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yanderenightmare · 2 months ago

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♡ TW: NSFW, dubcon, bathroom sex, bullying, overall just really filthy smut, virgin insert, virginity loss, somewhat dom reader, somewhat bully reader, somewhat yandere reader

♡ FEM reader

You look like one of those girls that never smiles. Like, if he were to take that empty seat next to you in the lecture hall, you’d scowl with stink eyes and then proceed to fully ignore him. Yeah, a real bitch. That's what you look like—scary. He bets all your socials are filled with the same picture—the same deadpanned pouty face over and over, every single one with hundreds of likes and comments saying “Wow, babe!” followed by a dozen emojis from besties and horny admirers. Selfies in the mirror, showing off skin in your tight tops and short skirts—similar to the outfit you’re wearing now. Captions saying, “You can look, but you could never touch.” Yeah, he bets you’re a real attention whore. And the worst part is that you’re not even overselling, either. You’re gorgeous—even with that sour look on your face, he’d pay cold, hard-earned cash in exchange for a pair of your worn panties.

Yeah, there’s no way he’d dare sit next to you. He’s already sweating bullets just thinking about it. Even though you’re one in a million similar girls who wouldn’t give him the time of day, he's still one in a million loser incels who would do anything for it. And that’s the cold reality.

Even if he’d like to get just a whiff of your sweet perfume, he can’t. The status quo forbids it. He’s afraid the jocks will smell fresh blood in the water the moment he does, then swarm him in a matter of seconds, circling before tearing him to shreds. They’d beat him to a pulp in the bathroom, smash his head in over the sink—piss in the toilet, then flush it down with his bloodied face—and he’d have to walk reeking of it all the way home.

So, no—he really can’t sit next to you.

But no other seats are available, and the lecture is starting soon…

Why did absolutely everyone decide to show up today?

Oh fuck it, this isn’t high school. College bullies surely don’t bother with petty cases like this, right? They’re all about their frat initiations and rivalries to have enough spare time to beat him up over improper seating. Oh, but what if you’re one of their girlfriends—you’ll tell on him, and then he’ll definitely be beaten up, maybe even killed.

No. He’s overthinking—like always. No one is that mean. If you don’t like him sitting there, you’ll just tell him. And he’ll move. No harm done. Right? He’s not sitting in the stairwell when there’s a perfectly good and empty seat right there, right? Is he?

Yes. Yes, he is.

“Hey, if you’re looking for a seat, this one’s empty,” a sweet voice calls out over his inner monologue, making him clutch the strap of his bookbag tighter with a flinch of his entire rigid body—his eyes peeled as he looked around to try and find the source of the sound even though he knew where it had come from. It’s as if the possibility of your voice sounding like anything aside from a she-demon was out of the question. But no, it is you.

But there’s no way you’re talking to him, so he looks around again—there must be someone else in need of the seat aside from him. But then, why are you looking right at him? Are you pulling some type of prank? Are you really that cruel? You’re probably filming him or something—live-streaming—the chat’s blaring with ew, what a creep and omg, uggo alert right about now. He should just go home before the jocks, along with the rest of the internet, can get him.

“Are you okay?” you ask—but no, he must be hearing you wrong—there’s just no way, even though you’re looking right at him. “I think it’s starting soon—you should probably sit.”

It’s as if his fight or flight response is broken because he does the exact opposite of either—as if on autopilot, sitting down in a rush against his better judgment.

The lecture starts shortly, solidifying his choice, but he can’t pay attention. No, he needs to keep his guard up. Any second now, someone’s going to do a drive-by and throw a milkshake at him or something vile of the like, and you’ll have filmed it all even though he can’t spot you holding a phone—and then the entire hall would burst into laughter at his expense.

“Pst—” A soft whisper comes from next to him, from between the gloss of your pretty lips. You smell like candy and fruit, and it makes his gut tighten—both from anxiety and something more shameful. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a pen I could borrow? Mine’s all out’a ink.”

You give him an awkward smile, and he very nearly runs away. But no, he’s glued to the seat—with nervously wrecked hands shaking as he bends for his bag and unzips it, reaching for his pencil case painfully slow as if disarming some type of bomb. Redoing the same when he opens the case and rummages for a viable pen he could offer.

When he hands it to you, he’s almost sure you plan to stab him with it. But you do no such thing.

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver!” You cheer instead, beaming with a much brighter smile than before. “I owe you!”

His ears ring with your praise. Blushing beat red as he rips away from your gaze—still unable to focus on what the professor is preaching—not when from out of the corner of his eye, he can see you sucking on his pen like a lollypop—or something else not so innocent.

Oh, he’d been so wrong.

So, so, so very wrong.

You do smile. You smile a lot, actually. You just have one of those faces that rests bitchy. But still, bubbly airhead or not, a girl like you still shouldn't be seen with a loser like him. It’s social suicide. And still, you’re on your knees before him in a dirty little bathroom stall—the same dirty bathroom stall he feared getting a swirlie, scraping the walls with his nails to try and thwart his assailants—only, now clutching the walls for a much different reason, holding on for his mortal soul as you seek to suck it out of his fat throbbing cock.

You want to repay him—you’d said—for the pencil. He hadn't understood why you’d winked at him before you’d all but dragged him off and flung him inside the men’s bathroom, having his very life flash before his eyes.

You both make the sloppiest sounds as you make an utter mess on and of him, making him cry on all fronts—cock weeping with thick pearly beads of pre while his eyes well up with tears down his flushed face, all sweaty with panic and bliss.

The moans springing from his chest are virginal and raw and sweet music to your ears, panting for you like a puppy—you’re sure they can hear him out in the hallway when passing by. One of his hands clasps itself on top of his mouth, holding tightly to keep it all within—eyes shut and brows cinched. And yet, he makes no effort to shove you off—hips left jerking and jittering in response to your refined technique where you take him deeply, all the way down to the base, hallowing your cheeks, throttling him with your throat as your tongue wipes his creamy slit clean.

It’s painfully clear he’s never experienced anything like it, but that’s what turns you on the most. Sick as you are, you could suck him dry and savor every drop of him, knowing you’re the first ever to get a taste. But no, by now, your pussy’s so soaked you feel yourself dripping past the soggy lace of your panties, running down your soft thighs in waste.

He’s misty-eyed when you pull off with an ever-cruel pop—a sick mix of relief and sorrow warping his chest, feeling conflicted by the pulse making him think he’s on the verge of a heart attack if you continue—and another strumming his cock, making him think he’s going to keel over and die if you leave him unfinished.

Even so, he’s in a state of complete shell shock as you mount him on top of the toilet seat he’s melting against. Chest heaving, watching you as you lift your skirt up and peal your slick underwear to the side for him to lay his bleary swiveled eyes on your bared and dripping pussy.

“I love nice guys like you—” you moan, pouring the honeyed words down his throat as you ghost his parted lips with your spit-slicked ones, straddling his lap and shimmying ever closer until your tits squish against his chest. “They make me so wet, I lose all self-control.”

He gulps in your shadow, looking up at you for mercy—cock twitching painfully between your thighs as your wrap your hand around his base real snug, giving him a nice tug as you line him up with your needy heat—making him all but squeal beneath you.

Your other hand makes its way into his hair, braiding your fingers within the locks to hold him steady—gently pulling his head back while leering down at him like caught prey. Playing with him just so, teasing him with your words, all in your sultry voice, making his head spin hot with a fever, “You’ll be a good boy and fuck me, won’t you? Pretty please?”

His breaths are heavy and wet, coming out shaky with his instant answer, “Y-yes—” all weak in a pathetic whimper that almost has you cum too soon.

“You’re so nice~ thank you,” you croon against his lips, kissing him sloppily with your tongue in his mouth as you shift your hips and start lowering your sopping cunt down upon his seeking length, taking him in with greedy ease, eagerly gripping his soft cockhead like a toy in a claw machine.

“Fhu—fuck—” he stutters under his breath, whinging before planting his teeth into his lip to keep it at bay—feeling like putty beneath you, sweaty and heavy and dumb, eagerly wanting all which you sought to give him—only more flushed at your mean undertones as you play with him like food on a silver platter.

You sling your arms around his neck and push your chest harder against him, moaning all too brazenly, “Oh! Fuck yes—that’s so good,” you sing while slowly taking him in further. “A nice guy with a big bad bully’s dick is the best!”

He whines in return as his inches get eaten—each devoured one by one until his tip kneads into the mouth of your womb.

Sighing happily, you kiss his cheek and put your lips right at his ear with another wanton whimper, “You fill me up so so good.” Roosting on the size, thighs resting flush against his, feeling all giddy as it stretches you out oh-so-nicely. “Such a good toy-cock for me,” keening at the way it twitches inside you, pulsing in response to your tight walls, clenching it in ways it’s never before felt.

His eyes are already rolling back into his skull once you start lolling your hips—riding him, but keeping him deep at all times—lifting just enough for it to pull out only a little before sinking back down, making it settle into that perfect needy little spot inside you that makes your whole body shiver in delight.

“Mmh,” You suck his ear lobe, releasing it with a soft bite, before smiling down at him and his sweat-pilled expression. Cooing at him, “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

He can’t even answer with words anymore, only giving a dumb mewl as he nods his head. But, of course, you’re already well aware.

“Mmh—” your eyes gleam with delight, giving his lap a mean ride, leaving him all but breathless, before asking, “D’you like it, virgin boy? ‘You like my pussy? Like the way it milks your chubby cock for your cum?”

He nods again, even more eagerly this time—looking downright pathetic in every sense of the word.

“Do you want to?” you offer to his desperation, feeling as though he’s falling apart at your fingertips, needing you to hold him together. “I’ll let you since you’re such a sweet guy—” you tease while clenching his cock, making it impossible to want anything else no matter the consequence. “In exchange for a favor, of course.”

He couldn’t care less what the favor was—way beyond willing to pay any price you ask of him as he finally makes a move and grabs your hips with a strength you hadn’t thought he had the balls to perform, planting you down firmly and holding you with such need as his hips jitter and stutter—resting his cheek on your shoulder in drool and tears with a lovesick groan leaving him as he fills your pussy up with his creamy spend.

His whole body shakes—spasming in cute little aftershocks as he clutches onto your body, hugging you tightly.

You respond in kind, cuddling him and kissing the top of his head. “That was so warm and filling—what a good boy—you did so well,” you murmur ever-sweetly while petting his head, combing through his sweaty locks with your long glitter-pink nails—keeping your voice saccharine. “Did you enjoy yourself, hm? Your first time cumming in pussy instead of your dirty ol’ sock?”

You pick his face up—cupping his sloppy jaw in both palms—his eyes half-mast and glazed as you nose-kiss him with a smile on your face.

“You loved it, didn’t you? Silly virgin boy…”

Your cunt tingles at the sight of him—wrecked beauty, sweaty and undone. You feel his cock unswell inside you and decide to lift off and release him—letting it flop out and splat on his tummy in a puddle of slick.

“Look,” you fuss, holding his face in direction of it. “You made such a pretty mess—isn’t it lovely?”

Your pussy is left glistening and puffy, still wanting and waiting for its final hurrah. Your breath turns headier and so does your voice, now with a new darkness to it as you whisper, “Time for that favor, sweet boy.”

He blinks dumbly, impossibly hopeless, wrapped so tightly around your pinky it’s pitiful. Of course, you take advantage—guiding his head to level with your cunt.

“Open wide, tongue out flat.”

He obeys wordlessly. And oh god it makes your gut stir viscously—watching his tongue loll free between parted lips.

Your voice flares with bliss at the sight, shy of unhinged, as you giggle breathily, “That’s right—taste the pretty mess you made.”

He’s pushed face-first, trapped between your thighs with his jaw like an open cup beneath you, tonguing the mixed slick from your slit and slurping it all up without shame.

And fuck—it feels so good, you lose even more of your mind while tugging him even closer—all but pulling him off the toilet seat, making him kneel down on the floor instead. And still, he makes no effort to escape, but the opposite—seeking to go deeper into your cunt, crying into you as he laps up every last drop of yours and his arousal—making your thighs quake around him, grinding down against his mouth, onto his eager tongue, having it pet your clit over and over until you also come to the same sudden stumbling halt.

“Yes—yes! Oh, fuck! I’m gonna—it’s coming—”

And there it goes, ripping along your loins, surging from your lower belly. With both your hands tangled harshly in his hair, he’s not going anywhere, lips locked with yours as it starts pouring.

You’re squirting on him—hot and hard—on his tongue, inside his mouth, down his throat, in his belly. You’re squirting on him and he’s drinking it, he realizes—but even so, he isn’t able to stop. Instead, he unwinds his jaw even wider, digs his tongue deeper, and accepts every drop of the warm stream as it drenches his face and splashes down his collar and shoulders, utterly soaking his shirt, making in see-through as it clings to his chest like a second skin.

You’ve closed your eyes and thrown your head back, basking in every last little twitch of your body as you relieve yourself all over his face.

Finally, after a moment, you let go of his hair and step back—feeling refreshed and happy with your work—seeing the poor loser sit before the toilet, all drenched and exhausted with his limp cock spent and messy, looking like a beautiful wreck.

You smile, pulling your panties back in place, and you skirt down again before unlocking the stall and opening the door, only looking back at him for a moment, tapping your nail at a few matching pink scribbles written on the wall. “Here’s my number and address if you wanna have more fun." And then you leave, just like that. "Bye-bye~”

♡ BNHA – Amajiki, Deku, Shigaraki, Shinso ♡ JJK – Yuuta, Choso, Nanami ♡ HQ – Kageyama, Kenma ♡ CSM – Denji ♡ BLLK – Isagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Sakura, Nirei

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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papayapiastri · 7 months ago

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toying with you.

warnings: smut, thigh-riding. sprinkle of angst.

pairing: LN x Reader

———

it wasn’t often that you watched him train. but today was different. today; he asked you to watch.

No. He instructed you to watch.

Lando could tell something was off with you this morning. When he asked what was wrong you simply said ‘I’m fine’ or ‘don’t worry about it’.

He always knew when you were lying, even by the slightest of ways. Whether it was the way you made your breakfast; swift and without care, or the way you spoke with haste instead of your usual attentiveness.

He always noticed.

But it was just one of those days. no rhyme or reason why you were agitated.

You just were.

Unfortunately, Lando was stubborn and unrelenting. He wasn’t going to stop hounding you until you told him what was wrong. Even going as far as to wrapping his arms around your waist; pulling your frame into his own knowing how addicted you are to the comfort of his hold.

But instead of crawling into his embrace, you pulled back, resting your arms back at your sides with a grumbled sigh.

seriously lan, Im fine, just leave me alone.

As soon as the harsh words flew from your lips, a pang of guilt rang deep within your chest. Lando’s eyes flickered with a mixture of hurt and confusion, you could tell that he was contemplated whether it was something he did; whether it was somehow his fault, however, you didn’t have the energy to deal with it at the moment. Instead, you just walked away before things got worse.

It wasn’t until hours later that you started to feel like yourself again; building up the courage to go seek him out. When you found him, an unsure smile reached your lips as he sat comfortably in the living room, watching a show you couldn’t place. You tried making small talk, asking what he wanted for dinner, asking what he was watching…

…and you were met with nothing.

So many questions, yet after your little outburst this morning, it seemed Lando gave you the cold shoulder for the rest of the day. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him when you were met with the silence, or the slight shrug of his shoulders.

Childish. yet, you knew you deserved it.

So, you were definitely surprised when you received his text later that evening.

I’ll be in the gym at 7. join me

You stared at the screen. Puzzled. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard; wanting to send a plethora of questions. Never had Lando asked you to join him for his gym sessions. He flippantly claimed you were too much of a distraction.

But before you could respond, a tiny speech bubble bounced across the screen.

wasn’t a question y/n. be there at 7.

Your eyebrows furrowed. no emojis, no x’s or o’s that would be littered through his usual texts.

Just a direct instruction that you felt obligated to follow.

So here you were, attempting to silence your racing thoughts around why Lando asked you to be here. He hadn’t said a word to you since you entered the room. Your skirt delicately brushed against your skin as you watched him; your legs bouncing anxiously as you sat there. waiting. patiently.

You tried distracting yourself with the way the warm sun sizzled against your skin, painting the room with a golden hue. Or the way the heat caused droplets of sweat to hypnotically fall from Lando’s messy curls. Or the way your eyes naturally gazed down to his arms; veins tensed as his hands strained against the grip of the weight above him.

it worked for a moment. that simple distraction.

but now, you found your thoughts consumed by something else…

your thoughtful gaze found itself trailing down, noticing how lando’s shirt rode up ever so slightly; exposing his v-line.

While on a usual day you would be salivating at the outline of his boxers, today, all you could focus on were his thighs as they flexed with even the slightest of movements.

You couldn’t help as your stomach fluttered with butterflies at the sight.

stop it. You mentally chastised yourself for objectifying something that was so inherently innocent, but you couldn’t help yourself. there was something so lewd, about the picture in front of you.

The sudden sound of Lando’s trainer snapped you out of your trance. Heat rushed to your cheeks, painting ur skin in a rosy pink hue as you forced yourself to look away. You weren’t about to get caught staring; especially by Lando’s trainer.

A moment passed as they exchange pleasantries, a day well done apparently. You were too distracted to notice, but at least Lando’s tone seemed light as he sent his trainer off with a curt grin.

It wasn’t long before you felt a curious set of eyes fall on you. Analysing. Reading you like you were an open page of his favourite book. “Seems I’m more of a distraction than you are.” He murmured bemusingly “Something on your mind?”

Your eyes snapped back to his, surprise painting your features at Lando’s unexpected blasé nature despite of everything that happened this morning. You shook your head; lazily leaning back onto your seat and crossing your arms in annoyance. “Care to explain why you’ve been ignoring me all day?”

With a click of his tongue, Lando shook his head “Your words y/n, you wanted to be left alone so—" his voice trailed off for a small moment.

“I left you alone.” He shrugged.

You hummed in response. You should have felt content with his response. It made sense. Yet, a part of you still felt jaded and hurt by his cold demeanour towards you.

As if immediately recognising your hesitancy, a tired sigh fell from Lando’s lips. “Come here.” He murmured, extending his hand towards you. Curiously, you pushed yourself off of the couch with a huff, taking small, uncertain strides towards Lando as he eyed you with sincerity.

Before you could react, Lando roughly grabbed your wrist, forcefully tugging your body down to his own as he placed you on his thigh. You squealed at the sudden gesture.

“Lando!” you scolded as strong arms snaked its way around your waist in an attempt to steady you and ur pulsing heart. With a hand to your chest, you attempted to calm your uneven breaths.

Lando couldn’t help the hearty chuckle that bellowed from his chest, not even bothering to hide the smirk that was plastered across his face. He loved seeing you flustered in every way imaginable.

“Sorry.” He muttered nonchalantly. Clearly unapologetic as he brought his hand to your face; his fingers brushing away the stray hairs that found themselves out of place, instead, placing them neatly behind your ear. “Now—” He began, his tone shifting slightly more serious, “Want to tell me what’s been happening in that pretty little head of yours?”

You could barely register the words that were said. Instead, all you could focus on was the friction that bound tight at your core, the thin lace of your panties that suddenly strained against Lando’s skin.

He seemed unaware, still distracted by your hair. the very hair you wish he’d bury his hands in and tug on the strands; maybe he’d call you a little brat for your behaviour this morning—

You silently wondered if he could see right through you. What you were thinking. The fact that even the smallest of movements could crumble your resolve.

“Y/n?”

Your eyes widened as they snapped to his. His smirk had fallen to a boyish grin as his gaze swirled with newfound amusement. He tilted his head, trailing his fingers from your hair to your jawline. With a hum, he spoke lowly, “If you’re not interested in talking about this morning, why don’t you tell me what’s got you so flustered?”

Lando’s jaw clenched as he assessed you. every movement, every flinch. Anything that could give away the clear desire that you felt building at your core.

You sighed heavier than expected. “I’m not flustered. I’m annoyed.”

“With me?” He tilted his head curiously whilst his fingers continued their exploration down the side of your throat, crossing over every divet before letting his hand rest behind your neck. His grip was light, but noticeable. Your skin exploded in goosebumps at the anticipation of something more. You wanted, needed, something more.

“Especially with you.”

“Mm…” he hummed approvingly, wetting his lips as his other hand began its teasing assault on your hips, drawing up your skirt ever so slightly as he tightened his grip. “Anything I can do to fix that?”

You shook your head. attempting to use one of your hands to push yourself off of him. This time, you weren’t surprised at the sudden clutch of your wrist. However, you were surprised by how easy it was for Lando to pull you further into him. The harsh movement causing his muscles to flex, sending pulsating waves to your core. You bite the inside of cheek, attempting to hold in the whimpers that threatened to escape, but nothing could hide the rosiness that burned across your skin. A constant reminder of Lando’s effect over your body.

“Are you sure y/n?” he teased, softly grabbing the side of your cheeks with his index finger and thumb before bringing his face close to your ear.

“you must be so...” you could barely hear his voice as he murmured sweetly against your skin, trailing soft fleeting kisses trailing down your neck. “frustrated.”

Your hands curl around his shirt, gripping the cotton as you attempted to ignore the delicious assault. “You’re toying with me?” you mutter, taking in shallow breaths as your eyes flutter closed; your senses consumed by Lando’s every movement.

You feel him smile against your skin “only because you’re letting me.”

“Admit it.” he whispered, leaving lingering kisses across your collarbone. The feeling of his lips hovering against your sensitive skin sent electric shocks down your spine. So much so, you didn’t even notice how your back arched; your head tipping ever so slightly to give lando access to even more of you.

He sighed longingly against you “Spending the whole day without me to get you off. You were practically drooling the minute you saw me.”

Embarrassed couldn’t begin to describe how you were feeling, but it was especially made worse by the amused laugh that reverberated from the man in front of you. “Talk to me baby— ‘miss your sweet voice.”

“What’s got you so needy for me?”

There was no hiding from Lando. You could either tell the truth and face the potential lifetime of embarrassment that would soon follow, or, lie, and not get what you wanted.

What you really needed.

Let’s face it. you weren’t in the mood to be denied.

not tonight, atleast.

“Your thighs.” You murmured. Barely a whisper, barely a breath. You wondered if he even heard you. especially since he didn’t seem to react to your words. Instead, his chaste kisses travelled up your neck; one planted softly on your cheek before reaching messily to the side of your lips.

Lando pulled back for a moment, shamelessly admiring you. While you averted his gaze, you took a peek at him through your eyelashes; attempting to fight the thrashing heat against your skin. “There we go.” He hummed approvingly. “Was that so hard?” He tilted his head, a familiar sense of mischief dancing on his features.

But a moment of silence followed. Any sense of urgency that Lando had seemingly dissipated as he lazily leaned back, continuing to assess your features. His hands clutched around your wrists; taking away any possible chance of escape.

“Well?” You snapped. all this work to get you to admit something so humiliating and depraved and now… nothing?

“Well what?” he questioned with a scoff. “You think I’m going to help you?” You could tell he was still toying with you. Clearly, he was still mad about this morning.

“I’m just respecting your wishes baby.”

What a childish little prick— Heat returned to your cheeks, as you realised what he was doing. you tried averting his gaze, pulling your hands back so you could leave, but you couldn’t, he was too strong. Any tug at your wrists would be met with him pulling you back tenfold.

With a click of his jaw and a boyish grin he cut the tension with his teasing voice, “Come on baby; you don’t need to ask, just take what you need from me. Anything to make you feel better.” His tone dripped with mockery, there was something about it that felt so degrading, almost as if he enjoyed seeing you clearly suffer; clearly needing more than what he was willing to give.

You shook your head: your lips in an ‘o’ shape as you sat there in disbelief. a small moment passed, one that felt like a lifetime.

Fuck it. If he’s so adamant on playing this game with you, then you might as well win it.

“You’re fucking insufferable.” you murmur, forcing yourself out his grip to plant your hands into his curly strands; leaning your body further into him and positioning yourself perfectly against his thigh.

Pulling at the strands, a low groan rumbled from Lando’s chest. The sound sending waves of pure euphoria through your body as you repeated the same assault he practiced on you; nipping and pulling at his skin with each intense kiss.

You whined lowly as you felt Lando’s hand begin to travel under your shirt, his cool fingers causing goosebumps to reappear on your skin as he slowly traced across your stomach; your chest; before roughly gripping your breast. it didn’t take long for your body to respond to his, melding into one another.

You needed him. His fingers, his tongue. his cock. anything that could help release the tension that pooled at your core. Hiding your face into the nape of his neck, you planted small kisses against his skin; revelling in the faint oud smell of his cologne; continuing to roll your hips against him to aid the lingering ache between your legs.

“Has my baby become a slut for me just from my thighs?” You hear Lando tease yet his voice sounded far as you remained trapped in the sensations of his hands. His fingers drew hypnotic circles around your nipple as his other hand harshly tugged at your hips, rhythmically following your own movements. For a small moment. You wondered whether Lando knew how strong he actually was, whether was aware that the tight grip he had on you were would leave haunting bruises on your skin the next day. marking you as his, and only his.

You pulled away from him, causing his fingers to fall from your delicate skin. You look down, frustration clearly plastered across your features. “please lan.” you whimper softly. You felt your pleasure building ever-so-slightly; waves of heat radiating across your whole body yet—

it wasnt enough, it would never be enough. You knew that. He knew that.

“Please what?” his mocking tone sent a shiver coursing through your spine as he tilted his head. - slight curve teased his lips. “You had so much to say this morning, but now, it seems you can barely find your words.”

“Stop punishing me.” You grumbled.

“Punishing you?”

“I’m not punishing you y/n. you’re the one who told me you wanted to be left alone.” He said matter-of-factly. Even so, his eyes lingered downwards, watching as his fingers trailed over your exposed thighs, across the soft skin before planting himself right between your legs, tracing over the delicate fabric; hovering over the sensitive nerves that ached to be touched.

“Look at you. you’ve made such a mess for me already and I’ve barely even touched you baby.” His other hand rested around the nape of your neck; his thumb gently tapping the side of your throat, as if he was teasing the thought of tightening his grip.

You hated it. You hated how humiliated you felt. Lando had you melting on top of him, writhing in the most degrading way imaginable without so much as a thought of release for you.

You turned your head slightly, a breathy sigh leaving your lips at the realisation.

“Y/n.” Lando called knowingly; pulling your focus back to him before your thoughts could sabotage you further.

Your attention snapped back to his as his eyes trailed longingly over your features. “if you need me, you better start using your words. no more hiding in that pretty little head of yours.”

it was funny that even in such a intimate moment Lando tried to counsel you, make you feel better; safe, supported. He’d been that way your whole relationship; which only made you feel even more guilty for snapping at him this morning.

fine. he wants me to use my words. so be it.

You pondered his words with a small smile before leaning in, wrapping your arms around his tense shoulders. Your lips brushed against his in the slightest of touches. “Lan, I need you. ‘need you so fucking bad.” You weren’t afraid of a little begging, you knew how much he loved it.

Your fingers trailed the back of his neck before delving back into his hair. “Need your fingers to help get me off, d‘you think you can do that for me baby?” You whispered.

His eyes widened at your sudden directness. “Fuck…” he hissed as you tugged on his curls. you could tell he was caught off guard, but that quickly washed away as you felt his grip tighten around your waist; guiding your hips as they rolled against him. “There’s my sweet girl.” he muttered. Fingers that were previously wrapped around your neck disappeared into your panties; the large digits not even hesitating to roughly push against your aching clit.

You felt that familiar pressure build and build as his fingers circled your core. Controlled and rough.

It didn’t take long for the melding of pleading whines and pleasured moans to fill the room, you begged for more, and more, and more; pushing your hips further into him as Lando praised, worshipped and fulfilled you completely. “So beautiful— so fucking wet for me.” he muttered harshly; possessively.

It only took his sinful tone to send you to the point of no return; pulsing waves flooding your body leaving you a whimpering mess in Lando’s hold to keep you steady as he continued to shower you with affirmations “that’s it baby, cum all over my thigh; show me desperate you are for me.”

You felt his movements slow, giving you a chance to breathe while sending aftershocks up and down your spine. You hid yourself in his neck, exhaustion hitting you out of no where. You left a small kiss at the base of his neck as your heart rate attempted to lower itself.

Lando comfortingly trailed his other hand down your back. “See baby, a lot of good can come from using your words.” He quipped lowly.

“Should try it again next time.”

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servicpop · 2 months ago

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kinktober week 1 — shower / bath adrien ( deliquent oc ) x bttm m reader

That Saturday afternoon glow of light orange and yellows filtered through your curtains and into your room. It was a sign to turn on your light since it was getting dark. As usual, you were hunched over your desk finishing off any work you had from your classes, pen in hand and music blasting through your headphones.

Your music cuts off and out of confusion you pick it up from its position faced down on the table; its Adrien, of course. He's sent you a rather cryptic message of just emojis, no text, just "🧍‍♂️👉🏡👍💒💦💞💞💞. You don't have half the mind to decipher it but you do understand that he's most likely heading to your house. Per usual.

You don't bother sending him a reply, you seeing it is enough for Adrien to take that as a yes.

Your parents aren't home tonight, but that's never stopped Adrien from sneaking into your room through your window, even if the front door is free. You hear rattling and that's when you know Adrien has so kindly graced you with his presence. To make things easier for him, you decide to slide the window open and peer down at him.

Just like rapunzel, he's scaling your 'tower' like it's nothing. You sometimes question if Adrien is even human, and how he's acquired knowledge to safely climb your two story home. You notice that he has his gym bag slung over his shoulder and he tilts his head up to you with a grin, "Catch this!" He shouts, throwing his bag up to you and you shakily catch it, placing it down on the floor.

The next second, Adrien is hauling himself into your room and brushing off the dust from his clothes. "The front door is... open you know?" You huff, shaking your head disapprovingly. You glance over at him, and you see beads of sweat dripping down his temples and how his chest rises and falls quicker than usual.

"Are you—" "I went to training." Right, Adrien trains basically every second day of the week for a sport you never thought to ask about. Basketball? Football? Hockey? You never asked.

"Can I use your shower, prez?" The question comes off too casual; you've never really let any of your friends take a shower in your house let alone come over regularly. But since Adrien is already here, all sweaty and hot, you can't find a reason to say no. "Fine, everything you need is in there," you nod, walking back to sit at your desk.

"You're not gonna show me where it is?" Adrien places a hand on your desk, leaning his weight against his arm as he looks down at you. You just assumed he knew where it was given he's broke into your house multiple times but your assumptions were wrong. You get up and start walking, not bothering to look back to see if Adrien was following. You knew he would.

You reach your bathroom, stepping in so you could show him where everything was. Before you started speaking, you heard the faint click of the door shutting.

"Adrien—" "How am I supposed to know which knob is hot or cold?" he's so blatantly playing with you. He walks right up to you, only a hair away as he looks down at you. A stupid grin is plastered across his face and his fingers are gripping at the edge of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. "I'm all sweaty, prez, I need help washing my back," he sighs dramatically, fanning his face.

You take a moment to just stare. He's glistening in a sheen of sweat, droplets trickling down the curves and dents of his muscles, even his hair is slightly tousled. You keep quiet, unsure of what to say. That grin on his face never seems to lessen; it only grows wider by the second.

You can't even utter out a word before Adrien is pulling off his pants, letting them fall to his ankles. Your head instinctively darts to the right, trying to shield your eyes. "What? You act like you've never seen my dick before," he snorts out, tugging at your shirt, "it's been inside you too," he adds, successfully pulling your shirt off. "Oh shut up," you groan, grimacing at the way Adrien says it.

You don't stop him from completely stripping you down before taking off his own boxers, you just have the decency not to stare. He pushed the shower door open and ushered you inside before following you in. His chest his flushed against your back and the feeling of his sweat against your skin made you shiver, "Sorry," he mutters with a small chuckle.

He does know which knob is cold or hot because he immediately turns them to a desirable temperature. It's a little bit cooler than your preference though, but you don't mind it.

Adrien wastes no time in feeling your body, his hands moving straight to your hips like a moth to a flame. "You've been eating good? Not overworking yourself, prez?" He murmurs against your skin, his lips dragging along your shoulders as he clutches your body. "Yeah," your response is quiet and short, almost breathless since Adrien is all up on you at the moment.

His fingers trace the lines of your hip bone to your front, patting the skin where your leg meets your hip, slowly dipping more into your inner thighs to rub that area. His hands are so close. You can feel him spread your flesh, and he slots his cock in the free space. "Adrien," you scold, trying to pry his hands away but Adrien just ends up pushing you against the wall, your palms flat against the glass.

"You've been treating yourself well?" He hums, and you can tell from his tone he's half-mindely asking you these questions just to keep a conversation. He moves his hips back, sliding against the underside of your dick before meeting your hole, rubbing shallowly. "I haven't seen you in a week," from gentle caresses to harsher groping, Adrien's hands are now squeezing your hips.

Adrien nips at your neck, biting gently since he knew how you felt about visible marks, "It's so hard to avoid you" He borderline growls in your ear, pushing up into you. Adrien groans quietly at the feeling of you stretching out around him. His breathing becomes more and more audible as he caresses your torso.

Your small whines are muffled by the sound of water hitting the shower floor and the feeling of the cold glass along your chest gets you squirming. Adrien lifts your hips up a tiny bit, giving your ass a small tap before pushing in fully. Your fingers twitch and clench on the glass, trying desperately to hold onto something before Adrien's own hands meet yours, slotting a finger inbetween the gaps of yours.

"Just want me to hold your hand?" You wanna bite back at him but you lose your voice the moment he pulls out and thrusts back in, forcing a yelp out your throat instead of words. He squeezes the plush flesh of your ass a few times, and his eyes are trained to your hole, watching as it sucked him back in everytime he moved his hips back.

Adrien was getting overly worked up right now and the water didn't help either. Seeing the droplets decorate your spine like clear crystals rolling down the curve of your back made his mind go blank. You really brought that side out of him. He couldn't help but imagine that was his semen painting your back instead.

"Fuck you're too cute," He grunted, squeezing your hand a little tighter. Everytime Adrien pushed his dick in further, you felt the water push into you as well like it was wetting your insides. It was a weird sensation, nothing like lube, but it served to heighten your arousal from the fact that the water made the sound ofbyour skin clapping together alot louder.

It wasn't long before Adrien had moved in a way where he could hit your prostate directly and he knew he found it the moment you let out a strangled cry. Hearing that, Adrien pushed your body more against the glass, pinning you between himself and the wall. Your neglected cock was feverishly rubbing against cold wall with each thrust, smearing your pre-cum all over the glass.

"Does it feel good? Shit, maybe I gotta experiment with temp-play later," Adrien chuckled and you just let out an agitated groan that came out more like a needy whine. "That's where you're weak, isn't it? The underside of your dick?" You hated how he knew these things by now, but he wasn't wrong. Everytime you rubbed along the cold glass your body would jolt away from it and into Adrien which would result in him pushing you back into the wall as he fucked you from behind.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," you heave, squirming relentlessly as your dick twitched against the wall. Adrien just let's out a strained chuckle as he grips your hips tighter, pounding into you even faster. He leans his head down to your shoulder and sinks his teeth into your skin, forgetting about the fact that you would definitely scold him for this afterwards. The feeling of Adrien's chapped lips and sharp teeth piercing through your skin made your vision go white and your ears ring.

Your previously clear shower walls are now splattered with white and your knees buck as Adrien holds you up, forcing you to stand as he orgasms into you. He laughs breathlessly as you ragdoll in his arms like a baby deer who's trying to stand up. "Right, right I'll clean you up baby just relax, and then we'll get out," he chuckles, rubbing soap inbetween his hands before cleaning you off,

"I think I'm gonna dry up like a raisin if I stay here any longer..."

#servicpop — fics/drabbles #bottom male reader #sub male reader #bttm male reader #amab reader #uke male reader #oc x male reader #male x male reader #x bottom male reader #male reader #kinktober 2024

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zombiequeenblog · 1 year ago

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🎊🍿🐶👽

Get To Know Me Emojis

Favourite Holiday? Ummm, probably Halloween, because of the dressing up aspect. I usually dress up early and just go about my day, last year I was just running errands as a zombie with makeup all over my face lol.

Favourite Snack? It's simple, but I just love toast with smooth Kraft peanut butter, in the green jar, preferably washed down with a milky drink. And yes, it has to be that brand, though I like the crunchy version as well. I just have strong opinions about peanut butter. I'm nuts hehe I'll see myself out.

Any Pets? I have one very senior lady black cat named Frog. She is quite skrunkly and has no time for your shit. Feed her and fluff up her blankets and get the hell out of her way. She has a nap to get back to.

Do I Believe In Aliens? I just... don't. I've never had a weird experience to make me wonder too much about it. I am a huge fan of The X-Files though and I cannot watch scary movies or Unsolved Mysteries episodes about aliens without being completely unable to sleep afterwards. The idea of them absolutely terrifies me, though I can't say that I actually believe in them. Does that make any sense?

#emoji ask game #thank you for asking #great now I have to go to bed and worry about aliens #thanks a lot #i mean #Frog won't protect me #she'd support the aliens completely if they came bearing treats #kraft peanut butter #the x files #unsolved mysteries #the music breaks me out into a cold sweat

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codes-and-stuffs · 3 months ago

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why do you drive like this that's so so scary

USAMERICANS DO YOU TURN RIGHT ON A RED LIGHT?????

#red does not mean stop after all i suppose.. scary scary country.#actually who am i kidding its not the worst thing ever. BUT. also COLD SWEAT EMOJI yknow??

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woewriting · 8 months ago

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turning point (g!p)

pairing: tara carpenter | reader summary: tara calls you to rescue her from a bad date and things take a surprising turn. word count: 3726 warnings: mdni, +18 only! no ghostface au, reader has a dick, friends with benefits (?), clothed sex, language, smut in general. a/n: will you guys believe if i say the date part was inspired by a terrible date my coworker had? because it was and @wesstars is the proof of it!

masterlist

When the 7th episode of season 4 of Stranger Things started you felt your phone vibrating somewhere in between the cozy blankets. As you blindly looked for it, eyes focused on the TV in front of your bed, you felt it vibrating once again, but this time more than once.

Holding the phone in your hands, the name “tara” followed by a small heart emoji showed on the screen with 4 messages attached to it. Pausing the episode, you unlocked the device.

tara ♥︎ can you come pick me up? please this is the worst date ever 😭

Sewing your eyebrows together, you were quick to reply, asking for her location.

tara ♥︎ im at the motel near the campus, green valley or something chad is showering and i told him i’d take an uber home because i wasn't feeling well and didn’t want to stay anymore please come fast

Typing a simple “omw”, you grabbed your hoodie, throwing it over the white tank top you usually wore to sleep along with sweat shorts that easily became a second skin.

It was easy to spot the building as a gigantic green neon sign took over most of the illumination of the empty street. You parked in front of it, patiently waiting for your best-friend as you sent a message letting her know you arrived. The place seemed expensive and well cleaned, unlike most cheap motels that took over the right side of the street near the campus of your college, still, it didn't appetize you to walk in.

Soon, the younger Carpenter ran towards you, sighing in relief when she jumped into the car.

“That bad, huh?” You asked with a laugh, setting the first gear ready to go back home.

“You have no idea.” Tara whined, turning on the heat, complaining about how cold it was outside in a whisper. “I'll tell you everything when we get home.”

“I'm watching Stranger Things.” The focus on the road in front of you as you took a right turn didn't allow you to see the indignation expression on her face, more dramatic than it was necessary.

“Is Stranger Things more important than me?”

“I’m about to find out what happened at the Hawkins Lab…” You continued, trying to convince her of your cause, but her next words made you look at her with raised eyebrows, a convinced smile of someone who won drawing her lips.

“He has a small dick.”

“I'm all ears, princess.”

The return home didn’t take more than 10 minutes, especially with empty roads and yellow sign lights. Tara started telling about her date from the second it started, which was 5PM, the exact time she started to get ready. Honestly, none of that was necessary to reach the part that it all went downhill, but you didn’t dare to interrupt, you paid attention to every word Tara was saying as you carefully parked your car in your designated spot.

The second the elevator stopped on your floor, Tara had finished telling you about the dinner part of her date.

According to her, the food wasn't bad, but the place was crowded and the music playing was so annoying that it became a bit too much for her. It was already hard to pay attention to anything Chad was saying as the others' conversation was caught in the middle, stealing her attention, all she could was nod and smile, like one of the Penguins from Madagascar.

You laughed at her indignation and the small wrinkle in between her eyebrows, opening the door and giving her space to walk in. Kicking your shoes away, the both of you automatically walked to the door at the end of the small hallway of your apartment, the episode 7 of Stranger Things’ last season still on pause when you sat on the bed being followed by Tara; Jamie Campbell’s beautiful blue eyes on the screen.

“... and after we got to the motel, things were heating up and his hands were on my ass and he kept pushing me against him and…” Tara stopped talking after noticing the disgusted expression on your face as you made yourself comfortable on the bed. The girl sat right by your side. “I will not spare any details.”

“I’m seriously considering automatically deleting every explicit part of it.” You retorted, shifting uncomfortably against the headboard.

Despite the years of friendship you and Tara had, from Junior High all the way to college — where you both were right now, nothing touchy ever happened between the two of you, not even a single, drunk kiss at parties. You two were close, of course, but not this close, and hearing the vulgar words easily slipping out of her mouth was creating a weird feeling inside your chest.

“I don’t care.” The girl rolled her eyes, moving closer to you. “Continuing, Chad is gentle, nice, and it feels good to be with him, but ugh… I couldn’t even feel anything when I was sitting on his lap.” You let out a small laugh, scratching your eyebrow. That wasn’t the first time Tara rambled about a bad date, but this was Chad, a common friend, and someone that the young Carpenter had a genuine interest in. At this point, that interest had disappeared into thin air. “And when he removed his pants, he had this military patch underwear and black socks on and it was a huge turn off.”

“Black socks really do sucks…”

“I know!” The exasperated way she agreed with you made you laugh, her hand resting near your knee. “Can you believe he didn’t want to take them off? He said he has cold feet.” Her face fell against your thigh, a tired sighing leaving her mouth, hot breath hitting your bate skin. “I should’ve ran when he said that.” Tara mumbled.

Your hand naturally rested on her head in a soft petting, “You really should have.”

The brunette moved a little, laying on her side with her cheek still resting on your leg to feel the soothing moves of your fingers on her hair. The new position gave her a small vision of what's beneath the thick fabric of your shorts, the hem of black boxers peeking through. She looked away, crimson color on her cheeks as she continued the events of the night.

“But, it’s Chad, so I decided to ignore that ridiculous sock and continue.” You nodded your head. “He removed that equally annoying underwear and I swear to God! It was smaller than my hand, and my hands aren’t that big! Look.” To prove her point, she held your other hand, measuring it with her own. She intertwined your fingers together after you agreed with her, resting them both on her chest. “But I was like… okay, it’s not big but maybe he can be good with his tongue.”

“Oh, God.” You choke, closing your eyes. “I will never be able to look at him again.”

“Imagine how I feel!” Tara whined. “But then I thought to myself, he’s a terrible kisser; if he doesn’t know how to use his tongue on my mouth, imagine how bad it’ll be when he use it on my pu—”

“Okay! Let’s not use those explicit words, please.” You interrupted her, shifting again. “But damn, is that guy good at anything?”

“He has a nice body… from the waist up.” This time neither of you could hold back the laugh, the delightful sound of her laughing mixed with yours filled the room for a couple minutes, your hand still playing with the soft strands that spread across your leg. “Chad is a nice guy, but… that’s not enough for me, you know? I crave touching, feeling something. And he was so small I would barely feel anything.” Tara cried out, covering her face with her free hand as the other still held yours against her chest.

“I’m not a sexual freak or anything but I agree, at least the kiss has to be good. So that’s when you messaged me?”

“I wish.” It was your turn to sigh loudly. “We kept going and when I asked him to wear protection, you won’t believe it…”

“He didn’t have any?”

“Oh, he did.” She bit her lower lip, hand still covering her eyes as the images played like a broken record behind her closed lids. “After that awkward moment where he put it on, he got soft.”

“Maybe it was too tight or something, that can be an annoying bother.” You tried defending your friend, but the girl denied with her head, pursing her lips together, deciding if she should say it or not, but after all the details she already had shared, this one wouldn’t matter either.

“It was loose. It was the smallest size and it still was big for him.”

“Jesus Christ. I am deleting every photo I have with him. I can’t bear looking him in the eyes after knowing all of that.” Once again, your laugh filled the bedroom, making Tara look at you with narrowed eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Is it me?” You tilted your head to the side in confusion. “Am I the problem?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I’m a terrible kisser and that’s why it didn’t fit.” She explained, looking at you.”Do you think I’m hot?”

“Where did that come from?”

“The deepest part of my curious brain.” Tara sat back up, resting her hand and yours on her thigh. “Now answer me, am I hot?”

“You are hot, Tara.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure the problem wasn’t you. Maybe he was just nervous to be with you, I don’t know.”

“That does make me the problem.” Her eyes never left yours, looking for a small sign of a lie that was never found; after all, you did find Tara hot. “Why did you never kiss me?”

You let out a deep sigh. “Because we’re friends.”

“You kiss your friends. Amber, Mindy, and I’m sure you tried to kiss my sister once too.”

“Please, don’t bring that to the table.” The pinkish tone that colored your cheeks made the other smile. “And it’s different, they’re just friends, and you’re my best friend.”

Tara moved on the bed, sitting on her calves, still looking at you, and still holding your hand.

“Kiss me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Kiss me.”

You let out an awkward, breathy laugh, trying to pull your hand from hers and moving away just a bit, but the brunette was determined, you could see it in the dark brown eyes.

“Stop joking around, Carpenter.” You said one more time, her slender fingers tracing random patterns on your thigh with her free hand, feeling the goosebumps all over your skin, big bambi eyes staring at you. “Tara…”

“Please…” She cried out, the tip of her fingers trespassing the hem of your shorts, only a few centimeters away from your clothed cock. You could already feel it twitching inside your boxers just from those small touches. “I just wanna prove to myself that I can do it and that there’s nothing wrong with me. You, as my best friends, should help me with that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, I truthfully believe you can get someone hard.”

“Then why wasn’t he hard?”

“Maybe it was just a bad day or he was nervous, I don’t know.” You repeat what you said earlier, hoping that it was enough for the small girl. It clearly wasn't though.

“But we were having fun! He was sweet, polite, respectful, and paid for dinner and the motel, which was not cheap. It makes no sense!” She whined like a spoiled kid. Tara sat on your thighs, holding your face in her hands. “Lemme touch you. Please.”

“Can’t we just watch Stranger Things and forget about this terrible date?” You asked in hopes she would let that stupid idea go; she obviously didn’t.

“We can, after we kiss.” Tara fixed herself on top of you, moving up. Your hands instantly grabbed her waist, before she could sit on your hips. “You know I won’t stop.”

“You’re like the donkey from Shrek.” You writhe under her.

“Please…”

“Dear Lord.” Your head fell back, hitting the soft headboard. “Why does it have to be me? And now?”

“Because you’re my best friend.” The girl shrugged. “Plus, you never let me see it.”

“I swear you have the strangest obsession with my dick.”

“I’m just curious about it.” Feeling the loosen on your grip, Tara moved slightly up, sitting right on top of it. “And I can definitely feel it.” The brunette pushed herself down, biting her lower lip.

“Please, stop moving.” You whined, trying to hold her still, but she was determined, you could see it in her eyes. It wasn’t going to take long before your underwear became a bother. “Tara, I’m warning you.”

“You sound so hot, you should use that tone with me more often.” Her hands grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, wrinkling it, pulling you closer until her mouth was yours. You didn’t stop her or kissed her back, but your grip on her waist grew stronger. She smiled against your lips, one of her hands sliding down your body, nails scratching your belly under your hoodie, threatening to trespass the waist of your shorts. “Can I touch you?”

You gulped hard, staring at the brown eyes that looked soft, unlike her hands. “Are you sure you want to do this? There's no point of return.” Tara nodded fast, not giving a second thought to it, playing with the waist of your shorts. “You can touch me.”

When you gave Tara permission to touch you, you thought the girl was going to wrap her hands around your soft shaft, but all she did was kiss you, slowly and enticing, and this time you kissed her back. Your hands on her waist helped her move against your lap, grinding on you at a torturous pace.

You wanted to turn around, change your positions so you could control whatever it was about to happen, but you allowed her to be in charge; this was all about Tara proving to herself she’s not the problem, right? So you held back the urge.

Tara’s hands moved up again, wrapping around your neck as she got closer, pushing herself down on you, moaning against your parted lips when she felt your dick pressing on her even though you weren’t hard.

Her kiss trailed down your neck, gently nibbling on the skin there. You threw your head back, moving your hands down her ass, under the skirt of her dress to push her harder against you, increasing her hips’ speed.

“Fuck…” You let out a sharp breath, completely affected by the delicate touches coming from your best-friend, and that only made her more eager to pleasure you.

“Do you like this?” Tara whispered in your ear, softly biting on your lobule, tracing the cartilage with her teeth. All you could do was nod. She could feel you slowly getting hard against her ass.

Licking your lips, you thrust your hip up in a strong move, making the both of you moan lowly. You could come just with that friction if she continued moaning with her mouth so close to your ear, only for you to hear it.

Tara’s hands trailed down your body once again, but this time she pushed down the elastic of the waistband of your gray shorts, in a silent request for you to remove it. She lifted herself just enough for it to slide down your legs, pooling just before your knees, the black boxer still hugging your thighs tightly.

She didn’t want to look down, too shy to do so, but when she sat back against your bulge, it was impossible to not look at it. She pursed her lips together, the moan choked in the back of her throat as she felt you pressing hard against her. A wet spot taking form on the dark, thin cloth the more she rolled her hips on you.

It was an agonizing pain to let Tara in control of the situation. You could feel the warmth and wetness dripping for her cunt, you would easily slide in her, if she allowed you to. But you didn’t know how far she wanted to go with you, after all, this was just a test to see if she could get you hard, and she definitely could as she felt you twitching against her in desperate need to release.

This could've stopped here and now, you were hard after all, but in a bold move, her hand slipped into your underwear, her hand holding your dick in a hard squeeze that almost made you scream against her mouth. Pulling your length out, Tara wrapped her hand around your shaft, moving it up and down in a provocative way, smiling against your parted lips. Her eyes were dark, staring at you with luxury dripping from the brownish just like she was dripping on your thighs. You could feel the hot, thick liquid oozing on your skin as she rubbed herself on you.

“Fuck, Tara.” You breathed out again, broken, lewdly.

The brunette dipped her hand in her own underwear, eyes threatening to close as she rounded her swollen clit with two fingers, but she kept them open with a wicked expression on her face. Tara pulled her dress up, giving you the privileged view of her ruined underwear, the white fabric completely transparent. You couldn’t help yourself as your finger traced the wet stain, Tara’s mouth hanging open at the agonizing slow touch.

“Stop.” She asked in a trembled voice, shakingly holding your hand with flushed cheeks. “I don’t wanna cum like this.”

“And how do you wanna cum?”

Letting go of your hand, she watched with focused eyes as you took two of your fingers in your mouth, sucking at the slick that coated them with a satisfied hum. Tara seriously considered saying she wanted to ride your face and fall apart on your lips, but she just, messily, removed her underwear. A thin line of arousal followed the cloth as she tossed it somewhere in your bedroom, your mouth watering at that.

Tara pulled your boxer slightly down just enough for your member to be released, proudly hitting your lower belly, before placing herself on top of your cock, the blood flowing in your veins reverberating against her clit, making both of you choke on your breath. She fitted your length in between her slick folds, almost crying at the warm feeling.

She started grinding on you, shaking at every small move.

“This feels so fucking good.”

Throwing her head back, Tara supported her weight on her arms, gaining a fast pace. Your hands held the skirt of her dress up, giving you the perfect view of her shining cunt, smearing herself all over your cock. You could feel that tight knot on your stomach at that.

Moving one of your hands up and taking the dress with it, you crossed a barrier when you exposed her perfect tits, holding the stiff nipple with your thumb and index finger in a hurtful squeeze, earning yourself a crying moan that only made you throb against her center, while the other hand bruised the skin of her ass. You could see the red marks of your fingers all over her waist.

Pulling her torso towards you, your lips wrapped around her other nipple, trembling your tongue on the hardened nub, making Tara’s hands pull on your hair, keeping you close to her chest. Her hips started to lose speed, squirming in your arms as she neared her release; you weren’t going to last much, not when she started whispering your name over and over, shakingly violently in your arms. You came right after her, shooting thick ropes of cum directly into your hoodie.

Your arms were fast to hold her against you, keeping her body close as you came down from your high together. Tara's head fell on your shoulder, her hot breath tickling the skin of your neck, you could feel her smile.

“You okay?” Being the first one to break the silence, you asked in a soft voice, running your hands up and down her back, feeling her heart beating like crazy; yours weren't different, smashing itself against your ribcage.

“I'm great.” She mumbled out, weak and out of breath. “Are you okay?”

Feeling the nod of your head, she pulled away from her hiding spot. When you met her eyes, a pinkish color was filling the skin around her cheekbones, coloring the freckles that spread across her face, and unlike you were wondering inside your head, things didn't look awkward after that; Tara still had that familiar, warm look in her eyes when she leaned in to place a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips.

“Are you proud of yourself?”

“For making you cum without barely touching you?” Tara laughed in a proud voice, avoiding looking down as she felt your length still comfortably placed in between her slick folds.

Your hands were firm on her waist when you lifted her hips, guiding the tip of your cock against her sensitive bundle of nerves before slowly sliding in her cunt at the same time she fell back on your thighs, trying to catch her breath at the sudden invasion. A small smile on her face at the feeling of being full, her velvety walls clenching hard around your shaft, still recovering from her orgasm.

“For the fact that I'm still pretty hard.” Pressing kisses over her jawline, you thrusted up, a surprised moan escaping her throat. “Can you feel it? How hard I am? How good I'm filling you?”

“Yes…” She choked out, wrinkling your hoodie in her fingers, trying to find support on your shoulders when your hands forced her up, your member coated in a thin layer of her arousal before sliding her back down. “I'm very proud of myself.” The breathy confession made you smile against her neck, softly biting on her jugular before your movements gained a steady rhythm, mixing with the wet sounds and the melody tone of her voice calling out your name for every neighbor to hear.

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marysfics · 2 months ago

Text

Submerged in Silence

"And I scream for your name and l call for you babe, but I can't be with you."

Angst, High States of Panic, Toxic Statements, Trauma, Enochlophobia, Small Mentions of Gun Shots (in reader's mind), Fluff, Happy Ending.

Note: I've deleted the series and made one long fic of it. Might be a bit over the top.

The memory crept back into your mind like it always did-slow, unwelcome, but persistent. It had been a few months ago, but the sharp sting of that day still clung to you, heavy and unshakable. You could feel the weight of the promise you'd made, even now, pressing down on your chest like a lead weight. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, the sun casting soft, golden light through the windows, illuminating the room in a way that felt almost mocking.

You remember how peaceful the morning had seemed. Alexia had already left for training, her energy buzzing with excitement for that night's match.

She'd kissed you goodbye, a quick peck on your lips before slipping out the door with her usual calm confidence, and you had smiled, telling yourself that this time would be different. This time, you'd go. This time, you'd push past the gnawing anxiety, the fear that always seemed to take root deep inside of you, and you would sit in that stadium, cheering her on like the supportive partner you so desperately wanted to be.

In your mind, you could see it clearly-thousands of people dressed in the team's colors, the roar of the crowd, the feeling of pride swelling in your chest as Alexia stepped onto the field, her name echoing across the stadium.

You imagined sitting there, your heart full, watching her in her element, knowing she could look up and see you in the stands, finally there for her. You had wanted that, more than anything.

The days leading up to the match had been a blur of nervous energy. Every time Alexia mentioned it, her face lighting up with excitement, you'd nod and smile, doing your best to ignore the cold sweat that would break out across your back.

You didn't want to disappoint her-not again. So, you told yourself you could do it, that this time you would make it through, no matter what it took. But as the day grew closer, that sense of determination began to unravel. It always did, didn't it?

The first hints of doubt crept in during the quiet moments-while you were making coffee, brushing your teeth, or folding laundry-little flashes of panic that tightened your chest and made your pulse quicken. You pushed them down, tried to force them away, but they always came back stronger.

By the morning of the match, that flicker of doubt had turned into a full-blown storm of anxiety, swirling in your chest like a hurricane. You remember sitting there, hours before you were supposed to leave, staring at the clothes you'd laid out on the bed. They were just jeans and a t-shirt something casual, something comfortable-but the sight of them made your stomach twist.

Your hands were already trembling, the familiar tightness in your throat beginning to choke the air from your lungs.

You can do this, you told yourself, again and again, like a mantra. But each repetition sounded weaker than the last.

You had even managed to text Alexia, forcing your fingers to type out a message that you hoped sounded confident. "I'm getting ready. See you soon. I can't wait." She responded almost immediately, a string of heart emojis, a "Can't wait either, mi amor," and that radiant energy she always carried.

You had stared at your phone for a long time after that, letting the words blur as you tried to imagine yourself stepping into that stadium. But every time you pictured it, something inside you recoiled.

The thought of all those people, the noise, the claustrophobia of being trapped in a crowd of strangers, your mind unable to quiet the constant hum of fear. It wasn't just anxiety. It was a visceral, physical reaction, like your body was rejecting the very idea of it.

You knew it didn't make sense. You knew that, logically, you were safe-that nothing bad would happen to you at a football match. But the panic didn't care about logic. It never had.

As the hours passed, the pressure in your chest grew worse, your breath shortening until it felt like there wasn't enough air in the room. Your heart pounded in your ears, each beat echoing louder than the last. You tried to get up, tried to move toward the clothes you'd laid out, but your legs felt like lead. Your hands were slick with sweat, your fingers trembling as you clutched the edge of the bed, willing yourself to stand.

But every time you thought about leaving the apartment, about stepping into that massive stadium full of strangers, the world around you seemed to close in. You knew what was coming before it even hit.

You had felt it building for days-the panic attack that was now bubbling to the surface, threatening to drown you in its familiar waves. The room spun, the walls felt too close, too suffocating.

You gasped for air, your heart racing so fast that it felt like it would beat right out of your chest. You pressed your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the feeling of spiraling out of control was already overwhelming.

And that's when the tears came. Hot, angry tears of frustration, of guilt, of shame. You were supposed to be stronger than this. You were supposed to be able to push through for her-for Alexia. But here you were, once again, frozen by the weight of your own fear. You sat there, curled up on the edge of the bed, your body shaking as you let the panic run its course, helpless to stop it.

By the time the panic had finally receded, the match had already started. You didn't even have the strength to move, let alone text Alexia to tell her you weren't coming. All you could do was sit there, staring at the empty clothes on the bed, feeling the crushing disappointment settle over you like a blanket.

Hours later, when Alexia came home, the guilt was so thick in your throat that you could hardly speak. You saw the way her face fell when she walked through the door, her usual bright smile dimming as she realized you weren't at the match. She didn't say anything at first. She just stood there in the doorway, her eyes searching yours, and in that moment, you wished the ground would swallow you whole.

"I'm sorry" you whispered, your voice barely audible, your gaze fixed on the floor. Alexia nodded, her face unreadable, though the silence between you was louder than any words could have been. She sat down beside you, her hand reaching out to rest on your knee, a quiet gesture of comfort. But you could feel the disappointment radiating off her, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

"It's okay," she said softly, but you both knew it wasn't. Not really. She didn't press you for an explanation, didn't ask why you hadn't come. She knew about your anxiety, about the way crowds could suffocate you. But knowing didn't make it easier.

Understanding didn't erase the fact that, once again, you hadn't been able to follow through on your promise. And that hurt more than anything.

Later that night, as you both lay in bed, the silence stretched between you like a chasm. You had forced yourself to smile, though it felt more like a grimace, your heart racing again as you whispered the words that had been echoing in your mind all day. "I swear be I'll be there next time, you said, the words tasting like desperation on your tongue.

Alexia had smiled, a soft, tired smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She kissed your forehead gently, her touch warm and reassuring, but there was a sadness in the way her hand lingered on your cheek, as if she didn't fully believe you. "Okay" she whispered back, her voice quiet and understanding.

But in the darkness, with the weight of your failed promise still hanging between you, you knew the truth. You weren't sure you believed it, either. Because no matter how much you loved her, no matter how badly you wanted to be there for her, the fear was always waiting.

And the next time would come, just like this time had, and you weren't sure if you'd ever be able to push through it.

Back in the present, the room is a quiet testament to the echoes of promises broken.

You sit in the living room, the silence between you and Alexia stretching out like an impenetrable barrier. The apartment, once a cozy refuge, now feels like a cage, its walls closing in with every passing moment.

The space around you is eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the apartment settling. The walls, once filled with the promise of warmth and love, now seem to close in on you, pressing against you with their silence. The apartment feels cold and unwelcoming, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy it once held when Alexia was around.

You glance over at her, sitting across from you on the other end of the couch. Her eyes are glued to her phone, scrolling through something you can’t see, though you can sense the frustration in the rigid set of her shoulders and the way her fingers swipe aggressively across the screen. She’s trying to pretend that it doesn’t bother her, that she’s unaffected by the fact that you missed another one of her games, but you can feel it, heavy in the air between you.

It’s not just the matches, you think, the thought cutting through the fog of your own guilt. It’s everything. I’m losing her piece by piece.

You remember the times when the apartment was filled with laughter, where every shared moment felt like a step closer to building something lasting.

Now, the laughter is scarce, replaced by the silence that stretches endlessly between you. Each missed match, each broken promise, feels like a crack in the foundation of what you had built together. The more you miss, the more the cracks widen, and you feel yourself slipping through, unable to grasp the pieces that once made you whole.

Alexia’s silence is louder than any words she could offer. It’s the way she avoids looking at you, the way her responses are curt and measured, like she’s trying to hold back a flood of emotion. You can see it in the way she sits, rigid and unyielding, her body language speaking volumes about the hurt and disappointment she’s trying so hard to conceal.

Why do I always fail? you wonder, the question echoing in the emptiness. Why can’t I be the person she needs me to be?

You think back to the last time you made the promise—the words you had spoken with such conviction, hoping against hope that this time would be different.

But as the days turned into weeks and the matches continued, your anxiety only seemed to grow stronger. The idea of being in a crowd, of facing the roar of thousands of voices, became a mountain you couldn’t climb. And now, each time you failed to live up to your promise, the guilt grew heavier, a constant reminder of your inadequacies.

Alexia finally puts down her phone, her gaze drifting toward the window, though she’s not really seeing anything outside.

The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, and you feel the weight of it pressing down on you, suffocating. You want to reach out, to say something, to break the silence and bridge the gap that’s grown between you. But you’re paralyzed by the fear of saying the wrong thing, of making the situation worse.

The walls of the apartment seem to close in tighter, and you find yourself staring at the familiar surroundings—pictures on the wall, the cozy throw blankets, the shared books and trinkets. They’re all reminders of the life you used to share, a life that feels increasingly distant and out of reach.

I wish I could just explain, you think, feeling the tears welling up behind your eyes. I wish I could make her understand that it’s not about not supporting her. It’s about me being trapped in this fear, this suffocating panic that takes over every time I try to step out of my comfort zone.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the anxiety is still there, a constant companion.

You know Alexia is struggling, too, though she tries to hide it.

You can see it in the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, in the way she tenses when she thinks you’re not looking.

You wish you could find the right words, the right way to make her see that this isn’t a matter of not caring. It’s not about the love you have for her; it’s about the crippling fear that prevents you from showing it in the way she needs.

The silence continues, a living, breathing thing between you. You can feel it pressing against you, and the weight of it is almost too much to bear. You can see the way Alexia’s frustration is building, a quiet storm that threatens to break free. You want to reach out, to hold her, to tell her that you’re sorry, but the words catch in your throat.

Finally, the dam breaks. Alexia’s eyes blaze with a mixture of hurt and anger, her voice trembling with raw emotion. “Do you even want to be part of my life?” she asks, her voice breaking, the words cutting deeper than you expected. “Every time I look up at the stands, I just... I just want to see you there. I want you to be proud of me.”

The intensity of her question hits you like a physical blow, and you flinch, the weight of guilt pressing down on your chest. The vulnerability in her eyes makes your heart ache. “I am proud of you,” you say softly, tears forming in your eyes. “I’m proud of you every single day, but I’m scared. I’m scared of the crowds, the noise, the pressure. I don’t know how to be in your world without drowning.”

Alexia’s frustration morphs into a deep sadness, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of her emotions is too much to bear. “I don’t know how to help you if you keep pulling away,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m trying to understand, to find a way to make this work, but every time you retreat, it feels like I’m losing you a little more. I need you to meet me halfway. I need to know you’re fighting for us, not just fighting against your fears.”

Her words are a dagger to your heart, each one a reminder of the emotional chasm that has grown between you. You can see the pain in her eyes, the strain of trying to hold everything together while you struggle with your own limitations. The realization that your fears are pushing her away is almost too much to bear.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, your voice breaking with the weight of your emotions. “I really am. I wish I could be stronger, be braver. I don’t want to keep failing you.”

Alexia’s frustration is palpable, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “I need you to try,” she says, her voice thick with tears. “I need you to find a way to be part of my world. It’s not just about the games; it’s about being present, being there for me. I feel like I’m losing you, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

The desperation in her voice, the ache of her words, cuts through your defenses. You realize that this isn’t just about you anymore—it’s about both of you, and the future you’re struggling to hold onto. The frustration and sadness are mingling in the air, a storm of emotions that neither of you know how to navigate.

But as the argument spirals, the rawness of the emotions takes over, and both of you start hurling words that can’t be taken back.

“You don’t understand what it’s like!” you shout, your voice trembling with the weight of your own fear and frustration. “You think I’m just not trying hard enough, but you have no idea how paralyzing it is. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning every time you try to step out.”

“And you don’t see how your inability to even attempt it makes me feel like I’m fighting this battle alone!” Alexia retorts, her voice rising with anger. “I’m not asking you to be perfect. I’m asking you to show up, to be a part of my life, and every time you back out, it’s like you’re telling me that I’m not worth fighting for.”

The emotional gap between you feels like an ocean, wide and uncrossable. Each accusation, each defense, only widens the chasm. The words you exchange are sharp, and the air between you is heavy with the weight of what’s been said and left unsaid.

“Maybe we’re just too different,” you whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, a resignation in your voice that reflects the depth of the chasm growing between you.

The silence that follows is deafening. The rain outside intensifies, the sound of it hitting the windows echoing the heavy beating of your heart. The rhythmic patter of the rain becomes a backdrop to the quiet storm inside, a harsh reminder of the distance that seems to be expanding with each passing second.

Alexia stands there, her face a mix of anger and despair, and for a moment, everything feels suspended in time.

The rain continues to drum against the windows, a relentless, unyielding force, mirroring the tumultuous emotions inside you both.

In the midst of this emotional hurricane, you finally find the words, though they come out strained and hesitant. “I’ll come to the match tomorrow,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ll be there to sit with you. I know you’re hurt, and I don’t want to make things worse. I’ll come, even if it’s hard for me.”

Alexia’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of hope mingling with the pain. “You’d better come,” she says, her voice resolute though it still trembles. “Because if you don’t, I don’t know if our relationship can survive this. I need to know you’re willing to fight for us, even if it’s hard.”

You nod, tears stinging your eyes. “I’ll be there,” you promise, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ll come for you. I’ll try, even if it’s tough.”

As you both stand there, the rain outside continues to fall, a steady, soothing backdrop to the fractured silence between you. The storm may have raged, but there’s a small, fragile hope that with each step you take towards each other, the distance can start to close. For now, all you can do is hold onto that promise and hope that it will be enough to bridge the gap that has grown between you.

The evening wears on, and neither of you knows how to fix the damage.

Alexia goes to bed without saying another word, leaving you alone in the living room, staring at the raindrops streaking down the glass. Each drop seems to trace the contours of your guilt and sadness, mapping out a path that leads deeper into the abyss of your own making. The silence that fills the apartment feels like an impenetrable wall, a barrier between you and the understanding you both desperately need.

You feel like you’re drowning in your own emotions, sinking deeper and deeper into a place where reaching Alexia seems increasingly impossible. The weight of your failure, the depth of your anxiety, and the magnitude of the rift between you make it hard to see a way out.

The next morning arrives with a heavy sense of dread. The apartment is still and quiet, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Alexia gets up, her movements mechanical and distant. She goes through her morning routine with a cold efficiency that only amplifies the silence. When it’s time for her to leave, she doesn’t kiss you goodbye. Instead, she simply puts on her coat and heads for the door, the finality of her departure a bitter reminder of the fracture in your relationship.

You watch her go, feeling a surge of panic that makes your hands tremble. You know you have to push through the overwhelming fear that has been building up inside you. It’s like trying to swim against a relentless current, but you force yourself to take each step, determined to follow through on your promise.

Your hands shake as you try to get dressed, struggling to button your shirt and tie your shoelaces. Every movement feels like an immense effort, as though you’re moving through thick molasses. You try to calm your racing heart, but the fear is relentless, making it difficult to focus.

When you finally make it to the car, your hands are slick with sweat as you fumble with the keys. Opening the door feels like a victory, a small but significant step towards facing your anxiety. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and slip into the driver’s seat. The engine roars to life, a powerful, comforting sound amidst the storm of emotions.

The drive to the stadium feels surreal, as if you’re moving through a dream. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, as the world outside blurs by. When you pull into the stadium garage, the sight of the vast, looming structure fills you with a mixture of trepidation and resolve.

You park and take a moment to collect yourself before stepping out of the car. Your legs feel shaky beneath you, and your hands remain clammy as you grab your belongings. The distant roar of the crowd, already vibrant and loud even in the parking lot, seeps into the car and intensifies your anxiety.

Taking a deep breath, you force yourself to open the door and step out. The air in the garage is cool, a stark contrast to the heat of your nervous energy. As you close the door behind you, you spot Alexia standing by the elevator, her attention focused on her phone. The weight of the argument still lingers, an unspoken heaviness between you that neither of you has fully addressed.

You approach her, each step feeling like an enormous effort. Alexia looks up from her phone as you draw near, and for a moment, her eyes meet yours, a mix of relief and something else you can’t quite place. Her gaze lingers on your hands, which are still visibly trembling. Without saying a word, she reaches out and takes one of your hands in her own.

As you and Alexia make your way through the bustling corridors of the stadium, the roar of the crowd grows louder with each step. The noise is almost deafening, a cacophony of cheers, chants, and the rhythmic thumping of thousands of feet. Every sound feels like a physical blow, a relentless assault on your senses.

You try to keep yourself together, forcing yourself not to flinch when the crowd’s collective excitement erupts into a wave of sound. The intensity of it makes your heart race faster, each shout and cheer echoing in your chest. Moving past the sea of passionate supporters, you find yourself clutching Alexia’s hand tightly, as if it were a lifeline pulling you through the storm of sound and motion.

When you finally reach your seats, you collapse into them with a mix of relief and exhaustion. The crowd's roar continues unabated, a relentless wave of sound that seems to pulse through your body. Alexia leans in, her voice soft and soothing as she tries to offer reassurance, but the noise is so overwhelming that her words are lost in the din.

You close your eyes, focusing on breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly. You try to anchor yourself to the rhythmic rise and fall of your breath, hoping it will help calm the storm inside. For a moment, it feels like the breathing exercise is working, and the edge of your panic starts to dull.

Suddenly, you hear Alexia's voice again, cutting through the noise with a note of genuine pride and happiness. “I’m so proud of you for coming,” she says, her words filled with warmth and affection. “I know this is really hard, but I’m so grateful you’re here.”

You manage a smile, the effort of it feeling almost like a victory. It’s a small, fragile smile, but it’s genuine. You’re grateful for her presence, for her understanding, even if your anxiety still lingers at the edges of your consciousness. Alexia doesn’t notice that the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes; she’s too focused on her own feelings of pride and happiness.

The game begins, and for a while, the atmosphere, though intense, is manageable. You keep your focus on Alexia’s comforting presence beside you, drawing strength from her closeness. The match unfolds, and despite the roars of the crowd, you manage to keep yourself together, finding solace in the fact that you’re here, supporting her.

But when Barcelona scores, the stadium erupts into an explosion of sound. The roar of the crowd is deafening, a wave of noise that seems to crash over you and pull you under. Your heart races, and the intensity of the celebration sends your anxiety spiraling out of control. The cheers and shouts blur into a chaotic din, and for a moment, the world around you feels like it’s closing in.

In the midst of the crowd’s jubilation, your senses become overwhelmed. The noise, the movement, and the sheer volume create a disorienting storm. Suddenly, you hear what you think are gunshots—sharp, jarring sounds that make your blood run cold. They’re not real, of course, but to your panicked mind, they’re all too vivid. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as tears stream down your face, and you feel hyper-alert, every nerve ending on edge.

Alexia notices the sudden shift in you, her gaze darting to your tear-streaked face. She can see the fear and panic in your eyes, and her own shock and guilt mirror the turmoil inside you. Her hand grips your thigh, trying to ground you, but the touch makes you flinch uncontrollably. The action catches her off guard, and she quickly realizes just how severe your distress has become.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Alexia says urgently, her voice filled with concern. She gently but firmly holds your face in her hands, trying to bring you back to the present. Her eyes search yours, filled with worry. “It’s okay, you’re safe. We’re going to go home. It’s alright.”

You can’t speak, only nod weakly as the tears continue to fall. The crowd's noise fades into the background as Alexia’s presence becomes your sole focus. She helps you to your feet, guiding you carefully through the throngs of people, her own emotions a tumultuous mix of regret and concern.

When you finally reach the parking garage, the air feels different, more contained and quieter. Alexia helps you into her car, her movements deliberate and gentle as she opens the passenger door for you. She takes a deep breath, her own anxiety evident in the tight lines of her face, but she masks it with a determined calmness.

You slip into the seat, still trembling, and Alexia quickly moves to the driver’s side. She starts the engine, the purr of the car offering a brief, comforting reprieve from the overwhelming noise of the stadium. The gentle hum of the car’s interior is a soothing contrast to the chaos of the game.

As she pulls out of the parking garage, she glances over at you, her eyes soft with concern. “We’re going home,” she says, her voice steady but filled with empathy. “Just focus on your breathing, okay? We’ll get through this.”

As the car glides smoothly out of the parking garage, the city lights begin to blur past the windows. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft glow of the dashboard create a cocoon of calm in contrast to the chaos you just left behind. Alexia’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white with the tension she’s trying to control.

You close your eyes, focusing on the slow, deep breaths Alexia encouraged you to take. The steady rise and fall of your chest, paired with the gentle motion of the car, helps you regain a sliver of composure. Every breath feels like a small victory, a way to push back against the overwhelming tide of panic.

The drive feels longer than usual, every minute stretching out in a haze of relief and residual fear. Alexia occasionally glances over at you, her gaze filled with a mix of worry and determination. Her silence speaks volumes, conveying the depth of her feelings without needing to utter a single word.

As you approach your apartment, the familiar surroundings offer a glimmer of comfort. Alexia pulls into the parking space and puts the car in park, her movements deliberate and careful. She turns off the engine and reaches over to take your hand, her touch gentle and reassuring.

“We’re here,” she says softly, her voice a soothing balm against the raw edges of your anxiety. “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay? You did so well coming here tonight, and we’ll work through this together.”

Alexia helps you inside, her hand steadying you as you move through the apartment. You feel the weight of the evening’s events pressing down on you, each step a reminder of the intense panic you experienced just hours before. You offer a small, grateful smile, though it feels shaky and incomplete.

She guides you to the bedroom, where you sink onto the bed with a sigh of relief. The familiarity of your room, the soft bedding, and the quiet atmosphere offer a small respite from the overwhelming sensations you’ve been battling. As you lay back, trying to calm your breathing, you notice Alexia moving about the apartment with a determined efficiency. She heads to the kitchen, her movements focused as she prepares to make tea.

The sound of the kettle whistling is a distant hum, almost comforting in its normalcy. Alexia’s footsteps are soft and deliberate as she moves around the kitchen, and you can hear the occasional clink of mugs and the rustle of tea bags being opened. Despite the calmness in the apartment, you can’t shake the feeling of embarrassment that lingers, a heavy weight that’s hard to ignore.

You pull the blanket around you tighter, trying to stave off the tremors that still shake your body. The evening’s events replay in your mind, each flash of panic and each tear that fell feeling like a stark reminder of your own vulnerability. You close your eyes, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of your breathing, but it’s a challenge with the remnants of your anxiety still coursing through you.

After what feels like an eternity, Alexia enters the bedroom with a steaming mug in hand. She sits beside you on the bed, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and tenderness. She places the mug on the nightstand and carefully helps you sit up, her touch gentle and reassuring. The tea’s warmth offers a small, comforting distraction from the turmoil within you.

“I made us some tea,” she says softly, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos of your thoughts. “It’s just chamomile—hopefully, it’ll help you relax a bit.”

You manage a small, grateful smile, though it feels like an effort. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. The vulnerability of the moment, combined with the lingering embarrassment, makes it hard to meet her eyes.

Alexia hands you the mug, her fingers brushing against yours with a warmth that sends a shiver down your spine. “Take your time,” she says, her gaze tender as she watches you take a cautious sip. “I’m here for you.”

The warmth of the tea soothes your trembling hands, and you close your eyes, letting the calming effects of the chamomile slowly seep into your system. Each sip helps ground you a little more, easing the last remnants of panic.

As you drink, Alexia sits beside you, her presence a steady anchor. She reaches out and strokes your hair softly, the gentle motion a quiet affirmation of her support. The silence between you is filled with an understanding that doesn’t need words—she’s here, and she’s not going anywhere.

You feel a wave of gratitude for her patience and care, despite the turmoil you’ve brought into the evening. “I’m sorry,” you say softly, your voice trembling. “For everything. I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”

Alexia shakes her head, her expression resolute. “It’s okay,” she says, her voice firm yet gentle. “We’re going to get through this together. I just want you to know that you’re not alone.”

As the evening wears on, the trembling subsides, replaced by a deeper sense of calm as you and Alexia sit together in the quiet of your bedroom. The remnants of the night’s chaos slowly give way to a fragile but hopeful peace, and you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of Alexia’s presence, finding solace in the quiet support she offers.

The room is quiet the next morning, the sunlight filtering through the curtains and casting a soft glow over the bedroom. You’re still in bed, the remnants of last night’s anxiety slowly receding, replaced by a tentative calm. Alexia has already been up for a while, you can tell by the faint sounds coming from the kitchen—clinking dishes, the soft murmur of the radio.

When she finally enters the room, she carries a tray with breakfast—simple, but thoughtful. A steaming cup of coffee, a slice of toast, and a bowl of fruit. She places it gently on the nightstand and sits down beside you on the bed, her face reflecting a mix of fatigue and determination.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she says quietly, her voice carrying a heaviness that hints at the weight of her words. She meets your gaze with a vulnerability that you haven’t seen before, her eyes searching for yours as if seeking forgiveness.

“I know last night was really hard,” she begins, her voice trembling slightly. “And I know I said things that were hurtful. I was frustrated and scared, and I let that frustration come out in a way that wasn’t fair to you.”

You sit up slowly, taking in her words as your heart tightens with a mix of relief and sadness. The sincerity in her voice, the raw emotion in her eyes, it all makes your breath catch in your throat.

“I didn’t understand,” Alexia continues, her voice breaking a little. “I didn’t see how deep your fear was, and I pushed you too hard. I’m so sorry for that. I said things I’ll always regret. I never wanted to hurt you, but I did, and for that, I’m truly sorry.”

Her eyes well up with tears, and she reaches out to gently take your hand in hers, her touch tender and apologetic. “I know now that I should have been more patient, more understanding. I thought I was helping, but instead, I only made things worse. I want you to know that I regret every harsh word I spoke. I wish I could take it all back.”

You squeeze her hand, feeling the weight of her apology settle in your heart. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” you say softly, your voice filled with a mix of gratitude and sadness. “I understand that it was just frustration and fear on both our parts.”

Alexia nods, her tears falling freely now. “I never wanted our arguments to hurt you, and I’m so sorry for not being there for you in the way you needed. I promise to work on understanding your fears better and to be more patient. I want us to be able to face these challenges together, without adding to each other’s pain.”

The sincerity of her apology, combined with the raw emotion she’s displaying, helps to heal some of the wounds from last night. You can see the depth of her regret and the genuine desire to make things right, and it offers a glimmer of hope for moving forward.

“I appreciate that,” you say softly, your voice trembling as you try to keep your emotions in check. “I know it’s not easy for either of us, and I don’t expect everything to be perfect. But I do believe that we can work through this together.”

Alexia nods, her face reflecting a mixture of relief and gratitude. “Thank you for understanding,” she says, her voice filled with warmth. “I love you, and I want to be here for you, no matter how difficult it gets.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, holding each other’s gaze and finding comfort in the unspoken connection between you. The air in the room feels lighter, the tension of last night giving way to a more hopeful sense of reconciliation.

As the morning unfolds, you and Alexia take small, careful steps towards mending the fractures in your relationship. You share breakfast together, the simple act of being present and supportive a testament to the strength of your bond. The road ahead may still be challenging, but the commitment to understanding and patience offers a foundation for healing and growth.

In the quiet moments that follow, you hold on to the promise of better days ahead, knowing that with love, effort, and empathy, you can navigate the complexities of your relationship and emerge stronger together.

Note: I'm aware that this isn't my best piece, but I wanted to get it out anyway. As a process to grow with new writing styles.

#woso x reader #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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yeosgoa · 6 months ago

Note

Can I request an ateez yeosang x reader smut where he gets her to squirt for the first time and she slips into subspace? Etc?

embarrassed for me name to be there so here's an emoji

🐈‍⬛

23:52 • sᴡᴇᴇᴛ, ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ɢɪʀʟ (NSFW)

♡ softdom!boyfriend!Yeosang x sub!girlfriend!reader

♡ comfort, domestic, smut

♡ WC • 4009

♡ Warnings!! (tags) • unprotected sex, size kink, deflowering, subspace, praise, oral (f/r), overstimulation, edging, squirting, pet names, marking, multiple positions, afab reader, swearing, aftercare. (pls lmk if I missed anything.)

♡ A/N: my first request! Thank you anonnie! 🫶🫶 I hope this was to your liking. and something for @shinestarhwaa while you wait for the wooyoung fic 😚.

♡ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

♡*♡∞:｡.｡ ♡*♡∞♡*♡∞:｡.｡｡.｡:∞♡*♡ ｡.｡:∞♡*♡ ｡.｡:∞♡*♡

Your eyes were on the white ceiling, occupying yourself by looking at the slight texture of it. You tried focusing on the sound of the city below your apartment, but you quite couldn’t do that much when the sound filling the room was Yeosang slurping away at your pussy, his tongue alternating between curling inside your hole and swirling around your clit.

He had your legs hunched over his shoulders, your inner thighs adorned with love bites, and his drying saliva. Your outer thighs felt the chill of your room, meanwhile, his body in between them made you all the warmer. Your hands travelled up his hoodie that you had on, playing at your tits.

Yeosang’s rough hands kneaded at your love handles, running down the rolls of your waist inside the hoodie, and down to your exposed hips. All while making out with your throbbing clit.

Propping himself up, he sucked on his fingers, and carefully put a finger inside you. You exhaled deeply, hiding in the comfort of the hood as he proceeded to stretch your hole out. First with his middle finger, then adding his ring, and eventually his index. He scissored and made ‘threes’ inside your hole, making sure to stretch you out enough for what was to come later.

He kissed your pelvis soothingly as he did, then licked a stripe up your clit, flicking it with the tip of his skillful tongue. You moved to pet his fluffy black hair, being met with his soft puppy-like eyes that are so perfectly complemented by the heart-shaped birthmark on his left eye. He let you pet him for a moment before gently grabbing your hips with both hands, sitting you up, and helping you onto your tummy, but you paused for a moment.

“What’s the matter, little one?” he cocked his head, speaking to you in that nauseously careful tone of his. You fumbled with the hem of his hoodie, and he hummed. “Off?” you nodded silently, raising your arms above your head as he slipped it off you. Once it came off you then laid onto your front, the sheets caressing your bare skin, not so much the cold air that determined to leave goosebumps on your arms and back though.

You could hear Yeosang behind you, the rustling of him taking off his sweats and the soft thud of it landing after he discarded it carelessly in a random area of your room. His underwear came next, you didn't want to turn your head and look at what he’d been hiding all this time, maybe it might intimidate you, and you didn’t want to back out of this, not when you were already to that point.

Your head rested in your nestled arms. He moved your hair out of the way from your back, as he ran his soft hands up and down your spine. You shivered at his feather-light touches, along with the overwhelming comfort of the fluffy sheets below, melting into your nude front.

“Sweet girl,” Yeosang whispered, caging you between his arms as he propped himself planked on the bed. He kept his tone soft and quiet so as to not disrupt the comfortable silence in the room. He then caged your legs between his and leaned down close to your head. You could feel his warm breath fanning the side of your face and neck. “Tell me if it’s too much. Alright, little one?” he cooed at you, and you nodded softly.

Yeosang set himself on his elbows, nuzzling into your neck as he gently pushed into your tight hole. He had more girth than the small toys you regularly used, making you whimper slightly at the foreign size. He wasn’t even halfway through when he paused, worried at your noise of discomfort. His hand reached around to hold yours, cooing soothing words to you.

You shook your head when Yeosang asked if you wanted to stop. “Jus’ not used to it,” you mumbled into the pillow. He nodded silently in understanding, leaving a gentle squeeze on the hand that he held as he started to push in the rest of his cock. Your walls flutter around him as he stretches you out, his length slowly expanding your hymen till it tears.

Feeling your hymen tear you squeezed his hand. It didn’t hurt much, but you paused nonetheless. He was bigger inside you than you thought he would be, and your eyebrows creased as you attempted to adjust to him.

“Shh,” Yeosang pets your hair, his lips against your head. “Easy, easy… you’re alright, little one,” he murmurs, kissing your head softly. You can feel his balls firmly against your pussy lips, adding a new warmth to your already furnaced heat. Your walls locked him in snugly. The plush, gummy-like texture caressed his veins. You could feel his cock pulsate inside you, it was hard to ease yourself.

“You’re squeezing me so tight baby, you’re so tense,” your boyfriend attempted to soothe you, moving his hands to caress and massage at your sides and hips. “Ease up for me, angel,” he murmurs, the husk in his voice coming deep from his throat.

It was hard to follow as he told you, as you could feel Yeosang bulging out of your tummy. Nonetheless, you took a deep breath as you slowly unclenched around him, making him sigh in relief. He wouldn’t admit it to you but the tightness of you clamping down on him so aggressively like a vice caused him a bit of discomfort and pain. Not really any man admits to it, to hold their pride in the bedroom, but yeosang held his discomfort in to make you feel more comfortable around him. He didn’t want you to panic over causing him pain when he was the one taking care of you.

“You ready for me to move, little angel?” He asks gently, resting back down onto his elbows. You gave it a few more seconds before nodding softly, reaching behind you to hold his hand. Taking the hint he laid both your hands at the sides of your head, interlacing his from behind. Languidly, he started to move, very carefully pulling back his hips before slowly dipping back in.

His pelvis met your ass. Warm skin meeting each other before departing a few inches and meeting again after a few seconds. Yeosang guided you to take deep breaths, with each gentle thrust in and out. Fluttering your eyes shut you burrowed your face into your pillow, inhaling and exhaling deeply through your nose.

Though it was quiet in the room the squelching reverberation of your intimates grinding together made your ears ring. The longer you adjusted to his cock the more he felt fitted inside you, his strokes feeling more pleasurable. He moved fluidly, rolling his hips into you instead of going straight and stiff. You could feel each pant of his warm breath against your neck, trying to hold himself back from fucking you senseless. You just felt too good. With a hum, he asked-

“How is that for you my love?”

You nodded, letting out a small ‘good, Sangie’ before asking if he could pick up the pace now that you were more comfortable. Yeosang spread out his legs more and locked his legs around yours, planking himself up now on his hands, still laced with yours. Once adjusted he gave a few experimental thrusts before starting to move at a more moderate pace, soft claps now beginning to echo throughout the room as you released a quiet moan into the pillow below. Taking in the pleasured tone, he released his right hand from yours, placing his hand onto the headboard as he continued with his pace, still paying attention to your reactions.

Every thrust that was deep enough he noticed you flutter around him and micro-orgasm, taking note of how your noises sounded more sweet and higher in volume. Every little detail mattered to him. Yeosang’s eyes were locked onto you below him, mainly your fingers and the way they gripped the sheets. Did they claw or twist the fabric, rake, or simply press?

Without thinking, Yeosang picked up his pace to a quicker one. Not too fast or abrupt but above moderate. His brain flipped its switch for a moment there, focused on the way you clamped around him and how good his tip felt rubbing against your walls. His shaft felt so warm when in, but cold and wet when out.

Yeosang moaned softly, head thrown back as he let his hips take control and have a mind of their own. His head leaned back forward again, eyes closing as he moaned prettily.

“Baby,” he said, returning to his elbows as he hugged your whimpering figure, his nose nuzzled into your neck. His tip hit that particular spot inside you, that you almost always reached with your toys but never quite could.

His cock thrust into exactly there, making your face contort and your noises increase. “Sangie- Sangie right there,” you whined, your arm looping to him that had wrapped around your neck warmly. “Right there, yeah?” he echoed back to you, deciding to go just a bit harder now as you babbled out little ‘Sangie’s here and there.

Your walls contracted with every thrust, feeling emptiness before he filled you up again. The texture of his smooth head and rough, veiny shaft were the perfect mix, a foreign feeling than any of the rubber or silicone toys you used. You could get used to this.

A couple of minutes of him boning you lasted before he pulled out from behind you, untangling your legs and sitting on his heels. His hands went to your shoulders and waist, guiding you to flip onto your back now. He moved your hair from under your back to not itch you at all and made sure your head was secure and comfortable in the pillows before placing a pillow under your tailbone and lifting your hips up. At this angle you could see his cock- he wasn’t overly hung but he was there, pale and cut, with a pretty rouge-pink head. He was an average six, you assumed his girth to be the same, he was thick. It made sense as to why your walls felt unusually stretched out.

Noticing your staring he chuckled lightly, patting your cheek, and you looked up at him who now hovered over you.

“It already fit, why so scared?” he teased, noticing the way your eyes timidly peeked at his friend down there. Your cheeks flushed pink, as you shook your head. “, ’m not,” you mumbled, and he leaned down to press a reassuring peck to your nose. “Just focus on me, angel, hmm?” and you nodded.

Aligning himself with your entrance, he entered you once again. You let out a particularly sweet whine when he began moving inside you again, resulting in your hands moving to cover your face.

“Uh-uh,” Yeosang reached for your wrists, “mm-mm, let me see you, angel. Let Sangie see his pretty little angel,” he said under his breath, taking your wrists and pinning them to the sides of your head. You felt meek under him at this angle, full view of your breasts going up and down your chest when he thrusts. Not only that but your expressions, which he found so pretty to look at. The way your eyebrows creased and furrowed, the way you sucked in and bit down on your lip, the way your eyelids fluttered as you restrained from letting them close, wanting to keep your eyes on his angelic face above you. The tips of his ears were a shade of red, and sweat beading at his hairline. His eyes would close for a moment or two when he brushed against a certain spot inside you, and eventually, once again he found your special place, raw dogging with it once he noticed your back arch.

“go harder, Sangie, please.” you whimpered, and he didn't think twice before wrapping your legs around his waist and putting you in a mating press, thrusting down into your needy hole.

“Oh fuck, jagiya,” Yeosang practically whimpered, his moans escaping his lips more frequently now. His beefy tits are right above you, you can see the movement of his pectorals and his hard nipples, begging to be played with. You didn’t have a chance to though as he swooped down, capturing your lips in his in a long-awaited needy kiss. The contact of his black-cherry chapstick-flavoured lips against yours sealed everything, as you felt a knot start to build up inside your lower tummy.

“S-Sangie-” you tried speaking between kisses, your walls clamping down on him. He felt this, not wanting you to cum yet he pulled out, restricting you from your orgasm. A loud whine escaped your throat, as your eyes went wide open and you looked at him with confusion.

“Shh, baby. I’ll let you cum soon, but not right now.” Yeosang rubbed your clit gently as he pushed back in, moving languidly and now leaning down to your neck, gathering your hair in one hand out of his way as he began to nibble and suck at your neck and collarbone, leaving red and purple markings, now matching your thighs. His lips travelled to your nipples, taking a hard bud into his mouth as his free hand occupied the other one.

His thrusts had come to a complete stop as he toyed with your sensitive nipples, your pussy cockwarming him as he stayed inside you. Yeosang had you filled, making all the play more sensitive. His tongue glided right on the bud, your walls contracting for a brief moment as you micro-orgasmed around his cock, a small moan sounding in your ears from him.

Seemingly satisfied with your reaction Yeosang started up his thrusts once more, deep and moderate. He groaned and pressed himself up completely against you, cradling your head into his neck. The slaps were wet. A squelching sound from all the buildup reverberated into your sensitive senses, sending flutters from your stomach to your clit, the pearl sticking from your lips.

Yeosang had you in a headlock as he thrusted. You inhaled his scent and it made you feel so locked in, like a swaddled baby in his arms. Every time you got close to orgasm he would slow down to a stop, until he was satisfied the fourth time around and let go of your head, planking himself up so he could press one of his hands slowly into your stomach right where the slight bulge of him was.

You microed back to back until the knot started building up. Your pussy was so sensitive by now that you weren’t even sure if you would be able to cum. You not only felt that but a mixed feeling of having to be relieved too. It was almost difficult to put into words, but you tried nonetheless.

All Yeosang heard were babbles coming from you, he chuckled softly. His hand that was on your stomach went to your throbbing clit, and he pressed his middle finger up on it. Your eyes rolled back before looking back up at him, your hands on his shoulders as you tried to get the words out. He shushed you though, and rubbed a few small but firm circles before you felt a gushing sensation via your urethra, straight spilling onto the sheets as well as Yeosang’s pelvis. He pulled out and dove his fingers straight into your hole, moving quickly as he watched your expressions and listened to your pretty noises.

“See? There we go, pretty girl. Came so beautifully for Sangie, didn’t you?”

Your brain felt fuzzy after your orgasm, eyes clearing up and legs going limp. A deep exhale exited your lungs and you closed your eyes, now feeling the sweat that built up under your back that dampened the pillow under your tailbone. Yeosang looked down at you with his soft, puppy-like expression, cradling your face with his palms.

“You’re such a good angel for me, baby-”

“Sangie,” You cut off, looking up at him with a pout. His expression shifted to slight worry.

“Hmm? What happened, angel?”

Your legs wrapped back around his waist, pulling him back in as you babbled at him-

“Sangie, Sangie didn't cum,”

Yeosang’s expression softened again, as he looked down at you with a mix of amusement and adoration. “That's because Sangie was focused on you, baby. You want Sangie to cum?” your hands ran down his beefy arms, nodding adamantly but no words coming out your mouth.

Your boyfriend smiled softly at the way you became so much more needy for him now, noticeably slipping into your subspace. He always noticed from the way you become so much more desperate and clingy, your eyes having a different demeanor to them as well. It felt as if he was handling a delicate flower or a porcelain vase that would shatter any minute.

Gently, he slipped back into you for what felt like the nth time, keeping his movements gentle and languid as he knew you were still sensitive. He hugged you close, peppering kisses to your face and a plush one onto your wet lips. It didn’t take much time before his balls started to tighten since he'd been holding it in. “I-Inside,” you murmur, “inside?” he echoes back for confirmation, and you answer with a “yes, please.”. With a few more pushes rubbing against your cervix, he spilled into you, filling up your womb with his cum. You visibly flutter at the comforting feeling, humming in contentment as he finishes inside you. He keeps himself nestled there, letting you cuddle him to your delight until he eventually pulls away and carefully pulls out, a pop separating his cock from your hole.

Yeosang kisses your forehead before going to the connected bathroom inside the bedroom, leaving you nestled into the bed. You close your legs to keep his cum inside, it felt better knowing it was your boyfriend’s instead of the fake cum of an ejaculating toy.

You hear the water running from the faucet of your bathtub, your head moving to the side to get a better angle of what Yeosang’s doing in the bathroom but the door is halfway closed. You can smell the familiar scent of your vanilla bean candle though, and soon enough Yeosang emerges from the bathroom, coming towards your curled-up figure and scooping you into his big arms, nuzzling your hair as he walks you back to the bathroom.

Sure enough, you saw what you had smelled. At the rim of the tub were your candles, some unscented leaving only one scented so as to not overwhelm your already delicate senses. The bathtub was filled with bubble bath, not too much that it overflowed but just enough. Yeosang slowly lowered you into the tub, the warm water engulfing your skin inch by inch. He settled you comfortably, your back leaning against the wall. The bubbles went up to your shoulders.

You frowned when Yeosang stood back up straight to leave, your face contorting. “Where are you going?” You pout, and he turns to look at you. “I'm gonna put the sheets to wash, I'll be back quick, angel.” he promises, before heading out of the bathroom.

He took a couple minutes, coming back to find you playing with the bubbles, completely whisked away in your own little world. He slowly makes his way over to you, crouching down at the bathside and running his hands through your hair. Grabbing the body wash, he pumps a generous amount into your baby pink loofah, and takes your arm, starting off with that. The soothing feeling of him lathering you goes up your arm and across your chest, and to your other arm as well. Yeosang makes sure to get your neck, behind your ears, your back, and so on so forth.

Once you’ve been bathed, he takes his time washing your hair. His fingers massage the shampoo into your scalp, making sure to be careful incase you were tenderheaded. Your soft sounds of contentment were reassurances to him, as he watched you relax under his touch. You reminded him of a ragdoll, the way your eyes looked at him with adoration when in this headspace, completely reliant and stuck onto him. He adored the moments of when he would attempt to leave the bed, only for you to pull him back with a ‘no, Sangie’, or those moments of him walking into the room to find you curled up in his clothes, hugging his pillow that was drowned in his scent.

Too caught up in his thoughts, Yeosang didn’t realize you had fallen asleep. He quickened his pace of finishing to wash your hair before picking you up out of the tub, wrapping you in a fluffy towel and unplugging the tub. As much as he tried to not awake you, you woke up out of your light slumber anyway. It was a tiny dozing off.

“Out the bath?” You cooed tirely, and he nodded. “Baby out the bath, mhm. Cmon, Sangie needs to dry your hair so you don’t get sick, little one, don’t you think?”

Yeosang dried your body, putting you in his shirt and a fresh pair of panties. He then sat you in front of the vanity, taking your wet brush and untangling your hair before plugging in the blowdryer. You flinched at the loud noise, and he immediately shushed you, crooning. “It’s just the blowdryer, I’ll put it on low for you, angel.”

He adjusted it to a low setting so it’s quieter, sectioning your hair and drying it. Again, he took his time, even though by now it was two in the morning. He didn’t mind, he was only worried about you right now. Plus, he had the week off, time wasn’t his priority at the moment. You stared at him through the mirror, admiring his face. Your eyes locked onto his birthmark, you always found it to be so pretty. Despite his insecurities about it, you always made sure to sit on the side of him where you could see it regardless.

Yeosang seemed to notice this. He looked at you through the window and smiled gently, before focusing back on your hair. It took what felt like forever, but eventually he got it done and he led you back to the bathroom.

Your boyfriend lifted you and sat you on the counter. You swung your legs a bit, watching as he grabbed your bow headband and put it on you, pushing back the hair that framed your face. He started off by washing your face, using your favourite cleanser. Once he was done with that he applied your eyepatches, and applied your moisterizer. Yeosang knew you were tired so he didn’t want to drag your skincare routine out. While he was waiting for the eyebags to do whatever they were supposed to he took the time to brush your teeth, holding your jaw and giggling at the way your eyes were slowly shutting.

Hurrying up, he cleaned your mouth, and took off your eyebags and headband, bringing you back to bed. He took a quick trip to the kitchen to leave you a cold glass of water, and after tucking you in he took a quick shower himself. Yeosang figured he’ll worry about everything else later on, getting dressed into boxers and climbing into bed with your sleepy form.

You felt the bed dip, and shuffled close to Yeosang subconsciously, burrowing into his side. He smiled once more and kissed your head, turning off the lamp and pulling the covers over the both of you. His hand caressed your head as he stared out the window, watching the city lights. Soon sleep got the best of him, and he fell asleep with you in his arms, occupying his side of the bed.

Holding close to him his sweet, pretty girl.

494 notes · View notes

qwimchii · 1 year ago

Note

Could I request a fanfic where reader has an aversion of men (due to trauma) and her coping mechanism is to regard men as an "it" so she can get through day to day. When she's assigned to work alongside Task Force 141, she tends to get the most along with Ghost because it's easier to talk to him due to his mask and also simply because he's not very chatty and touchy. And through her time working alongside him, she falls in love?

If requests are closed please disregard this! I love your writing, thank you!

𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘴 (pt 1) — 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘤𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯!𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘱. 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘸𝘤 — 3.3k

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, (𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭) 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘸𝘸 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘯𝘯𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢 & 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢 & 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘺(𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘰), 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 :(

note: im so sorry for taking so long on this anon!!!! but i loved the idea so much that i ended up making this a multipart series in honor of friday oct 13 & halloween.... 🤭 also i know that you requested her to be on the 141 task force but i ended up amending that a bit so i hope that's alright?? anyways enjoy lovies!

you walked down the sidewalk, a pool of cold sweat collecting at your back. it was freezing outside—the midst of a fall unfurling across the landscape, orange leaves crunching underfoot as you approached the church looming in the distance. the glare of a car’s lights illuminated the white structure as it passed.

we’re adding a new person to the support group, Kate had texted into the groupchat a few hours before the meeting. Sarah had added a bunch of flowery heart emojis after it, saying how excited she would be to meet the new person.

the dread continued to drip down your back in a sweat.

in response, you had texted back a flat: why?

you knew what you were doing was considered plain mean.

you checked your phone again, the glare of it burning your eyes in the darkness. still no response to your text—no doubt purposeful on Kate’s part.

but this support group had become…

you strode through the church parking lot, shivering, and walked up a set of concrete steps, swinging the heavy, brass knuckled entrance open.

…special to you.

as you entered the familiar chapel, the old musk of the building a comforting scent now, you adjusted to the dim, warm light dispersed overhead before moving towards the basement steps.

your aversion of men wasn’t foreign to your closest friends and family. you knew it was a nuisance to them, but your past betrayed you, and sometimes, on the darkest nights like this, you could feel the tendrils of your trauma clutching at you.

you used to go to church with your father too. now, you would avoid any church like the plague, save for this one.

you made your way down the steps to the basement—the musk of mold and age drifting through the place.

the girls in your support group had become much more than just a kind word. they were your friends. they accepted your strange quirks without so much as the bat of an eye.

adding a newcomer… complicated things. things like closing yourself off again, getting jittery and nervous every time you even spoke in front of the group, overwhelming you to the point of quitting entirely.

it had happened three times already but Kate had coaxed you back every time someone new joined. eventually, you had come to accept each of them. but it was no less difficult.

passing through the long, carpeted hallway, miscellaneous boxes here and there, you neared a familiar wooden double-door.

Kate rounded the corner on the far side of the hallway and gave you an easy, but tired, smile. she was holding some papers as she strode up to you.

“hey honey,” she called, patting your cheek gently in greeting when she neared you. “you’re early.”

you shrugged. “i’m always early.”

to these meetings at least, you didn’t voice, you wouldn’t miss them for the world.

Kate swallowed, then nodded, brushing back the strands of blonde wisps that fell into her eyes. “i know.”

you cocked your brow. she was acting strange—avoiding your eyes, and swallowing up words she wasn’t saying.

“Kate,” you said, tongue feeling heavy, “what’s this new person thing about?”

she bit her lip, finally meeting your eyes. “apparently, the newcomer has a habit of being early too.”

your brows rose. “yeah? let me meet them—”

your hand itched towards the knob of the door, but Kate stepped in front of you, blocking your way to the entrance.

your eyes were narrowed now. shifting on your feet, you tried to doge the petite woman, but she swatted at you, side stepping so that her back was flush with the door now.

“what are you doing?” you asked with an amused huff, bewildered by her strange behavior.

“is the newcomer a bit of an oddball?” you offered, your brow furrowing when she tilted her head.

“not exactly.”

you nodded slowly, trying your absolute best to appear optimistic with an indifferent shrug. “s’fine to me. we’re all a bit strange.”

definitely strange, that voice in you sang. you tried not to feel offended by your own mind.

Kate’s head dropped, breathing out a long and heavy sigh, before her blue eyes were on yours again. “just… don’t run away.”

“she can’t be that bad can she?” you asked with a laugh, a new muddled swirl of something dark and alarming pooling in your stomach.

Kate shrugged and that made you really nervous. she swung the heavy door open and stepped inside, disappearing from sight into the meeting room.

you stood there for a good moment, fumbling with your hands before, and you made it halfway through the doorway before—

you saw a man.

you stopped short. he was huge—muscular, no doubt, under several layers of black attire, body dwarfing the folding chair he was sitting on. half of his face was shrouded by a black surgical mask, hood drawn up, the cords of his earbuds trailing into the pocket of his black sweatshirt where his hands were shoved into.

immediately, you slammed the door shut.

turning on your heel and making your way back down the hall, you only hurried when you heard the door fling open behind you and quick footsteps following that.

“wait!” Kate called, and you covered your hands with your ears.

apparently, Kate was faster than you, because her hand was grabbing a fistful of your clothes before you knew it, and you reeled on her, seething, “i’m not going in there.”

apparently Kate was stronger than you, too, because she started half-dragging you back down the hallway and hissing through gritted teeth, “like hell you have a choice!”

“no—don’t want to—!”

by the time she had dragged you all the way back down the hallway, your shoes desperately scrambling against the carpet, panting with exertion, you had accepted defeat.

she still loosely clutched at the collar of your shirt, for fear that you may run again, and you swatted her hand away, fixing the wrinkles of your clothes as she brushed back her hair with a deep scowl and closed eyes.

when she gave you a side long look full of bitterness, your face scrunched, sending her the nastiest expression you could muster, hands balled into fists.

she completely ignored you, jerking her head in the direction of the open doors. “go.”

it wasn’t a request.

you bit down on your tongue hard, and with the most dramatic sigh you could muster, you sulked into the room, completely ignoring the man sitting within a circle of chairs.

Kate tutted behind you, half-pushing you out of the way to the desks shoved into the corner of the room. you trailed after her, watching her set down the now crumpled papers, smooth them out, stuff them into cardboard boxes, and then reorganize the boxes.

you searched for the words.

“you didn’t tell me that person was…”

a man.

you looked back over to the hulking man leaning back in the rickety, tin folding chair. it creaked under his weight, and he cocked his head, eyes shut like he was sleeping. you didn’t really care if he heard you or not.

rather immaturely, you rephrased the sentence. “you didn’t tell me it was—”

Kate shot you a look that immediately shut you up. “anyone can come to our support groups, missy. you know that.”

you rolled your eyes. you knew that. but still.

“but…” you couldn’t find the words to say.

she sighed out, moving the box of papers to an adjacent desk. “and i thought this would be a good thing,” she grumbled.

your eyes snapped to her the back of her blonde head, a keen suspicion brewing in your throat. “good thing?”

she turned back to you, hand on her hip. “yeah. a good thing.”

it was a deadpan.

“honey, you’ve been in this group the longest, and we’ve been struggling with this i hate men thing since the beginning.”

you flinched. ouch.

she was right but that didn't make it any easier to come to terms with, and luckily for you, you were stubborn as hell.

“so?” you said with a shrug, shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans.

“see?” she said, gesturing to your stiff posture, “you’re getting defensive.”

you blinked. “no i’m not.”

she let out a laugh but it was mirthless—more of a frustrated huff. “since you’ve been here the longest, i’m gonna need you to do something for me, honey.”

your voice was strained. “do what?”

she pointed to the man, whose eyes were still closed, and hissed at you in a half-whisper, “you’re going to talk to him first, introduce yourself, get his name and occupation, and then you’re gonna introduce him to the rest of the group yourself.”

your skin crawled with disgust at the idea. Kate always did introductions. not you.

you stepped forward, opening your mouth to protest but—

she held up a hand in your face and skirted around you. “no. i don’t care what you have to say. this is how we improve, honey.”

you know that she wanted to say you.

you stood stock still behind the desk, seething, clenching and unclenching your fists as you heard Kate disappear from the room. leaving you alone with that thing.

turning on your heel, you jolted when the man’s gaze was already on you, half-lidded and piercing. his eyes had a dark, grayish film to them—brown with a murky depth.

it took everything in you not to snap at him to look away.

sighing out with exasperation, you rolled your shoulders and neck, and took stiff strides towards him. you hesitated mid-stride when he lazily looked away, seeming like he was just going to try and ignore you. that irked you even more.

you stood right in front of him so he couldn’t look anywhere else. you saw the furrow of his brow, the snap of his eyes up to yours in a hard glare, and felt a pleasant curl of satisfaction soothe you.

“hi,” you said, voice rough, as you shoved your hands back into your pockets.

he shifted in his chair, tilting his head back at you, taking you in fully. you wanted to slap that look off his face.

arrogant asshole.

his accent was thick and grating. “hi.”

after a long moment of tense silence, his eyes narrowed. “you got a name?”

you gave him a sweet smile. “nope. yours?”

his brows rose slightly, something playful flashing in his dark eyes.

you cringed. was he smiling?

that was not your intent.

“Simon Riley,” he said curt, “but i prefer Ghost.”

you ignored him, scratching at your neck, ready to get this over with. “right, Simon, welcome to the support group. i guess.”

he stared at you. “thanks.”

suddenly, his gaze felt too heavy and awkward on you. something dark and miry drenched your heart, tugging it down with a weight. it felt unfamiliar and strange. something bordering on regret or guilt.

fumbling with your hands, you stepped back and found a chair on the very opposite side of the circle. the very opposite side.

his eyes were still locked onto you, and you crossed your arms, looking anywhere but him, the carpeted floor, the peeling posters plastered with religious slogans on the wall, Kate’s desk, the entrance of the room where Sarah and Maya stepped in.

seeing them was like a release, and that ugly thing weighing down your heart was lifted. Sarah gave you a beaming smile, waving enthusiastically with a loud greeting. Maya trailed behind, giving you a soft, shy smile.

both of them edged around Simon and flanked your sides in the seats.

you watched her glance to Simon, eyes wide, then looking back at you. there was something like apprehension in her face.

she mouthed, is this the new person?

you glanced to him. he was barely registering the other two girls in the room, eyes untrained and looking somewhere else, black boots crossing over each other.

with a bitter feeling, you nodded at Sarah and she clutched at her mouth, sharing a look with Maya who was perfectly undisturbed by the newcomer’s presence.

Sarah, being Sarah, sat up straighter in her seat and leaned forward, waving a hand to get Simon’s attention.

“hi,” she called with a soft voice, smiling big. “i’m Sarah.”

Simon dipped his head politely. “nice to meet you.”

you scowled. where were his manners before?

though, you thought meekly, you hadn’t really showed your best manners either.

sighing out, you watched Sarah and Maya launch into a conversation with him that you refused to join, withering into your chair. all his responses were polite, curt, and bordering on uninterested.

“what are you listening to?” Maya asked in that soft angelic tone of hers, and Simon took out his earbuds.

“smashing pumpkins.”

Sarah gasped, gesturing to your face with a wild hand that almost knocked against your chin. “that’s her favorite band!”

Simon’s gaze snapped to you, and you felt like puking.

fumbling for words, you protested in a tone too strong. “no it’s not.”

Sarah gave you a confused look. “but we went to their concert last summer remember? in las vegas?”

oh you remembered. you specifically remembered because their band was getting old and their farewell tour felt like a looming threat in the near future. you remembered because you wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

but you couldn’t say that so instead you said, “no, my favorite band is… is…”

you glanced at Maya’s curious expression.

“taylor swift,” you shot out.

you grimaced. that’s not even a band.

Maya cocked her head. “no, taylor swift is my favorite singer.” she gave you a knowing look. “and you love the smashing pumpkins.”

she turned to Simon. “she even has posters in her room.”

you groaned out, slumping further down into your chair and wanting to disintegrate on the spot as Maya continued to talk about your avid love for smashing pumpkins. but Simon’s gaze was pinned on you. it didn’t even look like he was listening.

you pretended you were invisible for the rest of the conversation until the rest of the girls had trickled into the room, watching with a curling disgust at the sight of them fawning over Simon and his alluring presence. he seemed indifferent enough to their attention.

not like you cared.

the circle slowly filled till Kate took the last spot.

she had a stack of papers on her lap, smoothing over them with that tight-lipped smile of hers as she started the meeting.

her words were flying through your ears. words you didn’t really want to hear as you tugged on the hem of your hoodie, slumped over in your chair.

you didn’t hear her calling your name either.

Sarah knocked her foot against yours and you shot up in your seat, flushing when you noticed everyone’s attention on you.

your eyes darted around the room, feeling hyper aware of Simon’s blank, bored stare sweeping down your body.

“hi,” Kate said in a sweet tone, leaned forward in her seat, though her face was laced through and through with that burning exasperation that you were too familiar with.

“since you were the first to acquaint yourself with our guest,” she said, gesturing with a polite hand to that big masked thing on a chair, “we would love for you to introduce the new member to us.”

shifting to sit further up in your chair, you swallowed, voice falling flat and dead. “sure. this is Simon. he’s uhh…”

you took him in and all his hulking demeanor. “an accountant.”

his eyes flashed with that same look as before—something playful that really pissed you off.

Sarah snorted and Kate just smiled, though it was wholly devoid of warmth, and you resisted shivering. “right. i’ll do it then.”

she looked around the circle slowly. “this is Simon Riley. he’s in the military. i met him a couple years back.”

your eyes snapped to Kate’s, a whole new sense of betrayal swelling in your chest. she had already known him and wanted you to introduce him anyway?

“traitor,” you grumbled under your breath, crossing your arms over your chest.

the girls, in a chorus, sang out a hi Simon, a couple of them giggling, poking at each other. you noticed Maya blushing beside you and rolled your eyes.

was he really that attractive?

he just nodded, with a very low, “hello,” and sat up properly, drawing back his hood.

there was a light tussle of blonde hair on his head, shaved down at the sides and hanging down his forehead.

you bit your tongue, looking away. maybe he was.

“welcome Simon,” Kate said with a gentle smile, “i’m glad you decided to come.”

there was something knowing in her gaze when Simon’s eyes darted to hers that had a new curiosity perk up in you.

you watched the whole interaction with narrowed eyes.

just how well did they know each other?

as Kate dished out the upcoming schedule for the group, your gaze burned into his face. his eyes, trained on Kate, made you jolt when they flicked to you.

he slowly tilted his head, eyes narrowing a smidge. you frowned deeply, and in a stubborn haze, met his piercing gaze with one of equal stature. after a long moment, he huffed, a weird breathy sound, eyes flashing again, and looked away, and the moment you shared was gone.

you shifted in your seat, blinking, feeling strange and light.

what the hell was that?

you looked around, seeing if anyone else noticed. when you were sure no one had, you scolded yourself.

no fraternizing with the enemy, you chided, shifting your attention back to Kate who was listing off the predetermined pairs for the fall session. Kate always claimed that she pulled the pair choices out of a hat. the fact that you had never been paired with Maya or Sarah for a single season left you questioning that.

besides that, many of the sessions required getting one-on-one quality time with other group members through predetermined partners and different activities, even outside of group meetings. the fall session was always the busiest, preparing for upcoming events with weekly meetings.

it was something unique to your group which you wholly appreciated.

your gaze flitted to Simon.

except for when there’s newcomers.

“finally, you,” Kate nodded her head to you with a bitter tone, which made you wince, although you knew guessed you deserved it, “and Simon.”

what?

“what?” you croaked, and you visibly saw the girls in the room shift with discomfort, gazes avoiding you.

they had seen your immature outbursts before about newcomers. you were not afraid to show them again.

Kate gave you a very nasty sidelong look. “don’t start.”

you bit your tongue so hard you think it almost bled.

Maya’s hands fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, looking a bit crestfallen at the conclusion designated pairs, and in the sweetest tone you could muster, you offered, “what about Maya?”

her head whipped to you, jaw dropping open and a flush on her cheeks. you sent her a weak, apologetic look, sneaking a hand over to hers but she just smacked it away.

Simon only laxed back into his chair, blinking slowly like he was about to fall asleep, gaze flitting lazily between you and the bashful girl beside you. when his eyes lingered on her, you truely, utterly, wished with every fiber of your being that Simon had been paired with Maya instead.

Kate just ignored you, sorting through papers to find the next one that she read aloud. more on the upcoming fall activities that you would be helping the church with.

usually you’d be ecstatic.

but when your gaze fell on Simon, lazy, hulking, and donned in black, he cocked his head at you, eyes swirling. then, he put his earbuds back in, eyes sliding shut.

you jerked your hood up over your head and sulked.

this was going to be the worst few weeks yet.

okayyyy soooo i wanted to make these chapters shorter and ive already prepared quite a few so i'll be posting every 1-2 days for this series leading up to halloween!!!! im so excited 🤭 i hope you guys enjoyed this first silly part <3 more silly parts to come!

taglist: @ivybeeloved @babygirl-riley

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #ghost smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

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saturnsorbits · 7 months ago

Text

Thirst Trap: Caught Desperate

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Smut, Prone Bone, Spanking, Pictures - Consensual. Word Count: 4k.

Summary: Read the Intro -> Here.

A/N: Idek what the fuck this is. I've genuinely forgotten how to write - smut especially apparently.

-> Part of the 'Thirst Trap' Collab.

Make sure to check out the other incredibly talented authors through the link above and don’t forget to leave a nice comment and reblog if you liked their work!

The first thing he feels is panic.

His phone won't stop. It vibrates against his palm, stirring up a numbness that radiates through his callouses as the screen flickers. The near constant updates create a blur he can't follow, the dull flashes summoning a sharp edge to the headache that has already started to press at the sides of his skull.

Fuck. He sighs, digs a knuckle into the corner of his eye and brackets his hand across his forehead. His PR team might actually murder him for this one.

Prodding at his screen, he manages to slow the endless roll of his feed. The replies are positive, mostly. His fanbase isn't exactly small and, according to the last PR meeting he was forced to attend, they were also predominately women. Although, looking at his phone now, he'd say the divide was probably about 50:50.

Curiosity getting the best of him, he scrolls...

The first few replies he sees are simple enough: suggestive emoji's, notes of amusement, the odd heckle about the size of his cock. Then, there are the more fun ones: the ones calling him a slut, asking to give him more than just head or being up front with their solicitations.

Huffing out a breath, he unfurls, spreading out on the bed and stretching an arm up behind his head. His pants are still unbuckled and pulled to the broadest point of his hips, a casualty of his drunken state. Underneath, his cock presses against the denim – twitching with every mention of the things his fans plead to do to him.

He shouldn't.

He knows its wrong.

Knows that he shouldn't indulge himself.

He shouldn't be thinking about fucking his fist to the thought of an anonymous stranger drooling down his balls, his cock bulging from their cheek, holes stretched out around him as he rolls his hips searching for the thing inside of them that'll make them scream.

His hand cups his pec, broad palm circling gently until he can catch his nipple with each slow pass. It's surprising how quickly his cock catches on. He can feel it leaking, soaking through patches of his underwear as it begs to be released. Letting his hand slip down his body, he feels the tension shake in his abdomen. He's wound tight, muscles shivering even under his own touch as he sinks his hand into his jeans and finally, squeezes his cotton-clothed cock.

He should stop.

Fuck, he should just delete the tweet and get a glass of water.

… And maybe a cold shower.

Licking over his teeth, he's reluctant when he slips his hand back out of his jeans and slams it, somewhat sticky, against his sheets. His cock protests, throbbing with the new lack of friction after being granted so little. It makes it hard to focus, the rolling pit in his stomach, the pulsing of his body – even without his alcohol impairing his judgement, his desire pleads a strong case for him to simply submit.

Bakugo swallows and moves to swipe away from the possibly career-changing tweet on his screen, but the feed is faster than he is.

It isn't the message that catches his eye, not at first anyway. No. It's the username. Your username.

He clenches his jaw.

Immediately, you fill his senses. It had barely been a few hours since you'd had your arms wrapped around his neck, your bodies pressed together as you swayed on the dance floor. If he tried, he swears he'd still be able to feel the soft skin of your thigh grazing against his fingertips as his hand had found its way under the edge of your dress. Your perfume had been intoxicating. A subtle mix of vanilla bean, sandalwood and your sweat had drifted from your collarbones and infested his senses, luring him right to the edge of what he'd known would get him into a whole heap of shit.

That was before he'd made that fucking post, of course.

Now, he was starting to wonder if taking you home would have been the right move all along.

His promises be damned.

Chewing at his lip, he lifts his thumb, revealing the message attached to your name. 'Thought you said you weren't that desperate, huh.' His stomach lurches.

The memories come quick then, fighting through the fog of too many whiskey's and regret.

He'd meant it as a joke, he really had, something to give him some pace, to make you think twice, think of the consequences – but he's never been good at managing his tone and at almost midnight even his belligerence had felt semi-formal. You'd been too close, too pretty, with the promise of a night he wouldn't be able to forget laced between your teeth and he'd... Well, he'd done what he does best.

He'd pushed you away.

Your eyes shine in the dull lights outside of the club, the yellowing tinge spilling from the surrounding lamps doing nothing to diminish how stunning you look. The alcohol has blown out your eyes, swallowing your iris' almost whole – although, he'd like to think he had a hand in how truly taken you look right now. His hand is on your waist, equal amounts keeping you close and at bay as you bat your eyelashes prettily at him and pout.

'C'mon...' You press close, hand searching the expanse of his chest. His heart thunders underneath, picking up whenever you near his pecs, so you slip a had over his shoulder and use his height to ease yourself up onto your tip-toes. 'You've practically had your hand up my skirt all night, what's stopping you now?' You chuckle, clicking your tongue against your back teeth.

Bakugo's snarl twists his features before he can stop it. He can feel the barb, feel the world curl on the back of his tongue before he can do anything to stop it. It tumbles from his mouth, but even despite his attempt to spit it out softly – hoping it won't hurt too much, your nose wrinkles.

'You really think I'm that desperate?'

It's like you've been slapped.

Your hands tense on his shoulders, feet falling back flat to the floor. Part of you knows he's just trying to get a rise out of you, but you're beyond sick of the back and forth. It's been months of this, of you getting close enough to taste him only for him to retreat at the last moment, usually with a snarled comment he doesn't mean, or some silly excuse to protect that softly-beating heart everyone swears he doesn't have. Sighing, you step back – the tap of your heels like gunshots on the pavement as you raise your bag from the crook of your arm and back onto your shoulder. 'Obviously not.'

Your distance reads like rejection, burns a hole in his pride and makes him prickle. He shakes his head and slips his phone from his pocket intent on ordering his own taxi, despite the fact he can barely make out the squiggles he hopes are words. 'Fuckin' knew I shouldn't have let Red bring you-.'

After that the memories grow hazy.

He remembers how you'd somehow smoothed over the hiccup in the conversation, laughing it off in all probability, but even then, you'd never quite come as close to him as before. He remembers your laugh. Remembers how the melody of it had ricocheted around his brain in the taxi ride home. He remembers missing your warmth. He remembers the flash of guilt, his half-hard cock and drunken brain at war. He remembers his phone, the screen a pale blue, glowing. He remembers, he remembers his thumb hovering over your name.

He remembers chickening out...

Fuck.

Evidently, he hadn't chickened out hard enough.

Clicking onto your page, he checks your replies to make sure he hasn't hallucinated your response, but before he can even begin to obsess over it – his phone pings in his hand.

It's a message. A real one. Not something filtered in through his socials. With shaking hands, he opens it and pauses.

He has your number saved under your first name.

Just your first name.

Not 'Sidekick''. Not your full title. Or what department you work in. You don't even have a stupid moniker. For fucks sake, he's called Kirishima 'Shitty Hair' in every single phone he's had since high school, and Todoroki has remained solely Todoroki – even despite the fact, both him and his father share the title.

He doesn't dwell on the reasoning.

Instead, he opens the message and is immediately confronted with a screenshot of his tweet. He cringes. Your reply is underneath it, racking up too many likes for his taste, and underneath that is your text.

You: 'You really are fucking desperate, aren't you?'

He waits, palms sweating, watching as three little dot appear and disappear and then, reappear again.

You: 'Can't even reply to me?'

You: 'You could at least turn your read receipts off. I can see you reading the messages.'

You: 'For fucks sake, Bakugo?'

His pulse quickens, thrumming strong and rhythmic under his skin as if to remind him what it is to be near you. The joints in his fingers have frozen, despite the energy rushing through his body demanding movement. Through the haze of his vision he sees you typing again.

You: 'Can we stop doing this now?'

Yes. Bakugo thinks. God, yes. The room spins as he cranes his neck down at his phone, eyes unfocused... His heart and cock war on, but now, the alcohol makes it far too easy for the tide to sway. Flexing his thumbs, he taps back a message before he can think better of it, before the noise of his life and expectation and the world outside can eat away at him again.

Bakugo: 'Please.'

Your reply takes a second this time, forcing the air in his lungs to crystallize; but before he can drum up too many doubts, there's your name again lighting up his screen.

You: Is that the great Dynamight saying please?

Bakugo: Fuck off.

You: Fuck off, or fuck you?

Bakugo's cock twitches in his jeans. He's so hard it's almost painful now, causing an ache to spread up the deep lines of his hips and radiating through his pelvis. Reaching down, he palms at himself again feeling the heft of his desire in his palm. He types back, one handed, the other already occupied.

Bakugo: Don't play with me. You know he'll kill the both of us.

You: I never did get to give you your birthday present.

Furrowing his brow, Bakugo is taps out a series of question marks – unimpressed with the idea of birthday cake when he had come to expect something a whole lot different, but before the thought can fully depress him – another message comes through.

It's a screenshot. The one this entire conversation began with – his own message glowing from his screen. Except this time, underneath is a message that makes his breath catch in a whole new way.

You: 'This offer for everyone, or just everyone who isn't me?'

Bakugo: You.

Bakugo: It was just for you.

Bakugo stills, his breath jammed in the back of his throat as his brain catches up with his fingers.

Fuck.

He shouldn't be doing this.

He should of just had a wank to all of the filth being sent from his fans. Even that would get him in less trouble than this. Part of him wants to back out, wants to claim a hack or come up with some other equally unbelievable and shitty lie so he can turn tail and run, but there's no way back now. He knows that much. His cock is hard and heavy between his thighs, his drunken mind too far from sober for him to see reason.

He types back.

You don't bother changing. You'd dressed to impress after all. Instead, you snatch a condom from your brothers stash tuck it into your bra and order a taxi, checking the address Bakugo had sent you three times before finally confirming the ride.

The journey is short and sweet, filled with anticipation and the soft jazz that trickles through the radio of the car. You've been waiting for this, grown tired of the will they won't they that had lead to this moment, but now it's here, you find yourself: nervous.

The car mounts the curb, almost sending you sprawling, then a tenner and a lift ride later, you're at his door.

He opens it before you knock looking a little more together, but still drunk. You can feel it too, the alcohol still flooding your system and making everything just a little easier. Still, nothing is as easy as coming together. You mouth drops open, an unspoken question lingering on your tongue and then, Bakugo is on you.

'C'mere.' Using one hand, he hooks it around your waist and tugs at you to him. Your bodies collide, palms coming up to rest against his chest as you peer up at him. He doesn't know how he's resisted you for so long, how he's kept true and stopped this. After all, looking at you now cradled in his arms, it is obvious this was nothing, but inevitable.

Your lips come together easily. The kiss is harsh, full of pent up tension and a longing that has broken you both. He nips at your bottom lip before you flick your tongue against his teeth, tasting him properly as he lets you in.

'Holy shit.' Panting, you claw at him – your hands are everywhere: at his buttons, his chest, wrapped in the chain circling his neck. He pays you back in kind grabbing at your hips, taking handfuls of you with an eagerness that radiates through his entire body.

With an unceremonious grunt, he bends at the knees, slipping his hands under your thighs to hoist you up against his waist. He pulls back a slither, blinking at you, his shoulders straining at he takes your entire weight with ease and presses you into the wall of his hallway. A wicked grin takes his lips as you squeak, arms and legs wrapping around him to cling on. 'Hang on.'

He kisses you again then, pressed to the wall, but before you can catch you're breath he's off. You make a stop at a small counter where he presses his clothed cock to your cunt, letting you feel just what you're getting yourself into and again at the wall outside of his bedroom. There he almost leaves your neck raw, biting and sucking, but never enough to leave too much of a mark.

You stumble into his bedroom still cradled in Bakugo's arms. There's sure to be bruises on your elbows, a symptom of attempting to peel him from his shirt while he careened through the doorway, but as your back hitting the bed and Bakugo hovering over you, you find it hard to care. Reaching into your bra, you slip out the condom with two fingers and present it to him by waving it under his nose.

Taking it with his teeth, he grins as you let out a sigh that settles in his bones. Beneath him, you look insatiable. Your eyes have blown out, the black of your iris' banishing whatever colour had once been there. The dress he'd been so anxious to get under all night is rumpled, the slit cast aside exposing the thickness of your thighs and a slither of cunt covered by a pair of soft-looking red lace. The bodice is low, the heaving of your chest apparent – your tits held high, pressed together and begging for his hands. Slipping a hand up your thigh, he brushes his fingers across the flesh and earns himself the most pretty of moans.

'I knew you'd break.' Lifting your leg, you kick out at him softly – the ball of your heel connecting with his shoulder. You perch on your elbows, eyes swollen, the pulse of your cunt matching the beating of your heart. It's been rough until now, a clash of teeth and nails, but its hard not to notice the bare desire you see splayed out in his eyes. It's mixed with carmine, a colour that barely covers what, if nurtured, could become love. 'Knew I'd have you.'

He grabs your ankle and pulls on reflex, yanking you down the bed. 'Did you?' Under his skin he feels feral. Something that's only made worse when you lick your lips and nod.

His restraint snaps. Grabbing at your hips, he kneads the fat there before flipping you over. You bounce, a scream escaping your throat, but he quickly transforms the sound into a moan with a harsh slap against your ass.

'Thought you wanted head?' You laugh, feeling your skin prickle under him. There's a rustle behind you, the tell tale sound of him shucking down his jeans and then, his fingers are pulling your underwear away from your cunt and exposing you to the air.

'You always this much of a brat?'

You wriggle and lift up your hips. 'You always this hard for me? Oh wait...' You chuckle. 'You are.'

A growl rumbles in his throat, but it's not anger he's feeling. Taking his cock in his hand, he gives himself a cursory pass – the stickiness of his own pre cum making it easy. His head rocks back on his shoulders. With a bottle of whiskey still coursing through his vein's he's more than sensitive, the simple passes of his hand having him ready to blow – God only knows what the feel of your cunt will do to him.

'C'mon... Fuck me, forget the condom – just -.' Reaching behind you, you attempt to grab at him – to pull him close, get him to touch, to taste.

Chuckling to himself, he bats your hand away easily. 'Nah-ah-ah. Don't think you deserve me raw, sweetheart. Only good girls get that.' He squeezes the base of his cock, stopping a premature end as he tears through the tinfoil of the condom and slips it on.

You go to whine, to kick your feet and protest him not giving into you, but you're not even given the chance.

The first thing you feel is impossibly full. The next is overwhelming pleasure. Bakugo hadn't wasted time prepping you and to be honest, you hadn't needed it. You're soaking, cunt dribbling greedily onto his mattress – like you haven't been waiting forever for this moment. You arc your back, one hand fisting his bed sheets as the other curls around the wrist he plants beside your head. The pace he's set is brutal, each thrust pushing deeper inside of you, taking you as he pleases as you cling on and submit to it.

'Where's the cheek now, huh?' He pants. Honestly, he's surprised he's not cum already. Your cunt milks him, squeezing him so deliciously that he doesn't think he'll ever find anyone better.

Then again, he know what they say about forbidden fruit.

''m sorry.' You moan, back curling as he fucks you harder. It's pathetic how he's barely given you anything and yet, you're already creaming around him. Your body begs for release, teetering you on the precipice of ecstasy as he uses you relentlessly.

'No your not...' Bakugo chokes out, teeth bared as he clings to the last threads of his control. Your tight now, too tight to not be close and if the way you're moaning and almost drooling onto his bed is anything to go by – he's not wrong. Leaning over you, he licks a thick stripe up between your shoulder blades before resting his lips by your ear. When he speaks is a growl, a command that comes from deep within his chest. 'Touch yourself... C'mon, show me how pretty you cum.'

You don't need telling twice. Forcing your arm beneath you, you draw quick, awkward circles on your clit and have to remind yourself to breathe. Your orgasm hits you like a train. Every muscle in your body tenses, your eyes rolling back into your skull as the high continues to roll through your body. It feels like a millennia until you come back again, until your limbs begin to feel under your own control and you become aware of Bakugo still frantically prolonging your high.

'Shit, shit, shit...' Pulling out, he ignores your protests before quickly rolling off the condom. It takes a singular pass of his fist before he cums, a grunt thrown from his chest as he releases himself over your ass. His mess is sticky, a pearlescent sheen that drips between your cheeks and onto your raw cunt – your clit still twitching.

In a moment of madness, he retrieves his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture of the scene. In it, only the edge of your dress can be seen, coupled with the most distant droplets of his spend as it decorates the skin of your thighs.

'Post it.' Craning over your shoulder, you hiss at the new soreness in your limbs as you roll onto your back. You tilt your head, signature mischief returning to your cheeks. 'Got to let those fan girls know you've already being taken care of...' You flash a smile. 'And I'd really hate to see your DM's right now.'

Against his better judgement, he tosses you his phone. 'Knock yourself out.'

It's almost six in the morning when you finally settle for bed. You'd gone another three rounds. Once in shower, over the vanity in the hallway and then, again in his bed and each time had seen both of you aching and sore and more than pleased with yourselves. You'd posted the picture and Bakugo's phone hadn't been quiet since – not that you minded. It wasn't like anyone could really tell what it was. The lighting was awful, the image blurred and you'd cropped it so there was no chance of anyone figuring out who you were.

Still, the idea of it stirs up something hot and heavy in your stomach.

You'd laid your claim now.

'I will never know how you're such a demon when you're brother's a God damn golden boy.' Bakugo's breathing has just about leveled out, you hand rising and falling in a more subtle rhythm where it lays on the center of his chest.

You wrinkle your nose. 'Can we not talk about my brother while I can still feel your cum dripping down my ass, please.'

Bakugo chufs, but relents. His thumb rubs soft circles in the skin of your shoulder, a gentle beckoning to sleep as both of you watch the sun rise and fill his bedroom window with a brilliant orange. 'Stay?' He kisses your forehead. 'I'll make you breakfast.'

Nuzzling into him, you're about to agree – mind already reeling at the possibilities of Bakugo's cooking and another round at a more respectable hour – but, all thoughts cease when Bakugo's phone pings with a message.

'If this is my fucking publicist you can explain yourself.' Bakugo tuts, but there's still a warmth in his smile that betrays his annoyance.

You giggle. 'Happy to.'

Flipping over his phone in his hand, Bakugo's mouth drops open when the screen glows to light his face.

There's only one message on the screen.

And it isn't from his publicist.

Shitty Hair: 'Really dude, my fucking sister?'

#bakugo smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #mha smut #saturnsorbits #saturnscribbles

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