#send reqs

You were still shaken up. Very much so. In fact, you were so shaken up that you couldn’t speak for a week afterwards out of fear. His birdie was horrified.

Simon felt horrible. It had nothing to do with you, but everything to do with him. He could hear the distant echo of his father yelling about what a man’s honour was. What kind of man was he if he couldn’t keep his family safe? He felt nothing short of an embarrassment to you.

Riley seemed to notice the dark cloud over the house as well. The big German Shepherd curling up around the both of you whenever possible, sleeping at the foot of the bed inside of the big dog bed, being less jumpy.

Simon took the rest of the week off. Tending to your injuries, rubbing your back when you got scared, coddling you as much as you needed. Simply didn’t let you out of his sight. The only time he left you alone was to buy new cameras for the house.

“I thought we already had those?..” you muttered while on the couch, petting Riley. “We need more, luv. The other ones are old. Need to keep a better eye on you. Watch your show, yeah?”

He even bought an entire monitor for his office, solely for the purpose of being able to stream the camera feed 24/7. Even Johnny thought he was overreacting

VIAGRA - ju. bellingham

click here for part two!

inwhich! you tease jude about him and his team taking viagra before the mexico vs. england game.

frannytalks! this is so short, didn’t know if you wanted smut haha, i hope you like this! and he lowkey would cause an offside. 👀 don’t forget to join my taglist(s) here!

The first time you met Manjiro Sano, you had no idea who he was.

Well, correction: you knew he was someone. The guy had swagger, an aura of danger, white hair that looked too pretty for his attitude, and an expression like the world bored him to death.

warnings; smut, dry humping, mentions of alcohol, fwb, kinda sub mikey.

mike’s sitting on the couch when you spot him, legs spread, red cup dangling from his fingers just about to fall. he’s laughing at something dustin said, but it’s delayed. way too late. that’s how you know.

fuck.

you walk over and stand in front of him. he looks up at you and smiles immediately, soft and dumb in a way that makes your stomach drop.

“oh hey!” he says, like you just arrived and not like you’ve been here the whole time. “youu’re here.”

“i’ve been here,” you say. “how much did you drink?”

he blinks and thinks about it. then shrugs. “enough?”

you take the cup from his hand and sniff it. definitely not soda.

“mike.”

“i knoooow, i know,” he says, already leaning forward to stand up. he wobbles the second his feet hit the floor and you grab his arm without even thinking.

he laughs it off. “see? ‘m fine. just—” he gestures vaguely “tilted.”

“yeah. you’re tilted straight out of this house.”

you grab his wrist and start pulling before he can argue. he doesn’t, which honestly surprises you. he just follows, bumping into your shoulder once, then again.

“sorry,” he says, not actually fixing it.

the hallway’s darker, quieter. someone laughs behind a closed door. mike presses his palm flat against the wall to steady himself.

“i didn’t even wanna be here,” he says.

“well, you drank like you wanted to be here.”

he huffs. “that was peer pressure.”

“from who.”

“everyone,” he says. then softer: “max.”

you roll your eyes. “of course.”

he stops walking again. you almost don’t notice until your arm tugs back.

“they keep inviting me now,” he says. “isn’t that weird?”

you turn to face him. “you mean the same people who used to ignore you?”

“yeah.” he nods slow. “those ones.”

for a second he looks proud. then it fades. his mouth twists.

“i don’t trust it.”

you pull him closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “they just grew up.. and noticed how cool you actually are.”

he presses his lips flat, lousy smile. “shut up.”

. . .

your house looks exactly the same as always. white porch light on. two steps up to the front door. the window by the entry still has the crooked curtain you never fixed. quiet street, no cars, no noise.

you unlock the door and step inside. the hallway light clicks on. shoes by the wall. coat on the chair. the place smells like detergent and whatever candle you lit earlier and forgot about. oh wait, jasmine candle.

mike comes in behind you and shuts the door. then abruptly stops by the entrance.

you kick off your shoes and drop your keys on the table. when you turn around, he’s still standing there, back near the door, shoulders tight, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“you okay?” you ask skeptically.

“yeah,” he says too quickly. “i’m good.”

he is not good.

you take a step closer as he shifts his weight, clears his throat, stares at the floor.

oh. OH.

you don’t say it. you just look at him. at it.

he notices and immediately groans. “pl-please don’t.”

“i didn’t say anything.” you smile a little, can’t help it.

“you’re thinking it.”

“maybe.”

he rubs his face, mortified. “i swear i wasn’t trying to be weird.”

“you’re drunk,” you say. “and you’ve been with pretty girls all night.”

“that makes it worse,” he mutters.

“you can sit,” you say.

he nods and moves to the couch, sitting stiffly on the edge. hands still in his pockets. knees bouncing like an anxious child.

“this is actually so embarrassing,” he says.

“it’s fine,” you reply. “it happens.”

he looks up at you then. eyes glossy, flushed, way too open. like a puppy.

“you don’t seem bothered,” he says, a bit puzzled.

“i’m not.” you reply as you sat next to him.

that makes him swallow hard.

“… you wanna lie down,” you ask. “you look like you’re about to pass out.”

he exhales, relieved. “yeah. please.”

you head down the hall toward your room. he follows close behind, careful not to touch, very clearly wanting to.

your room is small and familiar. hasn’t changed that much since middle school. twin bed against the wall, faded comforter, a nightstand with a cassette player and a few tapes stacked crooked. pet shop boys posters taped up with their edges peeling. a desk by the window with a lamp and a walkman tossed on top. blinds are half open, streetlight cutting in. mike pauses when you walk in, glances around once, then closes the door behind him. he sits on the pink, tidy bed and lets out a small laugh.

“tonight got out of hand,” he says. “i just wanted to play d&d, to be honest.”

“you had fun,” you say, as you looked around at the mess, glad he was drunk enough to not give a shit.

“with side effects,” he replies, then looks at you. “not bad ones though.”

you sit next to him. your knees touch.

he leans in, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

“thanks for getting me home,” he says quietly.

you don’t catch the exact moment it happens. he’s thanking you, quiet and close, and then his mouth is on yours again, rushed and careless. you fall back onto the bed without meaning to and he’s there instantly, holding himself up above you, breathing hard, eyes fixed on your face. somewhere along the way, this became inevitable, and now mike is on top of you, very present, very sure he doesn’t want to stop.

he kisses you without any restraint, not bothering to slow down or get it right, just going for it with too much want. his mouth clumsily keeps finding yours again and again, breath warm, clearly drunk enough to forget how careful he usually is. when you pulls back even slightly, he follows immediately, pressing closer, hands tightening at your waist because he doesn’t seem to know what to do with them except to hold on.

he lets out this shaky laugh that turns into a breath against your skin.

“please,” he whispers quietly. then more desperate, “please just… stay like this. touch me. i-i don’t care how stupid I sound.”

you cup his face, forcing him to look at you. his eyes are blown wide, needy.

“you’re not stupid,” you say, hips rocking against his, unconsciously. “you’re drunk.”

“that too,” he admits, as if you didn’t already know. “but also i really want you.”

he presses his mouth to yours again, sloppy and insistent. his hands seem to forget where to hold onto, so they land everywhere. waist, back, your thigh. he keeps pulling you closer even though there’s nowhere closer to go.

and when you feel him pressing up against your skin you can’t help but to think how wrong this was.

“mike,” you say quietly, pulling back just enough to look at him.

he swallows but doesn’t move away. “i know,” he murmurs. “ ‘m sorry. ’m just.. ‘m really not hiding it well.”

“hey,” you say, pulling back fully this time.

“what- did.. did i do something wrong?”

“no,” you say quickly, not wanting to upset him. “no you didn’t.”

he searches your face, suddenly quieter. “then why’d you stop.”

you cup his cheek with your hand, feeling the smoothness of his flushed skin against your palm. that skin you’d been craving for a while now. “you’re drunk mike. we shouldn’t be doing this.”

he doesn’t move closer, but his voice changes.

“wait,” he says, immediately sitting back up. “please don’t do that.”

you look at him, you want it to happen you really do. but you care too much about him to actually let it happen.

he swallows, eyes flicking up to you, way too open. “i want you. not just because im drunk. i’ve wanted you. this just made me bad at hiding it.” his voice drops. “can we just stay here. sit, kiss.. anything. i’ll behave, i swear.”

he didn’t behave. five minutes later he was crowding your space again, not even fully aware of how he got there, knees on either side of your legs, hands shaking where they pressed into the mattress. he kept saying your name under his breath, over and over, like it might anchor him. his forehead dropped to your shoulder, then lifted, then dropped again. mouth trailing anywhere it could reach because he didn’t know where to put all the want building up in him.

“i know you said no,” he murmured, voice rough and uneven, “i know, i swear i know, ’m just.. please don’t make me stop touching you.”

he was desperate now, clinging, pressing closer without thinking, breathing hard against your skin, clearly overwhelmed by his own body and the fact that you were still there.

he wasn’t trying to be smooth or convincing, just honest in the most embarrassing way, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him upright and asking in a quiet voice not to be pushed away again.

you don’t want him to stop either.

“m-mike..” a soft plea gets out of your mouth as you feel his clothed cock blindly looking for your entrance. he presses into you, desperate for friction.

the second he realizes you’re not pushing him away something in him snaps loose and he’s moving again, closer, heavier. hips shifting without much control since he stopped pretending he has any.

“fuck,” he mutters, bit embarrassed, yet not enough to stop his rolling hips. “ ’m sorry, i can’t help it. i want you so bad-”

you’re overwhelmed in the best way possible. his weight all over you, the way his tip brushes against your clothed clit makes you wrap your arms around his neck. “god, yes.. mike-“

“please baby, i needa feel you..” he speaks against your neck, warm and wet. “let me inside baby please-“

“no.. mike wait,” you try your best to think with your brain and not your cunt, as he kept on kissing and nibbling on your neck and pressing up against the gap between your legs. “i-i haven’t got any condoms.”

he groans against your skin, frustrated. “i can pull out, don’t you worry about that.” his left hand was on your pants now, and you loved it.

“please, i need you so bad it’s painful..” his fingers clumsily trying to unzip them. “lemme fuck you, please.”

you were spread out by now. you hated how worked up he got you, how easily it was for you to just give in. “mike.. no.”

your voice was firm, making him pull away. half lidded eyes looking down at you, tongue licking your saliva off his lips.

“let’s just.. stay like this.” you kiss him gently, pulling him closer with both legs swaddling around his torso.

“mgh.. okay baby,” he kept on moving, trying to let it all out, groaning desperately. “fuck you feel so good. even like this.”

you could feel your panties getting soaked as he kept rubbing himself against you, so eager like he was trying to actually get his cock inside you. which he was.

“fuck baby, please.. i promise i’ll pull out please.” he looked down at you with those sad, puppyish eyes. you didn’t know whether they turned you on or made you wanna slap his face. “it aches please,”

“mike you’re drunk, you’re lucky we’re even doing this.”

“but i’ve always been so good to you, haven’t i? please baby, just this once,” his hands gripped on your hips. his length pressed right against your inner thigh, swaying up your core. “i promise ill make you feel sososo good,”

you rolled your eyes acknowledging that, for the hundredth time, you were giving in to mike wheeler.

————————————————————————————

military!rafe x bratty!reader

Couch, Now!!!

he’s not even looking at her.

that’s what sets her off.

it starts subtle—slow, controlled—but she feels it immediately. the distance. the way his eyes aren’t on her, not really. they’re somewhere else, unfocused, like he’s replaying something in his head that matters more than the fact that she’s right there, trying.

trying.

her movements get sharper, more deliberate, like she can force his attention back onto her if she just—does more. but he barely reacts. just a hand on her hip, absent, like muscle memory.

that’s it.

she stops.

just—stops completely, the sudden stillness loud in the room.

his eyes blink back into focus, finally landing on her. “what?”

“what?” she echoes, incredulous, sliding off him completely. “you’re kidding.”

he pushes himself up on his elbows, brow furrowing. “what’s wrong now?”

now.

she actually laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “you weren’t even here.”

“i’m right here.”

“no, you’re not,” she snaps, already moving away from the bed, arms wrapping around herself. “you’ve been in your head this entire time. like i’m just—something to do while you think about whatever the hell is more important.”

his jaw tightens at that, shoulders going rigid in that way she knows too well—like he’s snapping back into that controlled, closed-off version of himself.

“i said i’m here.”

“barely.”

silence stretches.

then—“you’re being dramatic.”

her head whips around. “excuse me?”

“i’ve had a long day,” he says, voice flattening, like that explains everything.

“oh, i’m sorry,” she shoots back, sharp and biting. “didn’t realize i was just supposed to sit pretty and wait until you decide to actually pay attention to me.”

he exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “that’s not what i said.”

“it’s what you meant.”

“no,” he says, firmer now, sitting up fully. “you’re twisting it.”

she scoffs, shaking her head, blinking a little too fast. “you know what? whatever. forget it.”

he watches her for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face, but instead of fixing it—like he should—he just shuts down.

and that’s worse.

“fine,” he mutters.

fine.

her chest tightens at how easy that was for him.

“go sleep on the couch,” she says suddenly, pointing toward the door, voice tight with something that sounds a lot less confident than she wants it to.

his brows knit together. “seriously?”

“yes, seriously.”

another pause.

she expects pushback. expects him to argue, to tell her she’s being ridiculous, to stay.

instead, he just nods once. short. controlled.

“okay.”

and that somehow feels like the worst part.

he grabs a blanket on his way out, doesn’t slam the door, doesn’t say anything else. just leaves.

the silence he leaves behind is suffocating.

she stands there for a second, staring at the empty doorway, anger still buzzing under her skin—but it’s already starting to twist into something else. something heavier.

stupid.

he’s stupid. she’s not.

she climbs back into bed, yanks the covers up, turns onto her side.

she lasts maybe ten minutes.

before she’s throwing the blankets off with an annoyed huff, dragging herself out of bed, and padding down the hallway.

the apartment is dark, quiet.

he’s on the couch, exactly where she told him to be.

of course he is.

he’s lying on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other resting on his stomach, blanket barely covering him. he looks uncomfortable. too big for the space, legs hanging slightly off the edge.

he didn’t even grab a pillow.

her chest tightens again.

she hesitates for half a second.

then she walks over, nudges his leg. “move.”

his arm shifts just enough for him to look at her, eyes heavy, confused. “what—”

“move,” she repeats, softer this time.

he doesn’t argue.

just shifts over as much as the small couch allows, making space without a word.

she climbs on top of him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, settling against his chest, arms wrapping around his middle.

he goes still for a second.

then his arm comes up automatically, resting across her back.

“thought you wanted me out here,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

she presses her face into his shirt. “shut up.”

there’s no bite to it this time.

just tired.

his hand starts moving without thinking, slow, steady passes up and down her back.

they stay like that for a minute.

two.

three.

her breathing evens out first.

he feels it—how she softens completely, weight going heavy against him.

asleep.

just like that.

he lets out a quiet breath, something in his chest easing as he adjusts his hold on her, pulling the blanket up over both of them as best as he can.

the couch is uncomfortable. cramped.

he doesn’t move.

just keeps his hand on her back, steady, grounding.