#this is the first time she shuts him down | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nadvs · 1 day ago

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first prize desire (one-shot)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating mature 18+

summary your brother’s friend, rafe, is good at a lot of things. hiding his infatuation with you isn’t one of them. one night, you stop teasing him and finally give him what he’s been dreaming of.

tags college au where rafe and reader are varsity volleyball players. reader is a noncommittal f-girl. rafe is down bad for her. mentions of past infidelity. lots of angst and some light smut. not a happy ending.

» masterlist

note hello, i’m back!! a little while ago, i got an ask about a f-girl reader who’s been hurt in the past and is a little mean to rafe and i’m obsessed at the thought of him pining and lowkey being a simp for her?? this one goes out to my girlies with trust issues <3 divider credit.

You have to be doing it on purpose.

Rafe’s grip on his gym bag tightens as he steps out of the men’s locker room. The door shuts behind him with a heavy thud.

The girls’ team has the court now. You’re by the end line closest to him, only a few feet away as you stretch. You’re bent over with your back arched and he slowly paces towards the gym exit, his mouth going dry at the way you look.

The sight of you in those little shorts always throws his thoughts into a frenzy. Seeing your ass perched in the air like that makes him feel even more disoriented.

The varsity volleyball schedule is simultaneously the best and worst thing that has happened to him. Twice a week, Rafe steps out into the gym, exhausted from practice, to see you warming up, always tormenting him with how good you look.

You stepped into his life a few months ago at the beginning of the school year. His friend had mentioned that his sister would be starting college and that she plays volleyball, too.

The first time you came over to the house he shares with your brother and a few other guys on the team, he knew he was going to like being around you.

Until he got to know what a tease you are.

You stand up from your stretch, placing your hands on your hips as you look over your shoulder.

“Hey, Rafe,” you sing-song, your voice sweet as sugar. His hair is wet from his post-practice shower, hanging over his forehead. “Your hair’s cute like that.”

He was right. You are doing it on purpose. You knew he was there and you purposely put yourself on display for him like that, like a treat he knows he can’t have. For fuck’s sake. He’s never wanted a girl this bad.

Rafe’s lips flatten as he nods in greeting, stopping in his tracks. You’re not sure if the rosy tint to his cheeks is a product of a rough practice or a distressed blush from having seen you in such a suggestive position.

“Are you coming to watch our game tomorrow?” you ask, just loud enough over the voices echoing through the gym.

Rafe steps closer. You adore it about him, how he always looks like he’s been hinging on a opportunity to talk to you.

“Should I?” he asks.

“Sure. I know you like any excuse to look at me,” you reply with a shrug.

He scoffs, a mix of incredulity and amusement. He’s obvious about how bad he wants you, he knows he is, and that’s why it makes it ten times worse that you toy with him like this.

“You never watch our games,” he responds.

“I’m a busy girl,” you laugh.

He knows that. And he wishes he didn’t. He wishes he didn’t have to see you jump from guy to guy, snuggled up to a different one at every other party, never staying long enough to call any of them your boyfriend.

A couple of weekends ago, Rafe had been one too many beers deep. Pressed against the wall at a house party, he gazed at you through heavy lids and asked if you were ever going to find a guy you liked enough to actually keep around. You laughed and told him, “I’m not the commitment type.”

“I’ll see if I can make it,” Rafe says, because even though he’s a goner when it comes to you, he tries to keep at least some dignity intact and feign indifference.

“Hope you can,” you respond, smirking. His eyes go a little brighter. You know that means he’ll come.

You’re a whirlwind, a storm constantly passing over him, leaving him spinning. Time and time again, he gets just close enough to the edge of thinking he has a chance with you, and then you pull back.

Your flirty looks and dirty jokes are maddening and any time he’s tried to do anything about it, you’d say you’re not going to complicate things with your brother’s friend, especially when he lives with him.

Off limits, you’d once whispered in his ear at a party, but your body was pressed up against his so tightly that it didn’t seem like you wanted a boundary between you two at all.

Rafe’s name echoes from behind him. He turns to see your brother leaving the locker room, donning a confused expression.

“You leaving without me?” he laughs, walking towards him.

Rafe would never tell him that he purposely rushed out to get a glimpse of you.

⫘⫘⫘

The minutes before the start of a game is when you feel the most pressure. More than during the actual match. You know if you don’t feel proud of your performance, you fall into a funk nobody can pull you out of.

You rub your palms together as you wait for your turn in a spiking drill. The other team just arrived, warming up on the other side of the court.

You thought you didn’t mind these opponents all that much. Their team is usually weaker than yours. But they have a new player and seeing her familiar face makes your blood boil.

Rafe makes it to the gym after class, two sets into the match. It’s 1-1 and the air is heavy with tension. The gym is quiet as he settles in the bleachers, the thumps of hands hitting the volleyball rolling across the court.

You’re panting as you hurry around, dodging your teammates while never letting the ball hit the floor.

You look more stressed than usual.

He almost gets right up again to leave, irritated at himself. This is the crap a boyfriend would do; come watch your games, worry about the anger etched on your pretty face. Yet all he gets called is a friend while you entertain other guys right in front of him.

But then he smirks a second later when he sees you frustratingly mutter something to your teammate after the opposing team wins a point.

Rafe revels in seeing your temper come out. It’s cute. And it makes him feel better about his.

A few minutes in, though, he sees anger flare up in you like never before. A girl on the opposing team blocks your spike and seems to murmur something to you.

You fight back, loud enough for him to hear. You snap at her to shut up. One of your teammates holds you back. The ref blows the whistle.

It’s a misconduct foul. Something’s up with you and he doesn’t know what.

The rest of the game has an added level of intensity. It results in a loss for the home team. You’re wearing the disappointment in your expression.

Rafe decides to leave. You always take your sweet time after a match and he’s not about to make an even bigger fool of himself by waiting outside for a girl who messes with him for wanting her so bad.

But still, because he’s so pathetically into you, he texts you later on: rough game. you good?

You don’t respond.

⫘⫘⫘

The next day, Rafe hasn’t gotten over you ignoring him. He’s not really one to let go of things all that quick.

And he’s had enough. Of the teasing and the flirting and the indifference you have towards him while all he does is long for you. You have all the power and he’s sick of it.

It’s not hard for him to find the girl you’d argued with on the court. It’s a matter of searching on her college’s athletic department website, learning her name, and finding her on social media.

He chats with her, invites her to his house party the next night, and because it’s easy for him to get any girl to agree to hang out with him, unless she’s you, she accepts.

He can’t wait for you to see him with her.

⫘⫘⫘

You make it to the house the next night, showing enough skin that makes Rafe’s stomach grow tight. You nudge your brother’s shoulder in greeting, then shuffle closer to Rafe see him nursing a beer.

“Hey,” you say over the music. He towers over you, a crease between his brows. He wears everything on his handsome face, incredibly easy to read.

“You mad at me for not texting back?” you ask playfully, squeezing his forearm. “Sorry. I was in a shitty mood after that game.”

“Why?” he asks, reluctantly softening up. You hardly ever show him this side of yourself. You’re usually a few drinks in if you do.

“Did you see that girl I yelled at?”

He nods, Adam’s apple bobbing with a nervous swallow.

“I know her,” you explain, “and she’s not very nice.”

“You’re not very nice,” Rafe jokes.

“Then imagine how bad she is if I’m the one calling her that,” you say with a soft laugh.

“What’d she do?” he asks.

As expected, you wave a dismissive hand, rolling your eyes, blocking him out.

“Nothing worth repeating,” you reply. You bring your hand up to his bicep, squeezing the hard muscle. “Did you go to the gym today?”

Rafe’s eyes dart down to his beer, the attention from you another hit to his bloodstream, a dopamine rush he’s been missing.

“Hit a PR,” he replies.

“Wow,” you flirt. “We should go to the gym together. You’d be a good personal trainer.”

“You couldn’t handle me,” he replies.

You bite your bottom lip, smiling up at him. Nobody gets your heart racing quite like Rafe does.

And it’s why you stay away from him. Getting involved with a brother’s friend is already a bad idea just because it could get messy, but really, it’s the effect he has on you that scares you away.

You’ve been burned. The summer before college started, you discovered your serious boyfriend had never really respected you. You’re pretty sure someone’s first love always leaves a wound. But finding out they were cheating on you the whole time leaves a scar that never closes back up all the way.

“I don’t know,” you reply, pushing away your thoughts. “Pretty sure you couldn’t handle me.”

Rafe’s pink lips part as he looks down again. He shuffles in place so faintly that it’s nearly imperceptible.

“Not like you’d give me a chance to try,” he mumbles with a defeated smile.

No. You wouldn’t. Because the more you get to know Rafe, a man who at first seems hard and aggressive, but really just wears his heart on his sleeve, the more you can see yourself falling for him.

His intensity is overwhelming. It’s something you don’t see in most people. He’s a beautiful rarity of a man and you stay far away from any kind of real intimacy with him, because while you can hook up with other guys with no attachments, tangling yourself up with Rafe would make you susceptible to another wound.

“You know you could get any girl you want, right?” you say to him, voice gently dropping into a serious tone you don’t often use with him.

His phone buzzes in a staccato. He pulls it out of his pocket. Damn it.

“Hey, I’m here,” she says when he answers.

“You’re here?” he blankly repeats.

“You invited someone?” you tease. “And you��re standing here flirting with me? Shameful.”

You offer him a smile to show him you’re kidding around. The dull sting you feel from knowing he’s probably talking to a girl is a good reminder of why you keep him at an arm’s length.

It may not be reasonable to be a little annoyed, considering you’re always running around with different guys right in front of him, but you can’t help it.

Rafe hangs up, a tinge of regret pinching his chest. It took a few seconds with you to realize his spitefulness just fucked things up.

“Go get your girl,” you say with raised brows, stepping aside. “I need a drink.”

“Hey, it’s…” Rafe’s face pinches with concern, leaning to be closer to you. “Don’t be pissed off at me.”

“Pissed off?” You usually do a great job feigning indifference around him. You hope he doesn’t somehow see the crack in your armor.

“It’s that girl,” he replies. “The one from…”

“The game?” you say soberly.

Rafe hates the way your smile drops. The way your eyes search his face for an explanation.

“Whatever,” you reply after a beat. “Do what you want.”

It’s kind of a sick thrill to have the upperhand for once. He’s flustered when you tease, but now, your eyes are sharp with frustration, your lips turned down in a scowl that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is.

“You sure?” he says. You nod curtly.

“Not like I’m your girlfriend or anything.”

He’s sure you say it just to twist the dagger already lodged in his heart. It works.

⫘⫘⫘

Your stomach is in a knot. You’re at the back of the living room, purposely as far away from Rafe as you can be.

And she’s there, looking up at him with a sickeningly bright smile. The same smile she used on your ex. The same smile you’re sure she wore when she texted you how it’d been ‘weighing on her soul’ that she’s been sneaking around with him.

It was all bullshit. You know she was proud to play a hand in your heartbreak. She never looked torn up about it at all. If she did, she wouldn’t have provoked you at your past match.

Missed, she’d said mockingly. It took everything in you not to hit her.

Again, you’re inches away from doing it. Every minute she stays here, you get closer. You wouldn’t normally be angry at the woman your boyfriend cheated with if she didn’t know. If she was a stranger, she wouldn’t have owed you any loyalty.

But she knew. She was your friend.

You’ve been trying not to care anymore. You started this year with the intention to leave all the high school shit behind and have fun and not give your heart to a man. Not for a long time.

But seeing her brings it all back.

“What’s up?” you hear. You look up at your brother.

He knows how your relationship ended. When he heard what your ex did to you, he offered to beat the shit out of him, but no amount of revenge ever felt like it could undo your pain.

He never met your ex-friend. He has no idea who the woman Rafe is flirting with is.

“The music sucks,” you reply, wincing as the bass reverberates through the room.

“You always had shitty taste,” he replies. You crack a smile. It falls when you remember how he’d said the same about your ex, long before the breakup.

“I need a breather,” you say.

It doesn’t happen very often, so when you see worry wash over your big brother’s face, it jolts you a little.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you lie. “Just need to spare my eardrums.”

He huffs a laugh, gently pushing you as you step away from him.

⫘⫘⫘

Come upstairs.

Rafe stares down at the text from you, sent three minutes ago. He looks up at the girl he invited as she comes back to him, arm linked with a friend she’d called to join the party.

He’s stiff as they make introductions. Then he tells them he’ll be right back.

Rafe’s bedroom is lived in, but it’s not quite messy. Clothes are strewn across an open drawer and on the back of his desk chair, but his textbooks are neat on the shelf and his bed is made.

You turned on his dim nightstand lamp. You stare ahead at the calendar on his closet door, practices and games written in black pen.

You lean against the headboard, squeezing your fingers, teetering towards crying. It’s a sick joke to like a guy again just to watch the same woman enamour him.

The door opens with a soft click, music spilling in for a moment.

Rafe has dreamed of this, coming up to see you in his bed. But in his dreams, you’re not staring at him like he just massively fucked up.

He doesn’t say a word. He only looks at you with confusion.

“I take it back,” you say, sitting up. “I don’t want her here.”

“What?” he says.

“Tell her to leave.”

Hope warms his core. Are you jealous?

“It’s my house,” he answers flippantly, giving you the same blasé attitude you’ve always given him.

You scoff. He crosses the room and sits at the foot of his bed, the mattress sinking with his weight. He’s never heard this thinness in your voice before.

“Can you just do it? Please?” you say shakily.

“What happened between you two?”

“You know what?” you scoff frustratingly, swinging your legs over the edge. “Fuck it. I’ll just go.”

“Stop,” he says sternly. “Tell me.”

He may have never seen you this vulnerable, but you’ve never seen him this mad. At least, not at you.

You thought Rafe had a soft spot for you. It hurts that it doesn’t seem to be there anymore. But then he sighs, head tilting slightly as he takes your hand.

“If you– you…” he begins, words fast and tumbling together. You’ve noticed he stammers when he’s on edge. “If you need me to kick her out, then, fine.”

“Really?” you say.

He sighs your name in exhausted resignation, looking up at the ceiling. You’re not jealous. You just really don’t like this girl. It has nothing to do with him and that hurts.

He nods in response. He knows you know he’d do anything for you.

Despite your instinct telling you to call an end to the conversation, the warmth of his hand on yours is piercing. You look down at your lap, turning his big hand over, calluses on his fingertips similar to yours from volleyball.

He gazes at you, his pulse picking up as your eyelashes stay low over your eyes, blinking quickly.

“I had a boyfriend,” you say quietly. “He cheated on me. With her.”

Rafe’s body goes cold. The irritation he was feeling has been replaced by biting guilt. He would’ve told her not to even bother coming in if you had just shared the truth.

“I didn’t know,” he murmurs. The shame is worse with every second that passes. He got what he wanted; he hurt you. And he hates himself for it.

“Yeah,” you say. You find his eyes, bottomless seas of blue. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

“I don’t want it to be like that,” he admits. “And I make it pretty damn obvious.”

You look down again, huffing a quiet laugh.

“Yeah, you do,” you reply.

You’ve always felt a sense of control over Rafe, but it’s chipping away, pieces being taken from you and given to him. You shouldn’t have opened this wound. Because now, you just want to smother it with temporary bandages.

Rafe’s jaw tenses as he watches your hand on his. Silence settles between you, your breaths heavy, the music muffled.

He’s not sure what’s next.

“Don’t tell anyone,” you say.

“I won’t,” he rasps.

“Not about that,” you say. “Well… yeah, about that. But I meant about this.”

You shift to straddle him, the backs of your thighs resting on his lap. He meets your eyes as your noses nearly brush together.

You lean in. His breath stops when your lips meet his.

His heart-rate skyrockets. Fuck. This is really happening. His hands find your thighs, fingers pressing into your flesh.

You gently grind up against him as your kisses grow hungrier, mouths opening, breaths shortening.

You take him in, the smell of his aftershave and the taste of his tongue, as your arms link around his broad shoulders. You already feel better, feeling him hold you and kiss you like this.

He’s getting hard. It makes fire swirl in your stomach.

“Tell me,” you whisper against his mouth, desperate to feel even better, “how bad you want me.”

“You’re all I fucking think about,” he admits breathily.

“Which parts of me do you think about?”

“Everything,” he groans. “Fucking everything.”

You wish he would’ve just said something physical to solidify this as the casual hook-up it is. You can’t handle it being more.

“We’ll keep this a secret, okay?” you whisper.

“I know.” Rafe kisses you again, willing to say anything just to keep this going.

You gently push his shoulders so he lies back. Clothes are clumsily shoved off, kisses grow messy, and once you feel all of him, your head swims with euphoria, blocking out the impending regret.

You stay on top to at least hold onto some of the control you have left.

He comes with a groan, clinging onto your waist with trembling fingers as if you’ll run away from him.

But you do run away. It’s over and you sit up and scramble to put your clothes on again, the high gone, the crash on its way.

“Shit,” you whisper.

Rafe’s smile fades, his chest heaving. He sits up.

“Why are you acting like you regret it?” he asks.

He wants to give you his shirt, stay in bed with you, trace his fingers over your skin and tell you how badly he’s always wanted you.

You look at him with furrowed brows.

“We can’t tell anyone.”

“You already said that,” he mutters. “It’s not like we have to give details, but… nobody’s going to lose their shit if we’re together. Your brother isn’t like that.”

“No,” you shake your head. “This was just sex.”

It’s not a sudden break. His heart cracks slowly. It’s a fracture, spreading through his chest. He’s empty.

“So, I’m just…” He scoffs, tongue jutting under his cheek. “I’m just another one of the guys you do this to.”

“Don’t,” you say softly. “I told you I don’t date.”

You did, but he thought he was different.

You stand, smoothing your hair.

“Because of one asshole?” he murmurs, angrily picking up his t-shirt.

It hurts that something you told him in a vulnerable moment is ammo now. He’s being harsh and you know you are, too, but it’s the last thing you need right now.

“Don’t bring it up again,” you say with a strain in your voice. “Any of it. I knew I…”

Your throat starts to feel raw as you pace past him towards the door, desperate to get home and be swallowed in your blankets. Alone. Like you should be. Not chasing temporary relief in hook-ups.

“What did you know?” Rafe says to your back, tone softened. His anger is gone. It takes one glimpse into your pain to erase his own. He just wants to make you feel better.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” you murmur, staring at the door handle. “I can’t trust anyone.”

You leave. You gave him what he thought he wanted most, but he can see now that this hollow version of having you is the last thing he’d ever want.

You’ve ticked him off your list. You’re done. He’s in your rearview now, a quick hook-up that you wish you didn’t have.

⫘⫘⫘

You’ve been home for less than five minutes when your phone buzzes with a text from Rafe.

Make it home okay?

You swallow hard and respond: yes. didn’t mean to freak out. friends?

Rafe chews on his lip as he stares at his phone. He hasn’t left his bedroom.

yeah, he replies. There’s no point in pretending he doesn’t want you, even if you push him back into the role he’d been playing before.

Fine. He’ll be your fucking friend. He already lost his pride long ago. But tonight is the first time he’s truly lost the hope he had in you.

(the end)

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#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n

253 notes · View notes

kashverse · 6 hours ago

Note

Can we get some lore on Toji and mamaguro?

megumi, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tilts his head and asks the question of the century.

“how did you and papa meet?”

you pause. toji’s eyes immediately gleam with something absolutely devious. and you know—before he even opens his mouth—that he’s about to ruin it. “ahhh, great question, kid,” toji sighs, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to tell the most important story of all time. “see, once upon a time, i was young. reckless. sexy. a lone wolf prowlin’ the streets—”

your head snaps toward him. “what.”

“—and then,” he continues, ignoring you completely, “i met this woman.” he jerks his chin toward you. “absolutely feral. scary as hell. deadly, too. had this whole mysterious cat burglar thing goin’ on.” megumi’s eyes widen.

“like catwoman?”

“exactly!” toji claps his hands. “but hotter.”

you squint. “i took one look at her,” toji sighs dramatically, clutching his chest like a man struck by fate. “and bam!” he slaps the floor for emphasis, making megumi jump. “love at first sight.”

“…you were on the floor at first sight,” you correct. “because i threw you there.” toji grins. “same thing.”

megumi’s eyebrows furrow. “why’d you throw him?”

toji hums, tapping his chin like he’s recalling some grand tale. “well, kid, your mama wasn’t always the sweet, loving lady she is now. back in the day, she was a real menace. sharp, deadly, no-nonsense.” you roll your eyes. “and you were an idiot.”

“a charming idiot,” toji corrects, leaning back with a smirk. “but hey, you wanna hear the real story?” he gestures for megumi to sit closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “lemme tell you how it really happened…”

/\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊��᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

toji should’ve known better than to touch you. but in his defense, he had really just wanted your attention. it wasn’t every day you saw someone move like that—fast, sharp, deadly, with the kind of ease that made seasoned killers look sloppy. you had just wiped the floor with half a dozen guys and hadn’t even broken a sweat. so, naturally, toji thought it would be real cute to tap your shoulder.

“yo, sweetheart, what’s your—”

before he could finish, his back slammed against the pavement, skull bouncing off the concrete. you stood over him, eyes sharp, unimpressed, like you were deciding whether or not to finish the job. “touch me again and i’ll break your arm,” you said. toji, lying there with a grin stretching across his face, thought, damn.

toji was relentless. “shiuuuu,” he whined, draping himself over the back of shiu’s chair like a dead weight. “c’mon, man, just once. put me on a job with her. please.” shiu didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “for the last time, no.”

“why not?” toji huffed. “we’d be great together.” shiu sighed. “no, you’d be a menace. i don’t have time to deal with you getting distracted and showing off for your crush mid-mission.” toji crossed his arms. “what? i would not.”

shiu finally glanced at him. toji looked away. shiu raised an eyebrow. toji grumbled, “okay, maybe a little.”

shiu shook his head. “go away.” but did that stop toji? absolutely not.

the man campaigned like his life depended on it. followed you around whenever he saw you, made a damn fool of himself trying to impress you—sparring without a shirt (useless, you didn’t even blink), dramatically taking down targets in the most unnecessarily flashy ways, dropping the occasional sweetheart or princess just to see if he could get a rise out of you. nothing. you remained cool, detached, frustratingly uninterested.

until one day, when you finally looked at him and said, “if i agree to work with you, will you shut up?” toji lit up like a kid on christmas. “yes.”

“fine.”

“wait, really?”

you shrugged. “shiu thinks you’re useful enough to keep around, so i’ll give it a shot. but if you slow me down, i’m leaving you behind.” toji grinned. “babe, you’re gonna love working with me.”

(you did not love working with him. at first.)

the first mission together was a disaster. not because it went wrong—oh no, everything was executed perfectly. but because toji spent the entire time trying to get you to laugh. he was muttering jokes over the comms, making faces when no one was looking, even tossing out ridiculous one-liners mid-fight just to see if he could crack your composure. nothing. you were focused, professional, as if you didn’t even register his antics.

until the job was done, and he caught you, just for a split second, hiding the smallest smirk. toji nearly died on the spot. "i knew you had a sense of humor," he said, triumphant. you rolled your eyes. “if you mess around too much, you'll get yourself killed.” toji grinned. "nah. gotta stick around. haven’t won you over yet.”

(he did. eventually.)

/\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

megumi listened like it’s a live-action soap opera. “and guess what?” toji smirks, elbowing your side. “it worked.”

“against my better judgment,” you mutter, crossing your arms. megumi tilts his head. “but you like him now.”

toji grins, looking smug. “yeah, mama. you like me.”

you stare at him. then, with a perfectly measured swing, you whack the back of his head so fast that he blinks in shock. then, suddenly, something in his face changes. the slow grin. the slight daze in his eyes. “damn,” he breathes. “that’s exactly why i fell for you in the first place.”

megumi makes a disgusted face. but toji, still caught in whatever lovestruck spiral he’s in, just stretches and leans back against the couch, arms crossed behind his head. “it’s true, y’know,” he hums, reminiscing. “with other people, i was a cold bastard. with your mama? blubbering puppy.”

megumi looks at you for confirmation. you sigh. “unfortunately, yes.”

megumi squints. “prove it.”

toji’s grin widens.

somewhere, in an alternate flashback—

“alright, asshole, you got three seconds to start beggin’ before i blow your damn face off,” toji growls, pointing his gun at some poor soul tied to a chair. the guy trembles. “p-please, i—”

“not you, dumbass, him,” toji grunts, jerking his thumb toward his colleague—shiu, who is standing off to the side, looking like he has an unfortunate headache. “toji,” shiu sighs. “just finish the job.”

“nah, nah, lemme enjoy this.” toji cracks his neck. “c’mon, big guy, scream f'me.”

footsteps. and before the victim can even register what’s happening, toji suddenly changes. in half a second, he goes from “demonic assassin ready to pull the trigger” to—

“BABE!!”

his voice shoots up an octave. the victim stares. and then he watches—in real time—as the fearsome assassin fushiguro toji throws his loaded gun on the table and immediately goes soft. “babe,” toji beams, turning toward the door. “didja eat yet? you sleep okay? what’s up? what’s goin’ on?”

the victim blinks. you walk into the room like nothing is out of the ordinary, sipping a bottle of water, giving the scene a quick glance before meeting toji’s gaze.

“you forgot your lunch.”

you hold up a neatly wrapped bento box. toji gasps. "awww, babe, you love me.”

the victim gapes as toji practically skips over to you, completely forgetting he was in the middle of a goddamn interrogation. the target, still bound to his chair, is on the verge of tears. “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING—”

back to the present—

megumi, jaw slightly dropped, slowly turns to his father.

“…you are pathetic.”

toji grins. “nah. i’m in love.” you sigh, rubbing your temples. “you were in love. now you’re just embarrassing.”

megumi nods in agreement. toji scoffs. “y’know, if this is the kinda disrespect i get in my own house—”

“—you can leave,” you and megumi say in unison. toji groans, flopping dramatically onto the floor. but secretly? he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#tw guns ; violence #@toji #@shiu #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x y/n #toji x you #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #toji x f!reader #toji x female reader

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syluslnd · 2 days ago

Note

Hooray!! Your request are open again 🎉🎉 I absolutely adore your works. It's a chef kiss 😩🤌

Anyway, my request is Sylus bought a cabin in the woods to surprise reader. Just for two things, first reader really needs a break because she's been working way too much. And two, Sylus wants to "make love" with her and to hear her scream.

(Go crazy on how you want to write it. Thank you! I hope you understand what I mean right 😉😉)

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The drive through the woods had been long but the moment you arrived, you understood why Sylus had kept this place a secret.

The house was beautiful-elegant yet secluded, nestled deep in the forest where no one else could reach. Tall windows framed the landscape, letting in the golden glow of the evening sun. Everything was silent except for the faint rustling of trees, the scent of pine and fresh air filling your lungs.

"Sylus this is... incredible" you murmured, stepping through the grand entrance. The floors gleamed under the soft lighting and everything about the interior screamed luxurious, carefully curated and undeniably intentional.

Sylus shut the door behind you, his presence unmistakable even before he spoke. "I knew you'd like it" he said, his voice smooth as he stepped closer. "A private getaway,just for us."

There was something in his tone— something knowing.

You didn't catch onto it at first, too mesmerized by the sheer elegance of the space. But then, your eyes caught something unexpected. Rose petals.

Scattered along the pristine floor, creating a path deeper into the house.

Your breath hitched slightly.

Sylus smirked, clearly noticing your reaction.

"Go on sweetie" he murmured, nudging you forward.

"Follow them."

Your heart pounded as you slowly walked down the petal-covered path, leading you toward what you now realized was a bedroom.

And that's when it clicked.

This wasn't just a getaway.

It was his plan all along.

The bedroom was breathtaking-grand, with a massive bed draped in silk sheets. But what truly made you pause were the other details— a blindfold resting on the pillows, delicate ropes placed neatly on the bedside table and a selection of items you couldn't even process all at once.

Your entire body flushed with heat.

"You planned this" you accused softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sylus finally stepped in behind you, his hands settling on your waist, his breath warm against your ear. "Of course I did" he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

"Did you really think I brought you all the way out here just for the scenery?"

You swallowed, heat curling in your stomach as he slowly turned you around to face him.

His crimson eyes held that unmistakable glint-the one that told you there was no escaping whatever he had in store.

"You're being quiet" Sylus teased, tilting his head as he studied your flustered expression. "Shy all of a sudden?"

You opened your mouth to protest but Sylus simply took control before you could even attempt to regain composure.

He took your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. "No need to act innocent now” he murmured.

"You know exactly what this is."

His other hand trailed down your arm, his fingertips brushing over your skin in a way that made you shiver.

"Sylus..." you started, your voice breathy, unsure whether you were trying to object or encourage him.

His smirk deepened. "That's not a no" he mused.

Before you could speak again, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bed like you weighed nothing. Your heart pounded as he placed you down onto the silk sheets, his figure towering over you.

His hands moved with purpose-tracing down your arms, reaching for the soft ropes he had so meticulously prepared on the table next to the bed. "I think" he mused, his voice laced with amusement,

"that it's about time I show you just how much fun we're going to have in this little hideaway."

Your breath hitched as he reached for the blindfold, his touch slow and deliberate.

"Be good for me” he murmured, voice dark with promise.

And then, just like that, control slipped from your hands entirely.

The silk of the blindfold pressed against your skin, shrouding your world in darkness. Your breath came slow and uneven, heart hammering in anticipation as Sylus secured it in place.

Then—a click.

Something cold slipped around your wrist.

Metal.

You flinched slightly at the sensation, instinctively tugging but your movement was met with resistance.

Handcuffs.

A soft, breathy giggle escaped you—a nervous reaction you hadn't meant to let out.

Sylus chuckled darkly in response. "That was a cute sound” he mused. "Are you nervous already?"

You swallowed hard, unsure whether to answer. Not that it mattered. He already knew.

Your other wrist met the same fate—a second click, binding you completely. The cold bite of metal against your skin was a stark contrast to the heat pooling in your stomach.

Sylus took his time adjusting the cuffs, making sure they were snug but not painful.

Purposeful. Precise. He wanted you to feel every ounce of control he had over you.

"You trust me, don't you?" he murmured.

His tone was dangerous-not in a way that suggested harm, but in a way that warned you. You belonged to him now, and he was going to remind you of that in ways you couldn't yet fathom.

You nodded slowly.

His fingers trailed down your arm, the barest whisper of touch, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Good” he praised, his voice smooth as silk. "Then don't fight me."

Your breath caught as the mattress dipped he was leaning over you now, his presence all-consuming.

Then-something else.

Something soft but sturdy brushed against your thigh. Fabric?

The sound of something unrolling reached your ears before you felt it.

Silk restraints.

A sharp inhale escaped you as he secured one to your ankle. His fingers grazed your skin, lingering longer than necessary, teasing, making sure you felt every moment of your surrender.

He took his time. Meticulous. Unhurried. In control.

"You're awfully quiet now" Sylus murmured, his voice filled with dark amusement.

"Where's that little attitude of yours?"

Your lips parted but before you could say a word, he did something unexpected.

A soft, cool sensation trailed across your collarbone, lower, lower

ice

you don’t know where he got it from,if it was his evol or if he had those specifically chilled and ready for you there,like it was his plan all along

everything perfectly calculated for you

A shiver wracked through your body as Sylus dragged the melting cube along your skin, tracing slow patterns, watching your every reaction. The contrast of cold against heat made you gasp, your back arching involuntarily.

He hummed in approval.

"You're too sensitive" he teased, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I like that."

He let the ice melt a bit against your skin before pressing his lips to your collarbone , replacing the sting of cold with the warmth of his mouth.

You sucked in a sharp breath, bound, blindfolded and completely at his mercy only intensified everything

Sylus chuckled softly, fingers trailing dangerously close to where he knew you wanted his touch the most-but deliberately avoiding it.

"You're mine" he murmured, his voice dark with possession. "and I think it's about time you start understanding what that truly means."

And with that, the real torment began.

he placed the ice on your stomach

the ice was melting, sending thin rivulets of cold water down your skin, yet Sylus took his time. Dragging. Teasing. Lingering.

"You're shaking”he murmured, amusement thick in his voice. "Too cold? Or is this little girl just too sensitive?"

You didn't answer but your breath hitched as he traced the ice lower, skimming along your ribs. The contrast of frigid cold against your overheated skin made your entire body tense but you couldn’t move-not with his silk restraints keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

Sylus hummed in satisfaction. "So reactive” he mused. "You weren't this quiet earlier."

Your lips parted but before you could protest, he did something cruel.

The ice cube-nearly gone now-dragged over the softest part of your stomach,near your bellybutton making you jerk against the restraints.

A sharp inhale escaped you and Sylus laughed.

"Look at you" he mocked, shifting to brush his lips against your ear, his voice nothing but a dark whisper. "So helpless. So at my mercy."

Your pulse thundered beneath your skin.

Then, he did it again—a deliberate, icy stroke into your bellybutton, followed by the sudden, searing warmth of his tongue as he chased away the cold.

You whimpered, the combination almost unbearable.

"Poor thing" Sylus crooned, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Did that feel too good?"

You turned your head away, refusing to answer but that only made his smirk sharpen.

"Oh?" He chuckled, pressing a teasing kiss to the edge of your jaw. "You're trying to be defiant now? How adorable."

You felt his fingers skim along your side near your ribs, featherlight, teasing you without ever giving you what you truly craved.

"Don't pout” he murmured. "You should've known what would happen the moment you let me tie you up, sweetheart."

His hand drifted lower, fingertips just barely grazing the inside of your thigh before pulling away. You shivered-from the loss, from the anticipation, from the overwhelming awareness that he was in complete control.

"You want more, don't you?" Sylus whispered. "I can hear it in your breathing."

You swallowed hard, heart pounding in your ears.

His hand returned, this time squeezing your thigh firmly, his nails grazing your skin.

"Beg” he ordered, voice smooth but commanding. "Or l'll leave you here like this, desperate and untouched."

Your breath hitched—the threat wasn't empty.

Sylus never bluffed.

You knew that if you refused, he'd make good on his word and leave you aching, craving, unsatisfied.

'Please” you whispered, barely audible.

Sylus tilted his head. "That was pathetic" he drawled. "You can do better than that."

You clenched your jaw, heat rushing to your face.

Sylus smirked, leaning in until his lips brushed against your ear. "Beg. Properly."

Your stomach twisted in both humiliation and desire. He was enjoying this— stretching the moment, testing you, making you surrender inch by inch.

"Please, Sylus" you finally said, voice unsteady.

His fingers dug into your thigh, just enough to make you gasp.

"Good girl" he murmured, satisfaction lacing his tone. "Now let's see how much more you can take."

And with that, the ice drifted even lower.

Sylus held the last sliver of melting ice between his fingers, tilting his head as he watched you. Bound, blindfolded, completely at his mercy-just the way he liked you.

You shivered, not just from the cold but from the sheer anticipation.

"You're trembling” he mused, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "Are you scared?

Or just that sensitive?"

You bit your lip, refusing to answer.

Sylus chuckled darkly. "Still trying to act defiant? That's cute."

You gasped as he suddenly pressed the ice against your pussy, the shock of cold making you jerk against the restraints.

"Careful" he warned, his grip tightening around your leg, keeping you still. "Unless you want me to punish you for squirming."

The ice dragged upward, inch by torturous inch. Too slow. Too deliberate.

Too much.

Your breath hitched as he reached your clit, lingering there just to watch you squirm.

Sylus hummed in amusement. "You're shaking so much” he teased. "and I haven't even started."

He traced slow, agonizing circles with the ice, making sure the chill seeped into your skin, making you hyperaware of every movement.

Then-he pressed his lips directly on your clit,leaving slow warm kisses

The sudden warmth of his mouth contrasted sharply with the lingering cold, making you gasp.

Sylus chuckled against your pussy, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Poor thing" he mocked, nipping at your thigh. "I bet you don't even know whether to pull away or beg for more."

You whimpered, your body betraying you.

His free hand traced lazily over your other thigh, nails grazing just enough to make your breath catch.

"You're so responsive” he mused, almost to himself. "Every little touch, every little tease and you're already falling apart."

He pressed the last remnant of ice directly against your clit all while leaving slimy deliberate kisses on your inner thigh

Your whole body tensed, a choked gasp slipping past your lips.

Sylus smirked, watching you struggle. "You want me to stop?" he asked, a mockery of concern in his voice. "Or do you want more?"

You hesitated—a mistake.

Sylus clicked his tongue. "Ah. I see."

Before you could react, he pressed the ice even deeper this time,no longer harassing your clit but now sending shockwaves of cold to the inside of your warm vagina

The melting water dripped, sending chills through your already overstimulated nerves.

You jerked, instinctively trying to close your legs-but Sylus's iron grip stopped you.

"Ah, ah” he murmured, spreading you wider instead. "No running now, sweetheart."

You whimpered, your body betraying you again.

Sylus leaned in, lips grazing your ear. "You should know by now” he murmured, voice dark with amusement. "I don't stop until I'm satisfied."

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you

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landoverwater · 11 hours ago

Text

Okay. I have opinions on this case.

I've watched the video of the policeman talking to Sam when they're in the holding area. At that stage, no-one is in danger, nobody is being officially interviewed, everyone is safe. That policeman, by all training, should have shut the fuck up. But he doesn't, he keeps talking back and shutting Sam down, goading her. I've never done police training, but I've done what we call 'Blue Badge' training in the UK, which is a Door Supervisor License (fancy name for a bouncer). When you're de-escalating a situation with someone who is altered in any way, once you've got them to a safe place, you just let them talk. Shut up. Let them talk. Her body language in the video at the point of the 'stupid and white' comment is the least aggressive possible. No pointing, no head movements, she's slouched back into the chair with no possibility of getting out of it fast. She is zero threat. She's trying to make him understand the situation and he's absolutely making it worse. This guy is a terrible police officer, is what I'm saying here. Doesn't understand the basics. The second issue is that he did not mention the 'stupid and white' comment in his first interview. He only brought it up in his 2nd interview with the CPS (Crown Prosecution Service) after they found a loophole to try again after the initial request to bring the case to court was turned down. This stinks. To high heaven. It looks to me like the CPS or someone senior in the Met thought to themselves "Oh this could be good PR for us, showing that racism can go both ways". They brought a frivolous case to court, costing all of us taxpayers a bunch of money and wasting everybody's time. Popular opinion here suggests that initially only Sam thought the guy was stupid and white. Now we all think it.

btw sam kerr's trial for racially aggravated harassment for calling a cop stupid and white is a really dangerous precedent for police power in the uk.

the facts are this, she and her partner were in a cab, drunk. they threw up, the cab driver locks the door on them and drives them erratically. they're afraid because he doesn't explain and sam's white partner, kristie mewis kicks the window open while she calls the police. they are taken to a police station, where the police officer, a few months after sarah everard, laughs at them and dismisses them and actually says to them did you think a cab driver would take you to a police station to rape you? sam calls him sick. they do not verify emergency services for sam's call to the police. while seated and stressed and as her partner cries, sam holds up her phone. she calls him stupid and white inside a police station. the cop files racist hate speech charges against her. the police don't prosecute initially. she's the star of a world cup. he refiles, the case is taken to criminal court. drama. meanwhile the prosecution is making a case to the jury with stunning arguments like imagine if this indian woman called a black cop stupid and black.

#sam kerr

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darnell-la · 2 days ago

Note

May we have some Logan, maybe Old Man Logan x fem!reader with: breeding kink, non-con or dub-con, forced orgasms, and cumflation? Logan fucks her so hard, for so so long that she starts looking pregnant from how much cum he's pumped into her but he never pulls out so it stays in her?

note: ngl, this Logan has a slight baby-trapping kink when it comes to finding a mutant so young and pretty that wanted him in the first half.

DO NOT READ THIS IF CNC MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

———

Logan had been fucking into a girl he picked up from the bar, for hours. When they talked, she could’ve sworn he was a gentleman and would give her the best sex she’d imagined. Only one of those was true.

Logan had been pounding this weak woman for hours. He’s been at it for so long, that when one hole went sore, he switched to the next. He’s been all around the world four times, never giving her a break.

Every now and then, y/n would moan, and make noise, letting Logan know she was still functioning. That never stopped him, though. It only made him want to go further.

“P-Please,” y/n let out for the thousandth time after Logan spilled in her. “Please what? You want more?” Logan asked, knowing she wouldn’t be able to speak a full sentence.

“C-Can’t,” y/n’s weak voice forced anything she could out. “But, you can — I know you can, Bub — I can’t just stop when you’ve given me so much- just feel yourself, princess,” Logan said as his hand brushed against y/n’s heat as his cock kept pushing in and out of her upper hole.

“L-Logan,” y/n whined, only making Logan groan low at his name rolling off of y/n’s tongue. “You know I can’t let you go after this, right, Bub? You’re gonna come on the road with me,”

Because y/n couldn’t speak anymore, she whined, not knowing what to do or think about Logan wanting to take her with him.

She doesn’t have a family, and she’s also a mutant. It wasn’t hard for Logan to figure that out. Maybe that’s why he was so obsessed with her. He’d never run across a mutant this young who’d want to even look at him.

“I’ve got room at my place, baby, don’t worry — We’ll even continue there,” Logan said as he felt his cock twitch once again. Before he released, he flipped y/n over and slammed into her cunt, making sure every inch of him felt the inside of her.

“Fuck,” y/n cried low, feeling Logan fill her up again, and each time, it seems like it was more. “Fuck, Bub — Just look at you,” Logan said as he placed his hands on Y/n’s stomach, softly rubbing across to see her shift.

“I bet you could hold so much more, baby. Can’t you?” Logan asked, instantly making y/n shake her head. She swore if he kept going, her body would shut down. Sadly, her orgasm spoke for her as she gushed around Logan’s cock.

“That’s it — I knew you love me just as much as I love you,”

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hanasnx · 22 hours ago

Note

Hop hop 🐇 hiya :). I like the thought that the first time reader really got a hint of Peter's strength is when he ate her pussy for the first time. He spread her legs and locked em down with his forearms and hands on her waist. For all her squirming and bucking with pleasure his muscles didn't budge a single millimeter, he didn't even notice her trying. It's not like he meant to, he was just losing himself a little, overeager, a pleaser, and that morsel of strength that peaked through was enough to tip her off that he's not normal. She doesn't know he can lift a bus. 🐇 Hop hop

“ SWEET KIWI, YOUR JUICE’S DRIPPIN’ DOWN MY CHIN ” — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: this shit made me bite my fucking finger. eyes rolling into the back of my head type shit. melting in my seat i’m liquid. bcos this is exactly it. WARNINGS: not proofread, barely correct grammar/punctuation bcos i wrote this in a goddamn fevered rush. i’m not usually like this. established relationship. smut via fem receiving oral.

you look at PETER PARKER and you know he’s got a sleeper build, he may be tall and lanky but you’ve seen what he looks like flexed. but there are limits, you’re not kidding yourself here.

so when you finally get over it and let him go down on you, all nestled up into some pillows, real comfy, watching him get your legs undressed, your suspicions are at an all time low. you feel the excited pool into your core, the anticipation making you a little bubbly and nervous. he starts off small, lets you get used to things, tries to gauge your reactions to delicate sensations. he knows he’s prone to overstimulation, last thing he wants to do rn is give you too much too fast. he doesn’t know you that well, so he wants this to be a learning experience for him while you relax.

you sink further into the mattress while he licks at your clit, a fragile and unstable pace, looking up and over the mound of your pussy to gauge your reactions—both in expression and audible. when he starts sucking on it between his silky lips you cry out, throwing your head back instinctually. the way he’s restraining himself is more torture than it is pleasant, and all he’s done so far is kiss on your little clit you feel like a virgin.

your feet pick up, your hand comes to palm the back of his head, get all up in his hair. he hums against you, and your hips buck. toes pointed and back arched, you try to grind his face into your cunt. he takes the hint, and ups the fervor. sweeping his face side to side, he digs in further, and when he dips down to lick the moisture up your slit you can barely take the suspense. your hand draws him in to keep attention on your clit. you don’t want penetration, you need friction. you crave it.

it’s the kind of feeling that has you literally fighting to fuck his face. your entire body is moving as you’re keeping him pinned there and using him to get off.

when your hips start to stutter, and a shudder locks up your spine, peter doesn’t get the gist. you’re close but he’s not done. he starts putting in place some key features while you’re occupied. one arm scoops under your leg, wrapping your thigh with his bicep and the crook of his elbow. the other does the same one after another. his hands, big and warm, rest on your stomach and lace together, locking you in. the weight of them press down on your lower abdomen while he eats you out. all in the name of getting you as close as possible while your body writhes.

you’ve released his hair, jelly-like arms falling to your sides while your hips chase your release. peter’s eyes fall closed while he gets lost in it, taking in the taste of you, taking in what you smell like, what you sound like. it’s the kind of sensory overload he can get carried away with, a symphony of chemicals in his brain whisking him away while you’re left with the exhilarating and torturous reality. your body is screaming. you can’t shut the fuck up either. he’s locked you in while your little hands futilely grab at whatever they can reach to try and make him let up. if you just had a break or a second to breathe then things would be different, but even if peter were conscious he’d know better anyway.

while you’re squirming, you can’t help but feel like there should be more budge. there’s a give that’s missing when you jerk your body. it’s an odd discovery. perfectly flexed muscles don’t move a single millimeter when you try to wiggle your hips out of his grasp. his laced fingers stay intact when you try to ground your feet and pick yourself up. and when you try to crawl out from under him there’s not spare room to slip your thighs under. you’re trapped. and peter’s warm mouth envelopes your pussy with spit sodden lips while his tongue flicks at your clit. the kind of shit that makes you clutch at his wrists and beg, “peter, peter!” bcos you’re about to flood his face.

#[🃏]#indy: drabbles #ch: peter #peter parker prompt #peter parker drabble #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #spider-man smut #spider man smut #reader insert

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henneseyhoe · 1 day ago

Text

Just One More | 💭

Lewis Hamilton x BLACK!FEM!Reader

WARNINGS: Mentions Of Sexual Activity, Pregnancy, Dad!Lewis, Humor, Fluff

SUMMARY: Anotha one(a baby! yaaay!)

***A/N DISCLAIMER 💌- this is !!!NOT!!! apart of the official Just One More AU, i just thought it was a silly idea to write the fans reacting if he got you pregnant AGAIN 😭 dw, id never torture yall with five kids <333***

✮✮✮✮

Y/NUSERNAME

Liked by essence and 986,862 others

Back from 🇺🇸…with souvenirs🩷 lewishamilton

—

USER1 WHAT??? OMG

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏ��

USER2 again????

USER3 ARE YOU NOT TIRED???

USER4 I CALLED IT 😭😭😭

f1 Was itching for this announcement! See them in about 17 years maybe? 🫣🤭🍼

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

USER5 planning for a baby that isn’t here yet ain’t crazy??? 😭

USER6 F1 having a contract ready for a fetus was not on my 2025 bingo card?

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

USER7 (user6) how come? they did it for a few drivers racing now 😅😂

USER8 oh they get doooown 😭

USER9 LEWIS PLEASE GET OFF OF HER MY GOD

USER10 SERIOUSLY LIKE I PROMISE SHES NOT GOING NO WHERE LET HER GO 😭

USER11 this is why she takes so long to restock the website. too busy HUNCHING 😒

ynusername hunching?????? 😭😭😭

USER12 last time she was pregnant we didn’t get that tour…🥲

USER13 mind you this is the LAST time you sabotages us 😐🫵🏽 (lewishamilton)

USER14 Please tell me this is for a late halloween costume

ynusername yeah, i’m going as me when im pregnant 🙂

USER14 (ynusername) Y/N do not play with us right now..

lewishamilton legacy 💪🏾🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒💜💛

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

USER15 YOU ALREADY HAD A LEGACY. FOUR OF THEM. YOU ARE SO INCONSIDERATE!!!

USER16 this is the greed they talk about in the bible, Lewis…

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

USER17 Omggg another little Hamilton 🥹

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

YBFF ANSWER THE PHONE Y/N???? 😭

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

YBSF bye i should have known when you didn’t wanna hang 😪😫💛

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

USER18 No you should have known when she was out here dressing like big pun in them 7x ass clothes

ynusername (user18) Yooo 😭😭😭

USER19 You guys just finding out, meanwhile me and my husband saw her at the superbowl yesterday night. She even waved😅

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

ynusername Thanks for keeping a secret! 😘💚🦅

USER20 and you didn’t snitch??? better than me

USER21 (user20) It wasn’t my place 🤷🏻‍♂️

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

USER22 Lewis and Giannis going baby for baby this year

USER23 Lewis is winning I fear!

essence Mama Y/N takes no breaks! And neither does Lewis we see 👀🤭

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

ynusername Essence…🥴🤭

USER24 HOW GREEEEEDY 😭

USER25 Soooo is there going to be a restock for the merch or does this stop it—

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

ynusername catch the restock Tuesday! Pregnancy only stops one thing and that’s me from seeing my feet 😭🩷

gq We knew first 😜

❤︎ ʙʏ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ

ynusername 🤭

✮✮✮✮

“Your fans are plotting on ripping my head off, do you see what they’re saying on twitter?!”

Lewis exclaimed and turned his phone to you, scrolling down his new notifications. You shift under the beds sheets to look at the screen, squinting slightly to read. The replies were filled with shock, as you expected, and some jokes here and there, but mostly shock. You cackle, your plump belly bouncing with every laugh.

“I can’t do anything about that! I told you if you got me pregnant again, I’d hurt you, but it looks like they’re wanting to do my dirty work”

You took the phone from his hands and cuddled up to his side as he covers the both of you with the beds duvet.

He scoffs. “Don’t act like you didn’t ask for it” Tucking his head beneath yours, he bites your neck, making you tuck your chin with a giggle.

“Shut up! That was in the moment…plus, you asked me to say it”

He hums and shakes his head, remembering the night you two conceived completely different than you.

“Nah. I don’t remember asking you to say you wanted another one of my kids. Actually, I remember what you said word for word if you want me to recite it” He mischievously clears his throat, but your hand had already made it’s way over his mouth to shut him up before he even started.

“If you say anything and my babies hear, it’s gonna be me and you” You threatened, Lewis’s eyes crinkling at the sides as he smiles widely underneath your hand.

Suddenly you felt your palm being wet, your instinct being to move. “EW! YOU LICKED ME!”

✮✮✮✮

💌—another reminder that this is NOT APART OF THE ACTUAL AU!! it’s just something cute i wanted to write as a scenario.

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c0s-lettuce · 3 days ago

Text

seriously - johnny storm x fem!reader

synopsis: you and johnny take advantage of an empty baxter building. but you don't expect sue to catch you in the act.

word count: 998

warnings/tags: a lil bit smutty but nothing too explicit, established relationship, getting caught (almost?)

a/n: i watched the original fantastic four when i was eight and that is all i'm going off on. don't know what compelled me to write this, but here we are :)

Johnny loves sneaking you into the Baxter Building despite there being absolutely no need to. You're practically part of the family. You have a spot at the dinner table, your toothbrush resides in the bathroom, and H.E.R.B.I.E. asks about you when you're gone too long. But Johnny still gets a thrill from the hushed voices and tiptoeing around as if you were some forbidden outsider.

It's winter in New York, and the city is covered in a thin blanket of snow. The building is empty when you and Johnny arrive, except for H.E.R.B.I.E. wandering around the living room. The other three are out doing errands and won't be back for a while.

Recognising the potential of your situation, Johnny takes your hand and leads you to his room. Once inside, he shuts the door and lays you down on his bed. His body immediately covers yours. He pulls the duvet over the both of you, shielding you from the cold as he settles in the space between your legs.

He leans in and begins peppering kisses anywhere he can reach. His hands interlock with yours as he relishes the feeling of you. Your skin feels cool against his. Your soft sighs only fuel his desire. Your body is perfect beneath his. He kisses over your cheeks and along your jaw, paving a path towards your lips.

You turn your face to the side to dodge his kiss. "Johnny, wait."

He pouts as he pulls back slightly. "Wait? For what?"

"I just got here. Don't you want to do something else first?" you ask with an innocent smile. But it's clear you're teasing him.

"No, baby. Want you now," he murmurs, finally capturing your lips with his.

Your stomach tingles as he kisses you languidly. He takes his time to savour your taste, exploring your mouth as if it was the first time he's been given the privilege. He pins you down harder, his body a tantalising presence against yours. You let out the softest moan in response. But he hears you. He feels it throughout his entire body.

He breaks away to trail kisses down your neck again. Releasing your hands, he begins making his way down, moving under the covers. His hands map a path down your arms and over your body. When he reaches your stomach, he lifts your sweatshirt just high enough to kiss the sensitive skin of your belly.

His fingers play at the waistband of your pants, teasing you for just a moment before undoing them. He pulls your pants and underwear down together. You watch your clothes fly out from under the duvet, landing somewhere on the floor.

He settles again between your legs, hooking his arms around your thighs to hold you in place. He trails his lips along the softness of your inner thighs, humming against your skin as he takes in the scent of your arousal. You lift up the covers to get a peek at him.

He meets your gaze, grinning. "Still wanna do something else first?"

"Shut up," you mumble, lowering the covers again.

He chuckles, and you feel his breath against your warmth. Your body burns with anticipation as his lips inch closer and closer.

But just as he's about to reach his destination, the door suddenly opens, and a voice rings through.

"Hey, Johnny. Have you-"

Sue walks in, her eyes immediately landing on you. She makes a face of bewilderment at the sight. Fortunately, you're unexposed, still wearing your sweatshirt and covered by the duvet. However, the suspicious heap on the bed makes the situation obvious.

You stare back wide-eyed, shocked into silence. Johnny clambers up from his spot. He sticks his head out from under the covers, appearing just above your chest.

"Jesus, Sue. Ever heard of knocking?" he chastises her.

Sue raises an eyebrow. "Ever heard of locking the door?"

Johnny huffs in response. "What are you doing back so early?"

"We finished early," she replies. "Did you sort out the package like I asked?"

"Uh… no," he answers.

"I need you to do it now," she says.

"Seriously?" he asks. "I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"Yes, seriously," she insists. "I needed it done this morning."

Johnny groans, turning back to you. "I'm sorry. I gotta go deal with this."

"No worries. I'll wait for you here," you reply.

He maneuvers out from under the covers, careful to keep you hidden. He lovingly lays the duvet over you again and kisses you on your forehead.

Johnny heads towards the door. "Alright, let's go."

Sue nods, before turning to you. "It's good to see you again."

You swear you can see a smirk on her face but decide to respond civilly. "Good to see you too, Sue."

"Go!" Johnny reiterates, ushering his sister out of his room.

Despite the predicament, Johnny's frustration amuses you. Sue finally leaves, and Johnny casts one last glance back at you. He gives you a smile before closing the door.

You let out a sigh as you lie back, now alone in the bedroom. You decide to stay tucked into bed, scrolling on your phone to pass the time. About twenty minutes pass before Johnny returns.

"Hey, baby. Sorry about that," he says, entering the room again. He locks the door this time.

"It's alright," you tell him, putting your phone down. "Is everything good?"

He sits down on the edge of the bed as he looks over you. The sight of you nice and comfy in his bed warms his heart.

"Yeah," he replies. "There's just been a lot to do lately."

You nod. "Any other disturbances I should be aware of?"

He grins. "No. No more disturbances."

He crawls under the covers, positioning himself over you again. He wastes no time to close the distance with a tender kiss. His hands find yours as he presses you against the mattress.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips. "Now, where were we?"

➸

#johnny storm #johnny storm x reader #johnny storm x you #human torch #human torch x reader #fantastic four #fantastic four x reader #fantastic 4 #marvel #marvel x reader #mcu #mcu x reader #joseph quinn

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oldsoul007 · 2 days ago

Text

Guess

older!joel miller x brat!younger!reader

summary: Joel never asked to be saddled with you—wild, reckless, and always testing his patience—but what started as a favor turned into something he couldn’t ignore, and by the time he realized he was in far too deep, it was already too late.

a/n: I never got over brat summer, forced proximity, tension, banter, kissing, suggestive scenes

joel miller masterlist

The first time I see Joel Miller, he’s scowling.

Like, really scowling. Deep line between his brows, mouth set in a firm, unimpressed line, arms crossed over his chest like he’s already exhausted before I’ve even said a word.

And that just makes me want to push his buttons.

He was older—forty-five, maybe—but damn if he didn’t wear it well. Tall, broad, built like a man who knew hard work and even harder days. The kind of man who didn’t waste words or time on things he thought weren’t worth it.

“Y/n,” Tommy grins, throwing an arm around me, “meet my older brother, Joel.”

Joel gives me a once-over, slow and deliberate. I feel his eyes drag over me, taking in my short dress, the bare skin, the slight smirk tugging at my lips. And just for fun, I shift my weight, tilting my head, letting my smile turn just a little more smug.

Tommy, oblivious, keeps talking. “Figured you two should finally meet since you’re always hangin’ around.”

Joel sighs, clearly already over this interaction. “Yeah. Great. Nice to meet you.”

I raise a brow. “Wow. So warm. So welcoming.”

Tommy snorts. “Don’t take it personal. He’s always like this.”

“Like what?” I ask, tilting my head, eyes flicking back to Joel.

Joel just stares at me, like he’s debating whether or not to entertain me. Finally, he mutters, “Serious.”

I grin. “And I’m guessin’ Tommy here told you I’m the opposite?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but the way his jaw flexes tells me enough.

Oh, this is gonna be fun.

I step a little closer, watching him carefully, waiting to see if he pulls back. He doesn’t—just watches me, unimpressed, unreadable, but I don’t miss the way his fingers twitch, like he’s restraining himself.

“You got somethin’ against fun, Miller?” I tease.

Joel exhales through his nose. “Just don’t got patience for trouble.”

I grin. “Good thing I ain’t trouble then.”

His eyes flick down to my lips for half a second before snapping back up. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”

Tommy laughs, clapping Joel on the back. “She’s a handful, huh?”

Joel shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before looking back at me. “You always this much of a pain in the ass?”

I beam. “You always this grumpy?”

His jaw tightens. I know I’m getting to him. And I love it.

Something about Joel Miller tells me he’s the type to resist—to hold himself back, to act like he doesn’t want.

But the way he’s looking at me now?

Yeah. He wants.

I never planned on ending up at Joel Millers house.

But life has a funny way of screwing with me.

One busted pipe in my apartment—water everywhere, maintenance useless, and suddenly, I had nowhere to stay. Tommy was out of town, and before I could even think of booking a motel, he was already on the phone, talking to Joel.

“Just for a few days,” Tommy had said. “Joel’s got the space.”

Joel, who was already looking at me like I was a problem before I even stepped foot in his house.

Now, standing in his doorway, duffel slung over my shoulder, I give him my best grin. “Miss me?”

Joel just sighs, running a hand down his face. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

“No promises.”

His jaw tightens, like he knew I was gonna say that.

I step past him, into his space, and the second the door shuts behind me, something shifts. It’s one thing to tease Joel out in the world, to push his buttons when there’s always somewhere else to go. But here? His house?

There’s nowhere to run now.

And by the way his eyes flicker over me—quick, sharp, like he already regrets agreeing to this—I can tell he’s thinking the same damn thing.

The first night at Joel’s place is… tense. In a way that has nothing to do with the fact that my apartment is currently unlivable and everything to do with him.

He didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat when Tommy volunteered him to take me in. He just grunted, muttered something about “just for a couple nights,” and now here we are.

Joel’s house is simple. A little messy but lived-in. It smells like sawdust, coffee, and whatever soap he uses. I shouldn’t be noticing those things, but I do.

“You got a spare bedroom, or do I gotta fight you for the bed?” I ask, dropping my bag by the couch.

Joel gives me a look like he’s already regretting this. “Spare room’s down the hall. Not much in there, but it’s got a bed.”

I smirk. “A bed and a grumpy host? Wow, I’m spoiled.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, running a hand over his beard like he’s trying to summon patience. “You need anything, just… don’t.”

I grin. “Don’t what?”

He glares. “Don’t push it.”

Oh, but that’s my favorite thing to do.

—

It’s late when I finally settle in. The house is too quiet, too still, and I can’t sleep. Not used to this place, not used to him just a room away.

I pad down the hall, oversized t-shirt hanging off me, socks silent against the wood floor. The lamp in the living room is still on, and Joel’s sitting on the couch, looking lost in thought.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask, leaning against the doorway.

He looks up, eyes flicking to me—just for a second, just long enough to make me feel barely covered. He exhales, looking back at his floor. “Didn’t expect you to be the quiet type at night.��

I snort, walking over to perch on the arm of the couch. “Bet you thought I’d snore or talk in my sleep.”

Joel shrugs. “Still debatin’ it.”

I watch him for a moment, the way the lamp casts shadows over his face, the way he looks at everything except me. There’s something charged in the air, something neither of us want to acknowledge.

“You don’t like this, do you?” I tease, nudging his knee with my foot. “Having me here.”

Joel takes a slow look up at me. “Ain’t about likin’ it. It just is.”

I hum, watching him closely. “You’re so bad at lying.”

Joel’s jaw flexes.

And I know, I know, if I keep pushing, I’ll get something out of him. But for once, I don’t.

Instead, I stand, stretching dramatically. “Alright, Miller. I’ll stop bugging you. For now.”

Joel huffs. “Doubtful.”

I grin, heading toward the hallway. But just before I disappear into the dark, I hear him mutter—just low enough that I almost miss it.

“Sleep tight, trouble.”

And damn it, that shouldn’t make my stomach flip. But it does.

—

The thing about living with Joel? It’s too easy to mess with him.

I’ve been here for three days now, and I swear, every time I walk into a room, he looks like he’s debating whether or not to strangle me or throw me out. And honestly? I love it.

Like right now.

He’s standing in the kitchen, coffee in one hand, flipping through the mail like it personally offended him. His shirt is still wrinkled from sleep, hair a little messy, eyes heavy with whatever dreams he never talks about. And I? I’m perched on the counter, swinging my legs, eating the last piece of toast he made for himself.

Joel notices. His eyes flick to the empty plate in my hand, then to his own very empty hands, and then—then—he exhales so sharply it’s almost funny.

“Really?” he grumbles, setting the mail down with way more force than necessary. “You ain’t got hands to make your own damn food?”

I grin, taking a slow, deliberate bite. “Yours just looked better.”

Joel mutters something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like a curse, and turns to pour himself more coffee.

“Y’know,” I continue, voice sweet, “for a man who claims he doesn’t like me being here, you sure do take good care of me.”

Joel tenses. His grip on the coffee pot tightens.

“Wouldn’t have to if you took care of yourself,” he mutters, taking a sip.

I smirk. “Aww, Joel. You worried about me?”

He doesn’t answer. Just glares over the rim of his mug like he’s daring me to push him further.

So, of course, I do.

I hop off the counter, stepping closer, my bare feet silent against the floor. Joel watches me warily, like I’m a stray cat that might bite. I stop just in front of him, tilting my head.

“You sure you don’t like having me here?” I tease, my voice dropping just a little, just enough to make his fingers twitch.

Joel doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back. But his eyes darken just enough to make my stomach flip.

“You really wanna test me this early?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The challenge sends a thrill down my spine. I grin, leaning in just a fraction, enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

“Maybe,” I whisper. “Depends on what happens if I do.”

Joel huffs a laugh—one of those deep, frustrated, you’re-gonna-be-the-death-of-me laughs. Then, suddenly, his turn to get close. He leans down, voice right against my ear.

“You keep pushin’,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin, “you ain’t gonna like what happens.”

My pulse jumps. My smirk falters—just for a second.

Joel sees it. And the bastard smirks.

Then he pulls back, grabbing his coffee, walking away like he won this round.

I exhale sharply, watching him go, my skin still tingling.

I really need to stop underestimating him.

—

I know he’s awake the second I step through the door.

The lights are dim, but Joel’s still sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding a half-empty beer. He looks relaxed—pretends to be, anyway—but his eyes flick to me the second I walk in.

I smirk. “You waitin’ up for me, Miller?”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “Just happened to be up.”

Uh-huh.

I ignore him, walking into the kitchen, feeling his eyes drag over me as I move. The dress I’m wearing is short, tight, and backless—very backless. My tattoo is on full display, the black ink running across, teasing the dip of my lower back.

I reach for a glass, pouring myself some water, letting the silence stretch, letting him look.

Finally, I hear him shift behind me. “Where the hell were you?”

I take a slow sip. “Out.”

“With who?”

I glance over my shoulder, raising a brow. “Didn’t know I had to check in with you, dad.”

Joel clenches his jaw. His fingers flex on his knee. “Y/n.”

I turn fully now, leaning against the counter, glass in hand. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” The lie is so blatant, so immediate, that I almost laugh.

I take another sip, watching him. “You sure about that?”

Joel doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks lower, over the curve of my back, the exposed skin, the ink. His jaw tenses even more—like he’s mad. Like the tattoo itself is personally offending him.

I set my glass down, smirking. “Something wrong?”

Joel exhales, drags a hand down his face. “You got no damn shame, you know that?”

I grin, stepping closer, closing the space between us. “And you got no damn claim,” I say, tilting my head. “So what’s your problem?”

Joel watches me, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.

I lift a finger, tracing a slow, teasing line down my own spine, over the tattoo he won’t stop staring at. “You like it?” I ask, voice low.

His nostrils flare. His fists clench.

Then—just like always—he forces himself to lean back, to put space between us, to shove all that tension down deep.

I take my time walking past him, making sure he gets a real good look at what’s been driving him crazy all night. I can practically feel the heat of his stare burning into my skin, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Not yet.

Instead, I reach for my water again, taking a slow sip, just to draw this out a little more. Joel exhales, long and slow, like he’s trying to keep himself calm.

I almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

“You always go out dressed like that?” His voice is low, rough, like he’s forcing himself to sound casual.

I smirk against my glass. “You always staring at me?”

Joel lets out a sharp breath, but he doesn’t deny it.

I finally turn, leaning back against the counter, crossing my arms so my dress shifts even higher up my thighs. His gaze flickers, betraying him for half a second before he locks it back on my face.

“I just don’t get why you feel the need to—” He waves a hand vaguely at me. “—put everything on display.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Everything?”

Joel rubs a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. “You know what I mean.”

I grin. “What, you don’t like my tattoo?”

He clenches his jaw. “Ain’t about the tattoo.”

I tilt my head, watching him closely. “Then what’s it about?”

He doesn’t answer.

I push off the counter, closing the space between us, slow and deliberate. “Is it the tattoo, or is it the fact that other people got to see it?”

Joel tenses. Just a flicker. Barely noticeable. But I see it.

And I know.

I smirk. “That’s it, isn’t it?” My voice drops, just above a whisper. “You don’t like that someone else got to look at me like this.”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his fists clenched at his sides. “Go to bed, y/n.”

I step even closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the faded whiskey and aftershave clinging to his skin. “Make me.”

His jaw flexes. His hands twitch. For a second, I think he might actually do something, might finally snap and grab me, kiss me, claim me like we both know he wants to.

But then—

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before turning away from me. “You’re a damn brat, you know that?”

I grin, victorious. “And you love it.”

Joel mutters something I don’t catch, shaking his head, still refusing to look at me.

I lean up on my toes, just enough to whisper near his ear. “Sweet dreams, Miller.”

Then I turn and head toward my room, my steps slow, unhurried, knowing damn well he’s watching.

Knowing damn well he won’t sleep tonight.

Not yet, anyway.

—

Joel is a walking contradiction.

Always looking out for me, always acting like I’m some damn problem he’s gotta fix. But then, when he thinks I’m not paying attention? He watches me.

Like right now.

I’m sitting on the tailgate of his truck, sipping a gas station soda, swinging my legs while he loads up the last of the supplies he picked up. The summer heat is thick, sticking to my skin, making me feel slow, lazy.

Joel, meanwhile, looks like he’s one deep breath away from losing his patience.

“Where’d you run off to last night?” he asks, not looking at me.

I smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

That gets me. I raise an eyebrow. “You are keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel exhales, setting down a case of water a little harder than necessary. “Just know when you start trouble.”

I grin. “Who says I started trouble?”

He gives me a look.

Fair enough.

I take another sip of my drink, watching him work, the way his shirt clings to his back, damp from the heat. My stomach tightens, and I blame it on the weather.

“You got somethin’ to say?” he mutters, not turning around.

I smirk. “Nope.”

“Then quit starin’.”

I laugh, kicking my feet against the truck bed. “Oh, that’s rich.”

His jaw tightens. “What’s that mean?”

I tilt my head. “Means I see you lookin’, too.”

Joel freezes.

It’s quick. A small thing. But I notice.

For the first time, he actually looks at me, really looks. And there’s heat there, burning under all that restraint.

I set my drink down, hopping off the tailgate, stepping close—too close.

“You ever wonder what’d happen,” I murmur, “if you stopped pretendin’ you don’t want me?”

Joel’s breath is slow. Measured. He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t move.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he says, voice low, gruff.

I tilt my head, biting back a grin. “Maybe I do.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Something dangerous.

For a second, I think maybe—maybe—he’s gonna snap. Gonna grab me by the waist, drag me in, let all that tension finally break.

Instead, he just exhales, long and slow, before stepping back.

“You’re trouble,” he mutters.

I grin. “You like trouble.”

Joel shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath as he turns away.

But his hands? They’re clenched into fists.

And that tells me everything I need to know.

—

Joel’s been trying to ignore me all damn day.

Which, honestly? Fair. I’ve been making it real hard for him.

I’m leaning against the counter in his kitchen, the space between us just enough for me to feel that slow, simmering tension that’s been building up all afternoon, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of—well, that’s the game, isn’t it?

Joel walks in, fresh from a shower, hair damp, t-shirt clinging to his chest just enough to make me look. He barely glances at me as he grabs a water from the fridge, pretending I’m not there.

Like I’ll just let him get away with that.

“You ever gonna put on some damn clothes?”

I smirk, not even looking up. “I am wearing clothes.”

Joel exhales sharply, taking a long sip of water. “Not enough.”

That makes me grin. Gotcha.

I stretch, letting the hem of my shirt ride up just a little. “Oh, relax. It’s just a t-shirt.”

Joel scoffs, finally looking at me. His eyes flicker down, slow, then back up, jaw tightening. Yeah, he noticed.

“Guess,” I say suddenly, watching him.

His brow furrows. “What?”

I sit up, tilting my head. “Guess what I’m wearing underneath.”

Joel exhales, shaking his head. “Not playin’ this game, y/n.”

“C’mon.” I stretch, making sure the hem of my shirt lifts just enough to tease. “Just one guess.”

“Clothes.”

I grin. “Not much of ‘em.”

That does it. His grip tightens on the bottle, jaw going stiff. He still doesn’t turn around, but I see it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath goes a little heavier.

But then, to my surprise, he plays along.

Joel finally turns, slow, lazy, eyes dragging over me in a way that makes my stomach flip.

Slow. Controlled. Like he knows exactly what this is doing to me.

And I feel it—his presence filling the space, the heat between us thick and undeniable. Joel stops just a breath away, too close for comfort, but I don’t move. I won’t.

“You’re awful pushy tonight,” he mutters, eyes dark as they settle on me.

I tilt my head, not backing down. “You’re awful curious for someone who doesn’t wanna play.”

Joel’s eyes drag over me, deliberate and slow, as if he’s taking in every inch, every detail. Then, like he can’t help himself, he leans in a little more—close enough that I feel the warmth of his body, the weight of his presence.

His breath hits my cheek, and I’m sure my heart skips a beat. I freeze, barely able to keep my focus.

The space between us is thick with something heavy, something that has my pulse racing, but Joel’s not moving. He’s standing there, looking at me like he’s debating something—maybe whether or not to keep playing. I keep my eyes locked on his, deliberately challenging, just to see how long he’ll stand there before he breaks.

I know he can feel it too—the weight of the air between us. It’s thick. Electric.

But I’m not the one to crack first.

I lean back a little, letting my hands slide across the cool counter, trying to act casual, like I’m not aware of every inch of space between us, of how close he’s standing now.

Joel doesn’t say anything for a while. He just watches me—his eyes intense, like he’s studying every move I make, waiting for me to slip up.

And then, in one smooth motion, he steps forward, close enough that I feel his presence without him even touching me. Just the weight of his gaze, the pull of his body.

I freeze for a second, breath catching in my throat. Damn it.

He doesn’t rush—he never does. Joel’s always deliberate, calculating. But I can see it now, the way his lips press together, the faintest twitch of his jaw like he’s trying to hold something back.

Without saying a word, his hand moves slowly to the bottom of my t-shirt. His fingers brush against the fabric, barely grazing the skin of my thigh. The touch is light—almost too light—but it still sends a shiver through me.

I stay still, even though every part of me is aware of what he’s doing, of the way his hand hovers, teasing, as if he’s testing my patience.

“Alright,” he drawls, voice lower now. “Guessin’ you want me to say somethin’ like… lace?”

My mouth goes dry.

Oh.

I wasn’t expecting that.

I recover fast, tilting my head. “Maybe.”

Joel takes a slow step closer, his eyes locked on mine, like he knows he’s caught me off guard. Like he’s finally flipping the script on me.

“Red?” he guesses, voice all deep and rough.

I swallow. “Wrong.”

“Black, then.”

I press my lips together, refusing to react.

“Bet they even have a little bow”

Joel just huffs a quiet laugh, taking another slow sip of water, looking way too satisfied with himself.

I narrow my eyes, sitting up. “You think you’re real smooth, huh?”

He just shrugs. “Ain’t that hard, darlin’. You’re an open book.”

And then, just as I’m about to respond, he shifts again—moving in, just enough to make the back of his hand brush mine. The contact is so light, but I feel it like a damn spark.

His lips are so close to my ear now, and I know he’s teasing. He’s testing me, waiting to see what I’ll do.

But I don’t move. I hold my ground, staring up at him, willing myself not to let the heat get to me.

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “but you ain’t nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

I try to keep my cool, but there’s a hitch in my breath.

Joel steps back then, like it’s nothing. But I can feel the pull, the weight of what just happened. I know he’s not done with this—not by a long shot.

—

Joel is pissed.

I see it in the way his shoulders tense as he shoves open the bar door, his grip firm around my wrist, dragging me outside like I’m some wayward kid in need of a lesson. The humid Texas night air wraps around us, thick and sticky, but it’s nothing compared to the heat burning between us.

“What the hell was that, y/n?” Joel snaps, letting go of my wrist just to turn and face me, standing toe-to-toe like he’s ready for a fight.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. “I was having a drink, Joel.”

“You were flirtin’ with every damn guy in there,” he growls, his hands landing on his hips like he’s holding himself back.

I smirk, tilting my head. “Oh, that’s what this is about? Didn’t realize you were keepin’ tabs on me.”

Joel huffs, his nostrils flaring as he shakes his head. “I am keepin’ tabs on you. Tommy asked me to keep an eye on you, and you—” He gestures toward the bar behind us, exasperated. “You don’t make it easy.”

I laugh, the alcohol warming me but not enough to dull the way my pulse spikes at his words. “I’m twenty-five, Joel. I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“Well, you sure as hell act like you do,” he shoots back, eyes dark and burning with frustration.

That gets me. My spine straightens, my chin tilts up, and suddenly, I’m really not in the mood for this conversation.

“Excuse me?” I take a step closer, poking a finger against his chest. “I don’t belong to you, Joel. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Joel exhales sharply, like he’s trying to get a grip, but it’s useless because I can see it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flex at his sides, the way his eyes flicker down to my lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

Oh, he hates this.

Hates that I push him.

Hates that I get under his skin.

Hates that he wants me.

“I didn’t say you belonged to me,” he mutters, voice lower now, rougher.

“But you sure as hell act like it.” My voice is quieter too, the space between us shrinking, the air crackling.

Joel clenches his jaw, breathing hard, and for a second, I swear he’s about to say something—admit something. But instead, he just lets out a frustrated growl, dragging a hand down his face.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters.

I grin, stepping even closer, my chest nearly brushing his. “Yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel goes still.

I see it—the moment something shifts between us, the way his breathing changes, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to grab me, pull me closer, do something about it.

But instead, he just exhales sharply, turns away, and runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake me off.

“Get in the damn truck.”

I laugh, but there’s something breathless about it, something shaky. Because if he had made a move—if he had snapped—I don’t know if I would’ve stopped him.

Hell, I know I wouldn’t have.

But for now, I just smirk, walking past him with a slow sway in my step, knowing damn well he’s watching me.

And as I climb into his truck, I wonder just how long it’ll take before Joel Miller finally breaks.

—

Sometimes, Joel does the dumbest shit, and I can't help but laugh at how he digs himself deeper without even realizing it. I've been pushing him all night, just little jabs here and there, watching him get more and more frustrated. It's my favorite game-seeing how long I can mess with him before he finally cracks.

But this time? This time, he really crossed a line.

He thinks he knows what’s best for me, and the way he treats me like some helpless kid? It drives me insane. I’m 25, not a teenager, but he always acts like I need someone to babysit me. It’s honestly infuriating.

But I guess he just couldn’t let it go anymore.

I’m standing there, crossing my arms, staring him down as he tries to come up with something to say, but all he can do is look at me like I’ve broken his favorite damn toy. He’s so damn stubborn, but right now, there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before—guilt.

Then, out of nowhere, Joel drops to his knees in front of me.

What the hell?

For a moment, I just stare at him, caught off guard.

I'm not even sure what he's doing, but the way he looks up at me-like he's some kind of punished dog-throws me off balance. He's trying to make a statement, I can tell. He's not embarrassed, but he's also not letting this go.

"I messed up," Joel says, his voice gravelly, as he slowly slides his hands up to rest on my thighs.

I blink at him, not sure how to react. The tension is different this time-this isn't about him giving in; this is something else entirely. There's no fear in his eyes. No submission. He's still the same stubborn bastard he's always been, but there's something else there too-something challenging.

He wants to make things right, but he's doing it on his terms.

"You're not sorry enough for this to work," | tease, holding back the grin that's threatening to break free.

He smirks, eyes flicking up to meet mine. He's still got that damn cocky attitude, even with me standing over him, and I don't know whether I want to slap it off him or kiss him.

Maybe both.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his hands tightening on my thighs, but there's no hesitation in his voice. "But I'm not getting off my knees until you know I'm serious."

I let out a laugh, not backing down, my body giving off every signal that I'm in control. "And what's that supposed to mean? You think this is gonna impress me?"

His grip on my thighs tightens, pulling me in closer, and now I can feel the heat of him through the fabric. But instead of giving me an inch, he's still staring up at me with that damn challenge in his eyes.

"You want an apology? You got it," he says, voice low and steady. "But l'm not some puppy you can just command. Don't think for one second you're gonna play me like that."

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. I was expecting him to grovel, to at least try to show some weakness. But Joel? Joel doesn't do weakness.

"I never said you were a puppy," I murmur, looking down at him with a smile that's too smug for my own good. "But you are on your knees."

His eyes darken as he holds my gaze, not backing down, not even a little. "Yeah, and I'm here because you deserve the apology, not because I'm asking for permission."

The heat between us shifts again, and it's not the playful teasing anymore. It's something more-something a little darker, a little more real. He's not going to give in, but he's also not letting me win either.

"So, what do you want?" l ask, my voice almost a whisper, the challenge still there but mixed with something else.

Joel doesn't hesitate. "I want you to stop testing me and accept that I'm not going anywhere."

And for just a moment, it feels like he's got me right where he wants me.

But then, I realize-he's not the only one who knows how to play this game.

"Well, if you're so eager to apologize," | start, running my fingers through his hair, "maybe you can make it up to me in a way I actually want."

Joel looks up at me, his hands still gripping my thighs as his breath catches. There's a flicker of something in his eyes-something wild, but also totally surrendered.

"Name it."

The words land between us with the weight of a promise. And for the first time, I feel the air between us change completely. I step back, my body a little off balance from how suddenly he's shifted everything.

But damn, if that doesn't make my heart race.

And then—

His hands are on me.

Gripping my waist, dragging me in hard, pinning me against the wall like he can’t hold himself back another second.

“You happy now?” His voice is low, rough, wrecked. His breath is hot against my lips, his hands firm, possessive on my hips.

I grin, breathless. “Ecstatic.”

And then he’s kissing me.

It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s everything he’s been denying himself—all the tension, all the frustration, all the goddamn hunger crashing down on us at once.

I moan into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. He groans, deep and low, like he needs this, like he’s craved this for so long it’s driven him mad.

His hands slide lower, gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly against him. I wrap my legs around his waist, gasping as my back presses harder against the wall, his body solid and hot against mine.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls, dragging his lips down my jaw, my neck, biting just enough to make me gasp.

I laugh breathlessly, tugging his head back up, eyes locked on his. "Took you long enough to admit it."

Joel glares at me, but there's something wild behind it now, something dangerous. "You got no idea what you just started."

I smirk, running my fingers down his chest, feeling the way his breath shudders at my touch.

"Then don't stop," | whisper.

And he doesn't.

—

It’s like once we started, we couldn’t stop.

Every touch, every look, every little moment of tension we used to ignore? Now it’s all fire.

It starts in the kitchen. I brush past Joel to grab a glass of water, my fingers barely skimming his arm, and I swear I hear his breath hitch. It’s subtle, but I know him. I know how much I get under his skin.

And then, before I can even turn around, he’s on me.

One hand grips my waist, the other presses into the counter beside me, caging me in. His body is warm against my back, his breath hot against my ear.

“You do this on purpose,” he mutters, voice low, rough, like he’s barely holding himself together.

I smirk, tilting my head slightly, just enough that his lips graze my neck. “Do what?”

Joel exhales sharply, his fingers tightening on my waist. “Brat,” he murmurs, but it sounds wrecked, like he’s already given in.

And he has.

Because in the next breath, he spins me to face him, pressing me against the counter. His hands grip my hips, his body hot against mine, and I can feel the tension rolling off him.

“You’re playin’ with fire,” he warns, lips barely an inch from mine.

I grin, dragging my fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp.

Joel groans, kissing me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like every ounce of restraint he had is just gone. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him impossibly close, gasping into his mouth when his fingers dig into my skin.

We barely make it to the hallway before he grabs me again, pressing me against the wall, his mouth never leaving mine.

“You just can’t help yourself,” I murmur against his lips, breathless.

Joel groans, his forehead pressing to mine, his grip firm like he's staking a claim. "Neither can you."

And he's right. Because the second we're alone again, I'm on him-hands in his hair, pulling him down, both of us too far gone to stop now.

Because now that we've started?

We're never stopping.

—

I leave the bathroom door open on purpose.

And the glass shower door? Yeah, that stays cracked, too.

The hot water cascades down my body, steam curling through the air, fogging up the glass just enough to blur the edges but not enough to hide me. I know Joel’s home. I know he’ll walk past. And I know he won’t be able to help himself.

It takes a minute, but then—there he is.

I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye, the way he pauses in the doorway. I can’t see his face through the steam, but I know that look—the one where his jaw tightens, where his fists clench like he’s fighting every urge in his body.

I smile to myself and tilt my head back, letting the hot water pour down my neck, dragging my hands slowly over my skin.

Joel exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ, y/n.”

I bite my lip. Bingo.

There’s a beat of silence, thick with tension. And then—I hear him move. The rustle of fabric. The soft clink of a belt buckle. The sound of a shirt being pulled over his head.

My pulse spikes.

The shower door swings open wider, and suddenly—Joel is there.

Steam clings to his skin, droplets forming against the hard planes of his chest, his broad shoulders.

His eyes are dark, locked on mine, his expression somewhere between exasperation and something dangerous.

“You really are a damn brat,” he mutters.

Before I can reply, his hands are on me, gripping my waist, pushing me gently but firmly against the cool tile. His body is hot, solid against mine, his breath warm against my skin as he leans in.

“You left that door open on purpose,” he accuses, voice rough, wrecked.

I smirk, fingers sliding up his arms, feeling the tension there. “Maybe.”

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” But there’s something else in his eyes now—something wild, something hungry.

His hands grip my hips, fingers pressing hard into my skin, and he kisses me.

Hard.

It’s desperate, messy, like he’s been waiting for this, like every ounce of restraint he’s ever had just snapped. I moan into his mouth, pressing up against him, feeling the heat of his body, the way his hands roam, gripping, claiming.

"You gonna keep playin' games, sweetheart?" he mutters against my lips, his voice rough with need.

I grin, breathless, pulling him closer. "Always."

Joel groans, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath heavy, his fingers digging into my skin like he needs this.

And then he kisses me again.

And this time, neither of us stop.

—

The first night back in my apartment should feel good. Should feel like a breath of fresh air. No more waking up to Joel grumbling in the kitchen, no more stolen flannels, no more him lurking in doorways like he’s just waiting for me to do something reckless.

But it doesn’t feel good.

It feels wrong.

I don’t like waking up alone. I don’t like the quiet. I don’t like that Joel just let me go without a damn word.

So I do what I always do. I go looking for trouble.

And I find it at his doorstep.

Joel barely reacts when he opens the door and sees me standing there, arms crossed, wearing one of his shirts I forgot to return. His face is unreadable, but I know him. I see the way his shoulders tighten, the way his jaw clenches.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asks, voice low, cautious.

I step inside without waiting for an invitation, brushing past him like I belong there. Because I do.

“I dunno,” I say, throwing myself onto his couch. “Figured I’d see if you missed me.”

Joel exhales sharply, closing the door, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s already tired of this conversation. “Y/n—”

“—You didn’t even call me.” I cut him off, watching him carefully.

He shakes his head, pacing like a man who’s got too much in his head and no idea how to get it out. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

I scoff, leaning back against the cushions. “Bullshit.”

Joel stops pacing, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters something under his breath.

“What?” I push, sitting up. “Go on. Say it.”

“You know why,” he says, finally looking at me. His eyes are tired. Guilty. “I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have let things go as far as they did.”

I laugh. A short, bitter thing. “Let things go as far as they did? You mean you finally gave in? You finally admitted you wanted me?”

Joel clenches his jaw, turning away, but I’m already off the couch, already closing the distance between us.

“You do want me,” I say, softer now. “You just don’t want to let yourself have me.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, looking like a man at war with himself.

“You think it was a mistake?” I ask, my voice steady even though my chest feels tight.

Joel doesn’t answer right away. And that silence? It kills me.

Finally, he exhales, voice rough. “I think it ain’t fair to you.”

I stare at him, disbelief creeping in. “Fair? That’s what you’re worried about? Jesus, Joel, I’m not some kid you need to protect. I know what I want.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t get it,” I snap. “I waited for you to stop fighting it. I waited for you to stop treating me like I’m too young, too reckless, too much for you. And the second you let yourself have me, you run?”

Joel’s breathing is heavy now, his hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “I ain’t runnin’—”

I step closer, forcing him to look at me. “Then what the hell do you call this?”

His face twists, something breaking behind his eyes. “I call it tryin’ to do right by you.”

My chest aches. God, he’s so damn stubborn.

“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, softer this time. “You don’t get to make that choice for me.”

Joel looks at me, looks through me, and I see it—that need, that longing, that war inside him.

But I won’t beg.

So I take a slow step back, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “Fine,” I say, voice carefully even. “You wanna push me away? Go ahead. But don’t you dare pretend it’s for my sake.”

I turn, heading for the door, my heart hammering in my chest.

And I wait.

I wait for him to stop me.

But the door closes behind me, and Joel lets me go.

—

I should slam the door in his face.

I should.

But I don’t. Because it’s Joel. And even after everything—even after he let me walk out that door without a fight—I still want him.

And the bastard knows it.

He stands there, looking rough around the edges, like he hasn’t slept. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting on his feet, like he doesn’t know how to say whatever it is he came here to say.

“I fucked up,” he says, finally.

I snort, arms crossed. “No shit.”

Joel exhales, glancing down for a second before his eyes meet mine again. They’re dark, tired, but honest.

“I was scared,” he says, voice lower now. “Ain’t used to wantin’ something this bad. Ain’t used to thinkin’ maybe I could have it.”

That stops me.

Because this? This is new. This isn’t Joel pushing me away, telling me I’m too young, too much, too reckless. This isn’t him trying to convince himself he doesn’t need me.

This is him admitting that he does.

I swallow, my throat tight. “You can have it, Joel. But not if you keep pulling this shit.”

He nods, like he knows, like he’s been sitting with that realization since the second I left.

I should make him work for it. Make him suffer a little. But then he steps closer—slow, cautious, like he’s making sure I don’t shut him out first.

And when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse.

“Come back.”

It’s not a demand. Not a plea. Just Joel laying it all out, raw and real, for me to decide.

I let out a slow breath, studying him, making him wait.

Then I step forward, just enough that I can tilt my chin up and brush my lips against his—light, teasing, cruel.

His breath hitches. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s dying to touch me.

And I smirk. “Took you long enough.”

Joel groans, grabs me, and finally—finally—kisses me like he’s making up for every second he wasted.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagines #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro x reader

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fear-is-truth · 12 hours ago

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Do you believe that if the reader were experiencing terrible cramping during her period, Rafe would behave differently? As though she is crying into her pillow and is having trouble communicating. Rafe must be a little direct and use his firm voice in order to convince her to listen when she first tries to resist his attempts to reassure and calm her

bf!rafe comforting reader who’s suffering terrible cramps.

⟢ content warning: period cramps. kinda perv!rafe. 18+ ⟢ a/n: ohhh yes, i can defo picture him doing that

rafe fights back the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to ward off an incoming headache. of all times he should not be thinking about this—shouldn’t be noticing the way your lips are all swollen, or how pearly droplets of tears cling to your lashes. it’s fucked. he knows that. and yet, when you sniffle again, burrowing deeper into the pillow with a pitiful little whimper, his dick gives an interested twitch.

jesus christ.

“babygirl,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face, trying to snap himself out of it.

“c’mon.”

no response. you’re curled up in a fetal position, shivering under the blanket as if you can hide from the onslaught of cramps if you just make yourself small enough. rafe clenches his fists. unclenches his fists. fights down something in his gut that stirs at the sight of you so helpless and pretty like this. he forces it down, because shit, you’re in pain, and that’s not—this isn’t—he shoves it away.

“god, enough,” he sighs, reaching for you.

“let me help.” you shake your head, sniffling, curling up tighter. god, you’re so fucking stubborn. his fingers twitch, and then—fuck it. he hauls you up, maneuvering you into his lap, manhandling you like you weigh nothing. you land straddling one of his thighs, his arm bracketing you in despite the weak, hiccupy protests you make. you struggle for all of two seconds before your body falls entirely limp, tearstained cheek pressing into his chest. he sighs, keeping a steady grip on you as he settles back against the headboard. a toned arm locks around you, one hand gently pressing against your lower stomach.

“you’re gonna listen to me, alright? this isn’t the time to play a goddamn martyr.” his voice has lost its authoritative edge, gone softer, but no less firm. you hiccup against his chest, eyelids fluttering shut when his thumb starts moving in slow, repetitive circles. applying gentle pressure, easing the cramping away.

“my poor baby.” rafe clicks his tongue in sympathy and affection. you sniffle, fingers curling into his shirt, and he rubs a circle over your belly. it’s just that—just him taking care of you, like he should—but then you let out this content little sigh, so soft, so fucking sweet, and fuck. the protectiveness in him is immediately tainted with lust.

he catches himself wondering where he can make you wetter, what other sounds he could pull from your mouth if he really tried. his dick twitches again (thank god you didn’t notice, because how the hell is he going to explain that), a sharp pulse of heat low in his gut and he forces himself to ignore it. later. right now, you need him. so he rocks you a little, and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #perv!rafe #rafe cameron fluff #obx #rafe cameron x y/n #bf!rafe #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe drabble #rafe imagine #rafe x you #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction

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ylangelegy · 21 hours ago

Text

true hate’s kiss 💋 chan x reader.

★ first seen in svt x reverse tropes. dedicated to @chanranghaeys and, of course, the birthday boy himself. word count: 905.

It started with the ribbiting.

The first time it happened, Chan had thought it was a hiccup. Some weird sound caught in the back of his throat. But then it kept happening, and happening, and happening, and no amount of water could fight it down.

What a horrifying thing to realize— that he was slowly but surely turning into a frog.

It’s the type of fuckass situation that Chan thought only existed in fiction. He’d seen the Disney movie, of course. He even gave it four stars on Letterboxd.

To have it happen to him, though? Insane.

All because he’d gotten into a spat with someone at the park. He’d thought the old hag was crazy when she screeched about being a witch, when she waved a stick at him and claimed he could only be cured by ‘true hate’s kiss’. Not true love, mind you. True hate.

There was really only ever one person that Chan loathed with every fibre of his being.

You’d understandably been skeptical when he came up to you. In hindsight, starting off with “I need you to kiss me” may have not been one of his stronger openings.

“This is a weird way to confess,” you had shot back, and he laughed so hard he thought he might cry.

He called you delusional. You retaliated by slamming the door in his face with a scathing remark of “Enjoy being a fuckass frog, then! Ribbit ribbit, bitch!”

‘Ribbit ribbit’ he has been doing, much to his utter distaste. The trilling has been driving him mad. He’s convinced his palms are getting more clammy by the day. And is it just him, or is his skin taking on a more greenish tint?

Chan swallows what little pride he has left and does what he has to do: He grovels.

He gets on his knees and grits out pleas for just one kiss. (No tongue, even, he says, unless you want some. That earns him an upside smack to the head.)

He promises to leave you alone for a week, a month. That’s not enough; he can tell by your stoic, unwavering expression.

“Anything,” he blurts out. “I’ll give you anything.”

It’s a dangerous thing to promise, but it’s what lands. “Anything?” you repeat, tilting your head to one side.

You’re the perfect picture of everything he’s despised. Composure, ridicule, smugness.

Chan shifts from down on the ground, his knees pressing into the cool wood of the floorboards. “Anything,” he confirms with the solemnity of a man accepting a death sentence.

You feign like you’re thinking about it, fingers resting at your chin. The litany strikes up in Chan’s head. A chant of I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I—

“Deal,” you say.

He blinks. Dread shivers down his spine, though it’s quickly replaced by something more akin to relief. Better one bad kiss than be a frog for life.

“Okay.” His words are an exhale as he scrambles to his feet, drawing himself up to his full height. “Alright, then.”

Chan has never been more grateful to be a couple of inches taller than you. It’s always been the topic of his jabs, and now it gives him both literal and metaphorical leverage.

“Let’s make this quick,” he grumbles even though he’s in no position to be making demands when he’s the one cashing in a favor. He can only hope and pray that the anything you might want is somewhat reasonable, that it won’t shatter his already wounded pride.

You roll your eyes. He bites back a snarky remark on the tip of his tongue.

Chan rests his hand on the column of your neck, because if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right. Don’t overthink it, a voice in the back of his head wryly advises, and so he doesn’t.

He squeezes his eyes shut and leans down, bracing for the worst. I hate you, I hate you, I hate—

—green apple lip balm.

The refrain screeches to a halt. Chan never thought he’d use the word ‘soft’ to describe you; he knows you for your rough edges and sharp wit. Nothing about you is subtle or mellow, most especially when it comes to him.

And yet.

You’re not even touching him. You haven’t laid a single finger on him, and yet Chan is holding his breath like he’s underwater.

When your mouth parts ever so slightly— he doesn’t have the time to analyze that, to wonder if it’s impulse or pleasure— he responds in kind, his tongue briefly tracing over your lower lip.

His earlier jab must register in your mind because you begin to pull away, your part of the deal fulfilled. The feeling of loss is instant.

Don’t overthink it, his conscience had yelled. He didn’t realize it might translate to Don’t think at all.

Chan’s fingers flex at your neck. If kissing you felt like being underwater, being apart felt like gasping for air.

Gone is the chorus in his head. Why did he hate you, anyway?

He doesn’t have to say a thing. His body acts for him; instinctively, he leans forward, chasing your lips for another kiss.

(Later: A doctor’s visit reveals that the ‘ribbiting’ was, in fact, hiccups. An electrolyte imbalance, the attending tells a mortified Chan. Might be good to drink Gatorade.

When Chan’s first thought is the apple-flavored variant, he knows he’s screwed.)

#lee chan x reader #chan x reader #dino x reader #lee chan imagines #chan imagines #dino imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #(💎) page: svt #(🥡) notebook

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munsonsmixtapes · 1 day ago

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Expect me to creep into your inbox whenever you ask for requests 👀 I am always going to annoy you because you are so talented

Eddie smut with a plus size reader? Maybe she’s there at one of Corroded Coffin’s gigs at The Hideout and Eddie is just like

girl you keep giving me a big head (don't stop) and I love writing about plus sized!reader so your wish is my command!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it) public sex

You enter the smoky bar, looking around the place to take everything in. It's exactly what you thought it'd be but that doesn't mean you don't like it. It's exactly your scene and you love live music so when you heard that a local band preforms there every week, you just knew that you had to check it out.

You make a beeline for the bar to get a drink as the band is setting up. Your eyes immediately catch the guy at the front of the stage fixing up his microphone. He's got long curly hair and the tight t-shirt he's got on is so distracting. You swore to yourself that you weren't going to do this again.

You're trying to not get involved with anyone but that doesn't mean that you can't have a little fun, right? He's exactly your type with the way he's dressed and those large rings he's got on his fingers are making your head spin with the dirtiest thoughts.

Eddie's eyes lock on yours and he's immediately in love. He's always loved curvy girls but there's something about you specifically that is making hearts appear in his eyes. It's the way you carry yourself like you're hot shit and fuck are you.

The tight pants you're wearing are making him dizzy. He wants to have you in the back of his van and love on every inch of you, telling you how beautiful you are. You've got such a hold on him and he doesn't even know your name.

His eyes follow you as you head over the bar and he’s so close to following you just so he can know what name he’s supposed to moan. He just has to have you and straight after the gig, he’s going to ask for your number.

You give him a little wave and he winks at you before you turn and head to the bar where you take a seat before ordering a drink. Eddie’s watching you the whole time, wondering what you’re drinking, wanting to sit next to you and let you talk his ear off the whole night. You’ve completely captivated him and he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s seen you.

The set starts and you get closer to the stage, fully intending on being in the action. You just want to be near him. You want to see how pretty he is up close with the sweat dripping off him in the heat of the bar. You want to feel the scruff of his beard against your skin as he kisses his way down your body.

You’re nodding along to the music, really hoping that they have a tape or something so you can listen to it on repeat. The lead singer’s voice is nothing like you’ve heard before. It’s deep and raspy and you just know that you’d run the tape out because of how much you’d listen to it.

His eyes are shut tight and it makes you wonder if that’s what he’d look like as you topped him, pretty hair fanned out on your pillow, his eyes shut tight as his hips buck against yours, trying his best to keep up with your pace.

You clearly haven’t been out in a while because why are you thirsting over the first man you’ve seen? But considering the other women around you seem to be thinking the same, you feel a lot better, more sane for thinking about this stranger in such dirty ways.

His eyes open and he’s staring straight at you, a smirk playing on his pretty lips as he strums on his guitar, pulling away from the mic as he goes into a guitar solo, his fingers moving down the neck in a rapid motion. You’re not even sure how that’s possible, but at least you know he’s good with his fingers.

Eddie’s trying his hardest to focus on what he’s doing, trying not to turn his head and look at you because if he does, he’s going to fuck up the set then take you by the hand to go somewhere private where he can kiss you absolutely stupid.

But he can’t help it. You keep catching his eye and he’ll just stare before he’s pulled out of his trance and thrown back into the song. He can tell you want him too because of the way you’re staring back with that flirty look and he’s counting down the seconds until he’s finished.

So as soon as the set is done and the crowd begins to disperse, Eddie jumps down from the stage and takes you by the hand, pulling you to his chest, your body flush to his as his hand rests on your back.

“Hi,” he greets.

“Hi,” you smile and watch his gaze drop to your lips.

“I’m Eddie.” You’re not sure how, but the name suits him, almost as if it was made specifically for him.

“Y/n.”

“Well, y/n, I hope you don’t have any plans tonight.” You don’t and for the first time, you’re glad for it. You have a feeling you know exactly what you’re going to get up to.

“Just whatever you’re doing,” You reply, twirling a strand of his hair. Oh yeah, he’s definitely wrapped around your finger now.

“I need to pack up my equipment but as soon as I’m done, it’s you and me.” His lips press to your cheek and then he hurries back to the stage while you stand there, waiting for him to be done. You watch him bend over to put his guitar into the case and can’t help but stare at his ass as he does so. You want to just give it a squeeze and hope you get a chance once you’re alone.

He finishes up pretty and quickly hands his guitar off to one of his bandmates before heading over to you, sticking his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. His eyes are raking over your body, his tongue slowly licking across his bottom lip as he does so.

They get to your thighs and he so desperately wants to give them a squeeze, to bury his head between them and eat your pussy like a man starved. Fuck, he’s never been so attracted to anyone like this in his life and he needs you so bad.

As his band mates flee, he takes you by the hand and lead you out to his van. He pins you to the side of it and his lips find yours in a hot kiss, not afraid to slide his tongue into your mouth as his hands grab a firm hold of your waist.

You push his jacket from his shoulders and he lets it fall to the ground behind him before pulling to the back. He opens the doors and helps you inside before climbing inside himself and closing the door behind you.

Once you’re safely inside, you’re quick to undress each other between heated kisses. His lips are hot in your skin as he presses them to every new inch of skin that’s revealed as another piece of clothing is removed. He’s mumbling compliments into your skin and you’re so glad that you’re sitting because you feel like you’re melting under his touch.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, knows exactly what to say and what to do and if just making out with him is making you melt, you’re not so sure how you’re going to handle the sex. Once your bra is off, he lays you down onto the floor of the van, his lips kissing down your chest before wrapping around your hard nipple.

His tongue swipes across it gently and you let out a whine as if asking for more. Eddie pulls away to give you a shit-eating grin before going back in, giving your nipple a suck as his tongue flicks back and forth across it, his other hand reaching up and massaging your other one. You’re whining at the feeling and he takes that as an invitation to continue, going in with his teeth to bite down on it which causes a loud moan to fall from your lips.

So Eddie does it again, harder this time, causing you to grab fistfulls of his hair, yanking on it to show just how much you’re enjoying yourself. He lets out a little yelp in response, but that doesn’t stop him from biting you again. In fact, it only makes him do it again and again until you’re close to an orgasm.

And when he moves onto your other nipple, you swear that you’re seeing stars as he does the exact same thing, your back arching in pleasure as you keep tugging on his hair, feeling yourself getting progressively more wet as he does so. It’s soaking wet between your legs and you need him between them so bad. You need him to fuck you so hard that you can’t walk for days.

“Need you,” you whine and spread your legs so he knows exactly what you mean. So his lips travel down your torso and you gasp as his teeth grab onto the waistband of your panities, pulling them down so slowly because he’s such a goddamn tease. He’s looking up at you as his eyes darken, almost looking black.

He then removes his own before taking out a condom from his jeans pocket and rolls the thing on. He spreads your legs as wide as possible so that they’re touching the floor then positions himself so that he’s lined up with you before going in, pumping as hard as he possibly can, watching you respond to every touch as you lie beneath him.

You’re watching him in awe, getting even more wet as you take in his tattoos and the way his hair falls, the chain around his neck hitting against his collarbone in a rapid pace because of how hard he’s fucking you.

“Look so pretty on my cock, sweetheart. And you’re taking me so well already.” His cock is not even halfway inside and you need to feel all of him. You’re desperate for the whole thing, to see just how much you can take so you grab hold of his ass and push him farther inside you until his bush is pressed up against you.

You gasp at the feeling and tears well up in your eyes because of how big he is, but it just feels so good. Your nails dig into his cheeks and he takes the hint, fucking you with his whole cock as he picks up the pace, moving in and out so quickly you can hardly keep up as you buck your hips against his.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says as his lips press to your neck in a soft kiss. “Like fuck, this is just unfair sweetheart.” He reaches up and swipes some sweaty hair from your forehead. He then picks up the pace even more as he sees that you’re close, making sure to insert all of himself as he does so.

And when you finally do come, he continues thrusting into you until you’re crying his name. Once you’re coming down, he pulls out and disposes of the condom before helping you get dressed, being nothing but kind to you as he does so.

And once you’re both dressed, you drive around the city talking about everything and nothing until it’s early in the morning. He then reluctantly drops you off at your car and is quick to make plans to do this all over again because there’s no way he’s only going to do this once. He’s got to see you again because he’s pretty sure that he’s already falling in love with you.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x plus size!reader

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