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ceilidho · 8 months ago

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hound dog

prompt: You pick up Ghost from a bar for a one night stand. Too bad Ghost isn't interested in a casual hook up. (nsfw, 6.7k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

Rare is the day when a stupid girl doesn’t do stupid things.

This is just one of many such occurrences. Stepping into the dimly lit dive bar—the one miles from your place, reeking of tobacco and leather and motor oil, the noxious perfume of week old sweat and weed stinking up the joint, pardon the pun—with too much eyeliner and mascara on, and a skirt too short for you—and would you just stop fiddling with it? But you can’t because that would mean admitting that it barely fits over your ass, that putting on a skirt so short was a choice, an invite, a teasing little taunt to the men in the bar saying, what are you waiting for? I’m asking for it, aren’t I—

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

It’s why you’re planted at the bat some six weeks after being dumped, two weeks after being ghosted for the third time in a row, a smile on your face despite your crumbling self-esteem. Pride hanging in tatters. Grimacing when you find the bartop sticky with congealed liquor, the residue sticking to your skin when you quickly lift your elbows off. But there’s a time for self-pity and a time for getting it the fuck togther. This just happens to be one of the latter times.

“What’m I gettin’ you?” the bartender in front of you asks, barely impressed with your get-up. Not even attempting to conceal his distaste when he eyes you up and down, lingering on the way your tits are practically spilling out of your top.

“Do you have any cocktails?” you ask. Wrong question. The eye roll isn’t even suppressed for your benefit when he makes it clear to you, in no uncertain terms, that it’s whatever he can pour straight from a bottle or the fancy bar for cityfolk down the road. He says it like that, the word practically sneered out. Cityfolk.

Nerves shaken, you sip at your red wine after he leaves you to your own devices, your glass poured straight from the box. It could function passably as lighter fluid if the circumstances called for it. Still, you swallow it with a positive attitude, emboldened by the knowledge that you’re here for one thing and one thing only:

to get fucked within an inch of your life by one of the greasy-haired, cut-wearing, cigarette-smoking men lining the bar.

Even the thought sends a thrill down your spine.

It’s an age old question, isn’t it? What’s a girl to do (when her love life’s falling apart / when her credit score just bottomed out because her ex-boyfriend ran up her credit cards behind her back / when her job’s steadily becoming unbearable but quitting would mean scrambling to find a job that’ll pay anywhere near to what this one’s paying her) to get a drink around here?

Evidently, the answer isn’t to use a dating app; you can say that confidently after waiting around in fancier bars than this for several no-show dates.

You’re feeling appropriately over the whole thing. Ready to call it quits. Uninstall all of the apps on your phone and hire a matchmaker or ask a friend to set you up with a coworker of theirs. But that’ll be later, down the line when you aren’t dealing with the issue at hand.

The issue being that—

you’re really fucking horny.

Embarrassingly so. Enough that you were willing to travel miles away from home to avoid accidentally hooking up with anyone you might run into later on while out getting groceries or on a morning run.

It’s just better to play things close to your chest. Keep your romantic life and your sexual exploits far apart (not that you’d know much about keeping things separate; you’ve never had much of a sex life to keep hidden) lest you get mired in a stickier situation than you’re comfortable being in.

Despite the rough start, the bar you chose seems promising. There’s a man at the other side of the bar that keeps drawing your eye. It’s the hulking size of him at first, then the grime clinging to the folds of his skin, worn in from years of hard labor. He looks like a man fresh off a fourteen-hour shift or a fortnight spent on an oil rig in the middle of the Baltic sea, freshly washed ashore, kelp and barnacles still fused to his skin, not yet pried off.

Rough is the only word you’d use to describe him. A face covered in nicks and old scars, his upper lip slightly puckered and scarred from cleft lip surgery. When he turns his head to say something to the bartender, you catch a glimpse of a cauliflower ear, the cartilage of his tragus and antihelix swollen and deformed.

He’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. If you’d given it more thought, you think you could’ve conjured up an image of the man across the bar all by yourself. It’s like someone plucked him straight out of your head. Big and brawny, broad shoulders that you can imagine dangling your ankles off, and well-muscled arms that you can imagine digging your nails into. It would take both of your hands and extra to wrap around his bicep. The thought makes you shiver.

You try to catch his attention subtly. Looking over at him from under your lashes, quick, smoldering glances meant to draw his attention to you, so that he approaches you first. You keep waiting for the moment when he’ll notice your stare and hold your gaze, a question being asked and answered between your eyes before reeling him in with a coy little smile.

But when a half hour goes by without a single glance your way, your hope begins to wane.

He doesn’t look up no matter how many times you glance over at him. It’s frustrating; you know he feels the weight of your stare. His disregard is purposeful, deliberate; like he knows your attention is fixed on him but he can’t be bothered to so much as return your stare. You wonder if that means he’s got a lady at home, a little bird cooped up in his house that he’s more eager to get back to after he’s had a drink to take off the edge than flirt with some trussed up floozy at the bar.

That makes you squirm, self-consciousness rearing its ugly head again. Maybe you made a mistake coming here.

It’s not as though you’re being completely ignored, it’s just that the caliber of men that have approached you so far haven’t really inspired much, carnally speaking. You’ve sent the few braver ones away, a half-hearted thanks but no thanks when they offer to buy you a drink. Most leave without a word, though a few mutter obscenities under their breath before shoving their hands in their pockets and stalking away. Bitch. Dumb cunt.

Calling it a night feels like a natural next step. With the attitude you keep getting from the bartender and the way the only man you’re remotely attracted to refuses to so much as glance your way, it doesn’t feel right to stay out any longer. Embarrassment heats you like a low grade fever, warm in your belly. Wine sloshes around in your stomach when you slip off the stool, hunger now another pressing concern.

You’ll ask him on your way back from the bathroom. If he turns you down after that, you’ll slink off into the night with your tail tucked between your legs. There’ll always be next weekend to try again. You promise yourself that because the alternative is acknowledging how defeated this entire experience has left you, no less disappointing than going on the same boring first date with a guy from Tinder.

In the bathroom, you dab your face with water and stare at your reflection in the dirty mirror. It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years; finger smudges and white strains streaked across the glass. You wonder how many strangers have fucked in this bathroom over the years. The thought makes you grimace even more when you notice that the floor is slightly sticky, the ground sounding tacky beneath your shoes.

When you come out, the man from across the bar is waiting by the door, so close that you flinch, eyes widening. The narrow hallway means that he’s barely three feet from you when you stand in the doorframe.

“We leavin’ or what?” he growls, voice as deep as you thought it might be, gruff and husky.

He’s just as imposing in front of you as he was from across the bar. Maybe more so. You’re forced to crane your neck to look up at him this close, lips parting on an inaudible exhale. There’s something about a brutish man that’s always taken your breath away; everything from the blunt chin to the pronounced brow. His face is flecked with pale, keloidal skin; rubbery nodules from old injuries.

Dumbstruck, you can only nod, following behind him when he turns away from you, headed towards the parking lot out back where his truck is parked.

You’re really doing this. You’re really doing this. That’s the only thought in your head when he unlocks his truck and pops the door open for you, waiting until you’re buckled in before slamming the door shut.

He’s quiet on the car ride back to his place, unconcerned with getting to know you or defusing the tension in the truck. You can’t say you blame him. There’s a reason you chose a bar so far from home as a hunting ground. If you wanted to get to know someone, you would’ve met someone at a coffee shop.

When you ask his name, he grunts it out like it’s an inconvenience. Simon. He doesn’t give you more than that, even when you awkwardly ask him what he does for work. Blatantly ignores your questions. The rebuff smarts for some reason, makes you frown and duck your chin to your chest, shoulders hunched.

His demeanor is so off-putting that halfway through the drive, you wonder if you misunderstood him somehow, if he means to drive you home instead of taking you back to his place (but that can’t be right, otherwise wouldn’t he have asked for your address?). It’s just hard to reconcile his churlish attitude towards you with his ostensible invitation to fuck.

Maybe he doesn’t intend to fuck you at all. Maybe you managed to pick up the one serial killer in a twenty mile radius and stupidly followed him back to his truck without telling anyone who you planned to go home with. Your blood curdles at the thought, hackles raised when you imagine him sizing you up from across the bar, all prettied up and doe-eyed, easy prey.

Your breathing picks up. “I, um…actually, c-could you…could you just drop me off at my place?”

Simon rolls his eyes so hard that it’s almost audible. “Not gonna kill ya, bird.”

That doesn’t go a long way towards reassuring you, but you don’t dig your heels in and demand he take you home either.

“Do you live nearby?” you ask, suddenly chatty. Why, oh why.

Simon looks over at you, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. He drives a manual, you notice. A few too many seconds go by in silence. You wish somebody would just staple your mouth shut already.

“Yeah,” he says finally, turning back to watch the road, taking a left turn up ahead without using his signal. So it’s that kind of drive.

You keep your mouth shut for the rest of it lest he decide you’re too much of a hassle and turn back. You’re poised right on the edge of something new and exciting, and the thought of that slipping through your fingers makes you feel a bit crazy. So many men before have shown you that same snap dislike. Like you’re tolerable over text or as a dimensionless photo, but not as a flesh and blood person, the real mechanics of you all wrong. It’s an intolerable thought—that people can only like you when you smile and keep your mouth shut.

Still, you’ll do it now, for a price.

Part of you expects him to pull you into his lap when he pulls into his driveway and puts the truck in park. It’s what you’ve seen in movies. The rest of the night plays out in your head in piecemeal flashes; ravenous passion, hands tearing clothes off each other’s bodies, a shoe left on the porch in your hurry to get inside. Hungry, devouring; slick mouths parting for barely long enough to breathe.

Then Simon cuts the engine and gets out of the truck without so much as a glance your way, like you aren’t even there.

He still comes around to open the door for you. You frown at him through the window, affronted. Baffled at his continued nonchalance. Like even keeping your mouth shut isn’t enough to keep a man’s interest. Where you expected passion and fervor, you’re met with cool indifference.

Simon pops the door open. “Get out.”

The house itself is nothing special. A two-story cookie-cutter house built in the seventies; weathered, beige-coloured vinyl siding and a neatly trimmed lawn, with a few patches of overgrown grass and weeds. There’s a trailer parked in front of the closed garage, a few planks of wood strapped down in the bed. When you follow him up the walkway, you notice how quiet the neighborhood is, and for some reason that makes you even more jittery.

You stop in the doorway, frustration breaking your timidity like snapping an ampoule. “Do you even want to—” fuck me, goes unsaid. Too humiliating to even ask. But you ask anyway, the question itself implicit even in so few words.

Dark eyes stare down at you, impenetrable. You’re struck by the sense of something primordial slithering under his skin. His expression is hard, his face carved from granite; when his expression shifts, it’s like watching tectonic plates create mountains, plates pushed upward by mantle plumes.

He fits a big paw under your chin, fingers pressing into the fat of your cheeks hard enough to make your lips purse. Your heart skips a beat when he angles your head from side to side, looking you over like a pet he’s considering bringing home. You almost go cross-eyed when he bends down, his forehead nearly brushing yours, so close that you can smell the scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes, see the grease smudged on his face and the folds around his eyes.

A grin flickers across his lips, gone as it came. “Yeah. I do.”

And doesn’t that tie your stomach in a knot? Your nerves in a pretty bow?

Inside, his house is just as unremarkable. You’d know in a single glance that a single man lived here; a functional, no-frills living space. Nothing more than a worn couch, a TV, and a few pieces of obvious hand-me-down furniture. It’s hard to glean anything from the minimal decoration around his place, but he doesn’t give you much of a chance to look around. That’s not the point of why you’re in his house.

“Eat anything yet, bird?” Simon asks from the kitchen, opening the fridge without purpose. It looks like more of a reflex than anything, the first thing he does the second he gets home for the night and the last thing he does before going to bed. From the size of him, it makes sense; his body is muscle on muscle, covered by a healthy layer of fat, just a surface layer over the bulk beneath.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Have a bite, then.”

“I’m not, uh, hungry though,” you deflect rather than saying the obvious, which is, I came to your house to have sex, not make sandwiches at the kitchen counter together.

He shuts the fridge door, pinning you with his stare. “Your call. Could’ve used the energy though.”

You swallow.

The first thing you do after he herds you into the bedroom is try to pull him into a kiss, cupping his cheeks and standing up on your tiptoes. Before your eyelids flutter shut, you catch a glimpse of a cocked brow. Then you press your lips to a slack mouth that doesn’t move no matter how much passion you infuse in your kiss and feel embarrassment flare up in your guts.

Bastard. You should’ve expected that he wouldn’t kiss you back.

“Sorry,” you mutter, breaking the facsimile of a kiss and dropping back down onto your heels.

You flinch when he grabs you by the back of the neck and reels you back in, forcing you back onto your tiptoes, “Don’t be,” grunted against your mouth before fusing your lips together. A pathetic keen climbs up your throat, eyelids slipping shut.

His greed leaks from him like tar, his kiss so messy and violent that you’re almost too jarred to do anything apart from hang on. Teeth clack against yours, a horrid sensation, the lust in your belly abating long enough for the real world to slink back in and you get flashes of it: hands winding around a thick neck, a scratchy cheek against your lip when he twists his head to angle your noses better, a tongue shoving into your mouth unceremoniously, no finesse at all. Straight to the main point.

A shudder wracks you from head to toe when you try to break the kiss only to find the hand on your neck firm, holding you in place. The subtle reminder that he can do whatever he wants with you, that you willingly went home with a man big and strong enough to pin you down and fuck you however rough he wants.

“Simon,” you whine, squirming against him, gasping a breath and his name again when he wrestles you back into the kiss. “No—Simon—”

“Stay fuckin’ still,” he snarls against your lips, and you freeze, knees going weak when his fingers dig into your jaw to hold you in place.

The endorphin rush nearly makes your vision white out. A sudden winter storm, the blood rushing to your cheeks and the tip of your nose, your breath coming out quick and choppy. Lungs barely filling up with each inhale.

“Get this off,” Simon growls, tugging on your skirt when you don’t move fast enough. He doesn’t wait for you to catch up, content to wrench your skirt off himself instead, your panties along with it.

It takes your breath away, how fast you go from clothed to partially nude. Trying to match his fervor is a losing game, so you just try to keep up. Your hands tug at his belt, desperately trying to undo it, and he chuckles when he notices; big hands paw at your ass while you shakily pop the buckle out of the first loop.

He takes over after that, popping the button on his jeans one-handed.

“Wanna handle the rest?” he prompts, an eyebrow jutting up, expectant. Lazy with his arrogance; oozing rugged masculinity. It’d infuriate you if it didn’t get you so hot.

Your fingers are numb by the time you pull his jeans down, kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with wide eyed devotion as he kicks off his boots and shakes the pants off his legs, nothing under his jeans. His pale white thighs are dusted in fine blond hairs, mottled with burns and scars and old, faded cigarette marks, like someone used his legs as an ashtray. The thought makes your throat close up.

He shucks off his shirt while you stare at the shaft heavy with blood hanging between his legs, drooping with its own weight. Flushed red at the head and streaked with dark veins, leaking a steady drip of precum. The hair at the base of his dick is of a darker shade, gold like straw.

Your stomach swoops at the sight, dropping to the pits of you. You swallow. Maybe you’ve bit off a little more than you can chew. A lot more.

As if sensing your unease, a wide hand is suddenly firm on the back of your head, urging you closer. “Gonna give it a kiss?”

It’s not a question. You know that and you know that you’re way out of your league; that if you panic now you’ll flounder. So instead of fighting it, you lean forward and press a shy kiss to the weeping head of his dick.

You lick your lips instinctively when you draw back, lapping up the precum smeared across them. The taste makes you wrinkle your nose. It’s salty; bitter. Not altogether pleasant.

Simon wraps a hand around his dick and holds it to your lips. “Open your mouth, bird. Get me nice ‘n wet.”

A shudder rolls through you, but there’s little else you can do except part your lips and squeeze your eyes shut. It’s a struggle to fit more than just the head in your mouth, his dick too wide to take more than that. Your eyes water at the stretch, the musky taste of his cum overwhelming.

Any experience you’ve had before this pales in comparison. It’s like the first time all over again. His cock is heavy on your tongue, instantly making your eyes water. The grip he still has on the base of his cock tells you that he doesn’t expect you to swallow the whole length (an impossible task; you go cold with dread at even the thought), but Simon doesn’t hesitate to grip your head firmer when he feels you falter, forcing you to take as much as you can.

When you gag, he shushes you. “Keep at it—you’re fine.”

You wonder if he thinks by saying it, it makes it true. You’re very much not fine, struggling to breathe through your nose and suck him off without scraping his cock with your teeth.

Your exhale when he pulls you off his cock by your hair is full of both relief and trepidation. Your lips feel swollen and tender when you touch them with your fingers.

“Can we please have sex now?” you ask, dazed enough to be bold.

Simon cracks a smile at that, endeared somehow. “Gotta get up for that, bird.”

You have to brace your hands against his chest when you get to your feet, the blood that rushes to your head making you wobbly. Even on your feet, he’s so much taller than you, a behemoth. Men like him have always been your type, but Simon is really in a league of his own.

Glancing up at him from under your lashes, you bite your lip. You’ve seen that in movies before, starlettes bringing men to their knees with just a look. Coquette; demure. It’s harder to replicate than you thought, but you’ve never rehearsed this before. This is a one-time, live performance. The culmination of everything you’ve ever read or watched or studied.

You keep up the ruse of being sexy by crawling onto his bed on your hands and knees, dropping down onto your elbows once situated in the middle of the mattress. The debauchery of wiggling your ass back at the man who took you home from the bar would overwhelm you if you weren’t playing a part right now. Role playing. This isn’t who you usually are, but if it’s only for one night, you can force out the self-scrutiny and timidity.

Silence hangs in the air like a bubble, waiting to be burst. You fight the urge to look over your shoulder at him.

Then Simon exhales, breaking the silence. Goosebumps ripple down your arms.

The mattress dips under his weight when he settles behind you, hands immediately sinking into the flesh of your ass and pulling your cheeks apart. No preamble. You open your mouth to say something, but thick, coarse fingers are already dipping between your thighs and playing with your hole, sinking a finger in up to the first knuckle.

You breathe out shakily, shoulders tensing. The sheets reek of him, musky and ripe; you concentrate on that instead of the fingers penetrating you, getting you ready for his dick. Your walls squeeze tight around his fingers when he forces another one in.

When he finally feeds his cock into you, the stretch is nearly unbearable. The sharp stab of pain that accompanies it almost makes you flinch away, but Simon drags you back by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere, bird,” he rumbles. “Relax. It’s going in.”

What can you say to something like that?

His whole frame presses you into the mattress, the breath forced from your lungs. Bigger now that he’s got you on your belly. Suddenly making two hundred pounds seem less abstract, more real. He bullies as much of his cock into you as he can, paying no mind to the way you squeal and kick your legs.

“Real tight cunt,” Simon grunts, humming with his pleasure when his hips punch forward and your pussy squelches around his length. So lewd.

His knees on either side of you keep you trapped in place, nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. All you can do is lie under him and let him rut between your thighs, gasping for breath with every thrust. The sweat is slick down your back, half yours and half his.

“Ya let other men fuck this cunt, bird?” he asks. It sounds hypothetical, like it’s said half to rile himself up, and though it prickles at your nerves, you don’t complain too much because he fucks you rougher after the words slip out of his mouth.

When you don’t answer him though, concentrating more on filling your lungs and not biting your tongue off, he grabs your face and twists your head until you’re looking over your shoulder at him, neck aching with the strain.

“Answer me,” he demands, sounding almost pissed off.

“N-no—”

“Good,” he grunts. Satisfied.

His words should piss you off. How dare he ask you about fucking other men as if he were your husband or boyfriend. You have half a mind to cuss him out, but then he pumps his hips forward and your face goes numb from pleasure. Electric impulses zip up and down your skin, sizzling your nerves.

Besides, maybe it’s hot that he’s acting like you belong to him. Like you’re his; his girl that he picked up from the bar after a long shift, eager to go home and lay her out on the bed so he could fuck his pretty girl into a tongue-tied stupor. It certainly does it for you, a thin filigree of pleasure winding its way down your spine.

It’s an intoxicating fantasy—being wanted by a man in a real, visceral way. It’s one you’ve never gotten close to before, never even grazed with the tips of your fingers, no matter how far you stretched out your arms. You don’t know what men see when they look at you, but it can’t be anything worth keeping.

He fucks you like he wants to pry you open and leave a piece of him inside. A big hand fits around your neck and tightens; a collar, a manacle.

Hard to feel anything but grateful though. It’s everything you wanted but never thought you’d get out of this experience. You expected to feel like a body on a butcher’s block, hacked limb from limb. Marble ribbing on the inside. Brought to a high only to be left out in the cold after.

You never expected apotheosis. You never expected the filth murmured into your ear, the lurid, coarse diatribe in surround sound, all perfect fuckin’ pussy, can’t wait to shove my tongue inside, gonna make you suck my cock while I eat that perfect cunt out—

All—

Perfect fuckin’ girl; you don’t give this to anyone else, do ya? Knew you were gaggin’ for it back in the bar, but wanted to wait ‘n see; turned the rest of ‘em down, didn’t ya? Not a fuckin’ slut. Jus’ for me—only hungry for my cock—

It’s too rough, too much. Overpowering. Musk and body heat and raw strength, his forearms planted on the mattress on either side of your head. The scent of him suffocating, smothering. Heady. In your pores, on the back of your tongue, in your belly. He’s everywhere.

If only you could put it into words. The fire in your belly growing so wild, so out of control, that it threatens to incinerate you. Thinking dangerous thoughts—that you could be his, that he wants you so bad he can’t stand the idea of anyone having you before him, that he’ll kill anyone that touched you before, rip them apart with his bare hands, cut out their hearts and slice it ‘em up real thin so he could feed you the strips with his hands—

“Fuck—” Simon pants in your ear, pulling his cock out of your cunt. You whine, clenching down on nothing, suddenly empty, until he turns you roughly over onto your back and grabs one of your flailing ankles, hooking it over a burly shoulder. “Cunt this good oughta be locked down. Should just chain your leg to the bed so I can wake up to this pussy every day. Would’ya like that, bird?”

Like it? You think wildly—

Keep me, keep me, keep me, pleasepleaseplease.

The leg not hooked over Simon’s shoulder gets pulled around his hip, spreading your legs wider to accommodate the width of him between them. The scour of his voice threatens to erode you, smash you to pieces. There won’t be anything left after he’s done with you.

He’s just so big. Built like an ox, broad and solid. When he braces his forearms on either side of you, his biceps bulge, skin pulling taut over the muscle. The dark hair of his pits is stark against pale flesh.

Blood roars in your ears and over you, he moves like a wave, filling you up again and again. You’re swimming in uncharted waters now; gazing out into an unfamiliar and dangerous sea. A swell this big might take you right under.

Too bad for you, the hazy adumbration of danger in his words is pitted against the maw in your soul, the deep, cavernous hole that yawns wider with each passing year.

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: overlooking a sea of evergreen peaks illuminated by a silky moonlight hue, winding a long, narrow road darkened on both sides by tightly clustered trees, your arms wrapped around your chest. Cold layered like a skin, sinking deep into your bones, cold wet like a damp hate; trees clustered around your wandering soul, spurned into wandering like a little undead ghost with teeth clattering in Morse code, saying: so many wrongs done, it is almost incomprehensible.

Is it too much to ask to be wanted?

You need it like air.

The issue is that—

more than horny, you’re really, really fucking lonely.

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: a dream of being a lighthouse keeper, skin saltwater slick, seafoam on the backs of your knuckles, slathering over frozen fingers clutching at the gallery railing. Beckoning something to you.

What it is, you do not know.

“Look at tha’,” Simon says wonderingly, grabbing your face and yanking it towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “Just needed to get turned out on a fat cock, didn’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you gasp. “So good, Simon, ohmygod—”

“Only this needy for me, right?” The glint in his eye is terrifying.

“Only you, only you—”

“That’s right,” he growls, bearing all of his weight down on you, forehead to forehead. His sweat-slick chest slides against yours, cock buried so deep that you can taste him at the back of your throat. Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that steals the breath from you, glossy like he’s rapidly losing the ability to be consciously present, but ever attentive to the pleasure rippling across your face.

When his cock grinds into the soft plug of your womb, his eyes narrow when yours bulge, and he batters that spot until you seize up and spasm around him. His buzz cut gives you nothing to hold onto, so you dig your nails into the bulky planes of his back instead.

“Fuck—hold on, Christ, fuck; here it comes,” he spits, the veins in his neck protruding when he grits his teeth.

Your blood goes red hot when he rams deep into you, each thrust deliberate. Hips losing their rhythm. You don’t notice the first spurt of cum, too preoccupied with the smell and weight of him blanketing you, infiltrating every crevice of your body, but the second is hot. Scorching. You ignore the screaming alarm at the back of your head, barely coherent enough to parse out its meaning. All you can focus on is the warmth spreading inside you and your own walls pulsing around his cock, milking his release out of him.

Time blurs. You lose some of it.

You don’t come back until Simon rolls over onto his back, taking you with him. His cock is still buried inside of you, his cum running out in rivulets, pooling at the base of his dick lodged at your entrance. You’re going to be messy when he finally pulls out.

Despite the ache already setting in, you feel reborn. Renewed. The old, dead skin flayed off. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel when you’ve got your energy back, when even tracing your eyes across the other side of his room doesn’t take tremendous effort. The traces of him littered around the room make you curious. A half empty glass. Steel-toed boots sticking out of a half-opened closet. A damp towel crumpled into a ball on the floor.

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s no use trying to fill the gaps in. Whoever Simon is won’t matter in the light of day. You repeat this to yourself until it sticks.

When you try to get up, planting both hands on his chest, he pulls you back down, forcing your head onto the pillow of his chest. “Simon, the sheets are wet—”

“I’ll deal with it later,” Simon says, eyes already shut, on the verge of falling asleep. “Now shut up. You’re ruining the fucking afterglow.”

You wake up the next morning covered in bruises and bite marks and dried cum between your thighs and on your belly, so sore that even twitching your finger hurts.

It takes awhile for everything to come back to you. When it finally does, consciousness snaps back into you, discomfort giving way to quiet self-satisfaction. You managed to do it. Your first one-night stand. A real milestone. The tacky sheets beneath you are proof enough of your accomplishment.

The sadness slithers in when you realize that it’s over. One and done. In a half hour or so, the man plastered against your back and breathing heavily on the crown of your head will wake up, groggy and bleary eyed, and side-eye you until you put back on your clothes from the night before and slink out, tail tucked between your legs. A few hours delayed from when you were planning to throw in the towel at the bar, but still. In the end, it always comes around.

A gruff voice at your side tells you to quiet, bird—s'too early for your bitchin’ before manhandling you onto your stomach and shoving his raw cock into your cunt and it’s only now that it dawns on you that you were too horny last night to remember to ask him to use protection.

The thought is wiped from your head when he bucks his hips forward, impaling you on his swollen length. You lose track of time after that.

Breakfast is an informal affair. Cereal from a box and a bit too much milk, and a cup of instant coffee. You wince when you sit down across from Simon at the kitchen table, your inner thighs still tender and pussy sore from the battering it just took. If it strokes his ego to see how gingerly you sit down, he doesn’t show it.

It’s weird sitting across the table from him after last night. Hard to just leave it unaddressed, the truth simmering in the air. The red marks across his back make you wince, cheeks heating. Thin crescent marks and scored nails. It’s hard to reconcile yourself with the girl from last night.

He eats in silence for the most part though, ravenous after the night before. Doesn’t comment on the state of his shoulders or the way you shift on your chair. Not even bothering to make eye contact with you. Your appetite takes a bit of a hit watching him shovel food into his mouth, hardly even pausing long enough to breathe, but you’ve seen plenty of hungry men eat before.

Still though, silence has always had a way of getting under your skin. You’re not comfortable around it, prone to chattering. So you can’t help the way your mouth opens and the words come out involuntarily.

“Do you do this a lot?”

“I don’t shit where I eat,” Simon grunts dismissively.

The expression makes you grimace. “So do you usually pick up girls elsewhere or—”

The look he gives you could melt the flesh off your bones. You realize your misstep, interrogating the man you just fucked about his other hookups. Best not to ask questions. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this.

These last few moments are bittersweet. There won’t be many opportunities like this in the future, mainly because you don’t think you’re cut out for one-night stands. Last night proved that. As good as it was—and for as many times as you came, another time in the wee hours of the morning when Simon rolled over on top of you and shoved your legs apart to eat you out (a midnight snack)—in the light of day, you feel world weary. Like something monumental happened and passed you by.

You almost want to thank him for making it special, but the anxiety around finally pissing him off is more than you can bear. You want to leave on a good note. It’s better this way. You’ll never have confirmation about whether he’d eventually grow tired of you like everyone else. Never know if he’d one day manage to lose interest in the real you, not the made up sex kitten from the bar.

It’s better this way.

You tell yourself that when you push your chair out and stand up, hands fisting in the oversized shirt Simon made you wear before leaving the bedroom. “I should get going.”

He stops eating, staring up at you. His eyes are inscrutable, and the longer he stares, the less you understand his look.

You shift from foot to foot. “Thanks for… I had a good time.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, but when he drops his spoon into the bowl, the metal clang makes you flinch.

His silence leaves you off balance, like you’ve overstepped somehow. All motion stills under his scrutiny.

“Got somewhere ya need to be?” he asks, a vague, almost menacing undercurrent in his voice. It’s said like a warning. There shouldn’t be anywhere else you need to be.

“I…—don’t you want me to leave?”

He looks distinctly unimpressed. “You gonna walk home like that?” His words make you tug at his shirt, pulling it down to cover your thighs.

Your whole life has been made up of misunderstandings. Missed opportunities. Men who you thought loved you vanishing into thin air. You’re a poem often lost in translation. A long game of hide and seek; people run towards you then feign right, leaving you in the dust.

Whatever this is, you don’t recognize it.

You swallow on a dry throat. “…No?”

Simon searches your expression for something before he nods, satisfied. “Then sit the fuck back down. Finish your damn breakfast.”

You sit back down (wincing when you do) because the alternative is admitting that you don’t know what’s next. That you’re out of step again, but this time without that sinking feeling in your belly. A wild fluttering instead. That thought again that maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew.

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

#ceil writing #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you

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upnowapp · 7 months ago

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Quit Smoking for Good with UpNow's Hypnosis App | Effective Self-Hypnosis for Smoking Cessation

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domjaehyun · 7 months ago

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under the influence (l.dh) — TEASER

PAIRING ▸ stoner!haechan x fem!reader WORD COUNT ▸ 11.1k in the fic, 907 in the teaser WARNINGS ▸ a hint of dubcon, pervy!dom!haechan, shy!sub!reader, dacryphilia, corruption kink, finger sucking, oral (giving & receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, nipple play (receiving), marking, some cum eating, spit play, groping in public, panty stealing & sniffing PLAYLIST ▸ FYS - john concepcion, sweet release - kevin ross NOTES ▸ here’s a preview of Under the Influence 😁 the full fic will hopefully be up by October 7th on my Patreon, but if you’re not subscribed to me there, then it’ll be out on here on October 23rd :) enjoy!

“Pretty girl, you want another hit of the pen?” Haechan offers, and you think back to the way Haechan clutched your chin earlier to shotgun you, finally shaking your head in refusal. “Okay,” he relents, reaching into his back pocket for something and frowning before pulling out an empty hand. “I have something for you.” he says before standing up and heading back to his room.

He emerges once more with a half of a red gummy cube sticking out of his mouth, sitting back down on the couch and draping his arm over the back so it’s ghosting just over your shoulders. “Bite,” he urges through closed teeth, and you shoot him a wary look. “Bite,” he stresses, and you falter, not sure if you should.

“Is it an edible?” you ask cautiously, and he rolls his eyes, an amused chuckle leaving him.

“Yes. Bite.” It’s not a request, and instead of getting huffy about him bossing you around, you’re more surprised than anyone else when you lean in and carefully bite the other end of the gummy, tugging your half away from his mouth before chewing it. It’s sweet and sugary, but there’s a definite strong aftertaste, a tongue-drying, almost numbing sensation that reminds you it was more than just a little snack. “See, you don’t mind sharing with me, right?”

You don’t answer, instead sitting back and pulling out your phone to fire off a quick text to your group chat consisting of the two girls sitting a little ways away from you and your fourth roommate, Yurin, who usually frequents these hangout sessions but had to pass this time to study for midterms.

you [18:11pm] SOS you [18:11pm] he keeps being all TOUCHY TOUCHY what do i do?

You set your phone down on the couch face down and stand up, heading to the bathroom to calm your nerves.

Little do you know, your phone buzzes while you’re gone, Haechan’s curiosity getting the better of him as he flips your phone over.

Luckily for him, and very unluckily for you, you don’t have a privacy setting on your Messages app notifications, meaning that any incoming texts can be read by any prying eyes, no passcode necessary.

yurin big trouble mister [18:14pm] maybe tell him how you get all TOUCHY TOUCHY with yourself to the thought of him 😁 karina bo bina [18:16pm] god could you be any more crass?? yurin big trouble mister [18:17pm] LMAOOO i couldn’t help it the joke was right there yeri berry [18:18pm] you’re laughing. our dear friend is about to get consumed by a weed smoking incubus and you’re laughing.

Haechan snorts to himself in amusement, deliberately leaving your phone face-up for your return. You enter the room shortly after, picking up your phone and scrolling through your notifications with a small frown bordering on a grimace.

“What’s got you all upset, pretty?” Haechan asks, feigning curiosity, and you flinch, locking your phone and tossing it in your lap in a panic. “And now you’re jumpy, too? What’s on that phone that’s got you so stressed out, hm?”

“Nothing,” you answer far too quickly for your liking.

“I don’t think it’s nothing,” Haechan persists, voice lowering in pitch and volume as he moves closer to you, eyes bright with excitement and something else you can’t quite place. “I think there’s something incriminating on that phone.”

“Incriminating?” you mumble, dazed and flustered, and Haechan nods slowly, lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Incriminating like… nudes, maybe,” he muses, tapping his chin thoughtfully, and at the sight of your confused face, shakes his head. “That must not be it. Maybe a message of some sort… from a friend…” You freeze as you realize exactly what’s going on, and Haechan’s grin only widens now that he can tell you know that he knows. “Wonder what you look like when you… how did she put it? ‘Get all touchy touchy with yourself’ to the thought of me.”

“Haechan,” you murmur, heart rate quickening as you try to think of any possible way out of this conversation. “It’s not what you think it is.”

“I think it’s exactly what I think it is.” he counters with a mischievous wiggle of his brows, and you whimper in panic, desire starting to blaze in his eyes at the sound.

“What were you doing looking at my phone, anyway?” you accuse, cursing to yourself as your voice shakes slightly.

“I’m nosy,” is all he offers in response. “And, oh, please, you wanted me to see that text. You wanted me to know that late at night,” he teases, pulling your hand closest to him away as you squeal and try to cover your ears, “you touch your pretty little pussy,” he forces your hand back down between you two with a chuckle, “and think about me.”

“Could you lower your voice, please?” you mumble nervously, and he just laughs.

“You don’t want everyone to know that you’re into me, do you?” he remarks, and you swallow thickly, looking down at your lap. “I’ll keep your little secret. For a price.”

You study him out of the corner of your eye suspiciously. “What price?”

He strokes his chin thoughtfully before leaning back and draping his arm behind you on the couch. “I’ll let you know.” His voice is teasing but there’s an ominous edge to his voice that makes you gulp.

i hope you enjoyed! you can subscribe to my patreon here to see it 2 weeks early :)

#haechan smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan x reader #donghyuck x reader #donghyuck smut #lee donghyuck smut #lee haechan smut

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joonjuul · 3 months ago

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r u mine? jjk

pairing: rockstar!jk x reader

wc: 6k

warnings: fboy!jk, dom!jk, hookup/one night stand, crazy bar bathroom sex, hickies, bruising, choking, mirror play, overstimulation (f receiving), light finger (f receiving), light crying kink, reader is crazy horny smh, this is disgusting im so sorry

a/n: first fic on here whats up yall

‧.⋆｡°

the dim lighting surrounds you in a hazy room, feel the sweet stink of smoke fill your lungs as you inhale the second-hand killer. you feel your stomach stir as you relish in the scent and nostalgia of a good cigarette, silently kicking yourself for quitting two months prior.

you make your way through the crowd, bumping aimlessly against shoulders as your hand grips tighter to your drink. although this isn’t your first time here, there’s nothing like admiring the faces of strangers and passersby that you may never see again, wondering what brought them to this place.

‘sal’s’ was for the low of the low, you only came here if you were a teenage delinquent trying to escape your brutal parents, a washed up inbred fuck up who peaked in high school, or a hooker trying to make ends meet. fortunately, you’re none of those things.

sal’s was your spot, it always has and always will be. it was the only place relating to the general public that you could emotionally withstand. people left you alone here, at least for the most part.

“hey watch it.” a voice rasped in your direction as you miscalculated whether or not you could squeeze between a tighter crowd.

“sorry.” you feel your eyes locked momentarily. as long as you’d been coming to sal’s, you’d never seen a face quite like his. he surprisingly doesn’t look inbred, definitely not a delinquent teen, that only leaves one option.

you watch as he smirks down at you gently, his eyes fiery, something within them ravenous, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on for what. as you caught your breath and continued your ministrations to the front of the stage, you take a swig of your drink of choice tonight: neat whiskey. things have been tough lately. you let the bitter liquid slide effortlessly down your throat as you finish off your glass. hopefully its a quick set tonight, i’m tired of fighting groupies off at the bar just to get a simple refill.

you watched as the lights surrounding you began to dim, seemingly thickening the haze. with the screech of a microphone, the night had begun. you often found yourself here on friday nights specifically to get a feel for what kind of talent was swimming through this low-life town these days, you always had a soft spot for rock music, and sal’s was the place for up and coming artists, typically being teenage delinquents, but it’s sal’s so what do we expect?

“alright ladies and gentlemen! thank you so much for coming tonight, we got a great show for you all so hold onto your drinks and give a warm welcome to ‘the tragedies’!” your ears were already ringing and the show hadn’t even started yet. is the crowd normally this loud?

you watched as three silhouettes slowly appeared on stage, their faces not yet visible, even at a close distance. with the thumping of the small stage in front of you, you felt that familiar sensation as the music began to play, the bass vibrating through your chest all the way down to your toes.

“i’m a puppet on a string…” your heart clattered in your chest as the lights came on, a tall, curly headed boy standing before you dressed in all black. he was mesmerizing, his tattooed fingers carefully tracing each and every string of the guitar, his voice raspy as he cradled the microphone with his mouth.

as his eyes finally opened, scanning the faces of each audience member carefully, you felt your heart skip a beat as they carefully landed on yours. your chest only panging faster as you began to realize that he was the man you mistakenly ran over in the crowd only 10 minutes prior. you suddenly felt your cheeks heat at the realization, watching as that same sly grin appeared on his lips that you had seen once before.

“when she’s not right there beside me i go crazy…” his voice rang through you like a sinner in church. as anxious as you felt, you couldn’t deny the genuine talent that man had. he wasn’t like the normal performers at sal’s, and the audience could easily tell that as well, every last one of them just as intrigued as you. and it wasn’t just him, but his other bandmates too, they were all good, and not too hard on the eyes as well. you wouldn’t be surprised if they were just stopping in as a special appearance, they definitely weren’t locals that’s for sure.

as the set came to a close, you found yourself yearning for the feeling of your body vibrating to the music again, taking a moment to catch your breath before heading back over to the bar.

as a sal’s regular, most of the bartenders knew you, as you came in at least once a week. you found yourself mindlessly taking a seat at the bar, directly in front of the taps where you somehow always ended up.

“y/n! enjoy the set tonight?” a voice pulled you out of your daydream as you looked up to the smiling bartender over the counter.

“oh hey puck, yeah you know what i actually did. who are those guys? i’ve never seen them here before.” you questioned, watching as puck began to pour you another whiskey neat, picking you right back up where you left off.

“i heard they’re from korea, trying to spread word about their band over here because rock music isn’t as big there. very modest country, ya know?” puck hands you your drink as you immediately take a sip, feeling your throat tense just as easily as it did with the last glass.

korea huh? it was like he was being handed to you on a silver platter. a beautiful man who was talented, not a delinquent, hooker, or inbred, and the best of all, not from around here. living in a small town like rockville, everyone knew everyone, and let’s just say there hasn’t been a refresh in the dating pool in at least a decade. losing patience is an understatement.

you looked up briefly from your drink to see him approaching the bar, surprisingly taking a seat only two chairs away from you.

“whiskey neat please.” his voice even raspier than before thanks to his set only minutes earlier. you smiled to yourself at his choice of drink before taking a sip of your own, suddenly feeling inclined to look around at the lovely architecture at sal’s, even though you had been there more than my own house. anything to avoid accidentally acknowledging his presence.

“what did you think?” your mind was pulled back to reality at his familiar voice. how can he sound talented even when talking?

you looked over at him to see his eyes already halted on yours. never had you felt small under a man’s gaze until that moment.

“m-me?” you looked around briefly. “it was great. you’re really talented man.” you lifted your drink towards him before taking another sip. your hands sweating even at just a minor interaction said a lot about your love life recently. times have been tough.

“i’m glad you liked it.” he watched as puck placed a fresh glass before him, reaching out and stirring the brown liquid in the glass a few times, admiring the liquor before bringing it up to his lips and taking a swig. he looked down at it, almost as if judging the taste.

“what’s your name?” he places the glass back in front of him, turning his body to face yours completely, running a hand through his shaggy, slightly sweaty hair, and bringing his other up to his shirt pocket, before pulling out a small cardboard box of marlboro reds. my favorites.

“y/n, you?”

you watched as he brought a fresh filter up to his lips, bringing a green lighter up right after it and cupping his hands around it instinctively.

he takes a deep inhale, enjoying every last bit before slowly exhaling the smoke as the words dripped from his mouth, “jungkook. jeon jungkook.”

you looked up at him almost in awe as he lifted the cigarette in your direction, offering you a puff.

you gently reached up to his hand, your fingers brushing against his slightly as you removed the small object from between his fingers and into your mouth, feeling your lungs rejoice as you inhaled slowly.

his eyes never wavered from yours as he watched carefully. his lids heavy from whatever drugs him and his bandmates decided to take before the show.

“aren’t you something?” his voice low and husky as he brought his glass to his lips again.

“forgive me. i quit a couple months ago. i had been behaving until just now.” the smoke filling the air as the words left your mouth. your chest burnt in pleasure, a feeling you had missed deeply. you looked down, your fingers still held it like it was yesterday. you quickly shook the thoughts from your head and reached your hand back out to him, offering him to take it back.

his eyes burned holes in yours, staring at you like he hadn’t blinked once. “you keep that one, love. i think you need it more than i do.” his gaze was dark, his presence more than just intimidating. he was almost painful to be around.

but you kept the cigarette nonetheless, your desire for pleasure overtaking your desire for comfort in this moment. his gaze never faltered as you brought the filter up to your lips once more, almost choking on the smoke as you watched him move to the seat closest to you.

“you’re quiet.” he spoke, his voice gentler than earlier.

you exhaled, creating a cloud of smoke between you both. “i am?”

he nods in response, his eyes tracing your frame, the same smirk from before never leaving his lips. “most girls can’t keep their cool when they see me, but i’ll say you’re doing a pretty good job.”

you quirk your brow in response to his cockiness. “well what makes you think i know who you are?” you lean forward, tapping the end of the cigarette above the nearest ashtray, but your movements are stopped as he grabs your wrist tightly, his eyes burning holes into yours as he guides your hand towards his mouth, placing the cigarette between his lips and inhaling deeply, before leaning back in his chair and tilting his head back, letting the smoke escape his body once more.

god this man was pure sex.

“i guess you’re right, you might not know who i am now, but you’ll want to know soon enough.”

you look up at him, taking the time to examine his tattoos carefully. the way they messily scatter up to his shoulder, getting scarcer as they move down towards his hands.

“and what makes you think that?” you feel the words leave your mouth before you have a chance to think.

he chuckles, his eyes dark as he looks back up to face you, leaning forward until your lips are barely touching, his voice just over a whisper.

“trust me baby, you’re gonna want to know who i am.”

his breathing is ragged, bouncing against your face easily at the close proximity. his eyes dancing carefully between yours and your lips, grazing along every mole and bump along the way. you feel your stomach curl at the thought of closing the distance between the two of you, breathing in his air and relishing in the feeling of having his hands touching every nook and cranny your skin has to offer up to him.

“and what if i don’t” you gain your composure enough to formulate a response, but not enough to mask the desire in your voice. and it’s obvious he can tell based on the smug grin across his face.

“then i’ll make you.”

you feel a blush creep across your cheeks as his hand reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of your face. the touch so simple, but coming from him, you could feel yourself melting already.

“such a pretty little thing.” his words raspy as he speaks almost out of breath, and you feel yourself getting hotter, almost overwhelmed by his presence combined with the crowdedness of the bar surrounding you. you feel your legs begin to twitch and shake, the nape of your neck getting stickier and stickier as his soft touch trails down your face and landing on your collarbone.

just breathe, don’t panic.

saying those things to you never help when you have a man like this touching you in ways you’ve never even dreamt.

“e-excuse me, i’m sorry.” you blurt, standing up abruptly and hurrying to the bathroom as fast as you can.

as much as you want to be with him, and you’d kill to let him take you home and do whatever he wants to you, you have nowhere to go.

you fumble into the bathroom, hurriedly locking the door and rushing to the sink, the skin he touched still tingles gently as you splash cool water on your face, doing anything you can to calm myself down.

you open your eyes, facing yourself in the mirror before taking a deep breath. “you can do this y/n, just have sex in his tour bus or something.” as much as being homeless has it’s perks, it definitely doesn’t help in terms of getting laid.

you feel your heart jump slightly at the sound of a gentle knock on the door.

“just a minute.”

your heart jumps again hearing the knock for a second time, your patience growing thin.

“i said just a minute.”

after the third knock you’ve completely lost it, storming to the door and turning the knob slightly.

“you know it’s very rude to-“ your heart stops as jungkook pushes the door open, his hands on your shoulders as he pushes you back into the doorway, using his foot to shut it behind him.

“hey what are you-“ you’re cut short once again at the feeling of his lips enclosing yours, his hands running up your waist and engulfing you fully into his chest. after a small protest on your end, you finally give in, allowing yourself to be completely taken over by him.

his lips never leave yours as he gently backs you into the wall, his hands gripping at any free patch of skin he can find, before landing on your hair and gripping it back harshly to pull you out of the kiss.

“think you can get away from me that easy, hmm?” his eyes dark and wide with lust as they land on your neck, kissing it roughly, hard enough to leave marks.

you feel a gasp escape your lips at his sudden ministrations on your neck, biting your lip to stop from any other noises to escape, but it’s too late. you feel him grin into the crook of your neck before bringing his head out to look at you once more, his hold on your hair tightening as he pulls back again gently.

“what, you like that hmm? you want me to be rough with you, baby?” his words are dripping with sex, lids heavy and lips swollen as he admires your flushed out state, feeling minuscule under him.

“what you don’t know how to respond when someone asks you a question?” he pulls back a little harder now, scalp burning at the sudden sensation.

“n-no i do.” you’re able to meekly respond, still surprised by the sudden intrusion.

“then answer it.” he grits through his teeth, his cocky demeanor from earlier melting into something much more rough and dominant.

“y-yes i l-like it, jungkook.” his ego swells at your words, knowing he can make a submissive, obedient mess out of you just like he did with the last 10 girls, and the last 10 before that.

“good girl, now how much have you had to drink tonight, baby?” his question surprises you, but you answer nonetheless.

“i-i don’t know maybe 3 glasses of whiskey, w-why?” he examines your facial expressions closely, trying to gauge your honesty to him. but he smirks, believing you to be truthful.

“just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret. now, is it okay if i touch you, baby?” his words go straight to your core as he leans in to pepper kisses on your neck, soothing the bruises that had been placed there only a couple seconds earlier.

you moan and writhe at the sensitivity, but muster a response before he can grow impatient.

“y-yes. please.” he smiles at your enthusiasm, loving how quickly you opened up to him.

“good girl. now spread.” he nudges his thigh between your knees, and you quickly oblige, allowing him to push your body further into his. you let out a gentle moan at the sensation of his thigh being pressed tightly against your core. you were uncomfortably sensitive and didn’t have the patience for teasing, considering you hadn’t been laid in several years.

jungkook smirks again at your reaction, loving how easily you respond to his touch. he gently brings his hand up and places it on the side of your neck, his other hand tightly gripping your hip to hold you tightly against the wall.

he watches closely as you fight against his hold, trying to gain friction in any way possible. he can’t help the smirk that lands on his lips.

“what’s wrong, love? feeling desperate?” his words taunt you, seeing your flushed out state knowing that his words are only driving you crazier.

“god jungkook shut the fuck up and do something already.” and at that he wastes no time in finding your lips again. his fingers wrapping tightly through your belt loops to pull you closer into him, feeling his bulge through his pants only spurs you on more. your bodies hot as you pant against each other, trying to find friction and skin to grab every which way. it’s not until his hands find the hem of your shirt that you finally feel your nervousness wash away, and your arousal begin pooling beneath you.

you pull away from the kiss briefly as he quickly pulls your shirt off and throws it onto the dirty bathroom floor behind you. the walls lined with graffiti and lights flickering dimly as you both hungrily tear at each other’s skin.

you feel a moan escape your lips as his head ducks down between your breasts, rapidly switching between each one of your boobs, messily leaving sloppy kisses on each one, and twisting your nipples as he pulls away to look at you.

“can’t wait to bend you over that fucking sink over there.” you let out a low groan at his words, his fingers beginning to unbutton your jeans quickly, fumbling with the button here and there before finally unzipping them. he smirks down at you before trailing kisses from your collarbone, down to your stomach.

“you’re gonna look so pretty bent over it begging for me to fuck you.” your gaze follows him, mouth agape slightly as you watch him slowly pull your tight jeans down over your thighs. your arousal on clear display now, making jungkook’s cock twitch in his jeans, his pants suddenly becoming too tight to bare. he lets out a low growl but continues to work your jeans off completely, tossing them behind him to fall somewhere with your shirt.

he leans before you at your feet, gently palming up either one of your thighs, admiring the small mole or freckle he meets along the way, before bringing his hands up to your underwear.

your body tenses under his touch as you feel him wrap either finger around the waistband, teasing you gently as he runs his finger along it, getting dangerously close to your core.

“see that mirror too? don’t let me catch you closing your eyes. i want you to watch while i fuck the shit out of you. see what a fucked out mess you look like when i’m done with you.” his words send shots to your core as you can no longer control the moan leaving your lips.

jungkook reaches a hand down to palm over his pants briefly at your sounds. god they made him animalistic, he’s never heard a girl sound so angelic, he already knows you’re going to take him so well.

he resumes his place on your waistband and pulls your underwear off in one swift motion, leaving them to pool by your feet as he pulls you away from the wall roughly and drags you to the sink, wrapping one arm around your waist tightly, and using his other hand to grab your chin, forcing you to look at yourself.

“look how desperate you look already and i haven’t even started yet. what, has no one fucked you like this before?” his fingers grip your chin tightly as you cower under his hold, feeling so minuscule before shaking your head no.

you quickly register his surprised expression through the reflection in the mirror, but that look is quickly replaced by a cocky grin and a darkness in his eyes.

“don’t worry baby, i’ll take care of you.” he brings his hand from your chin down to your core, teasingly grazing against your clit.

you moan loudly, tossing your head back against his chest. but he’s quick to pull his hand away.

“look at yourself or i’ll walk out of here right fucking now and leave you a needy mess.” his sudden change of tone surprises you, but you obey, opening your eyes and watching as he continues his ministrations between your legs.

he begins rubbing circles on your bundle of nerves, watching you carefully through the mirror. although he’s surprised you’re obeying, he wants to test your limits. he swiftly moves his fingers from your clit, to prodding at your wet hole, making you moan in desperation.

“god please jungkook please.” you beg for anything at this point, anything to soothe the pain within you.

“please what baby?” his voice teasing as he continues to prod at your hole, dipping in gently only to pull back out making you writhe under his hold, squirming aggressively. his gaze through the mirror only making it harder for you to contain your moans.

he pulls his hand away quickly, bringing it to your back and pushing you down against the sink counter.

“dumb fucking bitch stop moving.” you listen as he begins to unbutton his pants, watching carefully through the mirror as his dick springs out between you. big is an understatement. you’re genuinely shocked at his size, your eyes wide and you want nothing more than to start begging for his cock, but you already know you’re on thin ice.

he uses his hand on your back to hold you down against the counter. “move and i take my fucking cock out of you, understood?” your eyes widen at his request.

“wha-“ before you can question him any further, his tip is buried deeply into your cunt, sliding into you in one swift motion.

“f-fuck jungkook.” the words escape your lips as you feel him fill you up completely, your walls stretching to accommodate his size. you moan gently, loving that he’s giving you time to adjust, until you slowly realize, he’s not moving for a reason. you feel the first tear slide down your cheek.

jungkook quickly notices and tries to gauge your response before speaking. he feels no resistance between the two of you, if anything, all he can feel is the arousal dripping down your thighs and coating his balls. he’s never seen a girl get this wet before.

“awww what’s wrong baby, talk to me.” his words are mocking but you can’t help but seek comfort in them, in him.

“y-you’re n-not moving.” you sniffle, your breathing ragged as you look at yourself in the mirror. lips pouted, neck painted in bruises, face wet with tears.

“is that what you want?” jungkook reaches a hand out to your face, watching in the mirror as he gently wipes the tears from your cheeks. “you want me to move baby? you want me to fuck you?”

your cunt tenses around his cock deliciously, his words spurring you on even more as you nod desperately, looking at him through the mirror.

he smiles sheepishly, feeling a pang of sympathy for you, as well as the pain in the base of his cock begging for some sort of friction.

“use your words, love.” his voice is more gentle now as he strokes your back instead of holding it in place, trying to calm you down from the fucked out mess you’ve become so quickly. he’s never seen a girl get worked up this easily before.

you nod, gulping harshly before speaking, trying to ensure your voice is as stable as possible.

“jungkook, please move. i can’t take it.” your voice comes out in a beg, only making jungkook’s dick twitch more. he groans deeply, looking down at his cock buried deep inside of you, your legs shaking gently between him and the sink counter, and your fucked out state in the mirror before finally deciding to let go.

“if i see you look away from that mirror i stop, understood?” his words go straight to your core as you finally feel like you might get some sort of relief. you shake your head enthusiastically, showing him that you’re ready to take him, all of him.

barely satisfied with your response, but not having the energy to make you speak, he decides to let it go, reaching up and grabbing a handful of your hair as he begins to pull out slowly, plunging inside of you harder than you were prepared for.

you’re embarrassed by the noises that emit from your body as he begins to fuck you mercilessly, his hand on your hair pulling you back slightly only spurring you on more.

“god you’re a noisy little thing aren’t you? you like being fucked like this?” his voice raspier than before if that’s even possible, making you whine and shake even harder. but he no longer has the patience for your unsatisfying behavior.

he quickly yanks your hair, pulling you back against his chest.

“answer me when i’m fucking talking to you.” you gulp, feeling overwhelmed with pleasure but knowing you’ll regret if you don’t follow his orders perfectly.

your voice comes out shaky and quieter than you expected as he continues to fuck into you. “y-yes, i like it fuck i like it a lot. please keep going.”

satisfied with your response he grins, letting go of your hair completely and letting you fall to the counter. his thrusts only getting rougher and more messy as he watches to ensure you’re looking at the mirror.

“good girl, look how pretty you are getting fucked like this.” he reaches his hand forward and brushes a few strands from your face, your mouth agape as he begins to brush against your g-spot with the change of angles.

you can no longer contain the noises coming out of you, screaming in pleasure as his thrusts become deeper, hitting you perfectly every. single. time. “fuck kook, don’t stop, p-please keep going fuck.” you know your throat is going to be sore tomorrow with all the screaming, but you don’t care anymore. all you can think about is the way his balls slap against your legs, and the way his hands roam from your face down to your hips and back up again. the words dripping from his mouth that you can barely comprehend, only enough to know that they’re driving you insane. you want more. you need more.

jungkook groans watching as more slick begins to run down your thighs. and even with how wet you were you were still tighter than any girl he’d fucked. he was obsessed with the noises you were making too, they only made him want to fuck you harder, but you were drawing too much attention to them.

he reaches his hand up to your face, covering your mouth to quiet you down slightly. “it’s like you’re begging for someone to come in here and kick us out, baby. shut the fuck up before i make you.”

there was something about every word he uttered that pushed you closer and closer to the edge. you were writhing under his touch, trying impossibly hard to keep your eyes on the mirror as not to upset him, but you were nearing the edge and you were starting to lose control.

“kook, p-please.” you were able to mutter, just barely above a whisper through the crook of his hand.

he hears your voice come out gentle and shaky, slowing his thrusts momentarily to make sure you’re okay. “what is it baby?” he ducks his head forward and moves his hand slightly to hear you better. but all you can focus on is his thrusts slowing down.

“n-no, keep going, k-keep going please please.” you feel your eyes begin to water in desperation, and with jungkook in close proximity, he realizes immediately just what you need, picking up his pace again.

“you’re close, aren’t you sweetheart? are you gonna cream around my dick like a good little girl, huh?” he places his hands on your hips, guiding you down to fuck him harder, only pushing you closer and closer to the edge. you begin to moan loudly again, not caring if you’re disobeying him anymore. you were just so so close.

jungkook however, notices this along with your bad behavior, and stills his hips mid thrust, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to force you to look up at him in the reflection before you.

“what the fuck did i tell you?” his words sent a shiver down your spine and all the way to your core, tensing up around him, and this does not go unnoticed by jungkook.

“NO! n-no please please jungkook im sorry im sorry please don’t stop i promise i’ll listen!” and there it is, another tear sliding down your cheek gracefully before landing on the counter top below you.

jungkook’s heart flutters at the sight before him, your body so close to finishing, your hair a tangled mess, the tears running down your cheeks. he almost feels sympathetic.

he leans forward, tucking a hair behind your ear. “darling when i tell you to be quiet you need to be fucking quiet, understood?” his voice is gentle, almost mocking you, as he carefully pushes small pieces of hair out of your face. his other finger going down to your cheek to wipe the tears away carefully.

“you want to be good for me, right?” his voice is soft and devilish, making you clench around him once more, he bites his lip to keep a moan from escaping his mouth.

“yes, yes i do, i want to be good for you just please… im so close.” you watch as he wipes another tear from your face, returning back to his original position to admire the state of your body once more.

he leans down, watching your pussy throb around him unknowingly, the slick that was once pooling by your folds now running down your thighs, both of your juices mixed together as one. he brings a hand up to your thigh, caressing it gently and watching it shake in response.

“you want to cum, hmm?” a touch that would typically be soothing is only creating more pain and anguish for you. you want nothing more than to shut your eyes and roll your head back, but you refrain, knowing that your obedience right now is crucial to ensuring you get what you want.

“yes i do, i really do. please. show me mercy, jungkook.” you words stir something inside of him, something that he’s been suppressing until now.

he removes his hand from your thigh and instead brings it around to the front of your throat, watching your face contort as he tightens his grip.

“be careful what you wish for.” are his final words before he’s fucking you inhumanely. he’s almost animalistic as he thrusts into you deeper than you even thought was possible. if it wasn’t for the hand around your neck you’d surely be doubled over on the sink’s counter by now, or screaming at the top of your lungs. but fortunately, his restriction on your throat is making that nearly impossible, only allowing hushed squeals to escape your mouth.

“this is what you fucking asked for baby. take it.” he growls, watching as you struggle for air.

“you’re awfully quiet now, love. can’t talk?” his teasing only brings you closer to the edge, the restriction around your throat burning in the most beautiful way as you feel your high approaching again, the knot in your stomach tightening faster than you had time to prepare for, and before you know it, you’re seeing stars.

jungkook watches as you come undone around his cock, your face perfectly contorting into a piece of art before him as you squirt and cream around his cock. the tightening of your walls almost pushing him out of you. he groans loudly at the sight before him watching as you come down from your high.

“god you’re a fucking slut. you just squirt on random dudes at the bar like a dumb whore?” his thrusts are starting to become messy as he feels his high approaching, but not fast enough to leave you an overstimulated mess.

you push his hand away from your throat, gasping for air and words as you begin to plead and beg for him to stop. “too much, t-too much.” is all you’re able to get out as he brings his hand between your thighs to rub on your clit harshly.

“can’t take it? i did warn you.” his thrusts speed up even more, watching as you squirm and writhe at the overstimulation.

“ahh, n-no, j-jungkook.” watching you cry out underneath him only pushes him over the edge too, burying deep into you as he fills you up completely, his hips stalling out when he feels the tension in his abdomen has finally released.

he removes his hand from your clit and brings it up to your mouth, ignoring your protests and forcing you to lick it clean.

“good girl. that’s a good girl.” he praises, his other hand going up to the side of your head to brush your hair down gently, trying to tame it as best as he can.

you’re completely warn out, oblivious to the mess you made of not only yourself, but of the bathroom. you forgot how often you come here, probably should’ve went outside at least.

jungkook pulls out of you carefully, doing his best not to spill too much of his load from your already dripping cunt. he leans down, admiring his masterpiece before retrieving some tissues and wiping you up as best as he can.

“are you okay? i apologize, i can get really into it sometimes.” his voice is gentler now, calm, almost like nothing ever happened. he barely looks affected by the encounter at all.

“im more than okay.” your voice sounds borderline distraught compared to him, wishing you could remove the embarrassment of knowing how much that interaction affected you. it’s unlike you to have hookups, especially with a man you’ve just met.

he chuckles at your response, finishing his tidying before bringing himself back up to look at you, taking your chin in his hand and carefully examining your neck to make sure there’s no bruising.

“im fine, trust me. im a big girl.” you blush under his intense gaze. you’ll definitely feel the aftermath of your interaction tomorrow, but that was for your future self to worry about.

he smiles down at you before pinching your cheek cutely. “you sure are.”

#bts #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook

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esotericbluntbaby · 3 months ago

Note

hear me out. . . high sex with hamzah😍.

he’s so hot.

sneak

hamzahthefantastic x reader

description: a rough date causes bad decisions to be made. upset, you decided to call your ex, who also so happens to be one of your closest friends, to smoke with you.

mentions: smoking, drug use, angst, smut, happy ending, nsfw!

woahhh first smut fic.. don't worry for those who are getting tired of smut fics! i will continue to balance out of fics with a mixture of sfw and nsfw, with the sfw most likely being angst!

the dating scene simply wasn't for you.

sure, you've dated people in the past, though, you knew always that they were supposed to be temporary in your life. you had the mindset of acceptance when it came to temporary and permanent; the concept of allowing things to happen and allowing everything to fall into place as if a higher being would spin a wheel for each and every outcome of your life was common for you to think about.

however, the date you went on made you wonder about how thin the line is between permanence and temporariness is.

you thought the date went well. you both arrived at the purring lady on time; the bar's ambient lighting amplified the romantic tension between you and him. in fact, the night flew past without much awkward silence. you thought you knew him quite well by the end of the date, wishing him a safe ride home and kissing his cheek.

about to text him about a second date, which you urgently hoped for, you realized the texts were green; he had blocked you without a single explanation.

so, you were currently sat in your apartment windowsill eating ice cream and gazing out the window at the city's skyline. the sense of comfort from both your home and the area around you allowed you to heal from the night a bit faster; almost as if the sole action was the tylenol to your dating scene headache.

being honest with yourself, you were hoping to bring him home. you found him attractive, almost as if he was on the cover of some obscure magazine. your date was the kind of person that you'd see once and the sheer image and thought of them would wrap around your head like the bandaid to the loneliness that overtakes you. you wouldn't mind being touched by him. however, he's gone now, so the bandaid was ripped off.

scrolling through your text messages, you realize hamzah texted you. the relationship that you and hamzah had used to be romantic. in fact, he was one of the people who taught you that some people are permanent; though you aren't together anymore, you still remained close. you would be lying if you said you didn't really feel anything for him anymore. no matter what, you think you'd always be a simple text or phone call away from him. no matter what, you think you'll always have some level of feeling towards him. though, some resentment will always be there; he was still the reason you tried to find love in dating apps instead of that whole friends-to-lovers deal.

hamzah

10:43 pm | yo

10:43 pm | how'd it go?

you

11:24 pm | ehhh

11:25 pm | i thought it went well

11:24 pm | i guess he didn't bc im blocked now lol

11:24 pm | fuck me for trying to get back into dating again

hamzah

11:26 pm | r u okay?

11:26pm | im like here if u need to talk abt it

11:26 pm | or i can js come over

11:28 pm | we can smoke it out

11:29 pm | i got the mango wraps that u like

you

11:29 pm | i thought u didn't like the mango ones

hamzah

11:30 pm | i dont

11:30 pm | but u do

you

11:30 pm | doors open for whenever

hamzah

11:31 pm | dont leave ur door open wtf lock it n js unlock it when im there

11:32 pm | what if theres a murderer on the loose

you

11:33 pm | holy shit hamzah

hamzah

11:34 pm | sorry coming

thankfully, you didn't get murdered by a man in a mask wielding an axe.

hamzah and you were currently on your couch, eyes ruby and lidded with the weed in front of you guys glistening in your lines of sight. hamzah began to roll you a blunt using the mango wraps you enjoyed; he never, ever allowed you to roll on your own. he always preferred doing it for you ever since you both found out that each of you use weed as a pastime for boredom. however, for you, it started to morph into a way to stop hurting. the date from tonight wasn't the first date to have gone "horribly," in fact, it was a sequence of many. you started to feel better now that you aren't using on your own; hamzah was there now. maybe the pain from your heart justifies the pain you're risking towards your body. more importantly, hamzah gives an extra buzz; it was both the blunt in between his fingertips and himself that was helping you feel less lonely.

you reached for the blunt in his hand, itching to take a hit. however, he moved it slightly away from you. confused, you looked up at him, gazing at him. the black beanie, hiding most of his curls besides the ones at the nape of his neck, surprisingly complimented the redness of his scelera. gazing at him, your eyes twinkled as if the fire from the lighter appeared in them. this was the feeling you felt like you'd always achieve from the mere sight of him; a feeling of companionship.

"what's up?" he asked, not allowing you to take the blunt from his hand.

you snapped out of the gaze he intertwined you with, "huh?"

"you seem more out of it than usual," he took a puff from the blunt between his fingers, "i swear you never smoked this much."

"i don't- i haven't smoked a lot."

"you just took like 15 drags from it."

"i did?"

"yeah, you did. so, what's up?"

you slowly blinked, "i don't know."

"you do. tell me, talk about it- maybe it'll help."

you steal the blunt from his hand, taking a long hit as he stares are you with an unfamiliar emotion in his eyes. possibly it was worry, or pity, or a cross mix between the two. maybe, he realized how much you changed since the two of you ended things.

"i guess i just feel lonely."

"how so?"

"i've been on 5 dates in the past 5 months, once every 4 weeks- and i guess like, i dunno, the more i go on these dates the more i realize how, like, shitty everyone is. this last guy i went on a date with, noah, i thought it went well. kissed his cheek and everything- the full 9 yards for a first date. then i realized he blocked me as soon as he left. it's like somethings driving people away."

"i'm sorry."

"for what?"

he takes a long drag out of cylinder, "that people don't see you the way that i do."

"what do you mean?"

"you know what i mean, like-" he hesitated.

"don't think about it too much. just say it as it is."

he started, "when we were dating, i saw you as human."

"i mean- obviously."

"no, you don't get it," he softly assured, " i think before you, or like, dating you, i worshipped all the people i was with like they were some god. i got on my knees and saw them as this higher being to praise, to the point where my relationships constantly belittled me. i was just some guy and they had the fate of everything in their hands. why would someone with all that power love someone like me?"

"sorry, i'm lost-"

"then, i got to the point of my life where i dated you and, for the first time, i was with someone who was equal. i didn't have to work my ass off to keep you in my life; in fact, the time where i was so upset that i wasn't working my ass off, you took, like, 80% of that relationship for a full week and carried it on your back. i thought you'd just leave. when i was struggling, i thought you wouldn't want some burden for you to carry on your shoulders, weighing you down like you were walking up hills with rocks taped to 'em. no, instead you picked me up. i was crashing and breaking, constantly, and somehow, you taped all the cracks together and now i'm alright again. yeah, a higher being plays with fate and lives and chance and all of that, but there's so much in the world that they leave broken and unattached. only a human would take the time and effort to mend me back together."

you looked at him with furrowed brows and a pit in your heart, "hamzah, i don't get it. if you felt this way towards me, why'd you leave?"

"feel."

"what?"

"i still feel this way about you. i never stopped."

your eyes began to water and you couldn't tell if it was from the weed or from the secrets being let out of the closet, "you're fucking with me. what the fuck?"

he watched as your eyes glistened and began to rub your thigh comfortingly. you two sat on the couch in silence as thoughts ran through both of your heads; it was now up to the both of you if voicing the voices in your head was a good idea or not. simultaneously, you both decided to take the leap, with hamzah breaking the quietude of the room.

"i was scared."

"of?"

"if things didn't work out- if we kept going in the relationship and somehow we started arguing more or ignoring- i don't think i would've been able to handle it."

"i wanted to handle it."

"well-"

your voice cracked in the middle of your sentences, "no, hamzah, i could've handled it because i was with you. you left me! you left me when i needed you. i keep on trying to fill the space you just left in my heart and my apartment with random guys off of any dating app available and it just doesn't fucking work. why would you leave me like that? i mended your cracks and then you suddenly decided to give them back to me, and now i'm trying to fix it but i just can't. why would you do that, you fucking ass? and why would you tell me about it right now?"

"i'm sorry-"

"no, this should've never happened, i should've never invited you over. what the fuck?"

"kick me out, then."

"what?"

he stood up, with you standing up right after, "you regret this. it's fine. kick me out. tell me to leave."

"fuck you, hamzah, you know that i can't just do that."

"i'm telling you, kick me out."

you pushed him, "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"keep doing that. push me as much as you want, i deserve it."

your hands found its way to his chest, pushing as if you didn't beg for him to pull. he stared at you with a certain glint in his eyes; a certain neediness you haven't seen in him in a while. to say this was only a reaction of frustration towards him and his actions towards you would be a lie. it was everything all at once; the frustration from all the dates, the frustration from all hamzah put you through, and the frustration of not being touched ever since being with him. you were sexually pent up. you pushing him was actually the only form of physical touch you've had in ages. he took it. he simply took all the pushes you threw at him.

over time, the pushes got less and less aggressive, resulting in him being able to wrap his arms around you as you softly cried. you weren't fully sobbing, but it was still enough tears to the point where his shirt was slightly soaked. he didn't care; he never cared that his shirt was wet from you crying. he continued to hold you as he sat both of you down, back onto your couch.

"why would you do that to me?"

he kissed your forehead, "baby, i'm sorry. i'm so sorry."

he held you for what seemed like ages, stroking your hair and wiping your tears with his thumbs. you were confused; what do you want out of this? what does he want out of this? you wreathed out of his arms and sat beside him, both of your red tinted eyes remaining on each other's.

"i can leave now, if you want. it's two in the morning. i'm sorry."

"no."

"i'm not good for you. i leave when things get hard, baby, and i don't want you to go through that aga-"

you reached for his cheeks, thumbs in the fronts of them, and leaned towards him. your heads tilted to opposite sides, your lips connecting with bridges, mountains, and oceans of emotion between them. his hands made its way to your hips with his fingertips denting the stretchmarks, slightly tracing them as if his eyes were still opened. his tongue reached the inside of your mouth with hunger and desperation laced in his saliva. three minutes of sole kissing went by, before you pulled away.

"stay. please."

"what do you want from me, baby?"

"you know what i want from you. what do you want from me?"

"take a guess."

his hands made their ways to your thighs, pulling you over onto his lap, before connecting your lips again. he stood up, holding you with his muscular forearms, and navigated his way through the living room with his eyes still closed. the layout of your living room hasn't changed since he was last changed; hamzah was observant. he knew what he was doing.

reaching your room, he laid you onto bed with aspects of both foiling gentleness and roughness. getting on top of you, his lips made its way down your neck, making dark, blood-restricted marks down your body. it hurt; yet, you craved the pain it gave you. as he reached down to kissing your hips, you took off your shirt, leaving you in a bra. he stopped kissing you to hover over you, instead taking his beanie and hoodie off of himself in swift motions.

"do this often?" you teased.

he kissed you on the lips, "only with you."

he took off your shorts, revealing a black, lace thong underneath.

"you really just wear this shit around your house?"

"you were coming over," you started to take off his sweatpants, "i needed to prepare for the unexpected."

"god, you're so fucking hot."

the two of you laid in bed, him hovering over you and placing kisses and marks all over your body. he had always been a tease; you knew that hamzah liked to take his time with it. he said it feels better for the both of you if he does. however, currently, you weren't having it.

"hamzah, please."

"hm? what's the matter baby?"

"i need more, baby, please."

"are you still on birth control?"

"yeah, i am."

he took off his boxers, revealing the same 6 inches that you craved at night; actually, touched yourself to the thought of at night. his hand made its way to his dick, stroking it before moving your underwear to the side. as it slid inside of you for the first time, a burning sensation overtook the pleasure the entrance made you feel. your eyes teared up once more, followed by hamzah using his hand to wipe it off.

"hurts- fuck- it hurts-"

he kissed you lovingly, "it's okay; there's no rush. i'll start when you're ready."

you adjusted to his size as you made out with him, pulling away to tell him that he could move now. the pleasure he gave you couldn't even be measured; his movements made you forget all about the emotional pain that consumed you. there was comfortable eye contact, both of you looking at each other with the same eyes that started off high about 2 hours ago. your mouths remained slack jawed and wide open, occasionally kissing each other on the lips or mouth. suddenly, it felt as if a rope was about to snap inside of you.

"i'm close. fuck- i'm close."

he moved your leg up, resting it on his shoulder as his pace sped up. your eyes rolled back as ripples of pleasure echoed throughout your whole body. hamzah was good at this; he knew what he was doing and how to make you feel as good as you possibly can. with a few more strokes, you felt him release inside of you. he soon collapsed beside you, as you both caught your breaths.

hamzah turned to you and kissed you on the forehead, "i missed you."

"i missed you, too."

"what does this mean for us, now?" he hesitated, "i mean, am i gonna leave tomorrow and suddenly it's just like none of this happened, or-

"do you regret it?" you asked him, slightly scared of the answer.

"hey," he put his hand on your cheek, "i just spent the damn near the entire night telling you about how i could never regret you. fuck, i literally bought the wraps you like just for you. not to mention, i fucking hate the way they taste and they're a pain in the ass to roll and yet i did both smoke and roll them this entire night. i don't do that shit for just anyone. you tell me, do you think you regret it?"

"no. i don't. i can't regret you either, even if i tried."

"we'll start over. i'll do things right, this time, i promise."

you realized the line between temporariness and permanence wasn't as thin as you thought it would be, as now a temporary lover finally realized his permanence in your life.

authors note!

i am honestly not that experienced with smut, so i hope u guys still mess with it >_<

#hamzah fic #hamzah imagines #hamzah x reader #hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah fluff #hamzah x y/n #hamzahthefanatasticxreader

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 5 months ago

Text

AGORA HILLS- JOSH WASHINGTON

pairing: bestfriend!josh x onlyfans!reader

word count: idkk sorry i wrote this in one sitting in the app

summary: the whole group thinks you're an innocent angel, but josh found your little secret account on onlyfans a few weeks earlier. little do you know, he wants to be a feature.

warning: IMPLIED SMUT (like they basically do it oki), fingering, praise, dumbifaction, swearing, petnames, size kink, manhandling, mocking/ teasing, filmed sexual activity

not spell checked im sorry if theres any mistakes!

"boy, you're the one, you're the only man/ me and you on my OnlyFans/ holy cow, you're the holy trin'/ hold me down when a hole need dick"- doja cat, agora hills

josh felt like a complete and total pervert.

he couldn't help but let his gaze linger as he stared at you from across the room. he was undressing you with his eyes, leaving every trace of you vulnerable, despite your clothes still being on, trying to ignore him and focus on the rest of the group.

it was late in the night, everyone sitting around the fire in the lodge, warming themselves before bed. drinks had been passed around, some blunts smoked here and there.

but he was high off of the info he had about you. and you didn't even know- and it was killing him.

josh's attraction had been bubbling up for quite some time, and he couldn't help but think you wanted him too. a sweet, innocent, naive girl, too scared to hurt a fly- you often became flustered at his comments and flirty remarks. with you- he wasn't even trying to be funny, or witty.

he was so fucking truthful when he always whistled at you, giving your hip a gentle pat as he'd put his arm around you from behind. pipsqueak was your name, because he was so much bigger then you.

everyone was.

but as sexual secrets were being passed around, and you claimed you had none, everyone teasing you- he knew that wasn't true. he was scrolling only fans as one did on a late friday night after smoking- and he had stumbled across something that made his heart drop, his dick get even harder.

it was you- though you didnt show your face, he could tell just from your body it was you. the body he fantasized over for so many nights, here- in front of him.

and just his luck, you were letting people join for free on this one night. it was fate. clicking on yoru profile, he skimmed through all your content, few things- as it looked like you had started not too long ago.

he couldn't help but touch himself as he stared at your naked mirror selfies, or little skirts, and if he was lucky- a video of you touching yourself with your skirt hiked up.

the skirt you wore now was the same on in that video. he watched as you hid your face in embrassment at everyones teasing, and couldnt help but let his lips curl up into a smirk.

"fine, if you havent done anything, do you at least like someone?" you murmered somethin lowly, turning your head towards the fire.

"what was that pipsqueak?" he taunted, his long leg reaching over to nudge your leg. "do i have to?"

"yes bitch! we all spilled, you gotta give us something here."

you took a breath, eyes catching his for a split second. "i like josh."

"ayooo i knew it!" mike grinned cheekly, looking over at josh. "we all knew that." jess teased, nudging your arm.

"don't hold that over my head please." you begged at josh and he winked. "everything is over your head baby." he teased and you groaned.

"alright. well just cause i said that, i deserve a hot shower before bed. goodnight gang." you stood up, giving the group a little salute before turning in the wrong direction.

"wrong direction pips." josh called, making the others laugh. he had to come and direct you, turning you the other way, his hand rubbing little circles on your back, fingers slipping under your shirt.

he was warm and you couldnt help but lean into him as he waved goodnight to the group, throwing them a wink as he guided you down the hall to your room.

"so you like me, hm?"

"that was a drunk thought." you sputtered out as he guided you futher from the group.

"you've had two drinks and a puff of my blunt. you're sober baby."

"whatever.." you mumbled under your breath, making him chuckle. you bit your lip as his hand slip to rest on your hip, fingers stretching down to brush the curve of your ass.

god you wanted him. it was fucking killing you, and him. his cock strained against his jeans, and he wasnt sure how much longer he could wait.

it was like a leash had snapped, when you had admitted to having a crush on him, and even that you wanted to fuck him. he had all the conformation he needed.

"you stumbled into the empty bedroom and he turned the lock, walking over to you- making you stumble back and hit the edge of the bed.

"so you wanna fuck me? is that it?"

"dont taunt me." you moaned softly, fingers gripping the sheets subtly.

"im not trying to taunt you baby, you know i just joke. but you really want me to fuck you? i thought you were miss innocent?" he toyed, leaning down enough to make you go down on your elbows. he bit his lip, eyes tracing your cleavage through your top. your breath went shallow.

"i am joshy i swear."

"really miss pornstar?" you froze.

"i'm not a pornstar joshy dont be silly." his eyebrow cocked, and he leaned close enough you were pratically smuthered by his large frame, tounge darting out to lap at your neck.

"is that so misskittycat?" you moaned as he nipped your neck, teeth biting the skin playfully.

"i dont know what your talking about.."

"you touch yourself so pretty baby. ya know i touched myself to that? it was so much better then in my head. such a pretty pussy." he hummed.

"maybe you can show me how you touch yourself so i can, yeah?"

at this point, you were putty. you couldnt hold up the innocent act any longer. youd do anythng he'd ask, and do it happily.

"i think about you when i do it." you confessed, and he chuckled deeply.

"yeah? you wanna say that to the camera sweetheart?" you turned, seeing an old camcorder opened on the dresser.

"wh-"

"dont worry, its not on. just had it here from a few trips ago. did you want me to turn it on?"

your eyes widdened. "d-did you want to?"

"i asked you the question pips." he smiled as he placed his large hands on your hips, fingers brushing your skin and making you dizzy/

"w-we could film ah- content if you want.."

"yeah?" his voice dropped, and you felt yourself swoon as he kissed you gently, slipping his tounge in your mouth faster then you could think. "yeah" you moaned out as he moved his hands down to push your legs open.

he broke the kiss, reaching over with ease to click the camera on, and you watched as the little red light started to blink. "we're rolling honey. but its just you and me okay? just focus- hey- focus on me okay?" he gripped your chin and guided your gaze back to him. you dumbly nodded, leaning into his touch.

"is this okay?" he asked softly, guiding your hand down to touch your soaked panties. you nodded.

"why dont you show me how you touch yourself baby? so i do it just how you like." you felt heat rise in your cheeks, limbs tingely as you dipped your hands down your panties.

"cmon show the camera baby." he manhandled you, picking you up with ease to turn you around, tugging your panties to the side. you shamelessly dipped your finger inside, moaning softly as you curled it.

"oh yeah like that?" he teased, finger darting up to rub your clit. you squrimed at the pressure he applied, rubbing slow gentle circles. "y-yes fuck joshy"

"oh dont get shy on me now." he laughed, taking your finger out to replace it with his own. you let out a gasp, a look of surprise on your face at the larger sensation, his fingers reaching spots you didnt even know fingers could reach.

"oh i know baby, its so much bigger then yours hm?" his fingers curled and you bowed, letting out a loud moan as you squirmed again. his dirty talk had your head going empty like static on an old tv.

"yeah baby im gonna take such good care of you."

#josh washington #josh washington smut #joshua washington #josh until dawn #until dawn josh #josh washington x reader #josh washington imagines #josh washington x you #until dawn fanart #until dawn #until dawn remake #until dawn remaster #sam until dawn #until dawn 2 #rami malek #rami malek x reader

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homesick4la · 6 months ago

Text

complicated — hamzahthefantastic

1. pushing it down and praying

contains: a little cheating..smoking, some nsfw content but nothing crazy

summary: after half a year of no contact, you run into your ex at a party.

a/n: kinda got this idea from the lizzy mcalpine song bc i am obsessed with it. so listen if you haven’t lol. also i decided to split the fic but it’s only gonna be two parts!

it’d officially been six months since you and your ex boyfriend went no contact.

the first few months were hell for you.

of course, you went through the stereotypical phase of eating ice cream and crying to rom-coms directly after your break up. but that short-lived phase gradually shifted into one that was much more melancholic once the two of you decided to go no contact.

everyday that you woke up, you were engulfed by an emotional numbness. a dull pain that served as a constant reminder of your grief.

you were grieving what the relationship was and what it could’ve been.

you had always envisioned your future with hamzah in it which is why the lack of communication between the two of you left you absolutely soulless.

you had never experienced such an intense love before him. everything was picture perfect in the beginning. it was even better than the movies.

but after two years, the miscommunication between you to became destructive.

things that should have been minor disagreements escalated into full blown arguments. you’d yell over each other, ignoring each other’s feelings and growing overwhelmingly defensive.

eventually, it became exhausting. you were both so angry all the time and too stressed with work or school to address it properly.

ultimately, you two mutually decided to call it quits. additionally, you later agreed that going no contact would be the best option for both of you.

now, half a year later, you were finally trying to move on.

after reading an endless amount of self-help books, you learned that after experiencing every stage of relationship grief (which you had), you theoretically should be ready to search for love again.

despite your reluctance, your best friends had forced you to join all the dating apps- urging you to hook up with someone new to get your mind off your ex.

it took days of swiping left on men that were literally the epitome of a walking red flag for you to finally find a man suitable enough to go on a date with.

his name was matthew. he recently graduated from college and instantly started a 9-5 working in finance. he spent his free time hiking. he had a golden retriever.

he was kind. he was stable. but he wasn’t hamzah.

you two had gone on a few dates. you had even hooked up after a couple of them.

as guilty as it made you, each hook up was spent closing your eyes- imagining hamzah on top of you. that it wasn’t matthew deep inside of you but it was hamzah; the one that knew your body like the back of his hand and knew just how to please you every time.

you were giving your all to this “moving on” stage but you simply weren’t satisfied.

that being said, when matthew had asked you to attend an old friend’s party with him on your last date, you politely agreed.

now here you were, shuffling through a crowd of sweaty bodies with a man that barely knew you guiding you by your waist.

“how do you know the host again?” you ask, nearly yelling over the music that was blasting through numerous speakers.

“he’s a friend from my hometown, remember? from ottawa?”

“right, right. i remember now.” you look up at him. you did not remember.

you two make your way into the kitchen. he pours shots of vodka into red solo cups and hands one to you.

you feel the familiar burn of alcohol stinging your throat as you down the shot.

“you look gorgeous tonight by the way. forgot to tell you earlier.” he tells you, running his hand up and down your waist.

hamzah would’ve told you earlier. he would’ve been kissing up and down your neck before you even finished your makeup while getting ready. reiterating how beautiful you are each time his lips left your skin.

fuck. there you go again. comparing everything matthew said or did to hamzah.

he’s not in your life anymore, you think to yourself. it’s time to get over him.

“thank you.” you answer matthew, mustering up a smile.

“you ready to go meet my friends?”

“yeah, let’s go! i’m excited to meet them.” you were lying straight through your teeth. but you continued to put on this enthusiastic act simply because he was nice.

he leads you to the main room where you meet a couple of his hometown friends. one named kyle. another named josh.

they were essentially carbon copies of matthew. frat bros that grew up and became finance guys.

you quietly listen as the boys catch up on one another’s lives.

until something, someone, catches your eye.

hamzah. he was across the large room with his back faced toward you. but it had to be him.

you could recognize the shape of his shoulders and you knew that those dark curls stuffed under a camo hat could only belong to him.

you stomach drops. somehow, you had never ran into him since the breakup.

the sight of him mixed with the alcohol made you sick to your stomach.

“hey”, you tap on matthew’s shoulder. “i’m gonna go find a bathroom real quick.” you explain.

“okay, just come find me when you’re done.” he replies before resuming his conversation with his friends.

you turn around, walking in the direction of a long hallway that you knew must have a bathroom.

you turn the doorknob of the first door you find and miraculously, it is a bathroom.

you clutch onto the counter, letting out a sharp exhale.

one of your hands grips to your stomach while you continue taking deep breaths.

in for 4. hold for 7. out for 8. you repeat.

a breathing technique that hamzah had taught you.

you hear the doorknob rattle. before you can say anything, the door is being launched open.

“oh shit! sorry!”, you hear a familiar voice as the door is being pulled closed again. “wait- y/n?”

the voice belonged to mandy. hamzah’s bestfriend’s girlfriend. you forgot that her and martin were from ottawa. they must’ve known the host of the party.

she steps inside, shutting the door behind her.

“are you okay? what’re you doing here? i haven’t seen you in so long.” she pulls you into a hug.

“yeah i’m here with some guy i’ve been seeing. but i saw hamzah and just needed to take a sec.” you explain during your embrace.

she pulls away, looking in your eyes.

“did he see you?”

“no, he was facing the other direction.”

“oh okay”, she nods and looks down.

“yeah. i haven’t seen him since we ended things so, it gave me a bit of panic attack.” you chuckle awkwardly.

“i’m sorry, y/n. break ups suck.” she pauses, “when i went through my first break up, i saw my ex at an amusement park about a month after. and i got so upset, i threw up in front of one of those stupid basketball games where you can win a big teddy bear.”

you laugh at her story, “seriously?”

“yes! it was so bad, the worker ended up giving me one of those huge bears out of pity!” she exclaims.

once your laughter dies down, mandy breaks the silence once again.

“he still talks about you, you know. every once in a while.”

every once in a while. you had thought of him every single day.

“every once in a while?”

“yeah. seems like most of the time it’s too hard for him to talk about. but sometimes, he can’t help himself.”

maybe he did think of you as often as you did.

“anyway”, she continues, “whose this new guy?”

she smirks teasingly.

“ugh. mandy, he’s so boring! but he’s so nice! he’s just- he’s nothing like hamzah. i don’t know- he’s really sweet, it’s just not, exciting? i guess?”

she nods. “well, if you want my advice..i say you shouldn’t stay with someone just because they’re nice to you. a lot of people are nice. only a few people will make you feel ‘sparks’ or whatever.”

you nod understandingly.

god you missed talking to her.

“i gotta get back to martin but if you want to talk to hamzah, he went out on the balcony. and let’s not have to run into each other at a random party to catch up again, ‘kay? text me.”

“okay.” you hug her tightly, “we’ll go for coffee soon.”

she smiles before exiting the bathroom.

you look into the mirror, trying to decide if going out on the balcony is a good idea.

“fuck it.” you whisper to yourself.

you didn’t know when you’d ever get the opportunity to speak to hamzah again. you had to go out on that balcony.

you walk out of the bathroom, sneaking past matthew who was still deep in conversation.

turning the corner past the main room, you find the sliding glass door to the balcony.

there he is. alone. sat on the small balcony, lighting a joint that hangs between his lips.

with his camo hat he wore a pair of dark wash jeans and white t-shirt.

you take a deep breath before reaching to slide open the door.

his head instantly whips towards you, his eyes widening a bit.

“hi.” you break the silence. you feel awkward. what are you supposed to say to someone you’ve been completely heartbroken over for the last six months?

“hey.” his eyes soften as he speaks.

“i, um- ran into mandy. she told me you were out here.” you explain to him.

he nods slowly. “come sit.” he pats the space on the floor next to him.

you do as he says. plopping onto the ground and pulling your knees to your chest.

he takes a drag from the joint between his fingers before pulling it out and handing it over to you. you two had shared a joint countless times during your relationship, making the action feel natural.

you bring the joint to your lips, sucking on it for a few seconds before blowing out the smoke and handing it back to him.

“how’ve you been?” he asks.

his voice was calm. you wondered how he could act so nonchalant in this situation.

“i’ve been okay. school’s been stressful.” you say, trying to avoid ranting about the emotional turmoil you’ve experienced since you two separated. “how about you?”

“good. just working a lot. martin and i upload multiple times a week now and run the merch ourselves so it’s been busy, but it’s fun.” his face lights up as he talks about it. he’d always been passionate about his career.

“that’s great, hamzah. i still remember when you had him up on that cracked screen just to have him on the pod.” you laugh.

“oh god, it was a shit show trying to get that thing to run properly.” he chuckles at the memory.

it falls silent for a moment.

“you still gonna become a journalist?” he asks, cocking his head to the side while looking at you.

“that’s the plan, yeah.” you answer.

“good. you were always good with words.”

“yeah?” you smile.

“of course, it’s why i was always calling you smarty pants.”

you chuckle at the nickname you’d forgotten about.

“i thought you were calling me that because of my attitude.” since childhood, you were teased for being bit of a know it all.

“i mean- yeah that was part of it.” he laughs, “but it was mostly because of that big brain of yours.”he taps his pointer finger to your temple.

“well, i don’t feel very smart these days.” you admit. “my grades have been slipping.”

“seriously? how come?”

“just had a rough last couple months.” you try to remain vague.

“your new guy not keeping you happy?”

your eyes widen. how did he know about matthew?

“did you see me with him inside?”

“yeah. i was about to walk into the kitchen when i saw you two together.”

you exhale deeply. “oh, uh. sorry about that.”

“answer my question, y/n.” his voice was low, serious.

“what?” your voice tinged with confusion.

“are you happy?”

you think for moment. you could lie, tell him you’re happy, let him believe that you’ve moved on. but everything in you wants to be honest with him.

“i’m trying to be.” you respond quietly before taking the joint from his hands and up to your mouth once again.

his eyes were glued to you as pushed the smoke from your mouth, like he was studying your face.

“that guy’s not right for you.” he shook his head as he spoke.

“hamzah, you don’t know him.” you’re not sure why you feel the need to defend matthew but you do.

“i can see what kind of guy he is—the kind that can’t even begin to grasp the complexity to you.” he explains.

“you’re high, hamzah. and you’re jumping to conclusions.”, you shift your position on the ground, “based on looks, might i add. didn’t they teach you not to do that in elementary school? the whole don’t judge a book by its cover thing? did you tune that part out?” you say as you stand from your spot. it pained you how well hamzah could read people- how accurate his description of matthew was.

“baby all this rambling makes it seem like you’re avoiding the truth—that he’s not good enough for you. and you’re not happy. i mean has he even noticed how long you’ve been gone?”

you forgot how stubborn this man could be.

you let out a defeated sigh. “it’s none of your business, really. and you’re right, i’ve been gone too long. i should get back to him.”

you steal the joint from his hand and take one last drag before you start to walk back towards the sliding glass door. you hear hamzah rise to his feet behind you.

“y/n, wait.”

you turn around, facing towards him again. “yeah?”

“i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said that.” he apologizes.

“s’okay.”, you shrug your shoulders. “it was nice running into you.”

he nods agreeably.

you turn back around, beginning to accept that this was it. your last few seconds with him before you were back to no contact.

your hand reaches the sliding glass door, about to pull the door open when you hear hamzah’s voice once again.

“y/n, don’t go.”

don’t go.

“what?” you question, furrow your eyebrows.

he takes slow steps toward you, ditching his joint by throwing the remains of it to the floor.

he keeps walking towards you until you’re just a foot apart. he grabs your hand, pulling you to him and shifting your bodies so your lower back rested the black metal railing of the balcony as he stood directly in front of you.

his face was inches from yours. you could so easily lift your head and kiss him.

“come back to my apartment with me.” he whispered.

“why would i do that?” you replied, feeling the pace of your breath quicken due to the close proximity.

“because you miss me.” the corner of his mouth upturned into a cocky smirk. “and i miss you.”

you were speechless. all you could do was stare into his eyes, trying to decipher whether or not those words had actually just left his mouth.

you swallow harshly before speaking, “i’m here with someone else, hamzah. i’m going home with him.”

you try to stand your ground, but god you wanted to give in.

he scrunches his nose and shakes his head as he places his hands on the metal railing behind you, trapping you between his arms.

“but he doesn’t know you like i do.”

before you can respond, you feel his fingers brush your hair away from the side of your neck.

he places his hands on waist as his head falls to your neck, his plump lips hovering above your skin. your head instinctively leans to the side, giving him full access.

“does he know how much you like being kissed right here?” he whispers softly, feeling his lips move on your skin as he speaks.

he presses his lips to place where your neck and shoulder meet, remembering how much this spot had an effect on you.

you shut your eyes in utter satisfaction. you hated how much of an effect he had on you.

you bring your hands to his neck, then weaving your fingers through his curls as he continues kissing, sucking, and nipping at the sweet spots on your neck.

his hands float down, gripping onto your hips- another minuscule touch that he knew drove you crazy.

with his hands on your hips, he pulls your bodies closer. suddenly, the thought of matthew has completely vanished. you’re completely caught up in hamzah, and it felt so good- indulging in his recognizable scent and familiar touch.

you let out a soft moan as his hand falls to your ass, grabbing it shamelessly.

“hamzah, hamzah— i can’t, we can’t do this.” you say breathlessly, using your hand to tap on his chest.

hamzah steps back, his breath unsteady as watches you carefully, his gaze lingering on your lips. for a moment, you think he isn’t going to say anything— that he was just going to turn around and walk away.

but then he leans, his voice low “meet me outside in five.” his tone carrying both a question and a promise.

you feel a rush of nerves as he walks away, opening the sliding glass door and slipping back into the crowd.

you stay out there for a moment, catching your breath.

you shouldn’t go. you know you shouldn’t.

but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you.

next part: with you all night

a/n: yuppppp part two coming very very soon and it’s gonna pick up right where this leaves off. sorry if this is long and boring, tbh i just needed something to distract myself from everything going on lol…k bye muah

#hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah x y/n #hamzah imagines #hamzah x reader #hamzah fic #hamzah #Spotify

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quitesureapp · 7 months ago

Text

A Step-by-Step Guide to Using the Craving to Quit App for Beginners

Quitting smoking is a challenging journey, but with the right tools, you can successfully overcome the cravings and lead a healthier life. One such tool is the Craving to Quit app, designed to help smokers kick the habit for good. In this guide, we’ll provide a comprehensive review of the app and show you how to get started with it.

What is the Craving to Quit App?

The Craving to Quit app is a powerful smoking cessation tool based on mindfulness training. Developed by Dr. Judson Brewer, a renowned addiction psychiatrist, the app focuses on helping users become more aware of their cravings and gradually break the habit of smoking. Unlike other apps, it takes a behavioral approach, emphasizing the mind-body connection to help you quit.

Why Use Smoking Cessation Apps?

Smoking cessation apps have become a popular choice for individuals looking to quit smoking. These apps provide users with support, tips, and resources to resist cravings. Some features include progress tracking, community support, and mindfulness techniques. The Craving to Quit app is one of the best apps to help quit smoking because it not only tracks your journey but also helps you understand and overcome cravings in real time.

How to Get Started with the Craving to Quit App

If you're a beginner looking to use the Craving to Quit app, here’s a step-by-step guide to help you navigate through the app and make the most of its features:

1. Download and Install the App

The Craving to Quit app is available on both iOS and Android platforms. To start, simply visit the App Store or Google Play and download the app.

Once installed, you can set up your profile by entering some basic information such as your smoking habits, the number of cigarettes you typically smoke, and the reasons why you want to quit.

2. Explore the App’s Features

After signing in, take a moment to explore the app’s features. Some of the key functions include:

Quit smoking day counter app: Tracks how many days you've been smoke-free.

Daily exercises: Mindfulness exercises designed to help you deal with cravings.

Community support: Connect with other users for motivation.

Progress tracker: Monitor your progress as you go through the program.

3. Begin Your 21-Day Program

The Craving to Quit app offers a structured 21-day program that guides you through the process of quitting smoking. Each day, you’ll receive new exercises, tips, and strategies to help you stay smoke-free. The daily program includes:

Mindfulness practices: Learn how to become more aware of your smoking triggers.

Educational videos: Short lessons about the psychology behind smoking and how to beat cravings.

In-app notifications: Helpful reminders to complete your daily exercises and stay on track.

4. Mindfully Address Your Cravings

One of the app’s standout features is its mindfulness-based approach. Whenever you feel a craving, the app encourages you to pause and become aware of what’s happening in your body and mind. By observing the craving without judgment, you reduce its power over you.

Here’s how to use mindfulness when a craving hits:

Pause: When you feel the urge to smoke, stop whatever you’re doing.

Breathe: Take a few deep breaths and focus on the sensation of your breath.

Observe: Notice how the craving feels. Is it in your chest? Stomach? How strong is it?

Respond: Instead of acting on the craving, allow it to pass while you remain calm.

5. Use the Quit Smoking Day Counter

The quit smoking day counter app is a great motivational tool that keeps track of how long you've been smoke-free. Every day, you can see your progress and celebrate small victories along the way. This feature can be particularly helpful for individuals who thrive on visual indicators of their success.

Craving to Quit App Review: Why It Stands Out

The Craving to Quit app review consistently highlights the app’s innovative mindfulness-based approach. Here are a few reasons why it’s considered one of the best apps to help quit smoking:

Behavioral approach: Rather than focusing solely on willpower, the app teaches users to become more mindful of their cravings and behaviors.

Structured program: The 21-day guided program ensures that you have daily support and encouragement.

Accessible content: Educational videos and mindfulness exercises are designed to be simple, engaging, and effective.

Community support: Users can connect with a supportive community of individuals going through the same experience.

Additional Support: The QuitSure App

While the Craving to Quit app offers a fantastic solution for those looking to quit, it’s not the only option. If you’re exploring other apps, consider the QuitSure App as well. This app also provides tailored guidance, daily exercises, and motivational tools to help you on your quit-smoking journey.

Tips for Using Smoking Cessation Apps Effectively

To maximize the benefits of the Craving to Quit app or any other smoking cessation apps, consider the following tips:

Stay consistent: Make sure to log into the app daily and complete the exercises. Consistency is key in building new habits.

Track your progress: Use the app’s tracking features to monitor how far you’ve come. Seeing your progress can be a great motivator to keep going.

Engage with the community: Connect with others in the app’s community for support and encouragement.

Stay mindful: Whenever a craving strikes, use the mindfulness techniques provided by the app to observe your feelings rather than acting on them.

Conclusion: The Best App to Help Quit Smoking

The journey to quitting smoking is a challenging one, but tools like the Craving to Quit app make it easier by providing structured guidance, mindfulness techniques, and community support. By following the steps outlined in this guide, you’ll be well on your way to a smoke-free life.

Remember, you’re not alone. Whether you choose the Craving to Quit app or other quit smoking day counter apps like QuitSure, the right support is just a download away.By using these smoking cessation apps, tracking your progress, and remaining mindful of your cravings, you'll have the tools you need to finally quit smoking and lead a healthier life.

#quitting smoking benefits #best quit smoking app android #best quit smoking app iPhone #best quit smoking tracker app #quit smoking calculator app

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plutoswritingplanet · 10 months ago

Text

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.1

a/n: guys... you can't tell me y'all weren't expecting this. Title from the song "Vicarious" by Tool. Really wanted this to be a one shot, but as usual, I have shit to say. Will be Cross-Posted on AO3 as soon as they open the site back up.

Warnings: Nothing Explicit YET, some sexist remarks and creepy behavior from the man of the hour, Questionable Corporate Ethics, Set Before The Events Of The Show, Reader is written to be Plus Size.

Summary: Sidekick projects have been scraped completely after numerous accidents, but as a viral video of your hero work makes rounds through the public, you're forced to take part in a six moths program, that will forever change your life, as well as Homelander's

PT.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

It all started with a video. An insignificant, minute-long nothing posted to TikTok by an account, that up until then, made short edits specifically of A-Train and some B-list no-name hero. Quickly, it gained traction, making rounds throughout the app, bleeding over to other services, all the way to national television. First, an independent local station, soon picked up by a Vaught-affiliated one. Normally, that's where it would've stayed. Stillwell would extend an offer of a chance at an interview, alongside one of the Seven. But for some unknown reason, that small piece of nothing climbed all the way up to the floor eighty-two of Vaught Tower.

Well, to be quite honest, Stillwell knew exactly why she was in this situation. After a very messy graduation speech at a small college, Homelander lost almost twenty points with a young adult demographic. It would've been an easy fix, if not for the delicate nature of the breached subject, and Madelyn knew, this sudden interest in a nobody from nowhere, who, coincidentally, fit the demographic perfectly, was anything but a happy accident. It was a test, both for Homelander, and for her.

Which is why, Madelyn Stillwell and Homelander, the Homelander, the most American supe to ever exist, are cooped up in your living room, glancing about the modest decor, as you pour iced tea into three glasses with tacky fruit print all over them.

You've refused every single invitation, every single Vaught representative that knocked on your door. Your inbox was flooded with emails, your phone number was blowing up two, three times a day. And yet, your answer remained the same. You were not interested in a collaboration, thank you for the opportunity, please leave me alone.

That wouldn't fly, not with Madelyn, who, pushed by the constant nagging from the upper levels of the Tower, decided a more direct approach was the right one. So, she dragged herself into this… Well, to be quite honest, bum-fuck-nowhere, and brought her star pupil with her. No one would refuse working with Homelander himself, after all. At least that's what they both thought.

-I appreciate the effort - there's a practiced, borderline bored intonation in your voice, and Homelander's hands flex on his thighs - But I've already talked with, um, Jerry? From HR? The answer is still no.

Your house is small, but cozy, with sunshine pouring through the windows, reflecting onto the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway to your kitchen. An artist's home, through and through. Homelander hates it, hates the ordinariness of it all. He was so much above all this, sitting on your worn down couch physically hurt him. And the smell. The smell was the worst part. Reheated lasagna, mixing with a lingering aftertaste of cigarette smoke, and an undercurrent of weed, that almost made him retch. If it weren't for that damned video, you would be nothing more, than another brainless ant under his boot.

-Well, we - Madelyn offers her best, brilliant smile, gesturing to herself and Homelander - are very passionate about discovering new talent.

Your mouth twitches into a knowing smile, and for just a second Homelander feels flames of intrigue rising in his chest. Not for long, though, because you recline back into an armchair, taking a sip of the iced tea, and his eyes flash to the way your throat moves as you swallow. You could be hot, he concludes. Young, and with a truly spectacular rack. But there was something off about you, like you were constantly on the verge of dying from boredom, some invisible weight always on your shoulders. No amount of fake smiles and high-end makeup could cover that up.

He'd fuck you. If you'd beg him.

-We want to offer you a new, revised contract - Stillwell extends her hand with a rather thick binder of papers, and you hesitate for a moment, before reaching over. - Hopefully, it will make you reconsider.

You don't even show them the decency of looking through it, placing it on the table instead, and Homelander feels an itch form itself in the corners of his eyes. Stillwell looks taken aback as well, her brilliant smile faltering for just a second. You on the other hand, take another sip of your drink, before placing it right in the middle of the contract, the moisture from the ice creating a wet circle in the paper.

Your heartbeat is even, it doesn't pick up even a smidgen, when you look between Stillwell and America's Greatest Hero, who is slowly but surely growing annoyed by your persistent indifference.

-Thank you, but I already said no - you repeat, and this time, Homelander shifts on the couch.

-And why not? - he asks, tension entering his voice in a way, that makes Madelyn squirm - Countless supes, with much more impressing powers than you, I might add, would kill to be in your place.

"To work with me" goes unsaid, but he can see in your eyes, you read it from thin air of superiority engulfing him. Annoyingly perceptive. You nod your head slowly, before turning away from them, looking out of the window of your living room. There's a small patch of grass, and a second house, so similar to yours, but at the same time, completely different. Your chin sticks out in its direction, and Homelander follows with his eyes.

There are paper butterflies stuck to the windows, cut out clumsily, most likely by children's hands.

-My neighbour, Missus Johnson - you explain - She lives there, with her three kids. Her husband died in a fire caused by your friend, Lamp Lighter.

Madelyn stills, Homelander raises an eyebrow.

-I can afford this house, only because my mother signed an NDA, after The Deep sank my father's fishing boat. - again, your heart stays completely unaffected - Accidentally, of course.

-I was not aware… - Madelyn starts, and it's hard to decipher whether she's talking to you, or Homelander.

Someone at the research department is going to have a very unpleasant evening.

-That's alright - you interrupt her with a raised hand and a small smile - This whole neighborhood is filled with similar cases. And I'm very, very attached to this place.

Why, Homelander couldn't tell. For all he knew, this was some shit hole, right in the suburbs outside New York. Not even the half decent ones. A forgotten by everyone, dying piece of land, that housed insignificant humans, who would never amount to anything, you included. He lived in a lavish apartment, inside a miracle of modern architecture. Who wouldn't want the same?

-And - there's something new entering your tone of voice - If I'm going to betray everything I stand for, I need to give something back to those people. Does your contract reflect that?

Madelyn bites the inside of her cheek, her scrutinizing gaze making your skin itch. Still, she sighs after a moment, excusing herself with that same, practiced expression she uses on every shareholder. Homelander follows her out, nodding his goodbye to you, but before he can leave this dump, Madelyn stops him with a hand pressed against his chest. She gives him one look, makes him aware that his job isn't over, and he can feel the muscles of his face twitch.

So, obediently, he lingers in your doorway, taking a few calming breaths, before facing you once more.

You've changed positions, your armchair abandoned in favor of sitting by the window, one leg bent in a way, that shows quite a nice view of your calf, your long skirt pooling around you. Homelander's eyes trail up with mild interest, and he indulges in his X-ray vision. He's just being curious, nothing more.

Your underwear is, well, for the lack of a better word, plain. The bra seems to be slightly ill fitted, digging into the sides of your breasts, making them almost spill from under your pits, and Homelander swallows thickly at the sight. There are little, pink hearts on your panties. The colors are dull and washed out from frequent use, and the once frilly lace is starting to fray at the edges.

Apparently Vaught's compensation was not sufficient for you to buy some decent undergarments.

-Do you want something to eat? Drink? - you ask from your place by the window, and Homelander is snatched back to reality - Do you even need food?

The bluntness of the question startles him, makes him feel defensive, but Madelyn wanted results, so he puts on a mask of his trained smile, and crosses the room. Back straight like an arrow, he looks wildly out of place between all the linens and cushions. He doesn't look at you, trapping your smaller form in the confinement of the window, as he watches over the neighboring house.

-I'm not hungry - he shoots down your offer with a wave of his hand - I've already eaten.

A lie, but he'd never stoop low enough to take any leftovers, especially from you. Still, the offer seems nice. He does like being pampered, even if it's with lackluster things. Your eyes linger on his boyish smile, another practiced thing, and Homelander shifts focus to your heartbeat once again.

-Alright then - your voice sounds indifferent as ever - Well, if you don't mind, I'm going to make some dinner for myself.

He offers a small nod, and watches you from his position by the window, as you slip past him. It does require quite a lot of manoeuvering, but you manage to stand without touching him. He has to admit, watching you balance, as you try to avoid him, was amusing. Still, your heart beats calmly, and, not wanting to be left on his own, Homelander follows you to your kitchen. The beads of the courtain drum delicately over the bronze eagles on his shoulders.

The fridge is buzzing something awful. He can see just how run down the inside mechanism is, the hinges squeaking unbearably, as you reach for a box of reheatable spaghetti. There's cheep beer inside, a moldy lemon, a carton of milk pretty close to expiring, and a half-used bottle of spicy ketchup. Homelander doesn't even recognize these brands, they're not sponsored by Vaught, that's for sure.

Cheap, tasteless, basically offering no nutritional value.

-Would you step back for a second? - he asks, already wrenching himself between you and that pathetic excuse of a meal.

Again, your body sways to avoid touching him, and for some unknown reason, he finds it very amusing.

Then, you watch with a raised eyebrow, as he turns towards your spaghetti, a red sheen overtaking his eyes. An unbearably hot beam shoots out, making the insides of the plastic packaging sizzle. Finally, that gets him a reaction, as you gasp and reel back, colliding with the barely functional fridge. Your heart does a flip inside your chest, and Homelander soaks up your shock like a man starved.

Only when the red fizzles out of his gaze do you dare to move, approaching him slowly, your eyes bearing into him in a way that is frankly uncomfortable.

He turns to you with another one of his charming smiles, trying to handle this sudden scrutiny in as flippant a way as possible.

-I had no idea you can control the intensity of your lazer - you admit, voice slightly breathless.

-Pretty neat, huh? - perhaps he's fishing for more attention, but he doesn't care, because your eyes light up for just a moment in sheer wonder.

-Super cool, actually.

Yeah. Yeah, that's fucking right, he is super cool. And your heart is beating so much faster, and finally you're looking at him as if he's more than just some guy, some living advertisement you're determined to ignore.

And then your eyes shift, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, as you zero in on his shoulder. Something akin to a wave of amusement flickers across your expression, and to his general surprise, Homelander wants to know what's the cause of this shift. Your lips pull back into a smile, teeth peaking at him in all their glory. He can almost imagine them running down his skin, before he pushes the thought back all together, as the lower portion of his suit becomes slightly too tight for comfort.

-Well, thank you for saving the spaghetti - your eyes hold a spark of amusement - My hero.

Okay, alright, he's hard. There's no point denying it. However annoying and insignificant you were moments before, your quip goes straight to his loins, burning enough, for him to consider just how mad Stillwell would be, if he'd have a taste of this newly discovered talent.

If he stands any closer to you, he might find out, because this special little moment you two have shared, is crudely interrupted by Madelyn clearing her throat. Homelander nearly jumps back, you however barely turn your head, reaching for your spaghetti and arming yourself with a fork.

-I've spoken to my supervisor - Stillwell announces, clearly peeved by the way you start chewing on the noodles - A new version of the contract will be emailed to you as soon as possible. Hopefully it will be satisfactory.

-Thank you, Miss Stillwell - you answer with an inclination of your head.

With that, Madelyn nods her goodbye at you, refusing to shake your hand, which does amuse you, you're not going to lie. Homelander however, goes all out, capturing your fork-weilding arm, his fingers sneaking around your wrist like a bracelet. Or a shackle. Then, you watch with a confused arch to your eyebrows, as he brings you closer, until his lips press onto the protruding knuckles. Now that, admittedly, gets your heart going. You were not an easily embarrassed person, not by a long shot, but you could feel blood rushing towards your face all the same.

He has to hold his breath, as he kisses your hand in that charming, gentleman way he's seen in old movies. The smell of pasteurized tomato sauce blows in his direction, like a direct assault on his senses. Still, he needed something that would make you swoon. If everything failed, he knew how to be intimidating, but for now, perhaps he wanted to try something different. Something that would yield much more pleasant results, for the both of you. Mostly for him, let's be honest.

Madelyn asks him to stay back, spy on you throughout the night, and he begrudgingly agrees, if only to mask the fact, that he would do so of his own volition, had she not brought it up. And as such, he floats into the rapidly cooling air, disappearing into the darkening sky, where you wouldn't be able to see him even if you tried. He could see you however, and hear you, and he was about to make the most of the situation.

He spends the whole evening just watching you exist within your space. Normally, it would piss him off beyond belief. You weren't doing anything scandalous, anything that could warrant his attention. And yet, as he floats on, in time lowering himself just slightly, to get a better view, he just can't seem to look away. The spaghetti is gone in approximately fifteen minutes, as you inhale the supermarket food, walking around the living room, the kitchen, getting a few bites on the porch even. You seem so utterly unfazed by the events of the past hour, like you haven't just had America's Greatest Superhero try to convince you to work with him. It's honestly insulting, this lack of reaction.

Then, finally, he can hear a distinct ping of a new email come from your laptop, and you sit down on the couch with a small huff. Your eyes move, your lips twitch, and then he hears your heart stop in your chest. As if working on autopilot, your hand travels up, covers your mouth in shock, and you lean back against the worn-down sofa, eyes glued to the screen illuminating your face in a blue-ish light.

-...fuck… - you whisper, and despite himself Homelander floats even closer to your window.

Finally, he has the chance to peak over the curtain. To sneak into the backstage of the award winning production of your defenses, and see what goes on in those bored eyes of yours, when they're not guarded. And what he sees makes his suit feel much too tight, his body too warm. Quite an unusual thing to get so worked up about, but he's the goddamned Homelander, he can get hard whenever he fucking wants. And so, as saliva gathers on his tongue, he presses himself against the tiles on your roof, all the warmth of the day soaking into his skin through the thick material of his suit.

With a shaky hand you reach over towards your phone, putting in a number and pressing the call button, before standing straight from the couch, almost knocking the laptop over.

-Hey, what's up? - someone says on the other end of the line, and Homelander tries to focus more on the words flowing from the receiver.

-Oh, you gotta sit down for that one - you warn with an anxious chuckle, taking the familiar place by the window.

With your free hand you reach up to open the window all the way. Then, Homelander sees your fingers slip between the pillows and pull out a rather beaten up pack of cigarettes.

Naughty, naughty, he thinks, watching you produce a lighter from that same hiding place.

-Alright, I'm sat like never before.

The voice sounds vaguely female, although the shitty quality of your phone makes it hard to decipher. Your lips pull back into a toothy grin, and you blow out the smoke through the window. It curls upwards and dissipates into the air, right above the roof, where Homelander swallows thickly around a coughing fit.

-You will not believe who visited me today…

-The ICE - the voice deadpans, and you snort around another huff of smoke.

-Pretty fucking close, let me tell you - he doesn't appreciate the joke, not at all - Fucking Homelander.

The line goes completely quiet for a moment, and with every second your grin seems to be growing.

-Deadass?

-Yup - your lips purse, and Homelander zeroes in on the expression - Flew in all Star's Spangled Glory with some Vaught big fish. They tried to convince me to join the Seven.

-And obviously you said yes, because what the fuck else do you do in that situation?

Your grin slowly fades away, and you lean your forehead on the window frame.

-You didn't?

-I didn't.

Again, it's quiet.

Homelander shifts a bit in his position, adjusting against the warmed up tiles of the roof, his X-ray vision bearing into you. Out of curiosity, he looks deeper, eyes floating over your insides. You're relatively healthy. Some vitamin deficiencies, but nothing too serious. And despite that nasty habit lodged between your fingers, your lungs are clear, at least for now. There's a softness to your body, your muscles barely visible, as if you're just another gray human. Oh, and there's a bit of an eyesight problem forming, not enough to warrant glasses, but that shouldn't take long, considering your lifestyle.

-The contract they gave me was really good, you know - you muse to the phone, your leg dangling from the windowsill - Six months of working under Homelander, a Sidekick kinda situation.

-I thought they scraped the Sidekick program - the person on the other side wonders - Too many casualties or something.

-Yeah, well I guess they want to bring it back.

-Why did you say no then? I'm sure they pay is gigantic.

Again, you smile. This one much more reserved, bordering on sad. There's that strange kind of exhaustion settling into your bones again, same one Homelander noticed when he first saw you. Your shoulders slump forward, and you curl into yourself between the cushions.

-It was, it was… - you mutter - But I needed something more, for the neighborhood, ya know?

Your caller hums softly in understanding, and Homelander feels like something is passing him by. Some unspoken fact, that you and your friend find obvious.

-And - you hesitate, eyes flickering towards the laptop, your heart beat picking up ever so slightly - They sent me a revised contract. And it's fucking good. Really fucking good. It could help this entire place get back on its feet.

-But you still don't want to - the voice says for you, without judgement.

-No - you sigh - I really, really don't.

-Say no then - your friend supplies, and once again Homelander feels a flame of annoyance start to burn within him - No one else knows about the contract, there will be no expectations.

Slowly, you nod your head, clearly relieved by the way your friend reacted to the news. Homelander however, caught you right where he needed you. That's your lever. Not seduction, not intimidation, just plain, stupidly human guilt.

-Thank you - you whisper into your phone, finally smiling again - Oh, wanna know one more thing?

-Obviously.

-Homelander's wearing a padded suit.

Something's stuck in his throat, as he reels back from his position. Before he can stop himself, his eyes begin to glow red, because how the fuck did you know?

-Okay, that's bullshit.

-Unless his shoulder dislocated in the middle of talking, then no, it's definitely not bullshit.

Your friend gives out a choked laugh, one which you mirror with your own. If Homelander wasn't so utterly flabbergasted by your (correct) observation, he would've stopped to appreciate the sound. As it stands, however, he pushes himself off your roof, a couple of broken pieces falling off of the tiles. And then he's up in the air, cutting through the winds, headed straight for the Tower, leaving you in the comfort of your insignificant, smelly home.

The contract is leaked before the sun is up.

You're awoken to thousands of news articles flooding your timeline, all listing the truly wonderful and selfless points in the fated email. With a white face, you read them all, the speculations, the theories, the angry comments about you being chosen without an actual casting, while all those up and coming supes are busting their asses in auditions.

Soon enough, you're visited by every neighbour possible, congratulating, thanking you. A barbecue is set in the street, as a way of celebration, and you want to throw your phone, and subsequently yourself into the nearest river.

Madelyn Stillwell sends you an email, scheduling a meeting at the Vaught Tower. No need for pleasantries at this point, you stare at the bare bones invitation. "We eagerly await the start of our partnership" looks back at you, mocking your resolve. And thus, the end of your life as you know it begins.

"Project Delinquent"

The words are printed in an ugly, corporate font, and they stare back at you, outlining the mold you're supposed to fit in, in such a perfect way, it actually, almost makes you retch. True, during high school you were quite the little rebel, but people grown and learn, and seeing your character be watered down to that simple word, does send a wave of nausea through your insides. Even if this is hell of your own making, even if you're ready to swallow it all down with a smile, there's a pang of humiliation stinging your heart.

The armchair in Stillwell's office is uncomfortably narrow. It barely has enough room to accommodate your hips, and you wonder if this design is intentional. There is a growing ache in your calves, as you sit so close to the edge, you can't fully relax into your position, balancing on your feet instead. The armrests dig into your sides, and the way the sun is shining through the gigantic windows of the office, is shaping this charade of a meeting into an overstimulating nightmare. Still, you endure. For all the wonderful benefits enclosed in your contract, the charity work Vaught is going to supply.

Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself, stuck between the marketing department representatives and a literal Devil of a woman.

Madelyn Stillwell doesn't know what to make out of you. Your files were filled with all sorts of questionable activity, especially around the college area. It's honestly a miracle you've managed to get your degree, and attend all those silly little demonstrations at the same time. Your criminal record has been wiped clean, weeks before you even agreed to sign the contract, just in case any leaks would find their way into the media. Leaks that were not orchestrated by Madelyn, of course.

High school rebellion was almost too easily marketable, Madelyn decided to focus on that part of your life as much as possible, her vision slowly coming to fruition. All she needed, really, was cooperation. And while you seemed to be mostly receptive to her ideas, she needed to make sure Homelander was on his best behavior. Which, well… Could go sideways in the worst way imaginable, but Stillwell tried to have some faith in her best superhero.

The idea of releasing details of your contract to the public, was a stroke of genius, she did not expect from Homelander, and she made sure he was thoroughly rewarded. With him, it was always better to choose the hands-on approach, unfortunately. With you, however, ideals were the key. Whatever feeling of solidarity you harbored towards your neighborhood, provided a leverage relatively easy to control. Still, as Stillwell looked you over, crammed into her office in your, frankly, lousy attire, she couldn't help but be just a tad worried about your compliance.

-…And then - the marketer continues with a dramatic gasp - Homelander comes in. America's Greatest Hero, offers you a mentorship. And you…

You look up at the representative with a rather sour expression. They have to work on that too. Media training was crucial. You won't be able to sell anything, if you keep grimacing like that all the damned day.

-… Are starstruck - your mouth twitches - You strike up a deal, selfless. A rebel with a heart of gold. Finally, you can make some real change happen, so you push aside your anti-corporate values, to discover, that Vaught is so much more, than you could possibly imagine.

It's hard not to laugh, and you swallow thickly, biting your lip, as a middle-aged woman you don't recognize gets up from the couch, and makes her way to the wall opposite of your torture chair. There, tucked in a corner and hidden under a black cloth, stands a mannequin, roughly your size. With a flourish you find utterly out of place, the woman tugs at the cape, and as it falls to the floor, so does your stomach. You can't hold it in any longer. A rough snort of laughter rips out of your nose, and you cover your mouth instantly.

-That better be a laugh of delight - Ashley, a ginger menace, mutters under her breath, and Stillwell turns to you with a tight expression on her face.

-Something the matter?

-I mean - you take a deep, grounding breath, tying your amusement in the back of your throat - I knew it's going to be skimpy, but this is…

You look around the room, seeing various stages of corporate outrage, and then you lock eyes with Homelander. Stillwell insisted on his participation in the meeting, as the both of you are supposed to work closely together, and throughout the whole ordeal, he looked borderline ready to die of boredom. Now, however, his eyebrows lift in a curious manner, as he takes in the, to be completely honest, horrendous costume, and your full figure. Something dangerously close to disgust twists your features, as he shamelessly drags his eyes all over your body.

Who would've thought America's Sweetheart was a fucking creep?

Rolling your eyes, you get up from the cursed armchair, your knees cracking loudly. Crossing the room, you take a closer look at the clothing, or rather, lack there of. Torn fishnets, plaid tennis skirt, and a corset top, made out of some leather-like material. Truly, a fetishists wet dream. Your fingers sample the fabric of the skirt. Surprisingly stiff, it seems to beg for a wardrobe malfunction. With a frown pulling down your lips, you lift the material up, and as expected, find no safety shorts underneath.

Homelander watches you intently, as you inspect the costume. Just the thought of your soft body in this skimpy, corporate bastardization of a rock star, makes heat rise in the lower part of his stomach. With every disapproving pull of your, and don't quote him on that, perfect lips, he's more and more convinced this whole charade is just an early birthday present. He'll have to thank Stillwell. Or better not, because as soon as he throws her a sidelong glance, he discovers, she's already looking at him. With a rather tense expression at that.

He feigns innocence, almost raises his hands in mock defeat, but decides against it at the last second. You're still watching him, torn between inspecting the costume, and shooting disgruntled looks in his direction.

Then, as if pulled by some invisible force, your hand sneaks to the front of the corset, fingers closing over the full cup, where your breast will soon reside. You give the mock leather two squeezes, and a high-pitched laugh wheezes out of your lips. Homelander's head nearly snaps with how fast he turns to look at Stillwell, confusion clear on his face.

She's looking at you cautiously. He knows that expression all too well, he's seen it multiple times during their partnership. She's calculating, with bated breath, just how much of a problem you'll inevitably become. How to turn it around in the company's favor, how to steer you in the right direction, should the need arise.

But then, you clap your hands, still giggling quietly, and turn to the designer, who's been watching your reaction with a growing distaste.

-That's one hell of a push-up bra - you comment with a raised eyebrow - My tits will fly straight out of this, if I even think about moving my arms.

Now, that's something Homelander would love to see, and you note his leering face with an uncomfortable shift in your posture.

-Your physique has to be god-like. There's no shame in a little padding - the designer answers simply, and your eyes glimmer with amusement.

-Oh, I bet - your eyes float for just a second in Homelander's direction, and he wonders if lasering you down right now would be too harsh of a reaction.

The image had to be kept up, however, and he deflects your blatant provocation with a bright smile. Or rather, it would've been a bright smile, if his cheek didn't twitch in a way, that portrayed exactly how forced his pleasantries are.

-There will be a press conference, seven PM sharp, where you'll be introduced to the public - Ashley informs you, her eyes glued to her tablet - Homelander will give a welcoming speech, explain that you're a temporary member of The Seven. Then, you'll need to say a couple of words. We'll send you the talking points ASAP.

-Right… - you mutter, not particularly thrilled by the idea of public speaking.

Stillwell looks over her shoulder towards Homelander, giving him an expectant, raised eyebrow. Slowly, he moves from his spot by the window, hand extended in a greeting, teeth flashing in a smile. Your eyes involuntarily shift towards his rather sharp canines, and for the first time, since you've signed the contract, you truly feel uneasy. His eyes are almost unnaturally blue, a perfect, American shade, that glimmers just a tad too dangerously. There's no need for super senses, he can feel your nerves in the very air you breathe.

-Welcome to The Seven - his voice is smoother than you've ever heard before - Fireball.

Wait a god-damned minute.

Confusion covers all previous feelings, and to Homelander's growing annoyance, you leave him with his hand extended, in favor of turning towards Stillwell.

-That's not my name - you point out, and Madelyn nods her head in a practiced expression of understanding.

-Due to some copyright intricacies, we can't let you use Smirnoff - she explains.

You suck in a deep breath through your teeth, looking back towards the costume. A moment's hesitation, you close your eyes as you breathe out, and once again Homelander feels as if he's able to peak under a carnival mask you carefully placed upon yourself. He lifts it just enough, sees the way muscles on your neck twitch. Your jaw sets in a way, that is slowly becoming intoxicating, and then you turn back to him.

-I'm honored - your voice is hollow, locked far away in the column of your throat, and you don't have enough strength to even attempt a smile.

That's alright, he has enough charm for the both of you, his imposing stature pushing towards you, as his arm sneaks around your shoulders.

Fuck, you're warm. He can feel the heat of your skin seeping into his costume. There's a vaguely familiar smell clinging to your form, mixing with the scent of cigarette smoke. Jasmine flowers, he concludes, and absent-mindedly remembers a rather large bush growing in your backyard. He wonders, if you'd let him fuck you, if he showed up with a bouquet at your door. Women seemed to like those, and although you didn't strike him as the most romantic person, he's positive he could charm his way into your pants.

-I'll show you to your room, sweetheart - perhaps he's laying it on a bit heavy with the nickname.

He can hear Stillwell's heart jump, and he immediately knows, he's going to have to sit through a stern talk later today. You, on the other hand, wrench your head to the side, disgruntled with this new form of familiarity. Your entire body goes tense, and you try to wriggle yourself further away from him. On instinct, his fingers dig into your shoulder, a mockery of a friendly expression, and with just a small fragment of his true strength, he pushes you forward, out of Stillwell's office.

He can do whatever he wants, and Madelyn is getting awfully pushy with guarding you from him. You're just a temporary toy to satisfy the higher-ups. A six months worth of an experiment, that he's forced to be a part of. After your contract is up, Vaught won't care whether you live or die, and you bet your rather ample ass, he's going to exploit that to the fullest. Not only is it borderline insulting, to deny him life's simple pleasures, it's pathetic.

-Nervous about the press? - he asks in a light tone, his jaw clicking softly, when your slide out of his grasp as soon as the doors close.

The casualness of this question throws you in a bit of a loop, but with a couple of rapid blinks, you're back to normal, letting him lead you towards the elevator.

-Public speaking isn't my best asset - you mumble.

Homelander presses the call button of the elevator, then leans against the wall, watching you with a strange twinkle in his eye.

-Sounds like someone's not a people person - he notes, wiggling his finger at you in a manner that is confusingly playful.

-I am a people person - you defend yourself, albeit a bit awkwardly - Just… Not when there's a lot of people.

He laughs at that, a practiced, almost theatrical bark that's as fake as his hairdo. All you have the strength to do, is flash him half of a smile. Thankfully the elevator pings before any more small-talk is required, and you slip into the confined space, standing in the corner. His eyes roam freely all over your body, a shameless act that makes your guts twist, makes the already small space of the elevator even more stuffy. And then, he enters after you, pressing a button to the right floor, and taking a spot much too close to you, than what's necessary.

You suppose it's one of the things you'll have to get used to. This constant invasion of your personal space. Perhaps, if it were someone else, someone that wasn't as empty as you, those actions would've been more intimidating than annoying. Alas, as you watch his chest rise and fall in steady rythm, out of the corner of your eye, his actions remind you of a petulant, spoiled child, rather than America's Greatest Hero. "I can't play with this toy? And what if I do this?" For just a second you entertain the idea of gentle parenting Homelander, and the thought makes the corner of your mouth twitch.

-Something the matter? - he asks, tension sneaking into his friendly tone.

-Just happy to be here, sir - you answer, and he knows it's a blatant lie, another one of your snarky provocations.

Doesn't matter for now, there will be a time to teach you some manners.

The elevator arrives at the right floor, and you bolt out of your place as soon as the doors slip open. Homelander follows closely behind, before closing the distance in a couple of long steps. Then, he's in front of you, and you nearly collide with his form, as he suddenly comes to a stop, in front of a pair of large doors. "Fireball" is etched into a small plack, and you throw the offending piece of metal a withering glance.

-That's your stop, sweetheart - he comments, and once again, you grimace at the nickname - Take a look inside, I'm sure it will blow your socks right off.

Why is he talking to you like you're a fucking child all of a sudden, you'll never understand. The door clicks softly, as you open it, revealing your living space for the next six months. The sight chokes a laugh out of you, because truly, the ammount of "punk" memorabilia is staggering.

-Does cocaine addiction come with the package, or…?

He doesn't even react to your joke, and you don't blame him. For all his creepiness and fake interest, he doesn't strike you as the funniest person on earth. There are guitars hanging over a rather large bed, there's a pristine stop sign next to them, which you suppose is meant to look rebellious. The usage of leopard print is tacky at best, and you truly start to wonder if they even consulted someone out of the corporation to design the space. Most likely no, wouldn't want to waste resources on such a small project.

-Fireball - Homelander's voice is barely above a whisper, but it makes your heart jump all the same.

He's standing so closely behind you, you can feel the warmth of his breath at the back of your neck, but for some unnknown reason, you can't force yourself to move. Instead, you feel him take a deep breath trough his nose, his chest brushing against your back. Your eyes stay glued to a drum set, pushed against a gigantic window. Light reflects off of the cymbals, in your mind you're already playing it, far away from this nightmare of a superhero.

-I'll see you at the press conference - Homelander's hand clasps itself over your shoulder, squeezing a couple of times, as if testing the softness of your body - Don't even think about being late, young lady.

You don't know when he dissapears, as you stand there, frozen. One foot over the threshold of your room, breathing shallow and borderline panicked. It could've been seconds, could've been hours, until your head finally snaps to the side. He's not there anymore, you're alone in the corridor, and as you slam the door closed behind you, something you've only suspected before becomes abundantly clear.

There is something deeply wrong with Homelander.

#my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #plus size reader #the boys amazon #the boys x reader #homelander #the boys fanfiction #homelander fanfiction #do we have to have a talk about how liking a character doesn't equal endorsing their actions or are we good?#it'll get much darker later down the line but for now have this blurb of barely conscious writing

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