami leans against one of his kitchen counters, looking up towards the ceiling. He debates on not telling Kusakabe at all about how your case. If he tells him how he feels, that means he has to acknowledge that it’s teetering on breaking ethical code.

“Well? Go on.”

“My client has a piss poor excuse for a husband, and I’m pretty sure the story runs a lot deeper than what is being said.”

“Jeez Ken, you said this was her first session, right? Of course there’s more to the story. That’s a given. You think there’s abuse going on?” Kusakabe flicks his cigarette, looking out into his property. He always enjoyed the quiet life way more, which is why he did career counseling. It was way less stressful.

“I know there’s at least emotional abuse going on. I can tell she’s not even aware of the levels of manipulation her husband is using. I had to bite my tongue several times throughout our session.”

A chuckle sounds from the other side of the phone.

“Don’t tell me you’re already partial to this woman, Ken.”

Nanami doesn’t respond immediately. His jaw tenses slightly. Luckily, the tea kettle whistling breaks the slight tension. “I just care. That’s all.”

“You wouldn’t be doing this job if you didn’t care, but do you care too much to do your job effectively?”

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @aldebrana @pandabiene5115 @petrichorvzlia @stargirl-mayaa @simssssssss5 @des-todoroki @nevvynev @dysphxriaii @rjreins @sukunawhores @nanamin-chan @mullermilkshake @thelostkira @anuncalledbridge @elliehenry24 @williamafton26 @ambiguouslady42 @airandyeah

[tojigasm]

Bucky is the type of attentive boyfriend that is automatically grounding you when he notices you start to get anxious

He's learned your ticks and the way you mean 'I'm getting overwhelmed' when you begin to cower in on yourself.

Buckys been there himself far too many times to count.

So he's soft in the way that he brings his hand to your back, rubbing up and down your spine.

His touch –the reminder that he's there. It's enough to send you almost into tears.

"Y'okay, sweetheart?" He asks quiet enough so that it doesn't disrupt conversation between the other Avengers.

Nat meets your eyes briefly before she's shifting to give you privacy –as much as she can in the middle of the Avengers tower den.

You can't speak. You feel hot and a little neasueas.

Bucky seems to understand even with your lack of communication.

"Is it gettin' to be too much?" He asks, pressing a comforting kiss to your temple.

He notices how clammy your skin is and the way you're shaking in his grasp.

You try to nod, but it just manifests as an uncomfortable shiver.

"M'kay, gonna get you out here. Just hold on fr'me, baby."

Bucky nods to Steve, who understands almost immediately and instantly moves to take the attention off of the two of you, guiding the conversation towards himself at the other side of the room.

The two of you clumsily make your way out of the room into the hallway where the AC is running on high and the noise isn't so constricting.

You're smashed up against Bucky's chest, the weight of his arms helping to hold you down and ground you – working as a weighted blanket of sorts.

"Deep breaths fr'me." Bucky guides, keeping a hand at the nape of your neck, preventing you from looking around and working yourself up over anything else.

You struggle against it for a moment, too deep in your headspace to relax.

"Listen to me." His voice is lost amist the swarming thoughts in your head.

You feel like you're underwater. Like you can't breathe and like the air around you is growing denser by the second.

"Hey, hey," Bucky calls to you, but his words are lost on deaf ears. "Gotta relax, baby. You're gonna make yourself sick."

Bucky is there, though.

He's always there.

His touch is faint, but you hold onto it the best you can in the chaos of your heavy head.

Before you know it, you're hyperventilating and trembling and sobbing into the navy fabric of his shirt.

You can't shake the self-induced panic. The heavy dread of whatever is awaiting the mental shadowed corner in your mind. It's exhausting and all the same terrifying, and you find yourself unable to succumb to the safety that Bucky so willingly provides.

You do, however, hear his stern demand through the thick fog as he tells you to: "Settle."

Bucky only ever uses that tone – a deep and commanding timbre that leaves zero room for repulse when you're lost deep in your mind like this.

It's happened before.

You both know it'll happen again.

It takes you a long couple of moments and deep breaths with Bucky's hand splayed out against your spine; helping to ground you as air fills your lungs.

His metal hand rubs as the knots at the base of your neck, the cool surface easing you back into the present.

You both stay there. Breathing into one another and holding onto each other.

"Y'okay?" Bucky strokes his metal hand over your head, guiding you to lift your face from his chest.

Your eyes are tired.

You nod.

"Can breathe again."

Bucky gives a weak chuckle at that.

"Yeah, I bet."

Bucky decides that's enough friend time for the night for the both of you.

[celuere]

So reading Blunt Rotation gave me the idea of Arle and another Woman (doesn't matter who) passing Fem reader back and forth, repeatedly shotgunning Her until she's on cloud 9 and then passing Her back and forth on their Straps/Cocks.

(totally get if Intox if that level isn't your thing, you just gave me major Brainworms)

Uhm… ARLEZANI- OH MY GOD WHO SAID THAT??????

Just two handsome women passing you back and forth on their dicks like it‘s daily routine, your cunt stuffed with their mixed cum as you lay between them, a fucked out mess, as you watch them pass the singular blunt around, occasionally leaning down to exhale the sweet smoke right into your mouth before two strong hands drag you back onto her lap. Zani usually has a hard time staying hard after an orgasm but you make it so incredibly easy for her. Unlike Peruere she isn’t tattooed on multiple places, but she does have a nose piercing. One that makes her all the more attractive. The kind of attractive that makes her irresistible, almost as addicting as the herbs they‘ve been smoking in a straight line.

„Hm… still dripping from us…? Poor thing…“, a steady hand would guide you by your ass over her dripping cockhead, a tail wrapping around your fragile body that’s been beyond drained of its energy. But the painful ache between your quivering thighs just doesn’t seem to stop. Even after them taking turns with your mouth- hands fisting your hair as they pushed their cock past your lips… you couldn’t help but yearn for more.

Reminder to share a blunt with them more often when you were supposed to study together.

You could still feel Peruere‘s two Frenulum Piercings rubbing against your g-spot as her biceps strained when she pushed your legs all the way up to your chest. The way she folded you in half on the mattress while you had to watch Zani‘s hand fly over her own dick. Her breathing was heavy with a tail that couldn’t seem to hold still, swaying around from side to side. Just the sight of this pretty woman‘s pussy getting blown to pieces by her friend- god, it was beautiful. But maybe that was just the weed kicking in.

You forgot about condoms but frankly you also couldn’t care less. Just the feeling of their mixed cum getting pushed out with each thrust back into your stuffed pussy was enough to send you down a spiral of ecstasy. The way Peruere’s lips connected with your neck for millionth time tonight as Zani‘s hands pushed you in and off her dick before the entomology student helped her take another hit of the almost finished joint. Just so you had to watch them stick their tongues down each others throat as the smoke slowly passed through Zani‘s nose. It sparked a little bit of jealousy inside of you, watching them get intimate with each other despite you being right there. Placed on her dick. It didn’t take them long before their attention was fixed back on you with Peruere smoothly pulling you into a jaw-breaking kiss by your chin after making a remark about „How greedy you were getting.“ as you simultaneously felt a slim tail wrapping around your waist, the ace-shaped end making an effort to brush over your already hardened nipple

Of course, you couldn’t please only one person at a time. Wrap your hand around Peruere‘s dirtied dick. Let the pearly mixture leaking from her tip coat your hand as you tried your best to get her off despite your brain being reduced to mush. And it would work. Twitching in between your grip, the sensitive flesh pulsating underneath your touch, a tattooed hand fumbling with your tits as the other one got a good grip on your neck.

Your college funds were definitely well spent.

[s4pphicghost]

— sleepover <3

au powder x fem reader; pure fluff! no cws, hope you enjoy ♡  (sorry for mistakes, feel free to correct me!)

it's common for you to hold hands, hug many times a day, have weekly sleepovers and spend most of the time together. even light kisses on the cheek have been slipping between you for a while now — neither of you thought about it for too long, giving friendly gestures an unfriendly coloring. at least, she didn't think about it, as you assured yourself.

Powder grabbed your hands tightly, her eyes burning with a mischievous blue flame. 

"you'll stay the night, right? I bought the eyeshadow, remember? that cherry shade! Vander gave me a couple of coins so I..."

this smile is more alive and dazzling than a newly born star. and a thousand of your entranced glances, opening other worlds in your head at every sight of these soft stretched lips and bared teeth, was not enough for you to get used to the warmth that was physically reflected in your body each time.

"of course… I promised, didn’t I?”

you faintly smiled back. the blue-haired girl was slightly shorter than you, and you didn't want to admit, but even such a small height difference seemed oddly adorable to you.

Powder (oh how she loved to do it), impulsively pressed you to herself, in usually unexpected — although, you should’ve gotten used to it by now — but such a comforting and sincere embrace.

“I’ll be waiting”

like a spring flower opening its delicate petals from the rays of the warm sun, her warming presence and such amazing calmness, trust in the whole world, made you cast aside all doubts and insecurities. it seemed even criminal — in her accepting gaze and soul-kissing smile to be embarrassed by your own sincere feelings. and still, you could not imagine actually confessing to her, overcoming your overwhelming fears. you only wanted one thing — to be a mirror of her soul, at least for a moment, to show her full beauty through your eyes — so innocent, naive, even though having gone through so much anger and injustice of the real world...

you always loved to see Powder like this — in large home t-shirts hanging from her small figure, with her blue hair gathered in a low disheveled bun, and tired, but incredibly beautiful deep blue eyes, and this tender look that she always generously bestowed on you in such intimate moments.

your knees were rubbing against each other — or rather, she deliberately initiated physical contact. you were lying on her messy bed, the new eyeshadow had long been lying open and forgotten on the table — she tried it on herself and made you give in to her requests to put some on you. she loved to share almost everything with you — delicious treats, clothes that had long seemed to belong to both of you (just divided into two different houses), sunny days filled with ringing laughter and even burdensome nights, when it was hard to just be, but being in your presence always gave her hope.

through her homely and thin from frequent wear t-shirt and the fabric of your nightgown, you could feel her steady heartbeat. you held her by the waist, not really pressing her to you, but just holding her in place without much effort, unlike her — one hand on your back, the other — a little closer to your waist, but she hugs you tightly, holds you close for 16, 17, 18 heartbeats seconds, and still doesn’t let go — your head is already boiling with thoughts, the almost dissipated sweet floral scent of her perfume fogs up your head, and you are on the verge of lowering your head to her shoulder, when she slowly pulls away, with a soft and slightly embarrassed smile — a sight rarely seen in other circumstances.

"I still can't believe they’re officially dating," she sighed, looking at the ceiling. if you were honest, you lost the thread of her thoughts quite a while ago, just watching the smooth rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips part and touch when she says the words. no, this feeling is not new at all. it feels like you've known her your whole life, even though you've only been friends for a couple of years. you started noticing intimate details about her a couple of months ago.

“sorry what were you talking about?" you whispered, lifting your head a bit so she could look at you. her eyes reflected the soft light from the window, causing the burgundy-purple glittery eyeshadow to shimmer unnaturally. a familiar and melting smirk graced her face.

"again? listen, are you sure you're friends with me... willingly?"

a soft chuckle fell from her pinkish-peach lips after her sarcastic reproach. she knew that you valued your friendship very much, she didn't doubt it for a moment and was forever grateful for your presence and efforts. and its not like she was actually annoyed by your lack of attention..

"this is the third time today."

the girl moved a bit, gently hugging you around the waist, pressing you even closer. you held back a sigh of unexpected sensitivity. you couldn't utter a word, not being able to come up with an easy excuse. Powder's gaze was directed out the window as you tried to get your thoughts in order. she felt like the soft warming sun breaking through the clouds after a cool, damp night. like the soothing sensation of loose, oily balm on dry, chapped lips.

"listen... can I ask you something rather... personal?"

your eyes seemed to widen for a millisecond, not even halfway through the last word. luckily she couldn't see it... not waiting for your answer (she was only asking out of politeness), Powder continued.

“do you like someone? romantically"

her eyes, now looking straight into yours, pierced your heart and soul. you knew that question would come soon, you really were bad at playing the role of a person who hides their true feelings perfectly.

although you may have known, you were definitely not ready, both mentally and physically. you still hadn't come up with an answer to that question...

it was hard to keep so many things under control at once — the rate of your breathing, the ‘confident’ relaxation of your body, the look in which she wouldn’t notice a drop of embarrassment. oh no, but you forgot one thing — you’ve been silent for a while now.

her smile widened sweetly.

the small, unnatural laugh cracked and died away. Powder averted her gaze.

"because I... thought it was just some platonic sympathy, but..."

her lips twitched in a forced smile before her teeth viciously sank into her lower lip. no, these lips exist only for the softest kisses! — your thoughts screamed. your brain did not even bother trying to process the information spoken by the blue-haired girl.

"when you laugh, look at me like this... no, it's something.."

Powder seemed so... different. complete opposite of the girl who talked incessantly with the enthusiasm of a child who had just learned to talk, confidently doing ridiculous and sometimes even risky things. oh no, the creature in front of you has the thinnest skin, the most tender heart and the most fragile soul of all that you’ve ever met.

"I want to wake up with you in my bed. I want to fall asleep with your warmth..."

your heart stopped for a eternity second. you had been looking at her face for at least half a minute, but it was as if you couldn’t really see anything. only an involuntary twitch of your hand brought you back to her disordered bed. her blue, ocean-deep eyes read every strain of your facial muscles. the girl's breathing was uneven and clearly audible to you.

"sorry.. I guess im kinda slow," you exhaled with a broken laugh, "do you mean..."

her voice sounded deeper and cut off the thread of your knots of thoughts

"sorry, this is probably a bit harsh. I'm not forcing you to answer this in any way now, I just wanted you to know, I guess..."

your heart was beating too loudly, the echo seemed to even drown out her voice. it was unnerving to meet her gaze, but what could you do when every cell of your body felt so alive, so real? it was difficult to pull out at least one of the millions of thoughts swiftly leading a round dance in your head.

“you.. I always felt like I was just imagining things when you... well, me too-“

her sweet, warm laugh dissolved the rest of the words on your tongue. her arms wrapped around your shoulders, foreheads connecting with a soft thump. your eyes could only recognize the smile that was so easily ingrained in your memory, always being the last thing you thought of before going to bed and the first thing in your head in the morning.

“god, I was so scared.. I thought I would never confess just out of fear”

unable to say a word, you pressed yourself against her, hugging her tightly. your fingers slid over the thin fabric of her shirt, feeling every vertebra. the girl’s body twitched with goosebumps running across her skin, but she did not pull away. burying her nose in your shoulder, inhaling your scent, she spoke, her voice lightly muffled.

“I’m so tired of thinking about this alone.”

“you never thought about this alone, trust me. but the silence was truly devouring.” you gently laid her down next to you. of course, you had hugged before — a thousand times. and in her bed, too. but at this moment, it felt like more than just your intertwined bodies; the embrace warmed more than just the top layer of skin — the warmth pierced right through.

“I’ll wake up in your bed tomorrow. and every morning after that."

im sorry this took so long for no reason ;-; hopefully it was worth it!

[risskia]

SUMMARY: Exboyfriend Caleb headcannons °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･WARNINGS/TAGS: suggestive content, fluff, Caleb is a little toxic especially at the beginning, you two eventually get back together

───────────────────── .✦

Exboyfriend!Caleb who hates seeing you talking with any other men that is not him. Even if you two have broken up for over a month, it still drives him crazy whenever you would purposely flirt with other guys when he’s standing right there, your fingers twirling in your hair as you giggle and bat your eyelashes at some random guy you met a few seconds ago at the party. It absolutely riles him up; who cares if you two haven’t talked since the break up, right? You’re literally asking for it, as he grabs you by your wrist and wordlessly drags you away from him. 

Exboyfriend!Caleb who confronts you, jaw clenched and eyes flashing, as he continues to hold onto your wrist in an iron grip. “You think I don’t notice what you’re trying to do, huh?” You try to shake him off, but it’s futile, as he leans forward, pressing you up against the wall in the empty kitchen of the party house. “Attention seeking as always. If you’re so needy you can just say so.”

Exboyfriend!Caleb who scares off any other men that show the slightest bit of interest in you. When one of his friends mentions how he thinks you’re pretty, Caleb is quick to flat out reply, “She’s taken. She’s not interested.” His friends throw him questioning looks, but they don’t press further, given the look in Caleb’s eyes.

Exboyfriend!Caleb who tries to get over you. He’s got pretty features, and other women notice that too, but whenever they try to come up and talk to him all he can think about is you. Maybe he’ll say yes to a few that have your hair or your sweet voice, but he loses interest fast when he realises that nobody can ever compare to you.

Exboyfriend!Caleb who just cannot get his mind off of you. So can you blame him when he shows up at the front of your house on an afternoon with the excuse of having to ‘get his hoodie back’, just to see you wearing it, and the tiniest pair of shorts? You just happened to be wearing them, after all, but Caleb’s thoughts are already elsewhere and in the gutters as he stares at your thighs, and how they were once wrapped around his neck as he made you feel so good on his tongue... 

Exboyfriend!Caleb who still cares for you, after all this time. When you’re alone in the middle of the night wandering around the streets absolutely drunk, your fingers randomly dialing at a number, it just happens to be Caleb’s. Caleb picks up in a couple of rings, and is instantly alarmed at the way you’re slurring your speech. He speeds down to get you, breaking about 20 traffic rules in the process, but he’d do anything for you anyways, as he rushes out of his car and scoops you up in his arms. You instinctively lean into his warmth, sleepily rubbing yourself up against his chest, and Caleb’s breath hitches, he’s thinking how can this girl look cute doing anything, but he’s worried for you too, and mad that he’s no longer there for you to take care of yourself. “You wouldn’t be like this if we were still together, would you pips?” 

Exboyfriend!Caleb who nurses your hangover. You’re slumped on his couch, groaning as he feeds you soup and toast. He’s babying you so hard right now and maybe you enjoy it, enjoy how he always looks after you like a mothering hen when you two were dating. So you make him carry you to the bathroom and wash your hair, massaging sweet smelling shampoo into your hair. It feels so good and relaxing you think you might pass out again. Oddly intimate too, when you peek up at him as he runs his fingers through your wet hair. Maybe you two stare at each other for a second too long, because Caleb suddenly gets all flustered and starts on a rant about how “You need to take care of yourself” and that “Alcohol is bad for you. You know how dangerous it is to be out on the streets drunk at that hour? When will you learn?“

Exboyfriend!Caleb who’s the first that you call when you’re feeling down. You’re crying and your stomach is all twisted up into a knot, but Caleb reaches you in an instance, big strong arms wrapping around you as you sob into his chest. Caleb cannot stand that you’re upset, he wants you to be smiling and happy again, so can you blame him when he leans down to press his lips up against yours? His lips are soft, warm, and when you don’t pull away, he kisses you deeper, tentative hand reaching up to cup your face as you melt into his soft touches. He pulls you close on the couch, whispering comforting words into your ear until you eventually doze off in his arms.

Boyfriend!Caleb who’s secretly ecstatic and jumping around in joy when you two finally get back together. He shows you off to all his friends, a protective arm wrapped around your shoulders. When his friends ask “Didn’t you say that she’s off limits and taken already?” Caleb pretends to not hear, as he absent-mindedly slips his hand back into yours. Just like how he always did before.  

[multihaven]

rafe would love the idea of dying between your legs.

rafe eating your pussy for hours. he gets so pussydrunk so quick — the entire bottom of his face is drenched with sweat and slick. his cheeks are red, pupils blown wide.

his eyes roll into the back of his skull like he gets off on it just as much as you do.

you firmly grasping his head, the buzzcut he’d recently gotten not giving you much to hold onto anymore, grinding into his face. you’ve come multiple times and been edged for hours — you’re pretty sure you’re floating on clouds right now.

rafe gripping the tops of your thighs, arms wrapped around them like they're bracketing him into your cunt. rafe looking up at you through his droopy eyelids, loving the way your face is screwed up in pleasure.

it makes his eyes roll back into his skull because he truly loves eating you out for hours. it's one of his favorite pastimes; loves the way you fall apart under his tongue.

you continually arching your back upwards, making the most pornographic back arch ever been seen. your thighs keep clenching and unclenching around rafe’s head, keeping him locked in place between your legs. one hand gripping the pillow above you, the other bracing rafe’s head.

you grinding against rafe's face and releasing high pitched whines because it feels too fucking good; feels ethereal.

your clit rubbing up to the tip of rafe’s nose, all the way down to his bottom lip over and over again. your slick getting fucking everywhere.

rafe pressing both palms down on your pubic bone to keep you steady, teasing you, not letting you move. you whine high in your throat in frustration, wanting to chase the friction of rafe’s mouth and tongue.

you trying to squirm away and push rafe’s face away after a while because you’re so overstimulated. rafe ignoring you and just eating, slurping, licking your cunt slower and harder. your body physically convulsing because it's just too much, but loving being addicted to the feeling.

rafe switching from kitten kissing your cunt all over, to kitten licking, to giving long fat licks from bottom to top. kitten kissing your inner thighs, rubbing his thumbs in small caresses on your inner thighs. giving pretty hickies all over them, loving the contrast of deep purples and blues and pinks and reds to your pale, pale skin.

you staring at rafe because he looks so beautiful like this and always has been — between your thighs, face and mouthful of pussy, practically pleading to eat you for hours.

loving the intense eye contact when rafe gets to work, you practically melting from every sensation.

you releasing the tiniest 'uh, uh, uh"s, each word getting higher and higher in pitch because of how good rafe’s tongue is — fucking in and out of your sloppy hole. carefully caressing your clit, pursing his lips ever so slightly and sucking. the added suction makes you shiver.

rafe humming and moaning into your cunt because of how wet and messy he's getting. loving how tight you are whenever he fucks his tongue in and out of you.

he pulls back from time to time to look at the mess of you — smooth skin, bright pink and red, strings of spit and slick going every which way, shiny wetness everywhere.

your relentless clenching causes even more slick to slide slowly down your cunt, adding to the pool of fluids below you.

the only sounds in the room are the wet 'shlick' noises coming from your pussy and rafe’s mouth, your whines and moans and panting, rafe’s hums and groans that are muffled by your cunt, his heavy breathing through his nose.

rafe slowly trails his hands up from their places on your thighs to your breasts, leaving feather light touches and tracing them before focusing his attention on your nipples.

you end up riding rafe’s face. thighs tightly bracketing his head, not allowing him to move an inch. both of your hands gripping both sides of his head for the life of you, white-knuckling.

your head tilted all the way back, your hair cascading down your back and your face is face towards the ceiling of the bedroom.

your hips and cunt grind against rafe’s lower face — cunt still grinding and thrusting against his chin, mouth, and tip of his nose.

you make tiny circles, cunt dragging deliciously against both of rafe’s cheeks, his mouth wanting to follow your cunt when it leaves his mouth.

rafe leaving light bruises on your hips and inner thighs, gripping you to keep you where he wants you and how he wants to move you. his arms wrapping over the tops of your thighs, able to grip the inner thighs and spread you open like he wants to.

you just full on fucking his mouth with your cunt. steady thrusts and grinds feel so heavenly against your wet and sloppy cunt — pink and red and warm and slippery from the relentless amount of friction and pleasure it's endured for the past few hours.

your mouth slack jawed, eyebrows furrowed upwards. rafe is eating you so good — it's like rafe was truly made to eat pussy, the way he gets off on it; the way he eats it for his own damn pleasure.

he usually humps the bed while slurping your cunt — it gets him so hard. hearing your whines, whimpers, moans, groans. wet, obscene, lewd sounds from his mouth and your cunt. needs to pound his dick into the mattress and release the pressure because it's just too much.

rafe making you come over and over and over. after you come, he doesn't stop — he keeps licking and kissing and sucking and fucking his tongue and fingers into you. you’re pratically sobbing from the amount of overstimulation you’ve endured for the past few hours.

no matter where you two are, rafe will eat your pussy — two in the morning in a club or bar bathroom, backseat of the car, on the deck of his family’s boat, on his knees outside of the house in the shadows by the pool, on his knees in an alley way, on every goddamn surface of the house.

[pukefactory]

HELLO !! I I JSUT WNATED TO SAY i love your psots so muhc...

For my request coral glasses/reader cuddling headcanons please... 🙏🫶🥹

Thank you in advance!! 💖🎀

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I sort of went into mild overdrive when I saw this request. I adore writing for Coral Glasses, and since it’s been a while, I quickly jotted these down in a burst of inspiration. Enjoy!

- SAINT RUNE

.・゜✧ WATER’S EMBRACE ✧゜・．

╰► Summary: A Compilation of Cuddling Headcanons Featuring Coral Glasses X Reader

╰► Character(s): Coral Glasses (Ena: Dream BBQ)

╰► Genre: Headcanons, SFW

╰► Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

╰► Image Credits: @JoelG

›› It’s not that she hates physical affection. It’s just she’s ninety-seven percent sure it wasn’t in the contract. And even if it was, Coral Glasses would still be sitting beside you on the futon like she’s preparing to be interrogated by a sentient filing cabinet. “…So. You’re saying we lie down and do nothing? At each other?” Despite the nerves, her coral eye flickers with soft red pulses—like it’s testing its own heartbeat. She eventually leans into your side with the stiff poise of someone trying not to smudge a freshly printed graph.

›› Coral’s default cuddling position is The Misaligned 404 Error: she’s perpendicular to you on the couch, head on your chest, legs dangling off the edge, body halfway falling off the furniture. It’s not elegant. It’s not efficient. But when you ask if she’s comfy, she responds: “Comfort? I don’t think I’ve felt that before… Possibly during a childhood nosebleed…”

›› She’s always sweating. Not from exertion—just existential stress. Even during a soft, quiet cuddle session, her skin stays damp like she’s in a constant state of micro-panic. “I promise this is the normal amount of perspiration for someone whose boss is a disembodied memory-fog cloud.” Still, when you stroke her hair or rub her back, she short-circuits in the nicest way: she forgets her job, her inbox, the coral loops slowing to lazy spirals… just for a moment.

›› Her coral sometimes tries to mimic you when you touch her. If you’re holding her face, the coral’s red loops mirror your hand’s shape like it’s trying to learn what “comfort” is by osmosis. She notices once and just says: “Er…my prosthetic is emotionally codependent now. Great. Guess I’ll have to apply for mutual therapy.”

›› Coral mumbles a lot during cuddles, but it’s not sweet pillow talk. It’s things like: “If I go missing for too long, they’ll assume I’ve been taxidermied.” “Do you think the Horse Door knows I have scoliosis?” “Wait…did I send that email to you or to the department that eats lightbulbs?” It’s okay. You just hold her tighter, and she sighs like she’s finally found the pause button.

›› She panics if you try to spoon her without warning. “Wh—why are you wrapping yourself around me?! Is this a security breach?!” But once the adrenaline wears off, she sort of purrs? Well—not literally. But she makes this low, relieved hum in her throat, like an overworked fax machine being turned off for the weekend. You can feel it vibrate gently against your ribs.

›› You once brought her a blanket during a cuddle session. She stared at it like it was cursed. “Wait. This is warm…on purpose? And soft? Is this… a gift or a test?” Now she can’t sleep without that exact blanket, and she claims it’s for “data retention reasons.” The coral sometimes tries to absorb parts of it, as if wanting to keep a piece of the softness inside.

›› Her hair always smells like printer ink and saltwater. You’ve gotten used to it. She hasn’t. “Sorry. My shampoo is just a Xerox machine and grief.” When you bury your face into her hair and tell her it smells like home, she goes quiet. The coral loops pause. “…That’s not scientifically accurate. But I… think I’ll let it be true for now.”

›› If you fall asleep first during cuddles, Coral will not move. She becomes a terrified statue of affection, frozen stiff like you’re a priceless museum exhibit she doesn’t want to disturb. She whispers updates to herself to stay awake. “Okay. It’s been seventeen minutes. Subject appears peaceful. No signs of drool. Mission: Don’t mess it up, Coral. Don’t you dare—ACHOO—! …Oh no.” Still, when you stir and snuggle back in, her nervous breathing slows. A little.

›› Eventually, cuddling becomes her reset button. Whenever she’s overwhelmed, whenever the world feels like one big, unsolvable maths problem—she finds you. Climbs onto your lap. Melts into your chest. She won’t say it out loud (not unless bribed), but her coral flickers red in slow, gentle waves. And she breathes: “…I don’t understand how this works. But I think I need it.”

[revelboo]

Them looking at our eyes must be fascinating. For me looking at someone eye is intimidating feels like im invading them and might see what their feeling

I love the idea of mass displaced mechs getting lost in their human’s eyes. The little flecks of color, the striations entrancing them.

This is a sandbox fic-a world other people can write in if they want and a vehicle for me to do oneshots with various Cybertronians and a willing human partner looking for a one night stand or something more. Want to be sandwiched between Megatron and Optimus? Rodimus and Tarn? The war’s over, come play. 🔞 Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Interludes- Part 1

Trailbreaker

• Hand rubbing over the back of his neck, the pulse of the bass in the mixed species bar thrums through him, the low lights interspersed with flashes from the strobe lights playing havoc with his optics as another Cybertronian catches his optic and he pointedly turns away. Just needs a distraction. A partner that doesn’t know him or his reputation. Who won’t want him for a pity frag, Trailbreaker, the one trick force-field bot.

• Stilling at a soft moan, his head turns. The shadowy booth tucked into a corner and too dark to make out much except the glow of optics and biolights, a smaller form straddling a Cybertronian, bodies moving against each other. Doesn’t need to see when the musk of interfacing is thick in the air. A human, then. There’s plenty of them here, curious enough to give him a night for the thrill of saying they fragged an alien. And he can hold someone in his arms, give them a wild ride and pretend he’s not so damn lonely.

• Jaw working he makes his way deeper into the bar watching the humans flitting from the bar to the dance floor, looking fragile and ethereal in the pulsing lights. Servos trembling slightly as he swings by the bar and Blurr slides some engex his way, he tosses it back and eyes the little humans. Do they have to be clustered in little groups? How does he get one alone? Sees a former Decepticon he can’t remember the name of approach a dancing human, leaning down to whisper in their ear. Then leading them to the back. Because on the surface Interludes is meant to foster intergalactic goodwill between their highly compatible species. But everyone knows it’s where you go for a one night hook up.

• Bass thumping so hard you feel it in your bones, you smile nervously as your buddy grins and shoots you a thumbs up before following some scary looking Cybertronian into a shadowy alcove. Because scratching fucking an alien off your bucket list had sounded fun on paper, but you’re a bundle of nervous energy. Out of your depth and not nearly drunk enough to actually approach anyone. Warm servos brush your arm and you nearly spill your drink on yourself, turning to find a huge mech standing right there. And one corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

• Jumpy little thing. You’re staring up at him with wide eyes, tense like you’re about to bolt. Making him think of a bird about to take flight. “Looking for some company?” He asks, reaching out a hand. Doesn’t know how to do this. What to say. Can’t make himself say ‘hey, want to frag in the back?’ But you lay a tiny, soft hand in his. “Trailbreaker. My name, it’s Trailbreaker,” he says, servos closing around your hand and completely engulfing it even mass displaced. You whisper your own name so softly it’s almost lost under the music. Gently tugging you in the direction of the back rooms, he half expects you to change your mind. Come to your senses and realize there’s better looking mechs.

• Are you really doing this? Sleeping with a stranger? Heart racing, you remind yourself that it’s just harmless sex. You can’t pick up anything from these guys, so you don’t have to worry about that at least. Maybe if you just think of him as a big, walking talking vibrator? Grimacing at yourself as he stops by the bar, tapping a servo against the counter and a short red and white mech slides him a little, puck looking thing. Then he’s leading you into the back and holding the thing up to a door to make it slide open. “Have you done this sort of thing before?” You ask as he turns your way, expression a question.

• “Never been with a human before. You interfaced with a Cybertronian, sweetspark?” And you shake your head at him, that at least reassuring him. That you’re both going into this blind. He’s heard other mechs gossiping about fragging humans. That you’re tight and wet and so incredibly responsive. And best of all? You don’t know him. “Alright. We’ll figure it out together then.” Head lifting as he surveys the plush little room. There’s not much here but a padded, oversized berth piled with blankets and pillows and a little fridge of water, energon, and snacks. Because even if Interludes is a bar catering to interspecies hookups, the hope is making lasting bonded pairs that can save their dying race. “What do you like? Top? Bottom?”

• Dying a little inside because this guy is so damn nice and the talking is making this way too real. “Can we just do this?” Because you’re going to panic and chicken out if you get to know him. Fingers trembling, you start stripping and your breath hitches when he hooks an arm around you, warm frame at your back as his mouth slides against your neck to make you shiver. Grabbing his hand you tug him to that big bed and he turns you, hands cupping your face. It’s too intimate when his mouth covers yours and he backs you up to the bed until you sit suddenly when your legs hit it. And he’s going down on his knees, insinuating himself between your thighs.

• “Can I touch you, sweetspark?” Head lifting, he growls, servos gently nudging your thighs open. And your breath hitches when he leans to vents against you to pull the scent of your need deep into himself making you tremble. Shy? You’re not saying no, so he brushes his mouth against you, tasting you. And that noise you make? It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. Little hands land on his helm as his glossa and lips slide against you.

• Laying back on the bed because you’re overwhelmed watching him, your thighs tremble as his glossa tunnels inside you. Honestly, you’d figured he’d just push you down on your belly and fuck you. Moaning as his mouth slides on you, licking and sucking until you’re so close and you whimper a priest when he stops, mouth sliding up your body. More like a lover than a stranger. Aren’t even aware that he’s freed his spike until you feel the heat of it branding your inner thigh. “You’re so sweet,” he growls, the head sliding against you as he shifts over you. That visor brightening when he slowly stretches you and he’s big, making you squirm at the slight burn of him sliding deep. Filling you. “Okay?” He asks, deeps voice rough as his venting shifts, grows ragged.

• It’s killing him to hold still. To wait for you to nod, because they hadn’t lied. You’re silken heat inside, wrapped so tight around his spike and you moan when he moves against you. Finding a rhythm as you hang onto him. Making those needy little noises for him. And there’s no bar, nothing but the sounds you’re both making as his hips pump, the wet sound of you taking his spike. Knowing he’s lost as those eyes lock with his visor hidden optics. When you whimper a breathy plea for more, he begins to rut against you, losing himself in you. Letting the way your breath catches, your moans guide him.

• Arching as that thick spike stretches you, drives deep, you know how screwed you are. That you’re probably going to be addicted to alien sex after this, one of those people that are here every night, desperate to get lucky. Whimpering his name as he moves against you and you’re coiling tight, begging as you come apart feeling him lose control, hips snapping against you as he groans, shuddering and driving deep when he overloads to fill you. And you slowly become aware of the muffled noise of the club on the other side of the wall, of his ragged venting. Before his hips curl, spike pushing deep and you realize he’s still hard when he starts rocking himself against you, one corner of his mouth twitching at your surprise. “Go another round?” He asks. Fuck, you might just be in love.

[pricegotmedickmatized]

Gaz with his best friend, they’ve known each other since they were in diapers, their families have been neighbors since the dawn of time, every holiday and birthday and wedding and funeral and reunion of one of their families automatically invites the other’s

and Gaz is usually so good about smiling and nodding and behaving like a good, normal, well functioning person, pretending to be so well adjusted, just a Nice, Sweet, Good Guy. carries in his bestie’s grandmas groceries, driver her little brothers to football practice when her mom was busier than all hell at work, went to every single one of his besties band performances and orchestra accompaniment, eyes never on the opera unfolding on stage, but always on her and her alone, because he may pretend he’s just a well adjusted normal guy, but in his head? there’s this voice.

cw: manipulation, extremely possessive behavior, stalking (ish?), pervy behavior, gaslighting, manwhore Gaz, breeding kink? or possibly just Extra Strength Manipulation depending on how you wanna see it

also this got extremely long lmao sorry

in his head there is a fell voice telling him to sink his teeth into his best friends neck and never let go, keep her pinned on the goddamn ground beneath him so he can rut her like a fucking animal. it started small on a tropical vacation their families took together in their mid teens when he’d just figured out what his hand and his dick were for. and suddenly his dorky best friend was wearing bikinis, skin warm and gleaming with tanning lotion in the sun and he had to stay half in the water to hide how hard he always was around her

was easier to keep his cock under control when he noticed other people looking at her, but that voice in his head hissed that they wanted her too, they could see her, all her curves and her youth and her bright laughter and wanted it for themselves when it belonged to him, all of her belonged to him

it only got worse after that summer. he bided his time in a way, not making a concrete move on her, not yet, learning all he could about sex and pleasure and how to keep himself under control during it because he wanted her first time to be perfect, and he would make sure that her first time was with him. first, last, and all the times between. but even though she didn’t know she belonged to him yet, and even though he didn’t make that intention known to her, everyone else around them knew it. all the lads who tried to flirt with her after class got cornered in the halls or in the alleys on their route home, or if they didn’t get the message he’d be waiting in their bedrooms where they jerked off thinking about her, and very quickly all interested parties disappeared. leaving just Gaz.

Gaz who would walk her to every class and tell her jokes to make her laugh, sweet and attentive, giving her his jacket or holding her books and offering her some of his water to keep her hydrated on hot days, even while he had his head on a swivel for anyone he didn’t approve of being within ten feet of her. he’d chill out once he got his cock in her, probably. Gaz fucked lots of girls, but was clear with all of them it’d never be serious. he was gentle and charming enough none of them noticed they were being used, studied, and then discarded. all he needed from them was experience, research.

and gaz would hold her when she cried about no one asking her to a school dance, and how when she’d gotten her courage up to ask someone he actually ran away. gaz would kiss her cheek and rub her back, cuddling her close and grateful for the huge stuffed bear he’d won her last year at the summer fair that kept her from feeling his cock (hard, so hard because she was so close and smelled so good) and he’d tell her sweetly how all those guys were fools, any of them would be the luckiest man alive to go with her. why didn’t she just go with gaz, just have fun with him and forget about all of them, didn’t gaz always make sure she had a good time? didn’t he always take care of her?

he’d sneak into her room while pretending to use the bathroom during loud, rowdy group family dinners between their families, and he’d paw through her messy drawers, take quick pictures of her bras and the secret stash of smut books she’d stolen from her mother and stuffed beneath her bed, and every time he’d steal a panty from her drawer. and later that night he’d have it wrapped around his cock, leaking pre and grinding his teeth as he looked at all the pictures of her he’d taken: a blurry shot under her skirt, her ass in tiny shorts while she’d been sleeping in his bed, a zoomed in picture of her tits in a bikini top, the pictures of her naked and wet from her shower in her room he’d taken outsider her window since she never fixed the blinds after he’d carefully ruffled them to give him the perfect view inside.

cleaning his cum out of her panties in his sink by hand was a pain, but way preferable to the lecture from his mum when she’d caught him throwing a pair of girls underwear in with his laundry (he’d done his own laundry for years, thought there was no way his mum would catch him. wrong. he can’t imagine how much worse it woulda been if she’d known they were his best friends stolen without permission)

all in preparation for the day the two of them were home alone together, just before he was set to go off for training camp, and she sighed and asked him if he thought she was desirable. to which of course he told her honestly she was the most beautiful girl in the world, the way he always had since they were in a goddamn playpen together.

“No one else seems to think so. I’ve got friends and I know I should be happy with that, but I want…I want-”

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“…I want a boyfriend.”

Gaz smirked, rising from his slump on the couch where he’d been watching her more than the movie on the screen, and he pressed his sudden advantage. watched her eyes get wide, her breath catch, the confusion pinching her brows even as her mouth parted, pupils dilating as he braced a hand on the back of the couch, the other on the arm behind her back, looming over her.

“That’s not what you want, is it, love?” against her ear as she trembled, breathing hard, “You wanna be fucked.”

“K-Kyle”

he sat back just as quick, smirking, keeping his eyes on her.

“I’d be happy to give you what you want.”

she gaped at him, face flushed, making a small sound of surprise when one of his hands dropped to her thigh, lightly tracing circles there.

“B-but…but I…you never…I’ve never-”

“I know, sweetheart.” a kiss to her temple, to distract her from his hand sliding beneath the hem of her skirt “but don’t I always take care of you? Who can you trust if not me, angel?” another kiss to her cheek, his fingers hooked in the fabric of her panties over her hip, tugging lightly. now that he’s this close to finally sinking inside that pretty pussy he feels like his control is slipping slightly. “Don’t I always make sure you have a good time? Let me make it good for you, sweetheart, prove how desirable you are.”

in less than two minutes her skirt’s flipped up, panties tucked into his pocket, her bra and shirt are on the floor, his hands are anchored on her thighs brushing the tender skin with hers in her hair and clutching the back of his neck and she’s screaming his name as she shakes apart and gives him her first orgasm with a partner on his tongue.

in ten minutes he’s got three fingers in her, his mouth fastened around her clit as she cums again slurring his name like an appeal to god as he hums, drunk off the honeyed taste of her cunt as he humps the cushions to give his cock some relief

relief that doesn’t come until he’s worked his cock balls deep, pouring praise all over her for every inch she takes “so pretty, baby, god, look at you, made to take this cock, feel so good, so tight, fuck, so fucking perfect, just a little bit more sweetheart, you can take a little more can’t you?” and goddamn she takes it so fucking good, fat tears sliding down her cheeks as he grinds the base of his cock against her clit, the head pressed tight against her cervix and he’s not wearing a condom

“Ky-Kyle, god, ah, s-so d-deep, fuck, but what, ah! You’re not wearing a, ah, ah!”

he doesn’t let her ask, just shushes her sweetly, catches her mouth in a kiss and swallows her protests as his hips start to roll. she’s even wetter than he dreamed, tighter, hotter, just fucking better, no other pussy he’s ever had could ever compare to her, and by god he’s going to keep his cock warm in this cunt for the rest of his life, get her as addicted to him as he is to her, and if he starts out by fucking her bareback and risky while she’s too horny to think about it (and ovulating, he’s got her cycle tracked on his phone) then that’s how he’ll get started

he’ll make it up to her in the morning after she passes out on her fourth orgasm, taking his second load in his bed. he’ll make her breakfast and ask her out on a proper date and she’ll say yes because she always says yes to what he asks her to do.

she’s such a good girl.

she’ll probably get pregnant too, and it’ll only take him his first three loads.

he kisses her slack mouth and groans as he fucks deep, his cum squelching around his cock, mixed with his saliva and her own wetness, sloppy wet and drooling out, dripping down his still far too heavy balls. he’s just gotta have her one more time. he’s waited so long to have her on her back in his bed like this, he’s gotta drain his balls dry, make sure his cum gets pumped deep into her womb to breed her up right. she’s so good for him, giving him everything he needs. she always does. this won’t be any different.

and he’ll take care of everything after this, sweetheart, just leave it to him

[casey-ackkat]

Prison Boyfriends 🧡🔒🧡

This @gallacrafts theme stirred my artist!Mickey feels because the first prison association was the drawings on the walls of their cell!

A thing that canonically happened, but was never shown to us. Mickey sketching Ian to pin the picture on the wall of their cell. Such an intimate moment that was snatched away from us. So, there you go, your weekly doze of Mickey's hands + prison gallavich + Mickey's sketching skills + a one-shot of this scene✨

A few days into their shared prison sentence in the Beckman Correctional Facility Mickey finally gets a hold of a sketch book and some pencils.

The plan was to get them earlier, before Ian arrived, so that he could pass the time directing his mind and hands into something... productive. His reputation and general demeanor quickly earned him the respect needed to purchase certain harmless objects from the real world. But, of course, the delivery took a while.

So his set of graphite pencils and a plain black sketch book end up in his hands a little later, with Ian already sprawled on the bunk above him, napping peacefully.

Mickey pays the discussed fee and studies the supplies for a few moments before putting them down in the pile of their other belongings. He doesn't use them for a while. He and Ian have things much more interesting than drawing on their minds. So many years spent in denial, in hiding, full of doubts and fears - it's only fair that now that they're finally together, locked in the same room, they fuck like rabbits at any given chance.

Mickey doesn't have enough free time to pick up the drawing kit for a couple of weeks.

The first time he actually wants to do it though, it's when the two of them are lying on his lower bunk, Mickey on his back with Ian curled up on top of him. The younger boy is relaxed and comfortable, ear pressed to Mickey's chest so that his head rises and falls with each of his boyfriend's breaths.

Mickey runs his fingers through Ian's dyed hair and massages his scalp gently. His eyes travel up and down the expanse of Ian's toned arms, perfectly shaped shoulders and biceps, the way his huge palm rests on his waist possessively.

He's gorgeous and if Mickey could he would take a picture. But he can't. Or can he?

"Come on up, Gallagher," he says softly. He makes a move to sit up himself as he ushers the man up and pushes him away slightly. Ian's features strain in concern.

"Why? What's wrong?" He rubs his hand that has fallen asleep. They were cuddling for way too long and Ian's left arm was under Mickey the whole time.

"Wanna do something," he mutters cryptically and twists his body to rummage through their stuff next to his bunk. "Stand up."

Ian obeys, reluctantly tearing himself away from the warmth of his partner, and gets up. He adjusts his prison robe as he stands there awkwardly, waiting for Mickey to explain what's going on. The dark haired man glances at him.

"Nah, man, take that shit off." He nods at Ian's chest and all of it falls into places in Ian's head.

He smirks and shrugs off the top of his yellow jumpsuit and quickly discards his wife-beater, tossing it on his top bunk. Mickey is still turned away, so he licks his lips as he leans forward to grab his chin and make the man look at him.

Mickey opens his mouth to protest, but Ian shuts him up with a deep kiss. His body reacts immediately, heart speeding up, but he manages to pull away with a chuckle.

"Not for that, you, horny bastard," he breathes out with a smile and gently pushes Ian's confused face away.

"Then what is it you want?" He asks dubiously, settling down next to Mickey's thighs with a sigh.

His boyfriend's gaze measures him up and sighs. Ian fucking Gallagher is really a sight to behold.

"Been meaning to do something forever," he mutters and grabs his drawing equipment, biting his lip tentatively.

Ian just blinks at him as the man leans against the wall behind him, pulls his knees closer to himself. He opens the sketch book and places it on his thighs, a pencil between his fingers.

"Oh," he nods slowly and Mickey sneaks a quick glance at him.

"This okay?"

Ian gulps and scratches his temple. "Yeah," he nods a few times again. "Yeah, Mick. Of course."

He gets off the bunk bed and takes a step back to give Mickey a chance to take a good look at him.

"How do you want me to-?"

Mickey bites his lip some more as he thinks about the pose. "Hands up in the air."

Ian frowns and lifts them up awkwardly, his stance resembling a 'put your hands where I can see them' situation, making Mickey roll his eyes.

"Not like this, I'm not about to shoot you, Red," he chuckles.

"Then tell me what you want to see," Ian shrugs.

"I want-" he cuts himself short, breath catching in his throat. There wasn't anything specific in his mind until Ian asked and now... Well, now there is.

"What?"

"Put them up like... Like when you danced for me," he breathes out and Ian blinks a few times at him before lifting his hands and placing them behind his head.

"Like this?"

Mickey nods abruptly and adjusts the grip on his pencil. Yeah. That definitely works perfectly. His arms on display, torso out in the open and his beautiful face.

None of them breaks the silence for the next few minutes as Mickey sketches the outlines of Ian's broad chest, his toned arms and the shape of his face.

He takes his time and studies every curve of his boyfriend's body. Not out of necessity, no. He's pretty sure he knows the way his man is built. Seen him change from a lanky teenager into a beefy grown up. Has been tracing every inch of his skin with his lips for the last few months almost on a daily basis.

He remembers every single dip of his body, every beauty mark. Freckles are hard, these are countless. Still, he does his best at memorizing the patterns they form.

He studies Ian's body just because he can. He can and he wants to and the way Ian is looking at him right now is totally worth it.

It doesn't take long for Mickey to finish the drawing. It's not like he was going to create the most detailed artwork. It's been a while since he practiced drawing bodies and his skills are rusty, but he hopes he's good enough to do Ian justice anyways.

"All done," he says and tosses the pencil away as Ian moves to sit on the bed beside him. He reaches out to pull the sketch book towards himself and his lips part.

"It's incredible," Ian mutters, eyes wide as he takes in the drawing before looking up at Mickey. He's biting his lip nervously, somehow feeling extremely vulnerable in the moment. "You're incredible."

Mickey huffs out a short breath and shakes his head. "It's... whatever." He avoids his lover's gaze, but Ian is not having any of that. He tilts his head back towards him and leans in to press a soft kiss to Mickey's lips.

"You are incredible," he states, not leaving room for argument, and seals it with another kiss. This one is deeper. With more purpose. Making Mickey believe Ian's words.

The next morning Ian jumps off his bunk bed to see the picture attached to the wall on his right. He smiles and traces it with his finger.

It is the first one to decorate their cell, but it's definitely not gonna be the last.

🧡🔒🧡

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

104, 216 and yeosang please please please 🙏

➯a/n: yes yes yessss 😩 i know deep in my guuuut that yeosang is freaky, he's a perv and i can feel it in my bones (me too fr) also damn it why do i keep going overboard with these simple prompts !? the ateez brainrot is so real ...

Fair

❥Kang Yeosang x fem reader

104 + 216: "give me your panties" + piss kink

✈︎queued for: sun. 18th

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: STRONG dom/sub dynamics, bdsm relationship, MEAN NASTY dom sang, degradation in the form of: being peed + cum on and name calling (bitch, slut, whore, dirty). omorashi (sang gets off on making reader hold her bladder), teasing, shower 'sex', fingering, sub-space, praise, orgasm control, overstim, one light slap, pet names (darling, baby), healthy communication of consent (which is very important in bdsm, be safe !!)

♡masterlist !♡

➯a/n2: the concept of yeosang teasing his s/o until they can't take it anymore all while nonchalantly watching tv or something is just fried in my brain ever since i wrote "Yours" like gawd 😭 i seriously feel like he's the freakiest, nastiest member of ateez and i will die on this hill — then i want you all to bury me here lmaooo

18+. MINORS GET OUTTA HERE.

☆゜

"Will you stop fidgeting?" Yeosang groans as he pins your leg to the couch by your thigh as you bounce it incessantly.

"I have to pee..." You whisper for the third time in the hour. You know you can always just get up and go, or you can say 'stop' and tell him you seriously can't take it anymore. But you know how much Yeosang loves to see you struggle. You can see the sparkle in his eyes as he watches the TV, the little smirk on his lips at your words.

"Just hold it, I don't want you to miss the show." He doesn't give a single fuck about the show, and you both know it. When he moves his hand, wrapping his arm around your shoulder again, you cross your legs. His smirk gets wider.

Another twenty minutes pass. The television and the rotating fan fill the silence. It's summertime, and you're both in nothing but your underwear to fight the heat — but also because you'd just had a rather steamy make out session in which you stripped each other.

His hard on hadn't gone away from the way you were grinding on him, and you have to seriously commend his self restraint. It's been almost two hours, but he's not going to cum until you cave.

You shift in your seat, leaning your head against his shoulder with a small whine.

Another ten minutes pass.

He has to commend your self restraint now. You've never made it this long. You must really want to please him. An idea hits him —

"Give me your panties."

You look up, slightly stunned, but you're already moving to obey him. After having been together so long, you never question him when you're in sub-space.

"Thank you, Darling," he rewards you with a soft kiss, grinning into it as he feels the little wet patch on them while he sets them aside. He gently pulls one of your legs over his, effectively spreading your legs.

When the fan hits your wetness, you jolt. Yeosang, the evil genius, chuckles into your lips, giving you one last lick before pulling away.

"Hold it, Darling. You can do it."

The cool air makes the sensation of your full bladder a million times harder to ignore, but you bite your lip; determined to make it through the — wait, is this a different show? That really shows how much the two of you are paying attention.

Every time the fan passes over you, you let out a sigh, a whimper, a groan. And he drinks them all up like he's dying of thirst.

His fingers are drawing patterns on your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to your center.

Your heart is beating so fast you think he might be able to hear it. And when his finger finds your clit, you squeak out a simple, "stop."

He immediately hauls you up off the couch and carries you to the bathroom, rubbing down the back of your thigh and to your ass. "You made it really long, Darling," he hums, setting you down in the shower and starting the water, "hold it just a bit longer~"

You cross your legs with a whine, blinking at him desperately. "Baby, please, hurry-" You yip as he turns you around to face the wall, joining you under the stream of water after ridding himself of his boxers. The sound of the shower is making it near impossible to hold it. You're about to burst.

As soon as he wraps an arm around you, two of his fingers slide inside of you. And as soon as they do, your bladder has had enough.

The stream of pee coming from you is broken into spurts as Yeosang starts a brutal pace with his fingers, a wide smirk on his face as you sob with the simultaneous relief and onslaught of pleasure. He wraps his free arm around your chest and holds you upright as you trembling like a leaf in the wind. "There you go," he hums with a deep satisfaction, "let it all out, my dirty darling~"

You can finally open your eyes as your poor bladder finally runs empty, panting and bracing your hands against the wall as he continues to curl his fingers inside of you. "Fffffuck!" Is all you can manage to slur, spreading your legs further.

"How good does that feel, huh?" He presses his forehead against your shoulder, nipping your skin, "say thank you, bitch."

"Thank you! Oh, sh- thank you, thank you, s'good-"

"You did so good for me, such a patient little piss slut~" He slides his hand down your chest, briefly pinching one of your nipples before traveling further. As he starts drawing figure eights on your clit, he tells you, "cum for me."

Your body is hardwired to listen to him, you can't help but do as he says — especially when he's just flooded your brain with so much relief and sexual pleasure all at once.

You grab onto his arms, moaning unabashedly as you cum around his fingers, "oh, good fuck!" You wail as your knees give out from the force of it, wavering in his strong hold as he overstimulates the living daylights out of you; holding you under his actions until your pussy is throbbing. "S-top," you manage to hiccup, and he does so immediately — breathing just as heavily as you and chuckling as he catches the sounds of your little pathetic moans over the running water.

"Such a good whore for me," he praises as he kisses along your neck, slowly and gently removing his fingers from your sensitive cunt. He knows your limits, and holding your bladder this long has definitely pushed you to them. He would love nothing more than to fuck you against the shower wall until you can't breathe — but he knows that would be too much for you at the moment. Oh well, painting you in as many nasty ways he can will be just as nice.

"C'mere." He pulls you away from the wall and gently turns you around with your back under the water. "Kneel."

There you go, down on your knees without a second thought. Actually, you're so deep in your sub-space that you don't even remember what thinking is.

"Look at you," he coos, a devilish grin on his lips as he inspects your form. Back straight, legs folded neatly under you, hands behind your back. "My perfect little plaything~"

You smile up at him, eyes trained on his despite the way you really, really want to look at his erect member. You fail when he starts stroking it. Your eyes flick for only a second, but of course Yeosang catches it.

He slaps you in the following second, although he does so lightly — just as a warning. You know he can be much rougher. All things considered, this scene could be called "vanilla" or "soft" by you and Yeosang's standards.

"Sorry, Baby," you say immediately, earning yourself a soft stroke to your poor cheek.

"Take your eyes off me again and I'll make you drink my piss, got it?" He tilts his head, words spoken so nonchalantly that it makes your sensitive heat throb. You know he won't without asking you first, but something about his threats always make you hot and bothered.

"Yes, Sangie."

"Good slut." He smirks as he notices your thighs pressing together, giving your cheek a soft pinch before standing back up to get the full view of you while he jerks himself off. "So pretty..."

Before he can command you to; you're already opening your mouth wide like he likes. Sticking out your tongue to act as a landing pad for his cum.

You know him just as well as he knows you. You can see that little twitch in his eyebrow, the way his chest rises and falls faster.

"Fuck-" He curses under his breath, eyes scanning you with wide pupils, "my bitch knows what I like, yeah?"

A hummed 'mhm!' sounds from your throat, and he has to hold himself back from fucking straight into it. You seriously test his self control sometimes — it's hard to stick to what you've planned and agreed to whenever you're so goddamn perfect for him.

"Keep that tongue out until I say so." He's getting so close he can feel it in his balls, his body begging for release after being denied so long. But he doesn't want to stop yet. He wants to admire you longer; you really are his perfect plaything.

"Ah," you moan as you open your mouth wider, your eyes obediently trained on his even as they wander your body. When they come back to yours — he's hit with his peak whether he likes it or not. You look like the doll of his dreams, eager to please and knowing just what makes him weak.

He's taken off guard by it, jaw dropping with a string of moans as a few ropes of his cum paint your face before he manages to pull you closer and shove his tip into your mouth.

You barely even flinch as his warm release meets your face; your eyes only shut for a split second before they're back on his and making his heart skip one too many beats as he cums into your mouth.

You keep your tongue out all the while, playing with your hands behind your back so you don't play with yourself. You moan softly, tilting your head back so none of his cum drips out when he pulls away.

It's so sweet and salty. He loves cumming in your mouth, so he drinks all of pineapple juice — it may seem unnecessary, but he likes for you to enjoy it too. And it's something small that you appreciate as he absolutely ruins you for anyone but himself. Something to focus on when he makes you hold it in your mouth as he goes back to fucking you ruthlessly or degrading you in such beautiful and debaucherous way.

It makes you not hesitate when he says, "close your mouth. Don't swallow." You revel in the taste of his cum.

Panting quietly, he kneels down infront of you and swipes the milky white release on your face; gathering it up on his fingers. "Spread your legs, slut."

You do so with breakneck speed, one of your hands coming out of position to steady yourself on the shower wall. He lets it slide — you've been so good for him. And he lets you know how much you've pleased him while he spreads his cum on your cunt, "you've been such a good whore for me, Darling. Getting all dirty, that's how you like it, huh?"

"Mhmmm," you moan with your mouth full, your cheeks puffed ever so slightly. You almost throw your head back when he starts massaging his cum into your heated skin. You can only communicate with your eyes, making them begging and wide and letting your eyebrows crease together.

"You want to cum again, is that it?"

You nod quickly, breath picking up as he slips his fingertips between your lips and caresses your hole teasingly.

"Do you want to cum now, or do you want to cum when I fuck you later? Choose carefully, Darling. If you want it now, nod." He's cruel, you think, and he's so hot it's unfair. He knows you love having your orgasms controlled. He gets to say when, how, how many — this is just an illusion of choice.

And you chose to shake your head. If you'd chosen to cum now, you'd be edged to near insanity later and not allowed to cum until the morning. That's just the way Yeosang does things. And even though you whine as he moves his fingers, you love it.

"I think that's a good choice for my needy slut," he leans and kisses your forehead so affectionately that it makes you dizzy. "Open."

His release is all mixed with your build up of spit, stringy as you open your mouth and carefully stick out your tongue with your head tilted back; not spilling a single drop.

"Good," he pecks your tongue softly, licking his own release from his lips before saying, "swallow."

You almost don't want to. The taste of his cum is comforting on some level. But you do it anyway, because you always get rewarded with a smile.

"My obedient slut," he gives you that smiles, and you return the gesture. He swipes back your wet hair, tracing your cheekbones softly. "Would you like to continue?"

He's rough and he's mean, but he loves you. He checks up every so often during scenes like this, even if you don't use your safe word.

"Yes, please."

He keeps his smile as he pats your cheek, then it's gone when he stands up.

"On your ass."

You swing your legs out from under you and are sitting on the shower floor in a second flat, leaning back on your hands and waiting for your next instruction.

"Spread your legs."

Done. The moment he asks for it.

"Since you pissed all over me, I'm going to piss all over you now. Sound fair?" He looks so excited behind his dominant persona that even if you didn't want him to — you'd be caving.

But, you do. You're just as eager. You're just as nasty as he is, albeit in a different way. That's why you're so perfect for each other.

"Sounds fair."

☆゜

[returnofeternity]

Okay okay. Bartender Van at a dyke bar, super hot. You go there all the time. She always makes your drinks on the house & loves making you specialty drinks to try based on what she thinks you’ll like. Goes insane when you praise her bartending skills. She gets a little bolder the longer you know each other & gets into the habit of pouring liquor directly into your mouth, or raising beer bottles to your lips. She thinks you’re an adorable drunk, always flirting with her & complimenting her, but she’d never take advantage of you so she waits to make an actual move until she has a night off & can ask you on an actual date. But once she knows you like her too, you start hooking up constantly both in the bar & her apartment above it. Yeah.

cant rmr if you said adult or teen van but :> both are good.

GOD i know she wears suits while bartending 😵‍💫 she usually ends up with her jacket off and her button down unbuttoned. gulps very hard. during summer, i think she'd strip down to a wife pleaser and her jorts!!! you can hear her yelling at customers and laughing with her fav regulars before you even walk in, and you KNOW this bar is a good vibe.

she's also a flirt and pays for customers drinks sometimes, but you're different. she thinks you're insanely good-looking. also loves how lost you look because clearly, it's ur first time here. she lets you pick a drink out from the menu and then pours you another free shot that she recommends. if you walked in with friends, she definitely keeps looking your way occasionally, hoping that your friend sends you to get the next round of drinks instead of your other friend :< if you walk in alone, she'd for sure make conversation with you as you awkwardly look around while sippin' your drink. she talks to you about how long she's been working, abt ur interests, yaddayadda as she serves customers. even tries to introduce you to some of her friends!!

when she gets to know you a little more and shows off her amazing bartending skills, you get shy at how much more brazen she is. she starts pouring liquor into your mouth, telling you to keep your pretty lips open while she pours another shot of whatever into it because the drink "tastes better that way." she actually blushes and fumbles on her words when you praise and compliment her skills. she jokes about how thats not gonna get you a free drink, but literally ALL your orders here have been on her 😊 you kind of Do have to pay for food there, but she takes half off for you <3

you feel Some Type Of Way when she does the beer bottle trick aka just bottle-feeding it to you. she calls you good girl/boy for downing it so fast and makes eye contact with you as she licks the few drops of beer off the bottle.

van also goes insane when you attempt to bartend like her when joking around. especially when you give her a taste of her own medicine and pour the liquor straight into her mouth.

you have to tell her you're not an alcoholic when you start coming almost every day 😭 you just wanna see her! sometimes you just hang by the bar and talk until she gets off her shift. u either grab an empty table and drink with her there, or you'll take a walk with her. you joke about these walks being 'dates' and she always says that she'd take you on much better ones O_O there's this playfulness between you two at this point, and you cant decide whether to ask her out or wait for her to ask you out!!!!!! arghhh!!

she thinks its adorable how much of a flirt you are when you're drunk. you get her blushing so much she's almost as red as her hair. and ur soo touchy. always rubbing her head and praising her after she pours you a shot, holding her hand while she talks to you across the bar, highkey feeling her up on the dancefloor... singing love songs to her during karaoke nights because you know there are karaoke nights.

thinking about van picking you up at your house in her truck.. she's wearing this niceeee ass suit and she has her hair slicked back. you keep telling yourself that you cant fuck on the first date, but her colonge is making you dizzy and her lazy grin has you throbbing. she takes you to this rly nice restaurant, and is very much a gentleman while helping you out of the car and into your chair. she lets you order first, promises you that you can get the expensive stuff because you're her girl.

thinkingg about having a chat with her in the car after the date, she's parked on the curb by your place, and you tell her how much you rly like her. she tells you to keep going while you fumble on your words 😵‍💫 there's a tinyy makeout sesh before she sends you on your way.

she sends you a pic of her in her boxers a few hours later with the caption "come over tomorrow? :)"

hooking up in the bar bathrooms.. god. THINKING of getting caught sucking off her strap by some rando and van who just keeps facefucking you 😵‍💫 she jus mumbles out a "sorry." and holds your head against her hips so you can't pull back.

having to drag her up to her bedroom so you can properly fuck her because you cant get a damn moment of peace in the bar. or maybe you cant even make it up there so you just fuck on the stairs.

smth smth jerking off van's strap while pouring liquor down her throat. telling her to be a good boy and drink it all, watching how she starts swaying and grasping at you. yeahh..

[to-the-stars8]

Learning to Love Slowly

Jason Todd x Reader All Chapters AO3 18+ MDNI

Warm and Happy

Jason’s hand flexed around your waist, his palm splaying over the soft curve of your lower belly. His fingers moved with deliberate slowness, sliding upward, brushing beneath the hem of your shirt. The warmth of his skin against yours sent a slow shiver through you. You let out a soft giggle, wriggling slightly in his arms. 

Behind you, his chest rose and fell against your back in an easy rhythm, and you could feel the deep, quiet rumble of his laugh as it vibrated through you. He dipped his head, breath warm against your skin, and pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck

It’d been days since you had seen him, the only glimpses being through sweet texts and news reels, so having his hands on you felt like heaven. You pushed back against him, feeling the hard-on in his sweatpants. Before you could turn to him, he whimpered against your ear, holding you closer—So close that you couldn’t move.

Slowly, he mumbled against your ear, “I wanna put it in.” 

Your mind felt clouded suddenly, full of memories of him fucking you in the best ways possible, and you couldn’t manage out a response. Jason rolled his hips against your back, causing you to gasp. 

“You can put it in me,” You managed, voice low. “You know you can, baby.”

Jason sucked in a breath against your neck before whimpering again. “Oh, babe. I’m too tired to fuck.”

You said it before you think. “We don’t have to. Let me keep you warm.”

That was enough for Jason to shove his sweatpants and boxers down his legs. His hands, big, strong, and skilled, lightly smacked your ass before hooking a finger around the band of your underwear to pull them down. Jason’s fingers swept through the folds of your pussy, finding you already wet. That wasn’t enough for him, though. Lifting your leg so he had better access, he rubbed your clit in steady circles. 

Letting out a breathy moan, you reached behind you to thread your fingers into his black curls and pulled them slightly. “Jason—Baby, don’t stop.”

Jason’s lips found your neck, sucking a hickey into the soft skin until you turned your head to press a kiss to his lips. The kiss was hungry and hot, something that came from not being able to touch each other for days. Just as his tongue found its way into your mouth, his fingers found your entrance. Swallowing your moan, he stretched you with his fingers, making scissoring and come-hither motions. 

Breaking the kiss, you looked down between your legs, breathlessly saying, “Oh, Jason, I’m gonna cum.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, his fingers left your pussy. You were about to protest until you felt his cock press against your core, slowly pushing inside. Once he was to the hilt, you came. Your legs shook and you felt your pussy tighten around his cock.

Jason grunted, pulling you closer to him. “Fuck.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back your moans, but Jason shifted in you. You shrieked, begging him to give your overstimulated pussy a moment to calm down. He moved one more time before finally settling against you. His back was flush against yours with his arms wrapped around you like you were a safety blanket. 

“You okay?” He asked after a minute. 

You nodded, gulping. “Yeah…just don’t move.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You thought he meant that he’d tried to stay as still as possible. Yet, what that really meant was that he was going to fall asleep, his heavy body leaning into you a bit more while his cock, still hard, shifted deeper. 

Oh, this was going to be a situation.

[stevesgother]

https://www.tumblr.com/stevesgother/783075089530961920/constantly-thinking-about-how-steve-was-alone-in

okay thinking about this again but maybe steve comforting reader this time?? like maybe they’ve been kind of staying with each other for a few weeks because it’s the only way either of them can get any sleep or peace of mind and it’s not quite strictly platonic but you also haven’t had the energy to have a “what are we” conversation but the energy between them is so tender and loving and ugh

alright i love this and i might just have to keep writing for them bc they're so sweet canon typical violence, depictions of night terrors, dangerous levels of sweetness 18 +

You could hear his screaming again, echoing in every vacant corner of your subconscious. Opening your eyes to take in your surroundings, you realize with a stark clarity exactly where you are: The bunker. Starcourt.

You kick and scream against the restraints that constrict your wrists and ankles to no avail, and then a soldier is dragging Steve's limp body through the heavy iron door; blood staining the concrete underneath him. It makes your stomach curdle, fighting the sudden rise of bile in your throat at the sight of him. Steve-- sweet, selfless Steve, who gave himself as a martyr so you wouldn't have to be interrogated by them. You can't reach him, no matter how hard you thrash and shout.

"Hey--" You hear him say, but his mouth doesn't move. He stays lifeless in front of you.

Hands on your shoulders. How? How could that be possible? You struggle harder.

"You're okay-- hey! C'mon, wake up--"

Your eyes shoot open accompanied by a shuddering sob. The setting had changed. Cold metal walls morphed into comforting blue and beige plaid wallpaper; the chair you were once tied to was really just a bed-- Steve's bed. The ropes constricting your wrists were only Steve's hands, gripping your limbs in an attempt to get you to stop writhing.

"Steve?" You ask through tears, scared that he might not truly be there-- another figment of your imagination. A false comfort. Nightmares in the shape of a Russian nesting doll.

"Yes, it's me. Hey, I'm right here, see?" Steve palms your cheek, forcing you to look at him. He can see you still look hesitant to believe him, having had dreams just like this before; thinking you were awake when you really weren't.

"Gimme your hand," Steve requests, so you do. He pushes a finger to your palm; you feel it press firmly, and it doesn't go through the barrier of muscle tissue there. This is real. Steve's real. His finger would've gone through if you were dreaming.

You heave a trembling sigh of relief once you realize you've been safely thrown back into reality, out of that dank and awful place underground. More importantly, Steve is next to you-- alive and breathing.

He's still staring at you expectantly, waiting to for you to come to your senses again. It's all you can do not to throw yourself against the secure weight of his body, clinging to him with your arms around his neck. You only have the strength to weep quietly into his neck for what feels like hours.

Steve shushes you, rubbing a firm hand up and down your back, continuing to ground you in the here and now, "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head, "We were back there," you shiver hard in his grasp, "you--"

"Okay," he cuts you off, not out of impatience but to spare you from reliving it. He knows exactly what you were going to say, anyway. "That's okay. You don't have to say it"

A few more minutes pass. He rotates between rubbing your back, to stroking your hair, to rocking you gently where he holds you in his lap. Sometimes all three, before your grip on him finally loosens a fraction. He lays you gently back down on the bed, in his spot this time. You make a soft sound of protest, so he plants a kiss to your forehead.

"I'm gonna get you some water, I'll just be right there," he gestures to the ensuite bathroom not five feet from the bed. Steve had taken to keeping water glasses in the cabinet beneath the sink, having realized a while ago that leaving you to go all the way downstairs after a night terror was simply too far for you to bear. You needed to be able to keep him in your sights.

Steve was back at your side in thirty seconds flat, kneeling beside the bed to help you take the glass to your lips. You took a microscopic sip, "Little more than that, please," Steve told you. Obliging him, you took a few sizable gulps.

"Good, there you go," he says, appeased. You would've done anything to get him back in bed with you then-- would've chugged the whole glass and then some.

Steve climbs back under the covers next to you. He knew you liked to sleep on his side of the bed on nights like these; the smell of his shampoo on the pillowcase lulling you back into a considerably more peaceful sleep.

Steve slips an arm under your shoulder, inviting you to curl into his side. "Will you stay awake until I fall back asleep?" You mutter into his shirt.

"'Course I will," he assures you, rubbing a thumb over the soft skin on the back of your hand. You fidget with the hair that curls at the nape of his neck-- twisting the silky strands around and around your fingers until you doze off with your hands nestled in his head.

[partiallysame]

Continuation of this from @honeybunnnnie of Tattoo Artist!Simon

To start off they obvs all get matching 141 tattoos and yes it’s on their hip bones.

Simon def started out tracing the lines on his own faded tattoos too

Ok ok now you’re walking around the convention and every booth is the same but different. The old school tatters don’t look your way bc either not enough tattoos or they don’t like your tattoos. And the same from the micro tattoo people or the realism people. And all the artists that have their specialty and scoff at any other form of the art. You meet a few nice artists with good work but you are gonna let someone put you in physical pain and permanently alter your body. It’s a big decision and each time you wait in line for an artist your gut tells you nope not them. So you keep walking and you get to Simon’s booth. No big sign. No rack of shop tshirts or merch to sell. Just Simon sitting in his fold out chair next to a basic massage table and he’s got an arm rest if he needs it. He’s sitting quiet as you flip through his flash book and his photos of healed work. You ask a few questions. Are the flash designs one offs or repeatable? He just looks at you for a moment before answering. It’s been 2 hours already and you’re the first to speak to him. “Uhh so far just one offs but I wouldn’t mind doin ‘em again” you nod and keep flipping. You ask if he does color and he stands to walk up to you and his book of work. Oh he’s big now that he’s towering over you. With a “pardon me” He flips to the pages of color tattoos and shows you examples on different skin types. Not just your own. That makes you smile and now he’s trying not to stutter bc wow you’re pretty. You take his card and repeat his name back to him when he tells you it and he’s trying not to blush.

Maybe a week later you text him (bc we all now that idiot doesn’t have a social media for his tattoos) and set up a time for an appointment. You did not expect his “shop” to be in a garage office on a military base. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But you get ushered by people in uniform to the space where Simon has his supplies set up. Your escort then runs to yap about how Liutenant Riley has a client. The room is small and he’s got a few different lamps around including a high grade bright as hell one that looks like it’s used to light up a football stadium. No ring light or anything remotely new, but the space is organized and clean. The familiar scent of cleaning supplies that you get in every other tattoo shop is present. You two talk and you tell him what you want or maybe just pick a flash piece and he begins his set up. (For the sake of the story we are doing a tattoo high on the side of your thigh. Borderline hip borderline ass). When he asked you where you wanted it and you said “here” so plain and simple as you lifted the side of your skirt up to expose the skin where the art would go and he was swallowing hard. As he was prepping to place the stencil your skirt kept dropping in the way so you tucked the part that was falling up into your underwear to keep it still and now he could see the pink lace you were wearing. Simon never knew he needed focus so hard on holding a piece of paper. Hands shaking trying to keep his eyes on the skin that would be his canvas and not the skin he wanted to sink his teeth into. Every time he needed to touch you, he’d ask. “Gonna put the cream on for the stencil. That alright?” He’s sitting in his chair looking up at you and the sweetest lil “ya of course” came out. “Stand relaxed and normal I’m gonna place the stencil” and he’d stick the paper to you and add “it alright if I rub it on” “yes Simon it’s alright”. You’re almost giggling bc this is his job he is allowed to touch you but it’s sweet and makes you feel more comfortable every time he asks. You watch his brows furrow in focus as he lines up the stencil and then relax when he starts to smooth out the paper before so delicately peeling it off. He’s handsome. You stand still and let the stencil dry as he starts pouring the ink in to the small cups and peeling his needles from their sanitary packs. Every one of his movements is smooth and calculated. “Go ‘head and lay day for me” he nods his head toward the table before moving back to finish the set up but the “yes sir” that you respond with has him freezing on the spot (and pants tightening). He turns around in his chair and there you are laying in front of him like a meal ready to be eaten. Facing away from him your thighs and the side of your ass exposed waiting for him to mark it. He takes a deep breath before giving the spiel about letting him know if you need a break and what not.

He turns his machine on and you can hear the buzzing for a minute before asking if you’re ready to start. (He’s prepping himself more than you) When you agree his large hand comes up to your thigh to keep the skin taught. You can feel the warm seeping through his latex glove and into your skin. His strong grip had you holding your breath even before the needle touched your skin. His hands feel so nice you never want him to let go. For the first 15 minutes or so he’d check in on you every few lines and you promised you were doing just fine. The higher up on your thigh the needles got, the more your breathing picked up. The pain growing a little more with each inch. Simon noticed you trying to control your breathing, the tapping of your fingers together trying to distract yourself from the pain. “You’re taking it real well.” Simon heard the way into sounded and cringed when he heard you let out a little gasp. (Bc that’s not Simon). Fuck he was gonna be labeled as a tattoo creep. Gotta salvage. “I mean when I tattooed my mate Johnny on his hip he was whimpering and whining the whole time and it was a tiny little thing too.” That made you giggle. After that you two started a conversation.

He only does this as a hobby that’s why he’s set up a lil shop here. You have a couple other tattoos but the experiences at the shops or with the artists never felt all that great but so far you really like Simon. “Glad to hear it”. He tells you he’s almost done maybe just 10 more minutes when there is a knock only a millisecond before the door swings open. You don’t move just let your head turn every so slightly to see who’s coming in but Simon jumps up to stand in front of you. “Tavish what’s the fucking deal mate.” Simon has his hands out to cover the section of your ass that’s exposed from the onlooker. “Jus’ wanted to see what yer werkin’ on is all” you tell Simon that it’s alright he can come see and now Simon is a little mad bc he knows Johnny is only here bc Simon had been talking about the pretty bird coming in for some work. And now Johnny gets to see your skirt hiked up too. Simon finished the tattoo while Johnny keeps you occupied showing off his tattoos by Simon. Ever so eager to pull his shirt up and the side of his pants down to expose his own hip tattoo (and abs and happy trail and sexy skin) he started joking about how “shite” he was when he first started as Simon wipes down the tattoo. You go to take a look in the mirror and let out a lil squeal of excited bc damn it looks so good. Simon has you walk over to him so he can wrap it up. Sitting legs spread in his chair he motions for you to stand between his legs so he can put the wrap on when johnnys hand makes its way to you only to be slapped away by Simon bc “it’s fucking fresh and not for you to touch”. Johnny is sent out of the room after that (to run to Kyle to tell him about it). You pay Simon and he charged you a fraction of what it was worth but you promised to come back soon. And now he and Johnny are both scheming of ways to get their hands on you

[amirawrah]

⭐︎Distant love

with JOBE BELLINGHAM⭐︎REQUESTED BY ANON!

synopsis: In a world of distance and spotlight love finds its way back—every time.

amirah: the anon requested a Jobe x Ghanian reader so warning here.

You never imagined love could stretch itself across oceans and time zones, but somehow, with Jobe, it did. You were a socialite in Accra—your days woven between luncheons, brand deals, charity galas, and magazine shoots. Your face graced billboards, your name trended every time you posted, and yet, no amount of flashing cameras or curated images filled the space Jobe left when he wasn't near.

You met him in London. A random night, an art event you almost didn’t go to. You wore gold—he told you later it made his heart skip. What followed was a whirlwind of weeks, texts, and dates that ended in airport hugs and whispered promises to try.

And somehow, you did.

You tried. You both tried.

Now, it’s been three months since you last touched him. Three months of FaceTimes falling asleep, sending each other photos of what you're eating for dinner, and crossing off calendar days until his next break.

Today, your morning starts the way most do—fresh fruit on the balcony, your PA reading out invites, your phone blowing up from a new photo of you going viral. But the glow of the sun doesn’t warm the emptiness. Your heart aches a little when you see the date: it’s the first weekend of May. You were supposed to be in Birmingham, but a brand obligation anchored you home.

You miss him.

You tell yourself not to text. He has training. But then your fingers betray you.

you: miss you a little extra today. i wore that shirt you love.

You don’t expect a response, but it comes a few minutes later, a picture of his tired face.

jobe: i miss you too. can’t lie, today’s dragging. can’t wait for you to wear it in front of me again.

You smile. That ache eases a bit.

Later that night, you’re in a white robe, your skin glowing from a body oil shoot, your makeup still intact, when your phone lights up again.

FaceTime: Jobe

You pick up instantly. He’s lying down, one side of his curls smushed into the pillow, lips slightly swollen with tiredness. Still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Hi, baby,” he says, voice low and soft.

You melt. “Hi.”

“I hate this,” he mutters, closing his eyes for a second. “I hate not being there. You’re everywhere I wanna be.”

You wrap the robe tighter around yourself and sit cross-legged on your bed. “You’re doing what you love. I’m proud of you.”

He groans, rubbing his face. “Still. I want to be able to pull up to your place at midnight just because I miss you. I want to surprise you at brunch in your ‘rich auntie’ outfit. I want to be in the front row when you walk that charity runway next month.”

You bite your lip, heart thudding. “I want all of that too.”

There’s a pause.

“Come home this summer,” he says.

You blink. “Home?”

“To me. Come spend it in England. Please.”

You can’t speak right away. It’s not that you don’t want to. You do. God, you do. But your life in Ghana is full. Overflowing.

Still, what’s fullness if your heart feels half?

“I’ll talk to the team,” you whisper. “Maybe I can move some things.”

He looks at you like you just handed him the world. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His smile is boyish and warm. You see the seventeen-year-old in him again. The one who shyly asked for your number in that crowded gallery, standing there in a tracksuit while you wore gold.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he murmurs.

“You always do.”

When you finally see him again, it’s at Kotoka Airport.

He flew in.

He wasn’t supposed to. But you see him walking out of Arrivals, dragging one suitcase, hoodie over his head, looking so casual and yet—

Like air. Your life.

You run.

He drops his bag and opens his arms, and you crash into him like waves against sand. You cling to him, breathing him in. He smells like clean laundry and the cologne you left at his place.

That night, you’re barefoot in your kitchen, cooking him waakye because he asked so sweetly, music playing low. He comes up behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and sways you gently, lips grazing your shoulder.

You laugh. “You’re tired.”

“I missed you more.”

And you think—maybe love does stretch across oceans. Maybe it grows in the space between calls, and flourishes in faith.

Because somehow, here you are.

And he’s still yours.

footballwagupdates

liked by iwannabelovedlikethis, footieupdatz, bellihoes and 50K others

@footballwagupdates: Jobe Bellingham landed in Accra and it’s safe to say he got the warmest welcome possible. The midfielder was spotted embracing his longtime girlfriend and media influencer y/n l/n. Jobe is also set to be attending the charity gala in which his girlfriend also took a part organising. The pair have been together for 4 years despite how private their relationship is. Long-distance love winning again? We think yes. #JobeBellingham #y/n #love

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@bellihoes: Long distance could NEVER be me but I’m rooting for them fr 😭❤️

@randommanlover: Not me zooming in to see the matching bracelets 😩💍

@lovelovelove: I’d give anything to be loved like this ngl 😭

@needabellinghamx: This is why we stan real love

It’s been three days since Jobe arrived, and the house feels fuller in the best way. Your family home in Accra is already a lively place—cousins weaving in and out, uncles dropping by unannounced, aunties setting down trays of meat pies and chilled sobolo as if summoned by scent. But with Jobe around? Everything feels lighter. Brighter.

He fits in effortlessly, dapping up your older brothers like he’s known them forever and helping your mum carry bags from the car. He even holds his own in heated football debates with your uncle, which is basically a rite of passage.

But there’s one thing you don’t miss.

Ama.

Your cousin.

Sweet, giggly, always polished influencer Ama, who’s suddenly a little too present whenever Jobe enters the room.

It starts small—her choosing to sit beside him during family dinners, asking him about football like she just discovered the sport yesterday, offering him pineapple juice before you can even stand up.

You clock it.

So do your sisters.

The four of you sit cross-legged on your bed that night, silk bonnets and gossip in full rotation.

“Mmmh,” says Joy, your second sister. “Did you see how she leaned into him as she laughed?”

“She laughed like she saw Chris Hemsworth,” Sade snorts.

Nala, the youngest, folds her arms. “It’s giving i want your man, your a threat energy.”

You press a pillow to your face and scream into it.

They burst out laughing.

“No, but seriously,” Joy says, sobering. “You’re not worried, are you?”

You shake your head, pulling the pillow away. “No. I trust him. And besides, he’s not dumb. He probably sees it.”

Joy raises a brow. “Men don’t see anything until it bites them.”

You laugh. “Nah Jobe’s different.”

And he is.

Later that evening, you find him outside on the veranda, lying on the couch, scrolling through his phone. The sky is soft and violet, the air warm with the scent of grilled suya and night-blooming jasmine.

He sees you and immediately holds out a hand. “Come here.”

You curl into his side, your head resting against his chest.

“She’s laying it on a bit thick?” he says suddenly.

You blink. “Who?”

He gives you a look. “Your cousin.”

You giggle, relaxing. “You noticed?”

“I’d have to be blind not to. She’s not even slick with it.”

You look up at him. “Does it bother you?”

He kisses your forehead. “Only because it bothers you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart softens into syrup.

The next day, Ama tries again—offering to show him around the neighbourhood, talking about a beach party she’s “sure he’d love.”

Jobe’s polite but distant, always redirecting the conversation back to you, always finding your hand with his.

At dinner, when your uncles are arguing over Ghana Jollof vs. Nigerian Jollof and your mum is telling Jobe he looks too skinny (again), he leans in and kisses your cheek—soft and slow in front of everyone—you swear Ama's smile twitches just slightly.

But that’s not your problem.

He’s yours.

And your whole family knows it.

yourusername

liked by jobebellingham, golloria, yoursisters and 900K others

@yourusername: Home🤎

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@beautyisblack: This whole post is just fine fine fine. Like?? The genetics are disrespectful

@musilover: Whew, God took his time with the three of you

@deluluismeiam: + jobe!

@belligoalzzz: i want my man like jobe

The SUV door clicks shut behind you as your heels touch the red carpet. Flashbulbs go off in quick succession, and the sound is instant—cameras snapping, voices calling your name, phones recording, people whispering.

And Jobe?

He’s standing beside you in a tailored black suit, lapel pin glittering under the lights, one hand on your waist like he was made to be there.

“Are you ready?” he asks softly.

You glance up at him, your dark green gown hugging your body like a second skin, braids twisted up into a crown, diamonds twinkling at your ears. You smile.

“I am.”

It’s the biggest charity gala of the season—a collaboration between designers, some diplomats, and athletes—and this is the first time you and Jobe are attending something this public together.

You’ve been to events alone. You’ve been the “it girl” in Ghana since you were seventeen. Socialite. Business consultant. Brand darling. But being on his arm tonight? This feels different. Like a soft launch that’s actually the main event.

As you glide through the entrance, cameras follow, murmurs ripple, and you know they’re talking.

"That’s Jobe Bellingham, right?"

"Is that his girlfriend?"

"She’s even prettier in person."

Inside, the ballroom glows with amber light and gold accents. A string quartet plays softly while waiters float by with champagne flutes and delicate canapés. The crowd parts slightly as you two enter, and for a second, it feels like a movie.

Then you feel a familiar nudge.

“Babe, that’s—” you start, but Jobe’s already seen it.

Your cousin Ama, in a crimson dress, cutting through the room like she’s on a mission.

You blink. “Oh Lord, here we go.”

But Jobe doesn’t flinch. He takes your hand, fingers lacing through yours, and leans in close like he only sees you.

“I’m only here for one woman,” he murmurs into your ear.

Ama finally reaches you two with a plastic smile. “Oh my gosh, you look stunning,” she says, eyes not leaving Jobe. “And Jobe! I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

He gives a polite nod. “Evening.”

You step in smoothly. “We wouldn’t miss it. You know I helped organise this right?”

Her smile tightens. “Right, right. I saw the posts.”

The conversation doesn’t last long—Jobe keeps it short, and Ama eventually drifts away, her expression unreadable.

Later, as you both settle into your seats at the main table—next to ambassadors, CEOs, and two Afrobeats artists—you feel Jobe’s hand resting on your thigh beneath the tablecloth. A quiet, constant reminder: I’m with you.

After the keynote speeches and a performance, the auction begins. Items flash across the stage—art pieces, designer gowns, luxury getaways. You whisper something snarky in Jobe’s ear about one of the overly dramatic bidding wars, and he chokes on his drink, laughing silently into his napkin.

And then…

“One of our final auction items,” the host announces, “is a private training session and signed jersey from our special guest, Mr. Jobe Bellingham of Sunderland AFC.”

The crowd erupts in applause as Jobe stands and waves modestly.

You beam up at him with pride.

He sits back down, cheeks a little flushed, eyes only on you.

After the event winds down and the cameras finally stop flashing, you slip into the backseat of the car and kick off your heels with a dramatic sigh.

“I need banku,” you mumble.

Jobe laughs. “You’re stunning, you just pulled off an entire gala, and you’re thinking about food right now?”

“Food is a priority, babe.”

He leans over, lips brushing your jaw. “You handled yourself like a queen tonight. I’m proud of you.”

You look at him.

“No, I’m proud of you. Do you know how big of a deal this is? You being here, being with me—openly—in front of all these people? You didn’t have to. And you still did.”

He pauses. “I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere.”

You nudge him with your foot. “Even if Ama shows up in a wedding dress next time?”

“Especially then,” he smirks.

You both laugh, the night soft around you.

And somewhere between the flashbulbs and the whispered rumours, you know one thing for sure.

This man is yours. And everyone knows it.

yourusername

liked by jobebellingham, outlandermagazine ,temsbaby and 950K others

@yourusername: Last night was magic 🥂, A dress, a little sparkle, a whole lot of love…@jobebellingham🤎

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@jobebellingham: Beautiful❤️

liked by yourusername @randombellighamlover: this should’ve been me but Jobe didn’t check his DMs.

@temsbaby: Golden💛

@yourusername: erm have you looked at the mirror😍

@jobedailynews: I need a documentary and a wedding date immediately.

The next day you wake to the sound of rustling luggage.

The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, just pale streaks of gold breaking through the gauzy curtains. Your body is still wrapped in silk sheets, and your cheek is pressed against Jobe’s pillow—still faintly smelling of his cologne and the hint of your body lotion from when he curled around you last night.

You sit up slowly. He’s standing by the window in a white T-shirt and grey sweats, zipping up his duffle bag.

And just like that, the ache begins.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually leaving this early,” you croak, voice thick with sleep.

He turns immediately, guilt written across his face. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

You frown, swinging your legs off the bed. “You should’ve. I hate goodbyes where you just vanish.”

Jobe steps toward you, kneeling in front of you where you sit on the edge of the bed. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… the flight’s in two hours and the driver’s downstairs already. They want me in Sunderland by nightfall.”

You look at him.

His eyes are soft, a little tired, but full of the same warmth they always carry when he’s around you. He takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles gently.

“I wish I could stay longer,” he whispers.

You sigh, resting your forehead against his. “I know. I hate this part every time.”

He brushes a hand over your bare thigh. “I hate it too. But it’s not forever.”

“Feels like it sometimes.”

Silence.

You let yourself stare at him for a moment—at the boy who’s somehow become your safest place. At the way he looks at you like the world starts and ends in your eyes. At the fact that, no matter how loud your life is in Ghana, the silence he leaves behind is always louder.

“I’ll call when I land,” he says.

“You better. Don’t pull a ‘do not disturb’ after scoring two goals again.”

He laughs, low and sleepy. “I was celebrating!”

You lean in, lips brushing his. “You celebrate with me next time.”

“I will. Next break, I’m flying you out. Promise.”

You kiss him again, slower this time. Memorizing.

He stands reluctantly, grabbing his bag. You follow him out to the door, his hand never leaving yours until the last second. One final kiss in the entryway. One final “I love you” against your ear before the door closes behind him.

And just like that, he’s gone.

You press your back against the door, exhaling hard.

You miss him already.

yourusername posted on their story

[omw🤎]

The air at the stadium buzzes with that familiar match-day electricity — chants echoing, scarves twirling, tension pulsing like a heartbeat.

You sit in the family section. His mum is beside you, cool and composed as always, her nails done, sunglasses perched in her head but you can see it in the way she squeezes your hand when the starting whistle blows: she’s as nervous as you are.

“He’s been off all week,” she murmurs.

You glance at her. “Because of the game?”

She tilts her head knowingly. “Because he misses you.”

You smile faintly, watching him down on the pitch. Number 7. Your boy. Focused, pacing, his shoulders rising and falling like the game already weighs on him.

“He doesn’t show it,” you whisper, arms crossed tight.

“He doesn’t show anything. But I know my son,” she says gently. “I know what he’s like when you’re not around. And it’s not this.” She points down at him. “When you’re in the stands, he plays like the stadium doesn’t exist — like it’s just you watching.”

You don’t say anything, because if you do, your voice might crack.

The game starts. Fast. Rough. Jobe is locked in from the beginning — pressing high, tracking back, moving like the match means everything.

But you know better.

The second he steals the ball and breaks away down the wing, he glances up.

And sees you.

You swear his whole face shifts. Not a smile — just a softness. A flicker of warmth behind the sharpness of his jaw.

His mum notices too. “See?”

You keep watching, frozen to your seat as he crosses the ball perfectly, setting up a clean finish that sends the crowd roaring.

He doesn’t run to the fans. Doesn’t celebrate with his teammates. Just points — directly at you.

Your heart squeezes.

A subtle “this is for you.”

By halftime, he’s assisted again and drawn a foul just outside the box. You and his mum walk down the tunnel to greet him quickly in the player lounge before he heads into the locker room.

He spots you first.

Sweat-slicked, flushed, his curls a little damp. But his eyes go soft the second they land on you.

He barely says hello — just wraps his arms around you and presses his forehead to yours, breathing like it’s the first full breath he’s had in days then he kisses your cheek — gently, like he’s grounding himself — and walks back to the locker room.

---

The final whistle blows.

The stadium explodes in noise, fans leaping to their feet, chants roaring into the night. Jobe’s name echoes through the stands like a heartbeat — JOBE! JOBE!

He doesn’t bask in it.

He barely even reacts.

Because you’re still up there in the stands, waiting — and he’s already moving through the crowd of teammates, brushing off pats on the back and reporters calling his name. His eyes flick to the tunnel. Focused. Intent.

You’re waiting just past security with his mum, hands tucked into your sleeves, the kind of tired that comes from missing someone too long. He finds you fast, his long stride urgent, and then he’s in front of you — warm, flushed, eyes soft.

“Hey,” he breathes, stepping into your space like he can’t help it.

You barely get a word out before he cups your jaw and kisses you.

Not rushed. Not public. Just… his. A slow pull, a gentle press, like his lips know the shape of you too well to forget. His hand finds the small of your back. Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt.

When he pulls back, you both exhale at the same time.

“I’m taking her,” he tells his mum, already lacing his fingers through yours.

She smirks knowingly. “I figured.”

His flat is dim when you walk in, the curtains drawn, the hum of the city muffled behind glass. The ride over was quiet — your thigh against his, his fingers tracing small circles into your palm, the kind of silence that only builds tension.

The second the door closes, his hands are on your waist.

“I missed you,” he mumbles against your neck, kissing the skin just beneath your ear.

“I was only gone a few weeks,” you whisper, but it comes out breathless.

He doesn’t reply — just lifts you gently and walks backward toward the couch, your legs around his waist, your mouth finding his. The kind of kiss that feels like a question and an answer at the same time.

You tug the collar of his shirt. He groans low in his throat. His hands are everywhere — careful but needing, like he’s starved for you.

“You smell like sweat,” you tease, fingers in his curls.

“You smell like home,” he whispers back, voice hoarse.

He lays you down slowly, hovering above, forehead pressed to yours.

“I didn’t sleep right when you weren’t here.”

“You never sleep right anyway.”

“Yeah, but at least with you next to me, I’m calm.”

Your breath catches.

He brushes his nose along your cheek, his hand under the hem of your hoodie now, resting on your bare waist.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he asks, voice almost shaky. “Just being near you…”

You run your fingers down the side of his face, grounding him.

“I’m here now.”

“Don’t leave tomorrow.”

You hesitate. “Jobe…”

“Stay another day,” he begs. “I’ll cancel whatever. I don’t care. I just want to wake up with you in my arms again. I don’t even need anything else.”

Your body relaxes beneath him.

“Okay.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since you left.

And then he kisses you again — deep, grateful, like your yes was all he needed to unravel.

jobebellingahm posted a new story

[caption: 🤎📷]