#im so done with all this but i just had to address it. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thesecondhandwoman · 3 months ago

Note

Hi! Im usually too embarrassed to send requests but- maybe Ambessa with assistant reader? Whose so sweet and awkward and tries her best to help and follow ambessa around- (if it's not too much reader is from the undercity and worked hard to try and be were she is now)

HER LITTLE ASSISTANT

Ambessa x f!reader

Synopsis: You never fully grasped at the fact you had been chosen as Ambessa’s personal assistant, a simple girl who had climbed high from the Undercity. But now that you had the chance, you weren’t gonna give it up, no matter how nervous you may be.

Request: Anon 🤍

The Medarda estate in Noxus was every bit as imposing as its mistress. A sprawling fortress of crimson stone and black iron, it loomed over the city like a sentinel, unyielding and proud. It was fitting, then, that the woman who ruled within it was just as formidable.

You were not.

Trailing behind Ambessa Medarda as her assistant, you often felt like a tiny sparrow struggling to keep pace with a hawk. She strode through the halls with her characteristic confidence, her long strides and the sharp clink of her armor an unrelenting tempo you scrambled to match.

Your arms were laden with reports, a satchel bouncing awkwardly against your hip. You’d learned early on that Noxian efficiency left no room for mistakes, and as someone who’d clawed their way out of Zaun’s undercity, failure wasn’t an option.

“Keep up, little one,” Ambessa called over her shoulder, her tone teasing yet commanding.

“Yes, ma’am,” you chirped, nearly tripping as you hurried to close the gap.

She stopped abruptly, turning to watch as you skidded to a halt in front of her. Her sharp eyes swept over you, taking in your disheveled appearance and flushed cheeks.

“Well, I did not mean keep up by falling,” she chuckled, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Just breathe.”

“I—yes, of course,” you stammered, clutching the reports tighter. “Sorry, Lady Medarda.”

Her brow arched. “Ambessa. You’ve been working for me long enough to drop the formalities.”

“Right. Ambessa,” you repeated, though the name felt far too intimate on your tongue.

She seemed satisfied and gestured for you to follow. “Good. Now, let’s see if you’ve organized these reports properly.”

Ambessa’s days were relentless, filled with strategy meetings, inspections, and commanding the loyalty of those around her. You followed her through it all, your hands busy with ledgers and maps, your mind spinning as you tried to keep up with her sharp wit.

Despite your nerves, you’d started to notice small things about her. The way she rolled her shoulders after a long meeting. The faint smile that tugged at her lips when something amused her. The occasional soft glance she directed your way when she thought you weren’t looking.

She wasn’t cruel, not to you. Stern, yes. Intimidating? Always. But there was a softness to her that you suspected few ever saw. It was in the way she ensured you ate during long days, how she subtly slowed her pace when she noticed you struggling to keep up.

And sometimes, her touch lingered just a moment too long.

Like now.

The two of you stood in her private study, the soft glow of the hearth casting flickering shadows across the room. You were handing her a report when her fingers brushed yours. It was the barest of touches, but it sent a jolt through you.

“You’re trembling,” she remarked, her voice low and teasing.

“S-sorry,” you stuttered, quickly pulling your hand back.

She chuckled, setting the report aside. “Relax, little one. You’ve done well today.”

Her praise was rare and precious, and you couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through your chest. “Thank you, Ambessa. I just want to make sure I don’t disappoint you.”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, the weight of her armor seemed to lift. “You could never disappoint me.”

Like the others, the following days brought more of the same: relentless work, fleeting touches, and a growing tension that neither of you addressed.

Ambessa was always close, closer than necessary, you thought. When reviewing maps, she would stand behind you, her breath warm against your ear as she pointed out key locations. Her hand would sometimes rest on your shoulder, firm and reassuring.

It wasn’t inappropriate, but it was enough to make your heart race and your thoughts spiral. Did she even realize what she was doing to you?

One evening, as you prepared tea in the estate’s kitchen, Ambessa entered unexpectedly. You jumped, nearly dropping the kettle.

“Ambessa! I didn’t hear you,” you said, clutching the counter for support.

“I noticed,” she said with a smirk. “What are you doing down here?”

“I—well, I thought you might like some tea. You’ve been working so hard, and I just…” You trailed off, your cheeks burning.

Her expression softened, and she stepped closer. “That’s thoughtful of you.”

You swallowed hard as she took the kettle from your hands, her fingers brushing yours again. Her touch lingered, warm and deliberate.

“You’re too kind, little one,” she said softly, her gaze locking with yours.

Your heart thundered in your chest. “I just want to help.”

She smiled—a rare, genuine smile that made your knees weak. “You do more than help. You keep me grounded.

The tipping point came on a quiet night, weeks later. The day had been exhausting, and you were both in her study, the fire crackling softly as you worked through a final stack of documents.

Ambessa set her quill down, leaning back in her chair as she regarded you thoughtfully. “You’ve worked hard today. Come here.”

You hesitated, unsure of what she meant.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” she said, though her tone was more amused than stern.

You approached her cautiously, standing awkwardly in front of her chair. She reached out, her hands settling on your hips as she guided you to sit on the edge of the desk.

“Ambessa?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Shh,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing small circles against your sides.

Her touch was firm yet gentle, grounding you in a way that made your breath hitch. Her gaze was softer than you’d ever seen it, and the tension that had been simmering between you for weeks finally broke.

“I’ve been patient,” she said, her voice low and intimate. “But I can’t ignore this anymore.”

You blinked, your heart pounding. “Ignore what?”

“The way I feel about you,” she admitted, her honesty stealing the air from your lungs.

Your lips parted, but no words came. She cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin as she leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

When her lips met yours, it was soft and tentative, as though she was afraid of overwhelming you. Her kiss was surprisingly gentle for someone so strong, her touch careful and reverent.

You melted into her, your hands finding their way to her shoulders as the world fell away.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm against your skin.

“Tell me I’m not wrong,” she murmured, her voice laced with vulnerability.

“You’re not,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure.

She smiled, her eyes holding a tenderness that made your chest ache. “Good.”

She slowly leaned back in, allowing her lips to ghost against yours once more. “Then let me continue to show my love for you.” She breathed before her lips captured yours again.

A/N: kinda mad I made this so short, but I hope it’s okay!!

#ambessa x reader #ambessa x you #ambessa fanfic #ambessa medarda #ambessa arcane #arcane ambessa #arcane fanfic #arcane #lesbian fanfic #lesbian #fluffy fanfic #fluff #sweet and spicy fanfic #sweet and spicy #sweet fanfic #sweet #fanfic #fanfic writing

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simpjaes · 1 year ago

Text

desecration. (s.j)

the one where no gods exist when you’re alone with jake sim.

minors dni !! | if you read it, reblog it.

WORDCOUNT ― 6.4k

PAIRING ― jake sim x afab reader

GENRE ― top/dom jake sim, characters are in their twenties, sub/bratty reader, religious kink/fetish

WARNINGS― mild dub con, desecration of holy a relic, inaccurate descriptions of whatever religion this is– im not doing research for a 5k fic that’s mostly smut, sorry.

NOTE― if you’ve read this before, it’s because I wrote it for mark lee over on my other blog [ncteez]. we wanted to make it jake, and by we i mean me. i wanted to read this as jake. sorry to religious ppl, don’t read this if you don’t wanna be railed by a hot guy wielding a cross.

smut tags under cut::

smut tags― DUB CON. use of the words: whore, slut, for the record, the cross is not raw wood and has a smooth finish, reader is first attempting to seduce the priest through confession lmao, she’s also just a massive whore just like me :), jake is the priest’s son, jerking off, penetration using a wooden cross, unprotected sex, spitting, choking on and/or sucking off a cross, degradation, and name-calling, he’s a godfearing man but also he likes sexual perversions, humiliation, explicitly getting fucked in a church, kind of fingering?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake wonders why you’re always making confessions, time and time again, once a week, every single week….eagerly. Like you’re excited for your sin or something.

Huh.

Then again, once a week his father is expected to listen to confessions from the other churchgoers, even Jake himself is expected to confess. Often he will make up sins that he has committed just to seem as though he has been learning from some sort of mistake. Never would Jake actually tell his father through a confession booth what he has done or is willing to do. He’s an adult, he can confess whatever he wants.

You, on the other hand, you’re working his father to the bone in terms of forgiveness.

Jake’s interest piques at the very idea of a young woman, around his age, wanting to confess so much. Did you hurt someone? Does you hurt yourself? Did you kill someone? Or maybe you’re just caught up in a situation that makes you commit atrocities? He can’t even imagine what one person could be doing to elicit such an eager need of forgiveness so consistently.

Always the first in the box, always with those inappropriate outfits too.

Jake makes his way to the back of the church to complete his duties and, of course, he isn’t surprised to see you enter the confession booth. After all, it is the start of a new week.

Hushed whispers were echoing through the large space and only now does he realize that you almost always confess when the church is nearly empty. You must not be unaware of his presence at all, unaware that he is the son of the priest that you spill your sins to, and unaware that he can absolutely hear you when he walks closer.

He isn’t entirely sure why he is listening. The walls of this church echo any and every sound, and to be fair, the only reason his interest is piqued is because his father was silent from the moment you had entered the booth. All he heard was you. You didn’t seem to start the confession off in a proper manner either, so yeah, maybe it caught him off guard too.

His ears make attempts to adjust to the words coming from the booth, but your voice is coming out in a tone that he has never used himself when seeking salvation. Minutes pass and he still hasn’t heard his father speak a word back to you, not to encourage you, not to stop you. It’s just you, addressing dreams, visions, wants, and needs.

Certainly not confession. In fact, you’re actively sinning, attempting to seduce.

“I woke up shaking, Father. What should I do?”

Jake notes how quiet his father is still, despite you asking him what to do about the dream. His face sours when you continue to speak, this time in a slightly louder tone.

“I just can’t help myself sometimes, I–”

It’s not that it’s intentional, really, it isn’t. If anything at all, Jake is incredibly disgusted by your attempts to dirty talk during a confession. Disgusted that you’d do such a thing, and…maybe intrigued by what you may have said that he wasn’t quite able to catch before. He quietly moves to the other side of the booth, the side where you seem to be spouting off all sorts of things, and he raises his head to listen a bit more.

“You were big, you know? I can’t get thoughts of you out of my head. Have you ever touched a woman, Father?”

Jake leans in further, his body reacting more than his disgust. Unfortunately, his length growing in his pants ceases the moment his father cuts you off.

“Enough.” His father finally stops you from abusing the booth, from abusing him.

Not another word is spoken and Jake does his best to back away quickly and quietly as you exit the booth. Of course, he’s acting as though he is sweeping a corner when he turns to look at you. Eye contact is made and he can feel an intense rush of heat spread across his cheeks.

Ah, so you’re a whore.

His father stays inside of the booth for a long, drawn out, three or so minutes before exiting and all Jake can think about is if you walked out of the church soaked and warm between your legs. It’s not even that Jake is into sinning. He isn’t. His entire life was built around this church, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a man. He has needs just like you do, apparently.

Never would he get what he needs from a woman as dirty as yourself, though, it doesn’t stop him from thinking about it and how your voice sounds when you were actively trying to fuck his dad.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“You’re disgusting.” Jake narrows his eyes at you when you pass by, spitting the words at you with a grimace.

“Excuse me?” You ask, stopping in your tracks and looking back at him just as harshly. You didn’t provoke him to speak to you at all, let alone fucking insult you?

“You think I can’t hear the way you speak to my dad during your little “confessions”?” He takes a step forward as he whispers at you, air quoting the word confession with a roll of his eyes.. “You really think he’s just going to take you up on the offer?”

Narrowing your own eyes, you step closer to Jake to stop anyone else from hearing his little tantrum.

“Wanna tell me why he always listens to my “confessions” then?” You question back, mimicking the air quotes and smirking as you walk away from him, not even letting him answer.

Jake watches as you leave, upset that he didn’t get a rise out of you at all and instead was offered a genuine question that sits in his mind. Why does his father allow you to make a confession after confession if all it is, is an attempt to seduce him? You’re even ashamed of it, it seems, and it pisses him off to no end.

Rushing after you, he is quick to grab at your dress and pull you back.

“Might as well just show up naked with the way you act around here,” He starts with a bite in his tone, dragging you off, down the hall and into a side room that usually remains empty.

He intends to put a stop to this because he’s heard several more of your confessions by his own will and learns that, apparently, your only sin is being a fucking slut.

“You have no place here.” He adds as he closes the door behind the two of you. Unintentionally locking you into a space that he’s directly saying you don’t belong in.

“Acting like you don’t think about fucking. Hah. We both know I’m not the only one,” You laugh, walking across the room with a shrug. It’s not the first time you’ve been reprimanded in a church, and it probably won’t be the last. “Besides, your dad probably thinks about me late at night after tucking your grown ass into bed like a child.”

Jake narrows his eyes even more at you.

“Bet that pisses you off.”

“You’re ridiculous to think he would even want someone like you.” Jake scoffs harshly at you, gut bubbling with annoyance. “To think about sex this often too? I can’t imagine anyone would want to touch such a slut.”

You watch him walk towards you, with his perfectly tucked shirt and his darkened and angry eyes. Being alone with him doesn’t help his argument though because, in all fairness, he’s just as hot, if not hotter than his father.

“What about you then?” You ask, leaning against one of the shelves in the room, running your hand up your legs, and hiking your dress up a couple of inches.

“Your dad with his lingering eyes won’t admit to having ever touched a woman. Yet here you are.” You call out the priest’s lie with a snide chuckle before continuing. Fingers massaging your own fleshy thighs, watching the way Jake struggles with his own lingering eyes. “What about you? You ever fuck anyone?”

Jake grimaces, wrinkling his nose as he watches you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He questions, stomping over to you and pushing your dress back down below your knees.

“Oh!” You laugh, ticking your tongue at him and tilting your head. “You said a bad word. Aren’t you going to ask for forgiveness?”

He stares at you for a few seconds, being face to face with a woman that seems so desperate for any touch has his heart racing. He’s trying to call you out, not turn you on.

“Can’t you act decent? I barely know you and you’re flaunting yourself at me.” Jake bellows, stumbling back from you and examining the way your body is relaxed.

You really seem to be enjoying this.

“You’re the one who pulled me in here. Was it really to argue with me, or were you trying to get to me before Father does?”

Thinking for a moment, Jake realizes he’s the reason this is happening. He could have just let you leave like everyone else, after all, you were attempting to go home. Here he is though, and there you are.

“He would never.” Jake laughs, mocking your attempts to pretend his father would be interested in you.

“And again, what about you?” You shoot back instantaneously, watching the way his words get caught in his throat.

He’s a weak man, truly, because the very thought of what’s under your dress, the very idea that you’re so willing, fogs his brain to the point of almost malfunctioning. It would be so fucking easy if he wanted to.

No one would even know.

Before you even know it, you can feel the air in the room change as he storms closer to you and rips your dress upwards to your waist. Instantly, he’s shoving his hand straight between your legs.

A small yelp leaves your throat followed by a laugh. Perfect.

“I knew it.” You giggle, bumping your head a bit against the shelf at the force of his movement. You can feel the way his palm cups your core and presses in harshly through his silent breaths. “I fucking knew you were dirty.”

“Stop,” Jake demands, bringing his other hand to cover your mouth. “Stop talking.” He continues, already pulling his hand from your core and second-guessing himself.

“If you want it so bad, I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up.”

You nod with a smile against his palm, breathing in when he pulls it back and trusts your ability to stay quiet. He’s staring directly into your eyes as if he’s threatening you. As if he will stop if you make a single peep. A promise that he will probably get you banned from the church if anyone were to find out what’s happening in this room right now. At his darkened gaze, you poke your tongue out, licking his palm and watching him pull back in aroused shock at how unashamed you are regarding your arousal. But, you do stay true to your work and remain quiet once his eyes trail down.

He looks at you as if you’re some sort of monstrous entity, and for him at this moment, you probably are. But even with that, you see what’s growing in his pants before he lowers himself onto the floor. Positioning his face right in front of your clothed pussy.

What a dirty, dirty boy.

Jake can see the wet stain of your panties and all he can do is roll his eyes.

“You’re insane.” He laughs, eyes darting up to your face, looking at you like he wants to shame you. “Getting so messy in such a place, all for men who don’t fucking want you?”

You nod, wiggling your hips at him in an attempt to entice his lips to attach there. But he doesn’t. He just stands right back up to his feet and takes a step backwards.

“I bet if I left you here, you’d chase after me.” He mocks. “I bet you think I’m gonna stick it in you, don’t you?”

Proudly, you smile with a nod. Of course he's going to stick it in. You can see how hard he’s gotten. Sin or not, you know when a man wants to fuck you. Jake won’t be able to resist sooner or later, son of the priest or not.

“Wow,” He laughs quietly, shaking his head at you as he reaches behind a podium and pulls out a large, lacquered wooden cross. “You really are stupid.”

Great, you think as your face falls. He’s definitely about to start preaching to you with that stupid fucking cross. Maybe he will even attempt to perform an exorcism to expel the horny demons out of you.

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes, standing yourself up straight from against the shelf and patting your dress back down into position. “Don’t start this shit.” You’re already preparing to walk out without looking twice at him, but he laughs right back at you.

“You think you know everything.” He chuckles, walking towards the door and locking it. He stands in front of it now, crossing his arms and staring at you.

“Don’t I?” You ask, eyeing the way he presents himself to you right now.

“Did I not just imply that I wouldn’t use my cock on you?” He questions, twitching in his pants at the way you stand before him, much smaller in energy now.

He can tell you’re still trying to act brave, and it delights him to see the realization spread across that pretty, silent mouth.

Oh. Oh.

“You’re going to–?” You swallow hard, realizing that of all the sins you could commit, the implication of being penetrated with a cross, solely so this man doesn’t have to fuck a whore isn’t one you ever thought of.

This room doesn’t even feel like part of a church now as he holds the cross with more reason than praying.

“Yeah,” He assures you. “I am.” Stepping forward toward you and looming down at your face. “Now get on the desk.”

You don’t know why, but your body acts on instinct for him. Immediately walking to the desk and propping yourself onto it.

“Take off your clothes.” He demands again, watching you intently as he stays in place, rubbing the long end of the cross much like he’d like to do for himself right now.

God, watching such a stubborn woman do everything he says is…well, it’s new for him and it ignites a new type of arousal within him.

And you watch him back as you begin to slip your dress from your shoulders, lifting your ass so that you can push it down and onto the floor.

“Oh, now you wanna act shy?” He mocks, walking towards you as you attempt to tug at your panties. “And keep those on. No one wants to see that.”

Goddamn, you don’t even have the decency to wear a bra to service? Lucky for him though, your breasts are enough to drive him past the point of return. There’s no thought, fear, or prayer in his head right now as you reveal yourself to him. Going as far as trying to flash your pussy? Oh, he could laugh.

You stay quiet, doing as you’re told and watching the way he examines you. He must feel so in control right now and you’re happy to let him, but you can see him falling apart behind his eyes.

His cock is incredibly obvious beneath his nice dress pants, but you wouldn’t dare reach out to touch him, not yet at least. You’ll let him have his fun, despite the slight nervousness within you regarding that cross.

“Open your mouth.” He says, dragging the cross against your nipples and onto your chin. “Suck it.”

You almost shake your head at him. Such a hard wood sliding down your throat would surely hurt. It’ll bruise, it’ll fucking suffocate you.

Jake doesn’t seem to care about any of that though, because all he does in response to your widened and fear-stricken eyes is press the wood against your lips with a face of concentration.

You purse your lips, muffling a displeased grunt at his acts.

“You scared?” He smiles first, pulling the cross away and now tracing his fingers along your lips before prying them inside and hooking your mouth open. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t know how to suck.”

You relent this time, feeling the cold and smooth tip of the cross enter past your lips when he resumes his previous assault. It’s not that you are against doing it, you just…haven’t done it before.

You’re not exactly sure of how to respect a holy relic such as this one when you’re expected to choke on it.

“That’s it.” Jake coos, pressing the cross further into your mouth. “Open up real wide.”

You close your eyes at his voice, licking the smoothed object with an intensity you didn’t know you had. After all, it’s been so long since you’ve been intimate with a person, hence the constant wet dreams about your priest. This is somehow, incredibly hot to you. To have his son fucking your mouth, regardless of what object he’s using to do it.

Still, it does hurt. The intricate edges of the cross bruises each time it hits the clenching walls of your throat and mouth, but Jake seems to like the sound of you choking and sobbing around it. After all, he just continues to press the cross further and further in. Probably relishing in the way you try to swallow around it and relax your throat.

His eyes are so focused, seeing how much of it you can take and only imagining how good it would feel if it were his cock choking you right now. Despite your sputtering and crying eyes, you’re taking it so well.

Yeah, you’ve definitely done this before. Probably swallowed up some guy’s cum and begged for more despite still having a cock wedged in your throat. How lucky for them to have someone so desperate to be gagged.

“You’re filthy for doing this, you know that?” He laughs at your pain and how you don’t try to pull at his pushing hand, tipping the cross just a bit so that its hardened wood hits your throat in a way that hurts a bit too much.

You cough around it, only now pushing his hand back in protest. The tears are pouring from your eyes when the cross slides out of your mouth, and all you can do is blink up at him as you try to regain your breath.

Half expecting him to immediately hold your head in place just to shove the cross back in, Jake pulls back instead, tilting his head down to look at your panties.

Your legs instinctively cross to hide your arousal, but he prys your legs open regardless, forcing you to act as the whore you so wanted to be. For his father, for him, for anyone who would be willing, honestly.

You’ve gotten wetter.

“You’re so gross, I can’t believe you get off to this–” He laughs, feeling his cock begin to fucking ache. “You can take more, then.”

No, no. You don’t want to keep sucking it, but your mouth opens anyway. Too turned on by the idea of seeing Jake’s reaction to watching you be so dirty, so blasphemous.

The way he moans when you open your mouth willingly this time is…well, he looks fucking good. He sounds even better.

You take it into your mouth without so much as a second thought this time, allowing him to slide the cross back and forth against your tongue and into your throat. You willingly swallow around the harsh edges, tears falling all the while, of course.

You’re gagging so softly around it, he’s almost jealous over how you wanted his dad before you wanted him. Surely no one would do this for you, right? His father would never be with such a horny, needy, and dirty woman.

Jake though….shamefully, is very into it.

Into you, rather.

When he pulls it out this time, your saliva coats the cross in a way that nearly breaks his brain. Intensely, he stares at your lips, slack and waiting for him to continue his abuse. God, he’s so jealous. To think you would do this with someone else? With anyone? Anything?

It turns him on beyond belief, but feeling jealous of the fucking cross isn’t exactly something Jake wants to admit. His father? Sure, whatever. But a relic he’s prayed to his whole life? Growing resentful of it just because you take it down your pretty and bruised throat?

No.

Jake shifts now, unable to satiate the arousal within him without grabbing your hand and forcing you to grope his hidden cock. So hard, so fucking hard, he nearly lets out his own sob at the euphoric touch when he actually does it.

You’re a bit shocked that he’s letting you touch him, but you take the opportunity and run with it. You press your palm against him without any amount of shame, and all you can do is watch as he hangs his head, the saliva coated cross still gripped in his other hand.

“Bet you wanted to fuck my mouth.” You croak out, your voice sounding just as raw at your throat. “Bet you wanted me to take all of it and beg for your cum.”

His head shoots up in response to that as he grabs your face harshly, bucking against your hand at the same time. “Stop talking.” He seethes, releasing your face and inserting his fingers into your mouth instead. “Stick your tongue out.”

You do as he says, feeling his heavy cock twitching against your palm with each press.

Jake seems like an expert at this, you aren’t sure, but when he presses your tongue down with his fingers to open your throat up, he spits into your mouth so easily that you have no choice but to swallow it.

Well, okay. He could probably get away with doing that a few more times if he wanted to.

You moan when you swallow, lending him a dopey smile that shocks him. You weren’t supposed to like that in his eyes, but when you grab his cock in response rather than just palm at it, he can’t help but moan back at you.

His fingers continue to hold your tongue down as you jerk him off over his pants, and his hips stutter all the while until he loses all composure. Within a second, he stalks even closer, slamming both hands against the desk on either side of you and leaning forward to pin you there.

And then he grinds forward against your weak hand, pinned between him and the edge of the desk.

Yet still, he’s gripping that fucking cross as he pins you here.

“You want me to fuck you so bad, I can see it.” He croaks, not even allowing you to offer him a nod before he’s got his lips attached to yours and he’s licking into your mouth. It feels impossibly better than that cross pressing against the back of your throat but you swallow his kiss just as easily.

His hips continue to grind as he licks into your mouth like a man who doesn’t know how to kiss at all. So rough and messy with it, groaning more and more before he’s nearly a panting mess before you. He pulls back from the kiss only for a moment to stare at you, eye contact more fierce than it was before.

“I think you’re the one who wants to fuck me.” You manage to slip out before he can silence you again, and his eyes narrow instantly.

More than anything, that’s what he wants to do to you. He wants to shut you up in as many ways possible right now, and he definitely wants fucking you to be one of those ways. But he can’t, and he won't.

“Hah��you’d love that.” He laughs, reaching his empty hand between the two of you to press his pants down enough to let his cock spring free.

You can’t even get a good look at it, because he’s instantly grabbing himself and fucking his fist before looking back up at you.

“Go on, look.” He says, leaning a bit so that you can watch him jerk off in full view now. “Bet you’d beg for it if I told you to.”

“Please?” You instantly let out, eyes staring at the angry head of his cock leaking and pulsing.

“I didn’t say to actually beg–” He groans, halting his hand and instead, thrusting his hips into the tightly formed hole he’s created. “I’m not going to fuck you.” He laughs again, now pulling the cross back and into your view with a wicked smirk.

Of course. The cross. Well, at least you’re going to be fucked with something right?

You eye the piece of wood and then go back to watching him. You’re not sure what it is about this situation but it feels like your body is on fire. Maybe it’s because hell is right beneath you, just a floorboard away from what the two of you have gotten yourselves into behind this locked door.

“Oh?” He halts his hips and licks his lips. “You actually want me to fuck you with this?”

You nod frantically, spreading your legs in front of him and showing off how large the spot on your panties has grown since he last inspected it. You watch as his eyes practically burn a hole through your pussy.

Only then does he release his own cock and look back into your eyes. More seriously this time when reality and guilt clicks in his head.

“You are aware of what we are about to do, right?” His confidence falters blatantly as he glances at the cross. “Like, if you ever tell my dad about this, I will be disowned.”

“You think I’d snitch on you?” You roll your eyes, body nearly shaking to get fucked. God, why does he have to stop now?

“Well, since you’re so inclined to confess every fucking day–”

“Jake, you literally just fucked my throat with it.” You deadpan, hooking your legs around him to pull him close enough to feel his cock hit your wet panties. “You’re the dirtiest one here, I’m not going to give that up just to see you get disowned.”

He laughs at you for that. Because yeah, maybe he is. Maybe he’s the one who shouldn’t be in church, and maybe he’s the one who should have been confessing this whole time. Never in his life has he ever done this, or so much as imagined doing it, it’s so perverse. So, wrong. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what’s attractive about it.

For some reason, his cock jumps when you say you’re not giving him up because he’s dirty.

“And–” You soften your voice, trying to lure him. “You don’t have to use the cross, you know.”

“No.” He barks out, pulling his hips back and pressing the cross against you instead. “Now, keep your legs open.”

He gets right back into it without a second thought. He doesn’t care what he’s doing or what the repercussions of doing this will be. It’s not like he wasn’t going to hell before any of this, not based on the fantasies he’s had anyway.

Jake hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down your legs harshly, to the point that they’re stretching so far that it feels like they could cut through your skin. He backs away for a moment upon seeing you grimace at that, allowing you to slip them down your legs before positioning himself back between them.

“I’m dirty?” He says, looking at your pussy and the way it clenches around absolutely nothing. He sees the slick seeping out of you already, and it’s not only pathetic but so fucking desperate of you. “Fucking look at that.”

You smile at it, knowing that he’s degrading you but absolutely loving the view if his focused eyes are anything to go by.

Before the cross, he experimentally traces his fingers along your folds until he gets to your hole, and without hesitation, he slips one of them in. The grip of your walls alone could probably send him over the edge if he were to make a last-minute change and shove his cock into you, but he holds back. Instead, he traces the cross against you in the same way he did with his fingers, slowly inserting it alongside his digit.

Pulling back, Jake watches your face as the cross opens you up, probably dragging against your walls uncomfortably as a reminder of the ultimate sin you’re committing with him right now.

When your face doesn’t contort into that of pain, he pulls his finger out of you and places his hand back on his cock. Still staring at your face, he fucks the cross in and out of you. Relishing in the sound of how wet you are for this, and for him to give it to you.

He does this until, finally, you moan.

Upon that little whimper of a moan, Jake is sent into a different headspace. One that quickens his pace with the object inside of you, one that tightens the grip on himself.

Now, oh now, he’s playing for fun. He presses it in and then pulls it all the way out just to see your pussy beg for more. Holding back a moan over how fucking hot it is to see, he opts to coo out at you.

“Bet it would feel so good.” He breathes, trying to ignore the shiver that shoots through his body at the way you yearn for it. “Could shove my cock right in, you’d just take it, wouldn’t you?”

Before you can answer, he’s thrusting the relic right back into you. In, out, in, out. Deeper, harder, fucking faster. And he offers the same for himself, tightening his fist, nearly abusing his own cock at the sight of your swollen hole swallow up the wood. Really, he makes a point to fuck himself just to imagine it’s you that’s squeezing him.

If he thinks hard enough, it really is almost like he’s the one fucking you.

He keeps this up for a few minutes, up until your legs are shaking around him and you begin to reach out with your hands. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s incredibly fucking horny right now, he’d probably be rushing for the altar to save you from whatever demon is possessing you.

But, he knows that this is no demon, this is all his own doing. He’s loving it. Every single bit of this situation is being burned into his memory, and when your legs shake, it only urges him to fuck the object into you harder.

You whimper out strings of nonsense, almost begging for a release from this grasp he is holding over you both physically and mentally, but he doesn’t relent. Your pathetic cunt is being pounded by an object that should have you crying in fear, but instead, you’re so close to release you can only beg for more, more, fucking more.

And god, he keeps giving it to you.

In an attempt to open your eyes, you feel dizzy with lust. Your hips buck up against the object with intent, and you can’t stop watching him.

“Goddamn.” Jake stutters a sin, watching you fuck yourself against the holy relic. Thankful to rest his arm and be able to just…watch.

And oh, he’s watching and intensely imagining that it’s you on him. He can’t stop thinking about how fucking warm you must be, how tight, how sinfully delicious your pussy must be for you to be acting like this. And that thought is what forces him to lose it.

You were so focused, on the verge of your orgasm when you feel him practically tear the cross out of you, dropping it to the floor before – oh fuck.

You feel him. Something bigger, something thicker ramming into you. He’s prying you open more than he did previously, already pumping in and out at a frantic speed. Instantly, you cling onto him with a bruising grip, listening to his shameless moans as he realizes the lack of control he has over his own body or thoughts.

Jake practically falls over you in euphoria as you cling, forcing you to fall back against the desk as he relentlessly plunges his hips. His breath is heavy against your neck as he loses himself, and all you can do is thank the same god you just disrespected for this cock that’s abusing your hole in all of the right ways.

“I can’t–” He groans out against your ear, his hips not stopping their relentless assault. “You’re so fucking dirty.” He insults, pushing you up the desk with each thrust. “So good.”

You can barely make a sound from the force behind his hips, only small yelps leaving your throat each time he slams in. And fuck, you want nothing more than to rub your clit right now. You could cum all over him, you could really make him feel good.

And as if your prayers are answered, Jake apparently knows exactly how to pleasure a woman. Hm, curious. He knows how to do it fucking well too, as you feel his fingers rub against the swollen nub in the exact same way you would right now. Painful, intense.

The fact that he wants you to cum is delicious.

Your orgasm hits you almost instantly, pussy sucking in him each time he goes to thrust, and the sounds coming from your throat could be considered demonic by some, but he swallows them up with ease when he notes that you’re cumming all over him.

Jake licks into your mouth, soothing you with dirty words when he pulls back to breathe.

“You should see yourself–” He pants out, sticking his tongue out to lick against your lip. “Getting me all messy too?” He says again through a moan. “You’re beautiful.” He adds like a period at the end of a sentence.

That alone makes you feel…different. In fact, it prolongs your orgasm far past sensitivity when he continues to thrust into you. You can’t tell if he said that because he’s close, or if it’s because he meant it.

Quite frankly, you could give less of a fuck if he meant it.

Jake stutters his hips when you lift your head just slightly, gripping his hair and skewing his head to the side so that you can whisper into his ear.

“Want me to beg for your cum?” You whisper with a shaking voice. “You’d love that too, wouldn’t you? I know I would.”

His eyes squeeze shut as he aggressively turns his head and, once again, pries your mouth open with his tongue. A bruising kiss follows as he fucks his last few thrusts into you, doing just as you implied he should.

He pumps his cum into you relentlessly, thankful that it’s not all over his pants and entirely milked into that sinful cunt of yours. Thankful that you also got off around him instead of that forgotten cross on the floor.

He wants nothing more than to remind you time and time again who got to you first. It was him, not his father.

You smile at him when he pulls back out of breath, examining his pants before stuffing his sensitive cock back into them and reaching down for the cross.

“If you ever fucking tell my dad about this–” He seethes out of breath, trying to pretend that he can regain composure so soon after fucking you the way he just did. Still, he narrows his eyes at you much as he had done before.

“Go on.” You say, voice shaking as you try to grasp back onto reality from whatever world his cock had sent you into.

Jake is at a loss for words, because, what could he possibly do about it if you were to tell? He looks at you, still spread out against the desk, dress crumpled, his cum seeping out of you in a messy show of how much of an absolute whore he forced you to be.

“Just, don’t tell him.” He finally says, averting his eyes from you and looking at the cross in his hand.

“Do you feel bad already?” You ask out, finally lifting to get off of the desk.

“Don’t you?”

You shake your head, struggling to stand as the seething pain of having a wooden cross stuck into you shoots through your body. “Not really.” You try to laugh, but you wince instead.

“Yeah, I figured you’d probably be hurting after all of that.” He finally says in a somewhat apologetic tone, walking up to you with a soothing hand.

You’re a little shocked by his kindness.

“Yeah, a little.” You laugh it off though because, at the moment, it felt good. You wouldn’t have wanted it any other way despite how blasphemous the act was.

“Oh.” Jake seems sorrowful in his tone, but his gaze doesn't leave you. “I- um, I don’t know how to make it like, not hurt?” He scratches the back of his head.

In your attempt to put your dress back on, you do note that the pain inside of you isn’t unfamiliar. You’d been fucked hard before, but that was a long time ago. You missed this feeling, realizing that it was exactly what you think you needed.

“It’ll pass.” You assure him, taking a deep breath and trying to stumble your way to the door. “I guess I’ll see you later, then?”

Jake dips his head with a small nod, feeling guilty for what he’s done. Not because of the cross, not because of the sin, but because he’s unsure of how to pretend like he wouldn’t want to do it again.

#enhypen smut #sim jaeyun smut #jake sim smut #jake smut #enhypen hard hours #enha smut

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alluringnectar · 10 months ago

Text

my baby

pairings; loser!ellie williams x cheerleader! reader

cw; interalized homophobia, angst, tribbing, fingering (r! recieving), fluff, bullying (kinda), making out, slur, petnames like “baby & princess” , not proof read yet!

wc; 17k

life has never been better, you were handed the world at the age of 6. you never had to worry about having no friends, or not having the latest designer bag, and certainly not having everybody wrapped around your finger. you were a cheerleader & from that only, everyone respected you. you dedicated yourself into looks: always on diets, hitting the gyms, getting your nails done, having the most expensive makeup and so much more. you were the most outgoing girl known to mankind, never missing a rager or party. your friend groups were mainly other cheerleaders, and the jocks on the football team. they were assholes, but you didn’t care because so were you.

you never once paid attention in class, especially english. clicking your pen and having your eyes everywhere but the board. you snap out of your daze when your teacher announces that there will be a partner project, and she would assign the groups. you hear your name, and you pray that you get one of your friends but instead you hear the name ellie williams.

“you cannot be fucking serious” you mutter under your breath, looking at ellie whose a row infront of you.

“what was that?” the teacher asked you. “nothing.” you mock her tone, earning a laugh from your classmates.

“alright then everybody get to your partners we don’t have all day!” she claps her hands, urging everyone to switch their seats.

you stay in your seat, motioning ellie to

come where you are. why would you have to move? ellie rolled her eyes, not having the best impression of you either. “look,” ellie says “i wouldn’t have picked you either.” you scoff, “great to know we’re on the same page!” you look at her green eyes, and the way she flutters her eyelash. you were about to say something until you felt a tap on your shoulder.

it was a jock, and you end up talking to him for the rest of the period, not caring to look back at ellie, who was doing all the work. “another prissy bitch.” ellie thinks to herself.

as soon as the bell rings, ellie packs her stuff and leaves as soon as she could. she sees her friends, dina and jesse, and she sighs in relief. “you would not believe who i got paired up with.” dina and jesse both furrow their brows in unison. “a CHEERLEADER! i swear this world is against me, i already know im gonna have to do this project with myself.” dina replies, “yikes , you have it unlucky. i would NOT wanna be you.” jesse laughs and that makes ellie roll her eyes & reply “thanks dina that makes me feel a million times better.” “well jesse and I have to get going, good luck with her!” dina yells while grabbing jesse by the hand and dragging him through the hallways. ellie sighs and puts her back against the locker.

you put your bag down, and flop down on your bed chewing on some protein bars after practice. you grab your laptop and check your grade book. and thats when you see it. you’re gonna fail english class. “shit shit shit!” you tell yourself, pacing around your room in circles. you couldn’t give to shits if you were failing english, but what you did care about is being on academic probation. if you’re put on academic probation, you won’t be able to cheer. you can’t let that happen. so you grabbed your phone, and started texting everyone for ellie’s number. when you finally receive a message with her number, you smile and immediately text her.

“heyyy”

“who is this?”

“your partner in english.”

“why are you texting me?”

“do you wanna come over tomorrow to work on it?”

“is this a joke?”

“ why would i be? i have practice, so is 7:30 good?”

“yeah, ill be there just give me the address.”

it’s the next day and you come from practice drenched in sweat. you go into the shower, making sure its cold so you can relax. as you get out, you put on a robe and some uggs slipper and you hear the bell ring.

you walk over to answer, the fact ellie was supposed to come over completely slipped your mind. you open the door, and you see ellie.

“shit! is it 7:30 already?”

ellie takes full notice you’re in nothing but a robe and she blushes.

“yeah.”

“fuck im so sorry- practice had me exhausted-“

ellie reassures you, telling you it was okay because she found it kinda cute that your hair was wet and your lips were plump.

“here ellie, you can come inside, just stay in my room, i’ll get changed and i’ll be there in a sec.

ellie nods, and sinks down into your bed. she takes a moment to take in everything in your room. she took note of the way your walls were stripped pink and white to the little ballerina jewelry box that looked antique.

you walk into your room handing her some snacks. “do you want some?” “sure.”

ellie says. & now shes starting to think you’re not a total bitch.

this time, you ended up getting no work done but for a different reason. you spent your time gossiping to ellie, about who slept with who, or who did what. you never realized how pretty ellie truly was. her freckles decorated her face like how constellations decorate the sky. you look down into her lips, and ellie stops talking about whatever she was. ellie and you spend a brief moment just gazing into each other’s eyes.

you both get flustered and she breaks the silence by saying “um- do you have a hair tie?” “yeah of course here” and you hand her one.

you look at the time and gasp, it’s almost 11:30. were you guys really talking for that long? “ellie, do you wanna sleep over? or i can walk yo-“ “no, ill sleep over it’s fine.” you nod. grabbing blankets for her, “you can sleep on my bed i’ll sleep on my couch.” ellie scoffs “no fucking way, i’m not taking your bed, i can have the couch.”

and due to both of your guys’ stubbornness, you are laying next to eachother, in the same bed staring at the ceiling. you look over and you see ellie has fallen asleep. she looked so beautiful and her front hair pieces fell on her face, capturing her beautiful. you move your hand to tuck it but then you get this wave of disgust. not to her, but to yourself.

what the fuck am i doing? I can’t like girls. am i stupid? i’m not gonna be seen as some dyke on the cheerleader team. my reputation would be ruined.

you ended up falling asleep teary eyed, scared to accept if these feelings are really true and maybe they’ll go away.

it’s almost summer, and the feelings are still lingering and infact they are stronger than before. after acing the project, you still

continued to hang out with ellie. you and her hung out every friday, and it became a ritual. you were starting to fall in love with her, and you knew there was no way out. everytime your asshole friends said anything about her that was negative, you jumped to defend her name like a knight. “you know the project deadline was months ago, while do you still hangout with her.” slightly irritated you snap, “she isn’t even bad once you get to know her, she’s funny and sweet.”

it wasn’t any different for ellie either, expect she was 100% convinced you were straight. you never once spoke of your sexuality to her, and for any matter guys in general but why would you like her? she grew up playing with worms, while you grew up going on constant vacations. but even though she thought it would never happen, she asked the universe for this one thing. she prayed to a lord she didn’t even believe in, hoping he will for once listen to her.

God works in mysterious ways because you’re sitting in ellie’s room drinking vodka blasting music. it’s odd how vodka can make somebody so honest. ellie was rambling about a story with an ex she had named cat, and drama between the two. she developed a habit of gossiping, probably from you. to make sure you’re still listening, she asks you. “how about you, any boy trouble?” its silent, and you look at her and start sobbing. ellie’s heart drops down to her stomach and instantly grabs you, pulling you close to her. “hey was it something i said? im sorry-“ “no!” you manage to yell out between your broken sobs. “i don’t think i like guys.” “what?” ellie says, shocked from what she heard.

“when i look at you, it’s not the same for any guy. sure i’ve made out with guys, but not even that gives me the same feeling of when im talking to you. i want it to be you so bad, ellie.” you hiccup, tears staining your eyes. “but this is all new for me, and i hate myself for being this way, i had everything anyone could ask for and it feels like im throwing it all away.”

ellie’s mind is going in all directions, the fact you like her. the fact shes finally getting her prayers answered. she pushes it to the side, because what you need is comfort. ellie holds you tight. so tight, you cannot wiggle out of her grasp. “hey baby, it all works out at the end, your existence isn’t a sin, people who truly love you, will accept you for who you are. and you don’t have to figure things out right now, take your time.” ellie replies, hovering her hand over your face to wipe your tears.

you’re looking up at her, inching your face closer to hers. she leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss. you’re eager for more, so you grab her hair from behind and sloppily slid your mouth inside. ellie pulls away from the kiss, to get air, saliva connecting you guys to each other.

“hey els?” you say softly, having your knees tucked in.

“yeah?”

“since school is ending, there’s gonna be a rager. do you wanna come?”

ellie smiles at you, accepting your offer.

“i’ll be there.”

it’s the day of the rager, and ellie’s at her house with dina and jesse on her bed. “are you sure you really wannq go?” dina asks. ellie’s throwing her clothes everywhere, looking for an outfit to wear. “yeah,” jesse adds on “she doesn’t look like somebody who would hang out with you, what if this is all a prank?” ellie stops to look at them. “guys, i know you’re concerned but trust me on this, okay?” they nod their heads. “whatever happens, you can always tell us okay? whatever you choose to do , we’re with you.” ellie smiles and pulls them into a group hug. she’s wearing a wife pleaser, red flannel, and some jeans. shes tying her converse, she walks out the door, saying “wish me luck!”

she arrives at the house, and the music is so loud she can hear it from where she’s at. nervously she turns to twist the door knob and instantly she goes looking for you. she’s happy today after what happen yesterday, and she’s thinking to herself nothing can change her mood. until she saw you. you had a red solo cup in your hand. you were with a jock, who made it pretty clear he wanted you. was ellie a joke? was everything you said to her nothing after all? her friends were right. clenched fists, she turns to head out of the party, rushing to her car trying not to cry.

the jock wouldn’t take no for an answer, you’ve made it clear you’re not interested in him. “don’t be like that, i see the way you look at me.” you scrunch up your nose in disgust. “well you must be fucking blind.” and thats when you see in the corner of your eye, ellie. “fuck!” you murmur to yourself. ellie is already going towards the exist. as she’s walking down the steps of the porch. you scream, “wait! it’s not what it looks like, i swear-“

“do you think im a fucking joke? you made me feel like a fool.”

“ellie i swear nothing happened i was-“

“were you telling him your pranked worked? were you laughing about me? it’s done. i hope you had your fun.”

ellie is about to turn your back on you.

“ellie im in love with you!” you yell. loud enough

that people from the outside were looking at what was happening.

ellie looks around, “you’re drunk.”

“yes im drunk but that doesn’t change the fact im in love with you. the man that was talking to me. i was telling him to leave me alone. i only have eyes for you ellie! anybody who knows me has to get to know you first!” you breath starts to hitch, knowing you’re about to cry and how people are listening but you no longer care.

“i use to cry, praying that God took these feelings away. now im praying to God for letting me meet you. God knew I needed you Ellie.”

ellie stands there in disbelief, she doesn’t know what to say but her heart is about to explode. she runs to you, takes your hand and takes sits you in the passenger seat. closing the door, she starts the car and starts driving. she looks over at you, and you’re already staring at her. she places a hand on your thigh, and caresses it. “you’re perfect in every way, ways im not. i couldn’t believe somebody as amazing as you would want me, and im sorry.”

you smile, and place your hand on top of hers, “it’s okay, we were both pretty caught up” you giggle.

she would fight the world to hear that giggle again.

she pulls up to your driveway, and shes about to drive off but you ask her to stay the night. and how could she say no to that pretty face of yours?

it’s all dark, but you hold her hand and she follows you into your room. you play some music on your record player.

“do you like mazzy star els?”

“i dont listen to her much, but her voice is pretty.”

you walk up to her, and hold her by the waist. ellie looks down at you and pressed her lips onto yours. you close your eyes, melting into the kiss. you start getting hungrier for more, and you open your mouth to let her tongue slip into yours. the kisses start getting needier, and she walks you until your laying back on your bed. you straddle her waist, and she puts a hand up your dress causing you to whine.

“you’re okay with this right?”

“of course els, please hurry.”

“please what?”

you look away from her gaze, shyly, you fiddle with the seams of ellies wife pleaser and whisper to her , “please touch me, it can only be you.” and with that, ellie is slipping your dress off. kissing your collarbone all the way down to the welts of your breast. she takes off your matching set of panties and bra. and her cold hands on pinching your nipples make your back arch into her touch. she sucks on your nipples, flicking her tongue on it back and forth earning whimpers from you each and every time.

“n-need you els..” you stutter. “im not going anywhere baby.” she chuckles, her breath on your beast making you close your eyes in pleasure. “im gonna touch you now okay? tell me when to stop.” she slides her fingers between your folds.

“already so wet for me princess” and as she hovers to your face to kiss you, her front pieces of her hair are touching your own face. you’re sloppily making out with her, moaning into her mouth.

then she puts two of her fingers in, feeling you instantly clench around them. you start moaning louder and louder “ellie! ellie faster!” and she listens to you, curling her fingers even faster before hitting you in the g spot. your thighs start shaking. and your grabbing onto ellie’s fore arm, clawing it for any way to feel relief.

your moans reach an all time high and you know you’re almost there. im- im about to cum els!” and she starts sucking on your neck, “let it out for me baby, you deserve it come on.” and you reach your climax, sweating and panting. she takes her fingers out of you and sucks them. “you taste so good, everything about you is so sweet.”

still fucked out, you murmured incoherent sentences. “i wanna feel you against me els, please, please.” and ellie looks at you, grabbing your waist to pull you up. you looked at her in this love dovey expression and her heart skips a beat. “can i take this off?” you ask and she gulps and nods. you take off her flannel. then wife pleaser. then her jeans. leaving her in underwear and her sports bra, which now you’re taking off her underwear.

as for the most part both of you are naked, you place your cunt onto hers. you grind against her lightly. both of you whimpering sweet nothings. “i love you els i love you i love you” as you both of you are sweating, holding onto eachother, kissing as you slide on her and feel both of your holes clenching around nothing. “you’re doing so good f’ me” ellie blabbers. both of you are starting to reach your orgasms as you both moan in a higher octave, clawing at each others back, and feeling yourself twitch.

“i think im gonna cum i think-“ “come with me, be a good girl for me please.” she tells you needly, but you can’t even tease her because you want this just as much, if not more. both of you reach your climax, beads of sweat running down each of your fore heads. you disconnect yourself from her cunt. both of your arousals sticking to each other in a way your bodies seem like they’re made to mold into each other’s.

you collapse onto the back of your bed. ellie crawls to lay on your chest. kissing you over and over again, as a way to praise you. you giggle and run your hands through her hair, massaging her scalp.

“shouldn’t we clean up ellie?” you inquire, and you feel her breath on you again as she says “i wanna stay like this.” you nod and you bring blankets over you guys.

“im in love with you too.” ellie tells you.

“i think you showed me already.” you laughed.

“so are we girlfriends?” ellie asks you, looking up at you.

you kiss ellie, and tell her “if you go to every one of my practices.”

safe to say there was never a practice ellie didn’t go to.

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gotta-winwin · 4 months ago

Text

OT13 Reaction -- to winning at MAMA awards

masterlist

a/n: in celebration of our boys winning both AOTY awards at MAMA last night. i am so incredibly proud i feel like i raised them or something. like guys- it is that serious they are my family and im going insane.

SCOUPS: you're the first one he's calling once he's offstage - he's dialling your number and a whole string of nonsense rattles off him the moment you pick up. he can't string together proper words as you congratulate him. tells you how fucking happy the boys are - you should've seen them, love - did you see woozi crying? and DK - he smiled so big - needs you to bring him back to earth and remind him that this is his award too. he deserves it just as much as they do.

JEONGHAN: he's literally been bored out of his mind as you guys sit at home, watching the award show live. the only times he's acc been paying full attention was whenever groups he knew personally were on screen - and even then - you know you're losing him to how tired he is. lets out the tiniest, babiest gasp when seventeen is announced as the winner. is crying but turns away so you can't call him out on it.

JOSHUA: he runs home to you right after their dinner together and collapses into your arms. he's spent from the sheer chaos and adrenaline. mumbles sweet nothings about how this award is also yours. we won, baby. we share everything - this award is because of you - all because of you.

JUN: he's hiding out in his filming trailer so he can watch the award show through your phone on facetime - it's grainy and glitchy as HELL but he does not care. there's a 3 second lag when seventeen's announced as the winner - so he can hear you screaming but he doesn't know why. his mouth drops once the wifi catches up and he's practically glowing the entire day on set.

HOSHI: comes home wasted and a bundle of pure energy. he's on a high from the win- rushes home to yell into your ear how ecstatic he is as he tackles you for a hug. tells you he's literally so down to name your firstborn child AOTY just cause.

WONWOO: he comes home rather calm despite the chaotic evening he just had. runs you through his whole day- from getting his makeup done to winning the award to having celebratory dinner. you sit and listen happily, cause this is the most yapping you've ever seen this man do and you're SO happy. finishes his yap session by telling you that you make it all worth it - you're the real award, not MAMA.

WOOZI: tells you not to watch their acceptance speech even though he knows you already did :( is uber embarrassed at how emotional his speech was. I was gonna go up and accept it like a nonchalant cool mysterious man but NO! I just had to cry. he doesn't talk about the win much to you, preferring to just enjoy a quiet night in after the crazy evening. whispers to you once you fall asleep that this is why he does music and thanks you and the boys for being his biggest fans.

THE8: sends you the badass photo of him with all their trophies, followed with a long paragraph about how grateful he is to have you next to him through it all. he's unbelievably bright and happy for the next couple weeks, resulting in you kind of missing sassy Hao and asking for him back. side eyes you when you ask and quips "you didn't win a daesang- I did." Well...he's back ig.

MINGYU: comes home and the first thing he says to you is: aren't you proud i didn't cry? pouts when you rewind the clip to point out: he did in fact cry, he was just hiding his ginormous body behind his members. vows to you he won't cry the next time they win- and yes, he promises there will be a next time. and many after that.

DK: a bundle of joy upon his arrival home. keeps telling you he doesn't know what he did to deserve all this- completely floored when you start ranting about why he deserves it all. blushes and hides his face cause the compliments have him shy.

SEUNGKWAN: comes home fully ready to unleash his bragging rights. asks you to only address him by AOTY daesang winner for the next hour, until the joke gets old and he just wants to relax with you. gets a little sappy retelling stories about their trainee days as you both walk down memory lane together.

VERNON: hands you a wad of cash the moment he enters your shared apartment. oh well. i lost the bet. he literally bet against his team winning and ofc you took him on it cause obv seventeen is gonna win?? tells you he was confident svt was going to win he just wanted an excuse to give you cash.

DINO: promises to shout you out the next time svt wins a daesang. obv you don't believe him, so he defends himself, promising that he will 100% name drop his girlfriend on global television for shits and giggles. yeah, i'll just grab the mic and say "i dedicate this award to my WIFE" and watch the internet explode. why not?

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ch6rm · 3 months ago

Text

♱ ࣪˖ date night — chris sturniolo

. . . you're caught up in a terrible date, and a rescue from chris turns into something more than just a friendly favor.

˖ warnings. smut (fingering, no actual p in v, implied sex), confessing feelings kinda(?)

˖ soph's note. first one shot, and whoever requested this im so sorry it took forever 😭

the restaurant was a cozy italian place, tucked in a quiet corner of the city. candlelit tables, soft music playing in the background, and a warm basket of breadsticks in front of you—it was exactly what came to your mind when you thought of a perfect date. tonight was anything but that. it would’ve been perfect, if only the person sitting across from you wasn’t so insufferable. you felt like you were being held hostage, forced to listen to him talk about himself and nothing else. your friend was a horrible match maker.

within five minutes of sitting down, he’d managed to interrupt you twice. you sat across from him, trying to force a polite smile as he launched into yet another story about himself. here we go again….

“oh, and i’m super into traveling,” he continued, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “but only first-class, you know? i work too hard to settle for anything less.” how had we even gotten to the topic of traveling?

“oh…” you nod absentmindedly. gosh, this guy was a jerk. you glanced around the restaurant as he spoke, hoping the waiter would interrupt with the check.

he obviously didn’t notice your lack of enthusiasm as he dove into yet another story, leaning forward in his chair enthusiastically. how many stories was this guy pulling out of his ass? you fought the urge to roll your eyes. you’d been here for over an hour and he’s barely asked you a single question all night.

“anyway,” he said, waving a hand, “enough about me. what do you think about my watch?”

you blinked, staring at the obnoxiously large gold watch on his wrist. “it’s… nice?”

“right?” he grinned, clearly fishing for compliments. “cost me a fortune, but hey, i deserve it. gotta treat yourself, right?”

you tried to stay optimistic, but as the evening dragged on, you could feel yourself mentally checking out. when he started boasting about how many instagram followers he had, you knew you were done. you needed an escape.

forcing another smile, you reached for your phone under the table, sending a text to chris, hoping he could save you from this nightmare of a date. you: can u please pick me up? this date is a total disaster

you press send, fingers anxiously tapping on the table as you await chris’ response, the man in front of you too caught up in his life story to notice your anxious glances around the restaurant. finally, your phone buzzed.

chris: wya?

you sent him the address, feeling a rush of relief knowing you were gonna be out of here soon. there was so much precious time wasted on this stupid date, and you mentally cursed yourself for even giving this guy a chance.

ten minutes later, you spotted chris’ car through the window. you began to speak, cutting the guy off mid-sentence as you stood abruptly, grabbing your purse. “im really sorry, i’ve got to go,”

“what? why?” he looked genuinely confused, furrowing his brows as he saw you getting ready to leave so sudden.

“something came up,” you lied, giving him a sympathetic look, already heading for the door before he could say another word. chris was leaning against his car, arms crossed, his expression one of amusement as you both got in the car.

“rough night?” he asked as you approached.

“you have no idea,” you groaned, slipping into the passenger seat. chris climbed in after you, pulling away from the curb. almost immediately, you launched into a rant, frustration bubbling over as you spoke about everything that went wrong. chris listened, feeding into your frustration as he let out a sarcastic remark every now and then.

eventually, your complaints died down, and with nowhere else to head, chris pulled into an vacant parking lot as the car was engulfed with a comfortable silence.

“thanks for coming to get me,” you say, glancing over at him. “i couldn’t handle another second there. he was driving me insane.”

chris chuckled, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. “‘s no big deal, really.”

you give him a soft smile, glancing around the empty parking lot. the only light came from the dim glow of a nearby streetlamp. for a moment, neither of you spoke. you shifted in your seat, looking over to chris as his fingers stilled against the wheel. you couldn’t help but notice the way the light hit his face, accentuating his cheekbones and jawline. you stared for a second longer before your voice broke the silence.

“but seriously,” you begin, “you’re always there for me. i really appreciate that, chris.”

chris turns to you fully, his expression softening at your words. “of course,” he says, his voice quiet, “i’ll always be there for you. ‘s cause i care about you. you know that, right?” he looks over at you, and the sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten.

“i know,” you nod, looking away from his gaze, “i care about you, too.” you feel a rush of heat rise up to your cheeks as you speak. why were you getting so flustered?

something shifted in his expression as you said that, his playful demeanor no where to be found as your eyes met his again. “you’re not just saying that?” he asked, leaning in slightly, his hand resting on the steering wheel.

“no,” you murmured, the word catching in your throat. you watch as his gaze dropped to your lips for a split second before darting back up to your eyes, and you found your pulse beginning to quicken.

“okay, cause i mean it. i care do about you—a lot." his voice lingered on the last word, and the way he said it made you feel a way you couldn’t quite explain.

you swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. his eyes were locked on yours, and you felt unable to look away. it felt like he could see straight through you, past all your nervousness and hesitation, and straight to the way your heart was pounding.

“chris…" you started, but his name barely left your lips as he leaned in, his hand slipped from the wheel. you felt his fingertips brush lightly against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

"tell me to stop," he murmured, his voice low and his breath warm against your cheek. his eyes flickered to your lips again, lingering this time. but you didn’t tell him to stop.

his lips met yours, tentative at first, like he wanted to make sure this was real. but when you responded, your hand moving to cup the side of his face, his hesitation disappeared. the kiss deepened, and you soon felt yourself being pulled onto his lap, now straddling him. warmth flooded through you as he gripped your waist, fingers digging into your hips. you felt the kiss becoming needier, his hands moving to pull you closer, deepening the kiss. your hands find their way to his hair, softly tugging at the strands as he lets out a quiet groan into your mouth. his hands moved to your thighs, rubbing up and down before they slipped under your jean skirt to tease around the soft lace of your underwear. chris pulls away, beginning to pepper kisses down your jawline and to your neck as his fingers inched closer to your clothed core.

his middle finger delicately brushed over your cunt, feeling the wetness seep through your panties as you let out a gasp, your hold on him tightening.

“you want me to stop?” he murmurs into your neck, beginning to add more pressure with his fingers. you quickly shake your head, mumbling out a desperate ‘no’ before you feel him slip two of his fingers into your panties, groaning at the feeling of your wetness. you let out a moan as he teases your entrance, slipping his two fingers inside you effortlessly.

“fuck,” you breathe out, and chris begins to pump his fingers into and out of you, curling his fingers as he elicits another moan from you, your grip on his hair tightening.

chris leaves hot and opened mouth kisses on your neck—the pace of his fingers quickening. he continued to bite and suck at your neck in response to your whimpers, his free hand coming up to squeeze at your tits as you bucked your hips into his hand, the knot in your stomach threatening to snap.

“i’m gonna cum, chris,” you whine, your head falling against his shoulder before you felt him remove his fingers, bringing them to his mouth as he tasted your arousal, leaving you whiney and needy for more.

chris patted your hip, urging you to get up as he spoke, “backseat, now.”

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melanchol1cs · 5 months ago

Text

WHAT GOOD IS SORRY?

ex husband!leon x f!reader

word count: 3.3k summary: why does one wound those they love so deeply? masterlist | taglist | wips

18+ MDNI. mentions of divorce, cheating/infidelity, awkward leon stuff, guilt, yearning, leon and reader have a child together — and i named her denise for whatever reason, getting stood up by a date, drunk texting, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bittersweet ending(?) i guess.

a/n: old wip,, this was supposed to be super gut wrenching and angsty but for some reason, my brain didn’t want to cooperate and decided that this would be the ending. also, i’ve been contemplating whether to address this or not and even tho its not a big issue, PLEASE interact with my posts. it’s the only way i’m able to know that you guys actually like the stuff i write, and ever since i’ve started writing on here 7 months ago, i’ve been noticing a decrease in interactions. im honestly losing motivation to write because i truly don’t know if people actually read my shit and like it. anyway, enjoy my mediocre writing ^___^

leon regrets everything he’s done up to this point. running into ada on a mission, going to the bar with her afterwards, and the kiss. the stupid kiss that eventually led up to this.

the divorce.

it all felt wrong, so wrong. yet here he was, driving his car to your doorstep, his stomach in knots despite having done this several times before.

for the sake of your daughter, the two of you had decided that shared custody would be the best option.

he stands at the door, hesitating before knocking, his knuckles hovering anxiously. clearing his throat, he gently raps his knuckles against the door, hoping for an answer. he's already second-guessing himself, wondering if he should have texted or called first.

your door eventually opens, and he's met with a familiar face. you.

you greet him with a civil smile, pressing a kiss into your daughter’s hair before ushering her inside.

he fidgets, adjusting the brim of his leather jacket nervously as he takes in the sight of you.

you reach to shut the door, catching a glimpse of him awkwardly hovering over you porch.

“you okay?”

he tries to find his voice. "yeah, i just, uh... i was just thinking..”

he looks down at his feet, kicking the ground with the side of his scuffed boot, as if trying to buy some time or maybe just willing the floor to swallow him up. when he speaks, his voice is low and sheepish. “when i was— last night, i thought… uh, do- do you remember when.. shit. are you free this weekend?”

”what?” you muse at his question. “leon, i really don’t wanna have this conversation with you again,”

he winces at the rebuff, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as a defensive measure.

leon’s adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, his ears burning at your words. he looks anywhere but at you, his eyes darting over the porch railing, the foliage, the sky — anywhere but your eyes. oh, those eyes he adored so much.

"no, wait, hear me out,”

"listen..." he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever fallout this might bring, knowing he's already on shaky ground. “i just wanna talk.. to you.”

he shifts his weight, glancing up at the roof of the house as if the heavens themselves could offer a solution. when he does meet your gaze again, his eyes are pleading, his jaw clenched with a mix of anxiety and something akin to desperation.

“i’m sorry, leon. i’m busy,”

he scoffs and his face scrunches up, a pained grimace contorting his features as he cuts you off. “c’mon, please?” he's standing too close now, invading the personal space he once knew so well. “i.. i know it isn’t what we do anymore but—“

“no, seriously. i literally can’t. i have something up.”

“oh.” he deflates slightly at your dismissal, shoulders slumping in defeat. a soft, regretful sigh escapes his parted lips, and his eyes drop, gaze wandering aimlessly. "can- can you can you cancel? is it really important? what about on sunday-? i’m sure we can..“

“leon.” it's not a question this time, you stare at him with the tiniest hint of pity. “i have a date.”

ouch. he freezes, his chest constricting as if he's been punched. a date? the words echo in his mind, each syllable like a dagger to his pride, his ego, his everything. a muscle in his jaw twitches, his hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets. leon swallows hard, his throat suddenly parched.

"oh," he repeats, the sound barely above a whisper. he takes a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, jaw working in agitation as he grapples with the blow of your words. a snarky retort rises in his throat, a cutting remark to deflect the sting, but it withers on his tongue, a futile attempt at salvaging pride he knows is misplaced.

leon swallows hard, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice, laced with a wry bitterness. “yeah, no worries.. guess that's that," a bitter, hollow chuckle escapes him as he shifts his weight. his tone is flippant, trying to mask the sting of rejection, but the defeat is palpable as he turns to leave. he starts down the porch steps, his boots thudding against the wooden slats.

you finally close the door on him, standing by the door, hand on the knob, unease prickling along you skin like a thousand tiny needles, each one stinging with the weight of guilt. you sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she tries to process her feelings. guilt, regret, a twinge longing — it's all so confusing, so messy.

the weight of his pleading eyes, the desperation in his tone — he had no right acting like a dejected puppy after he cheated on you.

you shake your head, face between your hands. he made his choices, just as you had, and now it was time to move on. you squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped away from the door, determined to let go of the ghost of what was and focus on the life you were building. for you, and your daughter.

but it’s not really easy.

not when you’re sitting alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date that never bothered to show.

your phone buzzes and you hold your breath. hoping for some sort of confirmation, but it's quickly snuffed out.

‘hey, sorry i couldn’t make it. something important came up’ the simple text reads. the same stupid excuse. every. single. time. your heart sinks, a dull ache forming in the pit of your stomach.

a bitter, derisive chuckle escapes your lips. serves you right. you knew he was trouble from the start. yet, your heart aches, a dull throb of pain and disappointment. you feel so foolish, sitting there, waiting for someone who never shows. though, it isn't really new.

now you lay in your bed, having already kicked off your heels and changed out of the uncomfortably tight dress you wore.

you pull the blankets up to your chin, suddenly feeling cold. you toss and turn, brooding and wallowing in misery, and it seemed like you’ve been doing it for hours till you’re startled out of your fitful doze by the buzz of your phone.

it's a text from leon, of course it is. it’s another one of his ‘where are u? i miss u’ ‘can’t stop thinking about you. please let me c u’ meltdowns.

he's drunk again, you can tell by the sloppy caps and the desperate pleas. every time he has a rough night, he always thinks coming over will magically fix everything. and you always refuse, knowing he’s only drunk and alone. but tonight, you feel particularly lonely.

your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and before you know it, you're typing. ‘come over.’ you hesitate, then send the message.

by then, he’s already halfway out the door, stumbling out and nearly falling as he trips over his own feet in his haste. he takes the stairs two at a time, a goofy, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. when he reaches your door, he pounds on it with a fist. his breath comes out in short puffs as he waits, anticipation making his heart race.

click.

the door creaks open a fraction and his eyes lock onto you, looking all soft and domestic in a robe. leon's breath catches in his throat as his eyes drink you in.

he tumbles in, arms outstretched as if he's about to catch something. he's immediately in your space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, breathless with relief and something else, something suspiciously like love.

“leon—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of beer and regret in his breath. his hands roam, sliding up your back, gripping your hair, fingers splayed wide as if to assure himself you're real. a low, desperate sound escapes him, half-groan, half-moan as his body presses against yours. he's desperate, sloppy, but undeniably passionate. when he finally breaks for air, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes glassy with drink and longing.

“missed you s’ much, baby,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the pulse point with a reverence that borders worship.

“let me make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with those big, puppy-dog eyes, an expression so pathetic it’s comical. yet, the desperation behind them makes it anything but.

his hands skim down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. his face buried in the crook of your neck as his hands knead the meat of your ass, claws digging in through the fabric of your robe. his breath hitches as he nuzzles into you, inhaling deeply as if committing you to memory.

he trails a string of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to nibble on your collarbone before continuing his journey south. his hands never stop moving, roaming over your body with an insatiable hunger.

you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "bedroom," you breathe out, and he happily obliges.

once inside, he kicks the door shut behind him and spins you around, backing you up against the bed. he begins to undo your robe with shaking fingers, your heavy breathing and the rustling of silk the only sounds in the charged silence between you. when the robe falls open, he pushes it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet.

the thin, sheer fabric of your nightgown offers little resistance as he practically rips it off you. a shaky breath escapes his parted lips as he reaches for you again, fingers grazing your skin as if he's not quite trusting his own touch.

he guides you to the bed, pushing you to sit on the edge. he immediately drops to his knees before you, face between your legs.

“these ‘re pretty,” he slurs out, before he fucking tears your underwear off.

“leon!”

he chuckles at your reaction, a low, rumbling sound in the back of his throat. “sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. “gonna buy you new ones,”

his stubble scrapes against your sensitive skin as he slowly trails open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, savoring every inch of you that you’re willing to give him.

he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking with a single-minded devotion that makes your toes curl and eyes roll back in your head. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

god, it’s been so long. the feelings practically foreign.

his tongue begins to lash at your slit, long and flat, with a dexterity that belies his level of inebriation.

“you still mine?” he huffs. “‘course you are, ‘m the only one that can get ya this wet,”

slurp, smack, suck, repeat.

his tongue is relentless, probing your entrance, swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. he's sloppy, uncoordinated, but it only serves to heighten the intensity of it all. every time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy breathing, feel the vibrations of his moans against your most intimate flesh. your fingers thread into his hair, tugging him closer as your back arches off the bed. a keening whimper escapes you, the sound muffled by your clenched teeth as you struggle to maintain some semblance of control.

“fuck, leon—” your words trail off into incoherent mumbles as he drives you closer to the edge, tongue darting in and out with a pace that’ll make a grown woman go crazy. “d-denise, were gonna wake her up,”

a low growl rumbles in his chest as he responds to your whine. there's a hint of accusation in his gaze, but it quickly morphs into a look of raw, desperate need. “don’t matter,” he's relentless, persistent, refusing to back down even as you tremble and writhe beneath him.

he grunts, his attention snapping back to you, blue eyes squinting as he looks up from between your thighs. his tongue is a damn metronome, lapping and smacking with a relentless rhythm that has you chasing the edge of oblivion.

it's like every drunken fantasy he's ever had is being poured out onto you. messy, uncoordinated, desperate. and you’re eating it up. “gonna make you forget all about that stupid date," he mutters through slurred words. "’m the only man who can make you feel this good,"

he's not wrong. the way he's attacking you with his tongue, it's like he's trying to prove a fucking point.

"leon, please," you gasp out, and he takes it as an invitation to continue. your entire body is wound up tight, a taut string ready to snap. he slips a finger in, then two, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

your legs wrap around his head, fingers threading into his hair as you pull him in as close as humanly possible. his name is a chant on your lips, a prayer to the gods of pleasure. "leon, leon, leon,". denise could come in right now and catch you like this — legs splayed, back arched, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. he's that good. or maybe that bad. you dont know. and you don’t care to find out.

"yeah, just like that," he praises, voice a low, gravelly growl. "love my fingers in this greedy little cunt, don't you?"

your thighs clench around his head, heels digging into his back as you ride out the pleasure. "gonna cum, leon, please—“ yours words trail off into a wail, a keen of pure, unadulterated euphoria.

your back arches, toes curl, and your fingers dig into his hair, holding him to you as the wave crashes over you. he tugs you down to the edge of the bed, practically burying his face in your groin. he laps at your slit, in and out, in and out, until the last bit of resistance melts away.

he lifts his face from between your legs, eyes hazy and unfocused as he fumbles to unbuckle his pants. once he has it off, he's back, pushing your legs apart as he kneels between them. the thick of his length throbs against your lower belly, and you can feel his racing heartbeat through every inch of him that's in contact with you.

he notches the head of his cock at your entrance, pressing in just enough to make you feel the pressure, gathering your juices before giving a long, slow stroke up and down, coating himself in you. he's throbbing, pulsing with need, and you can practically taste the desperation in your mouth.

he presses in, just the tip at first, then a bit more. slow, shallow strokes, in and out. his hips rock against yours, the motion slow and languid. one of his hands cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your closed eyelids to check if he was dreaming. the other hand palms the small of your back, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself. your legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as he slowly sinks into you.

he's quiet for a moment, just holding you, his heart racing in his chest as if he's trying to communicate something without using words. his hips move, the action slow and lazy, as if he's trying to spoon you into submission.

he pulls out, just to the tip, before pushing back in. the motion is slow, sensual, a deliberate teasing that has you whining and writhing beneath him.

sweat beads on his brow, tracing down the lines of his face, but he doesn't slow. if anything, he's driven by a desperate need to make up for lost time, to prove himself worthy of you. your back arches, hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets as he pistons in and out, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. he's not gentle, not soft, but rough and demanding, just like he always used to be when he was trying to stake his claim.

he nips at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before he sooths it with his tongue. “fuck, feels so good,” he gasps out, his words punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. “can't believe i ever let you go.”

"leon," you whimper, the name a plea, a prayer. his lips find yours in a sloppy, frantic kiss. he's drinking you in, devouring your mouth, your moans, your gasps, trying to consume every ounce of you.

he's sweating, hair a mess, face scrunched up in concentration, but those blue eyes remain locked on yours.

you're lost in the sensation, every nerve ending on high alert, screaming for friction, for relief, for release. "leon, leon, gonna cum," you pant, your voice raw, your throat dry. "please, i—" but your pleas are swallowed by his next thrust, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

he leans forward, his forehead pressing against yours, noses nearly touching. his hot breath mingles with yours, the scent of his beer-soaked breath and the musk of his arousal mingling together in the most intoxicating way. "love you," he suddenly whispers, the words a quiet, a desperate confession that hangs in the air between you.

“love you, love you, fuck—“

the way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him. for a long moment, he stays frozen, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch his breath.

the heat of your body seeps into his skin, chasing away the chill of the night air. he collapses against you, a boneless heap of satisfied male. his cock throbs, pulses, and drips onto the bed between your legs as he tries to catch his breath. the room is silent, save for your joint heavy breathing, and the occasional groan as his softening length slips out of you. eventually, he rolls off, lying on his back beside you, one big hand coming to rest on your stomach, thumb stroking in a slow, idle pattern. his eyes are hazy, unfocused, but they find yours and hold. a small, sheepish smile tugs at his lips.

"sorry," he slurs out, the word garbled and slightly off-kilter. "i shoulda been better, should’ve tried harder, i... i‘m gonna make things right, i swear,"

he peppers your neck with soft kisses, his stubble rasping against your tender flesh. he's warm, solid, and comforting. gentle and tender, a stark contrast to the desperation that drove him mere moments ago.

he's not reaching for grand gestures or flowery declarations. he's asking for something simple, intimate, and achingly human. a chance to hold you, to sleep beside you, to maybe, begin to rebuild something from the rubble of what once was.

and for a moment, you let yourself believe that he’ll be different this time. that he's not just trying to relive past glories, but genuinely wants to make amends, to start anew.

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae

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neil-gaiman · 2 years ago

Note

hey mr gaiman. i saw that this post got revisited and wanted to address it.

i submitted this ask over a year ago on my old account and it was one of the stupidest things i ever did. it was my first tumblr account. id only been really online for a few weeks. i was 13. i was just coming back to school after a global pandemic.

ive been a fan of good omens for years and a fan of yours for longer. i was brought up reading odd and the frost giants and fortunately the milk, and as i got older i fell in love with your norse mythology book, good omens, snow glass apples, the sleeper and the spindle, and more.

i was excited to see one of my favorite authors on tumblr and tried to come up with the most bold and interesting ask i could think of.

i was rude and misinformed and it was a stupid choice of me to send it in with no thought.

but i got feedback. some in the form of kind suggestions. quite a few in the form of death threats and people telling me to kill myself.

while those specific messages were rude and hateful, the point got across. i educated myself to the best of my abilities, and eventually came back online.

not only did i misuse the term queerbaiting but i also implied that you were not an amazing supporter of the queer community. that’s absolutely incorrect. you’ve done so much for us with activism, representation, and overall kindness.

i wanted to address this ask that got so much attention because despite moving accounts i still feel guilt and shame every time i see it, or even when i interact with any of your posts at all. i need to actually address it.

also, i wanted a proper apology to be made. by no means am i now a saint. but im trying to be more thoughtful about thinking before i speak.

whether or not you decide to make a public response to this, i think ill find some peace knowing you’ve received this. ive needed closure on this for a long time.

im overjoyed and thrilled that season two is so close. thank you for tolerating the dumb questions of pretentious kids and thank you for helping to create a world where we can grow to be better than we were.

First of all, and most importantly, I'm really sorry that people were mean to you. That's awful. And nobody should ever have to deal with death threats or online threats and attacks, let alone a thirteen year old.

And secondly, you do not owe me an apology. I figure I have a Tumblr account, people ask things. Mostly they'll get nice replies, occasionally (normally when I'm being asked the same thing over and over) the replies will be terser. There has to be a certain amount of rough and tumble though, and occasionally I'll grab an ask that represents all of the asks I've had on that subject, and try and reply to all of them. That's what happened to you. I was getting tired of being accused of Queerbaiting for the occasional answer about a Season that was not yet released and about which nobody knew anything. And I needed to tell everyone who was doing this that they had to stop now. You had the misfortune to be the representative of all of the other people.

If you are not making mistakes you are not human and you are not learning anything.

(I wish there was tone of voice on the internet.)

And I think you are growing and learning and will make a fantastic adult.

I really hope you enjoy Season 2 when it drops.

#And I hope as many people are nice and supportive about this post #as were mean about that first one

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kqutie · 1 month ago

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ao3 request : HI I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THIS FIC ... if its not too much trouble, do you think you could write this fic in a male pov? … i just want more immersion im not mad lmao just desperate and pathetic for hermes

length : 1.4k

a/n : I hope this a good compromise for being unable to make a male pov version of the series, my darling. it’s only a little something, i’m sorry i couldn’t do more for you but, again i did my best to make it feel special to you as a fellow hermes lover. hopefully it also explains (not excuse!) hermes’ harassing behaviour towards the reader.

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← prev. | four. the washed-up stranger

“What have you done, Hermes?” Athena begins, already distressed as she appears out of nowhere beside him.

“Nothing at all, darling~” he coos nonchalantly, peering over the new cloud he’s stationed over your island for further observations. He’s made a habit of planting himself there in his free time just so he has the best view of all the hilarious antics you pull on the crew. He hasn’t been able to laugh this much in ages — no wonder he’s grown such an attachment to you.

“Don’t play dumb!” His half-sister snaps and huffs in frustration, working herself up as she drills a hole into his temple with a glare. “There was no need for such a show!”

“Oh! But we had the perfect audience~” Hermes reasoned with a sly smirk and guiltless eyes, hands tucked behind his head, and his ankles crossing over as he floated about on his back as if on a suspended bed of air. “Why not provide them with some entertainment? It’s only fair since they’ve supplied me with so much in so little time~” he chuckles to himself at the amusing events he’s witnessed.

Athena takes a moment to observe his unconcerned attitude; it’s as if she’s trying to look into his soul. She’s looking at him like many of her elaborate weaving projects, closely examining each thread to ensure that not a single one was a centimetre out of place. It was quite unnerving, but Hermes only had to keep his eyes shut and hum to himself leisurely for sufficient distractions.

“What is this about Hermes? There’s something more here, isn’t there?”

Hermes knows another lecture is coming and avoids the conversation for as long as possible. The best way, he gathers, is to not address it at all. He peeks at her with a lazily, half-opened eye, “Wha’s that?”

There’s a strict but worried expression on Athena’s face. Ever since she had taken his great-grandson in as her champion, they have grown a closer relationship, sometimes confiding in each other over small frustrations. At an especially vulnerable time, Hermes had gone to her, pouring as much of his heart out as he had drunk Dionysus’ wine. It was a rare sight to see her spritely half-brother, but Athena helped him through it. She didn’t quite understand why, however, as she wasn’t usually the solicitous type — she later found out that he needed her logic to balance his emotional state. That was the only wise thought he had at the time, and she was happy it was one he followed through on. Back then, she was more logical than empathetic, so she couldn’t offer much compassion, but she had grown since, even as a Goddess. And she can already foresee what will happen without a prophet's clairvoyance. She needs to approach the topic with equal parts delicacy and rigour.

“Don’t do this to yourself again, Hermes.” Athena meets her half-brother’s uncharacteristically aggrieved glare. She doesn’t back down even in the tense pause that follows where he refuses to answer her. The silence stretches on for so long between them that she’s afraid he has turned to stone because of his abnormal stillness.

“…It’s not happening again!” The messenger god finally snaps, turning away from his half-sibling to stare at nothing — nothing is better than seeing the pity in her eyes.

“Despite her divine-like powers, she is still a mortal, Hermes!” Athena reasoned, circling her brother to be able to see his face and look into his eyes, wanting to convey the gravity of the situation, but is unsuccessful. Hermes was insistent on not meeting her eyes, turning away at her every step. Eventually, she stops, succumbing to his wishes and stands back but her presence has grown so imposing. It feels just as perturbing that she doesn’t leave him be — why couldn’t she just leave him be?!

“If you don’t stop, it will end just the same.” She warns even though she knows he doesn’t want to hear another word, judging by the tension in his shoulders. “You have to let her go before history repeats itself — you’re only hurting yourself and her. The same way you hurt yourself and—!”

“Don’t Say His Name!” Hermes finally meets her eyes, his demanding shout stilling the air around them. His eyes glowed brighter with a profound fury beneath the shadow of his helmet. The wings attached to his helmet, once flexed in their alertness, gradually move to cover his eyes — a weak attempt at shielding him from the world.

Even with his eyes hidden away, Athena could tell that they welled with tears. But there is no satisfaction when she sees the salty drops drip past the mask of his feathers and down his cheek and jaw.

To think that a mortal man could have such an adverse effect on her usually jocular brother. Despite the years that have already passed and Hermes’ supposed return to normality, he has yet to recover from such a sad loss. The love he had described to her as the truest kind he’d ever found had slipped right through his fingers. It was to be expected of mortal souls, they are far more fragile than the gods and meet their ends far quicker. In his desperation, Hermes pleaded with their uncle to allow him the privilege of continuing to see his love again in the underworld. The messenger god had such hope that it could be made possible for him, but alas, he was not granted such a benefit, even as the lord of the underworld’s nephew. The night Hermes had sought comfort in her, he had been on his way back from Hades after retrieving a barrel of wine from Dionysus, who took pity on him.

Hermes reminisced his and his love’s happiest memories, from the times that left them breathless and feeling nothing but alive to the quiet moments spent in impossible closeness. He described their connection as a fated one, a union that made him want to slow down the years and not live at such high speeds, a surprising confession from the god known for his swiftness. Because of him, Hermes had begun to crave a simple, quiet existence — all he needed was him to reach fulfilment and completeness. Hermes remembered and gushed over his love’s beautiful eyes, his loving voice, his addictive lips, his shining spirit and his strong build. He vowed to never forget him or the precious love they’d shared.

As time passed and his lover grew older and frailer, Hermes became anxious to immortalise him and keep him by his side forever. He sought his father, who, in a rare instance, instructed against it, citing the failed immortalisation of other mortals such as Achilles and Endymion. Zeus had saved him from the heartache of foolishly and selfishly causing his love’s demise. But, in turn, had made him the bearer of a different heartache.

But…was one truly more painful than the other? Hermes regrets every day that he didn’t, at least, try for his love…

“Don’t you ever say his name… His name is a precious one. Even I do not speak it.” Hermes gathers himself away from his sister’s prying view and his helmet wings slowly fold back to reveal his eyes once again.

“You do not speak it because of the pain it gives you!”

“His name will only ever bring me joy! Don’t speak as if you know about my heart! You. Don’t. Athena. No one does. Only he ever did!”

“But I know you will only make a fool of yourself once again — she is a mortal! A mortal! It will all end the same!” Their screams leave them breathing heavily and exhausted. But, gradually, the tension fades and so do the high emotions. Hermes’ scowling expression slowly melts into a dispirited one as Athena’s stern stare warms with sympathy.

“Let her go, Hermes.”

Shaking his head, the messenger god turns away with slumped shoulders, his helmet’s wings giving a subtle tremble as if to shake off the sadness.

‘HERMES!’ the patron god smiles to himself, his mood lifting upon hearing your cry in between his ears.

“Oh! It appears as though I’m being summoned~” Without another word, he zips away, his conflicted expression finally revealing itself when finally away from Athena’s prying gaze. But as he drew closer to you, it melted into a smug (almost sad) grin.

Athena’s right…

navi. | series m.list

taglist : @bluepanda08 @doodle-with-rhy @sunshinedaisy21 @jolixtreesunn @ellaprime7 @marcelemry @nishayuro @hijinkxy @kerosene-demon @windrosesrasta @keikeiluvyou @darling-eos @iamapotatoe @yuzxi18 @woncloudie @permanently-nothere @ash1 @barrythestrawberry041 @trashcannotbealive @yuksssss

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #epic x reader #the fair maiden series #the fair maiden drabble #hermes x reader #epic hermes angst #epic hermes x reader #epic athena #epic the musical angst #the fair maiden series imagine

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starboye · 7 months ago

Text

starring: drew starkey x male reader

request: pizza delivery guy!drew starkey and black/bubble butt reader, where Drew was delivering readers pizza and when reader opens the door he’s wearing mesh booty shorts that show everything and Drew gets all shy and reader notices and drags Drew in the house and they start kissing and Drew is rubbing up on readers juicy ass and reader makes drew rip open his shorts and start rimming him and then after that he pushes Drew on the couch and starts riding him and after a while Drew cums but reader doesn’t stop and keeps riding him until Drew is so overstimulated to the point where he’s laying on the couch twitches and reader decides he’s had enough and stand up and grabs a butt plug and stuff it up his own ass and he starts helping Drew get dressed but Drew is so sensitive that he jumps and whine when reader accidentally touches him but at the end Drew ask for readers number so they can do it again sometime and Drew rubs and spanks readers ass before he walks out his apartment

warnings: smut, cursing, over stimulation, butt plug

it was a lazy night for you, you had worked all day and you wanted to just chill out till the next day, you had on so slutty cute underwear and some socks and decided to order some pizza from your favorite place, soon the pizza arrives which was quicker than usual exciting you even more for the meal, you open the door to see a fine man standing with the pizza in hand.

"you ordered a pizza" he asks checking the address of the ticket before looking down to realize what you were wearing now obviously nervous at seeing your ass, "yeah that's me" you say grabbing the pizza and seeing the little tent in his pants, striking an idea in your mind "y'know what i think i forgot my wallet, you can sit down while i get it" you smile dragging him into your house and setting him on your couch before walking to your kitchen to get the wallet.

the man sits there for some time nervously scratching at his pants trying to get his boner to go down but it does nothing and you soon come back from the kitchen with the money and handing it to him but he doesn't take it, only staring at your ass the whole time, you lift his head up and look him in the eyes before leaning down to kiss him.

the kiss deepens and he stands up, slightly towering over you before he puts pushes you into the couch and kisses your ass, he rips your shorts off and admires your beautiful butt before he's running his tongue up and down your hole slowly, savoring the sweet taste of you while his hands massaged your ass, his dick becoming increasingly harder as he pulls back from your ass and pulls his pants down and off.

you turn around to face him and stand up "ah ah you sit down" you say lightly kissing him to further persuade him into it "what's your name" you ask as you straddle his lap "d-drew" he stutter feeling your ass glide over his clothed crotch "well drew i must say you eat ass like a pro" you grin pulling his underwear down just enough to let his dick pop out.

you stroke it slowly and spit some saliva onto the tip as makeshift lube, angling yourself over him and lowering your hole onto his dick, his thick tip spreading you apart easily to let the rest of him in, you and him both whine out loudly as you he looks up at you needy like, you making it fully down onto him.

you lock eyes with him as you plop up and down on his dick, his hands immediately moving to hold your hips as he feels himself already about to cum and you could tell from his face "don't be shy you can cum" you coo kissing his neck leaving him with hickeys "ngh fuckkk" drew groans already cumming in you, throwing his head back onto the couch as his chest huffs up and down.

you slow your movements to tease him even more "thanks for that" drew says moving to get up but you press him back into the couch "im not done" you sternly state looking down at him, he shudders at your dominance and you resume your bouncing up and down on him, your ass filling the room with plaps, drews legs twitched as you overstimulated him.

after about an hour of you riding him his eyes were rolling into the back of his head and his hands were gripping the couch, moaning out as you smirked down on him having no intent on stopping but the way he's begging just makes it so cute so you stop "t-thank... thank you" drew shudders feeling his 3rd high come down, you may not have cum once but it was worth it to feel his cum move around in him.

"no problem" you smile pulling up from him, hole leaking with cum as you stand up, drew falling to lay on the couch, you look around for a little and find a butt plug and put it in you "well i really should get going" drew lazily says sitting up "yeah let me help you" you say grabbing his pants and sliding them up his legs, he shudders at the feeling of the fabric running up his legs.

"it's okay it's just the pants" you coo pulling them all the way up and then putting on his shirt, he stands up and gives you a little kiss and slightly limps to the front door from the overstimulation "thanks for the time" drew smirks down at you "well hope you come back sometime" you say "oh i definitely will be" drew says smacking your ass and walking to his car.

taglist:@mailmango@spermeboy@ghostking4m@gayaristocrat@addictedtomalepits@staarb0y@crispysoup318@its-ares@gargoylesworld09@kadenvatsune @fuckshft

#drew starkey #drew starkey x male reader #x male reader #gay smut #x male smut #x male y/n #x male #bottom male reader #gay #male reader #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you

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thegoldencontracts · 10 months ago

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Prefect

Azul is your boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend, as in, person you're in intimate and romantic relations with. So why, just why is he still calling you Prefect?

Notes: credit to @/cephalo-punk for the idea... Im sorry for my sins, reader is the Prefect, GN reader as usual

You and Azul had a wonderful relationship, really. Wonderful, and romantic, and everything. It was safe to say you two were closing, dating, even. Yes, you two were dating. For months now.

And what did people usually call their partners whom they were dating? Their first name, maybe a petname. They usually dropped the titles.

But not Azul. No, Azul could never drop the title you held. Why? Who knew?

"Prefect!" Azul's voice pulled you out of your frying pan of rage only to plummet you into its fire. Ah, yes, that 'nickname'. That damned nickname. "Would you like to dine together this weekend? My treat, of course. I secured a reservation to that restaurant you kept ogling on our trips together. I know, I truly am a benevolent soul."

And yet, immediately your rage was quelled. Azul was asking to take you out on a date. And especially this week - Finals' must've left him completely swamped, no? But he did. And he even got a reservation to that one place that you somehow forgot the name of! Sure, you didn't remember the name, but you did remember that those reservations were super hard to get.

So, did the Prefect thing really matter that much?

"I'll gladly go on a date with you, Azul!" You said. Azul's lips jutted out ever so slightly.

"A 'date' is one way to call it, I suppose," he said. "Really, Prefect-"

Nevermind. In an instant, your mood was dampened by that stupid term of address. He loved you enough to go through all this trouble, and you really appreciated that, honest! You just wanted him to use your goddamn name!

Wait. You had an idea.

"Fine, fine, I'll stop teasing you," you said. "Housewarden Ashengrotto."

Azul looked at you in confusion.

"Housewarden Ashengrotto?"

"That's you, silly!" You said, like you didn't know the real reason behind his question.

Azul's face puckered up in displeasure, like he'd just eaten a sour lemon. He stayed silent for a while before speaking up again.

"Have I done something to offend you, Prefect?" He asked.

"Nope!" You said. "Why, Housewarden Ashengrotto?"

Azul's eye twitched.

"You've decided not to call me by my name all of a sudden," he said.

You smirked.

"Well, since you don't call me by mine, I thought we'd be on even footing!"

The realization hit Azul like a truck. His eyes widened, only to narrow as his cheeks flushed in an indignated pout.

"W-Well- that's different, er-" Azul sighed. "Does it truly upset you that greatly?"

You couldn't help but soften up a bit at that. He really didn't mean you any harm, even if you did still think it was uncharacteristically stupid of him.

"How does it feel when I call you Housewarden?" You asked. His face darkened.

"Point taken."

"Good," you said. "So, why don't you try calling me by my name?"

Azul's eyes widened.

"E-Eh?"

"You heard me. We should be on even footing, right, Housewarden Ashengrotto?"

Azul gulped. If he wanted you to call him by his name again, he'd have to do this, and obviously he was going to, since it was clearly important to you, but...

It was hard.

"O-Of course," he said. "E-Er, Pre- ah-"

And then he said your name. Without "-san" added as an honorific. Nothing of the sort, just your name.

You smiled.

"Yes, Azul?"

And just hearing his name again made Azul beam.

"Why don't we go to your place? It's getting rather late."

"I would love that."

#azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland #twst #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst azul #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto x you #twst x reader

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noirsdoll · 3 months ago

Text

-> pretty please? part one

all aboard! | the dinner party | room for three | nothing even matters

pairing: curly x reader

words: 4.2k

tags: rape, drugging, implied/referenced abuse, mentions of baby trapping, mentions of jimmy being an asshole, reader is so much worse, no crash au, anya hate (im sorry), poor curly

notes: um… first post ever? so nervous but uhhh wanted to write a reader who is literally jimmy but hates everything jimmy is and wants to fuck curly. parallels!! i want curly so bad oh my godddd

writing style + some ideas inspired by @rimqueen !! go check out her stuff she is amazing!!

read it on ao3

Dumb, blond and pretty. Tears bead along his waterline, the prettiest sobs choking from his throat. Blond hair curls on his chest, frames that perfect cock. He looks like a picture, the type of fantasy you’d cook up with your hand between your legs.

Curly gazes up at you like he’s been stabbed, but he’s the one stabbing you. He stuffs you full of cock, it’s impossible not to prod at your cervix with the angle you’ve gotten him in, seated in his lap. He winces when he feels it. You moan.

The quiet hum of the Tulpar displaces your sound and that soft slide of skin on skin. Curly’s eyes are so far gone, so distant. The sharp points of your nails drag along the doughy parts of him. You salivate thinking about the muscle hidden underneath it all— muscle he could use to fight back, but he’s far too kind for that.

The perfect captain, reduced to a mess, reduced to nothing, reduced to fat tits and big hands and meaty thighs. You smile, thumbing his kiss-swollen lips. You go back in for seconds, he lets you because that’s his responsibility.

Delicate like tripwire, you’ve walked circles around him, poked and prodded at him. He keens like a dog when you scratch behind the ears. Poor thing, it’s not his fault. It’s you who kept thinking about it. Getting filled up by his fat cock till it bulges out of your belly, seeing his fingers wind in the sheets to stop himself from moving into you.

His pretty eyes are glazed over, you tap his cheek and he comes to. Curly looks at you, he’s really crying now, big globs cascading down his face. You wipe them away, shush him like a baby, stretched so impossibly on his dick that it’s hard to focus.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper, fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He sniffles and says nothing, leaving you to stew in your guilt. You’re not guilty, you were just too eager. He’ll forgive you for this once you’re done.

Curly doesn’t meet your eyes at the morning meeting. He addresses everyone else with that worn smile of his. The one that had heat coiling in your stomach, the one you had to ruin. Split open on your fingers, the shine of spit on his pouty lips.

Swansea, Jimmy, Daisuke, that bitch Anya. She says something and he laughs, that perfect glimmer of pearly whites. Not that same pretty shade of white his cum is, you remember the way he went red as it dripped out of you. You hope it got you pregnant, then he’ll have no reason to talk to her.

You approach them both, unable to hide your grin when Curly locks up like a sore muscle. “Anya, good morning!”

She turns to look at you, a bashful smile on her face. “Oh, good morning!”

“I was doing inventory on our stock, there’s a bottle of sleeping pills missing. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Absolute bullshit on your part, you just need her gone.

To your surprise, Anya’s face drains in colour. Seems there was some truth to your words. “There is? I’ll go check on that right away.” She turns and leaves immediately.

You glance at Curly. “Looks like she’ll be missing the meeting. I don’t mind filling her in afterwards.”

He glares at you. It’s a new expression, but it gets you soaked all the same. “What are you doing?”

“Did you have fun last night?” You’re giddy just thinking about it, replaying every moment of it in a pornographic loop— you don’t know why Curly chose to be a captain when he’d fare much better in front of a camera.

He crosses his arms, looking away. “It’s not happening again.” Curly’s eyes are more sunken than normal.

“You didn’t like it? Not even a little?” Despite everything, your heart sinks a little. Not enough to discourage you, of course, but you like to think you’re fairly pretty. He must be a narcissist, one with a type for airheads like Anya.

“I have work to do. Go help Anya.” He leaves to pilot the ship.

Jimmy takes that as an invitation to sidle up next to you. “What’s up with him?”

You glance at him in disgust. There’s something leering about Jimmy’s gaze, the way he oversees the rest of the crew with an air of superiority. Not to mention how he looks at Anya like he’s mentally undressing her. You might hate her, but you hate Jimmy more.

“Sleeping pills, really?” Curly already told him off when Anya originally came forward about Jimmy— you’re surprised he didn’t do something rash like crash the ship. Seems like now he’s employing new techniques on her.

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses, glancing over at Swansea and Daisuke, who are clearly much more engrossed in bolts and nuts and whatever engineers talk about.

“I’m telling Curly.” To help him feel less alone.

Jimmy scoffs. “He already knows.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He’s got the resilience of pillow fluff.” He shrugs, “so I’m using sleeping pills on her now, so what?”

“You’re a monster.” You grimace.

“I’m a man with needs. The Pony Express should give us fleshlights or something if they really cared.” Jimmy glances down at you. “Or dildos, I guess.”

What a prick. You’re surprised he hasn’t been put in a holding cell yet. You head down to the medbay to check on Anya. She’s sitting at the table, staring down at the inventory list.

You take the seat across from her. “Everything okay?”

She jumps at the sound. Anya quickly scrambles to put away the list. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

You’re unsure how to gently breach the subject, so you just flat out say it. “Jimmy told me.”

She stops what she’s doing, her eyes trembling as she looks at you. “Oh, he did?”

“That’s where the missing pills were from. Not sure how you want to record that on the log, but uh…,” you trail off. “Curly isn’t going to do anything about it, trust me.” You also just want her to back off from him.

Anya sinks back into her seat, forlorn. “I know… I just, I don’t know what else to do.”

“Hey, I’ll keep an eye out for you, yeah?” You say, softly. “It’s the two of us women on this ship. We should look out for each other.” You’re not sure where this is coming from. You think you’d rather foil whatever Jimmy plans to do to her than actually help her.

She nods, a hopeful smile on her face. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“No, really,” she insists. “You’re a good person.”

Your smile falls. “See you around, Anya.”

You slip the sleeping pills out from Jimmy’s pocket when he isn’t looking. You drop a couple in Curly’s evening coffee. He drinks one at the same time every night. You don’t know why he bothers– the beans are all stale and it tastes more like cardboard than anything. He’s a man of habit, you guess.

When he starts nodding off at dinner, it’s your cue to help him to his quarters. You make a few teasing remarks about your tired captain to displace any suspicion. Jimmy gives you a knowing look.

Curly’s big and heavy, just like his cock. Curse of the sleeping pills— it’s soft. You settle for dragging your slit down the length of it, coating it in slick. This isn’t as fun as seeing him cry or seeing any of his reactions, but you’re not one to complain. You grab at his tits, sucking a pretty bruise into his pale skin. It blooms like a flower underneath his collarbone.

His cock twitches as you finish the hickey, nudging your clit and pushing you over the edge. You finish yourself off, getting up and off of him and doing up his clothes as best as you can. You dip out of his room like nothing happened, a pleased grin on your face.

It’ll be up to him to notice what you did.

It’s the weekend. Daisuke’s brought out his gaming console— a retro one that probably costs a shit-ton of money. You envy his ability to not have to care about finances. This freighter is like a summer camp to him.

He’s beaten you a handful of times now, but you’ve made peace with the fact he’ll always be better than you at video games. Gotta let the guy have one thing going for him in his life.

You hear the sound of the automatic doors opening. It’s Swansea. “Alright, kid. Playtime’s over. I got a motherboard with your name on it.”

“What?” Daisuke whines. “But it’s literally the weekend!”

He stops by the back of the couch, hands on his hips. “Learning ain’t pause for nobody. Meet me in the Utility Room after you’re done with that round.”

“Ugh, fine.” He sighs, turning back to the screen with much less enthusiasm.

“It can’t be all that bad,” you say, eyes on the screen as you button-mash to no avail.

“Swansea’s super smart but like, it’s impossible to see what he’s doing ‘cause his hands are so big. Then he gets upset when I mess up.”

“Have you tried telling him that?”

He nods earnestly. “I have, I swear! Swansea just doesn’t care.

Daisuke looks like he wants to say more, but he’s stopped by something on your right. You turn away from the game, ignoring your character dying, to see Curly standing there. He looks livid.

“Meet me in the cockpit. Now.”

On your way there, Jimmy bumps shoulders with you, you feel him take the sleeping pills from your uniform pocket, lacking any sort of sleight of hand. Joke’s on him— you swapped them out for Tic-Tacs. Anya’s going to have minty fresh breath.

As you step into the cockpit, Curly starts to unbutton the collar of his uniform, swivelling in his chair to face you.

You pause in the doorway. “Woah, not even gonna say hello first?”

He huffs, exposing the bruise you left on his chest. “What is this?”

You plop down in Jimmy’s chair, propping your feet up on the dash. “I dunno, what is it, Captain?”

He leans back in his seat, running a hand down his face. “I said we had to stop, you didn’t listen—”

“You didn’t listen when Anya came forward about Jimmy.” You shrug.

Curly turns to look at you. “That’s what this is all about? Anya?” He asks warily.

“No,” you lean toward him, over the little partition separating both your chairs, “I think you’re cute.”

He grimaces, doing his uniform back up. “And I think you’re a pain in my side.”

“You don’t like me back, Curly?”

“Captain,” he corrects you.

“Captain,” you bat your eyelashes, “I told you I didn’t want to hurt you. I meant it.” You reach over and put a hand on his thigh. He freezes up. “I just want you to feel good. That’s it.”

He looks away toward the display. His eyes are watering. “You’re just like him.”

That makes you pause. “What?”

“Jimmy. You and him, you’re the same,” he repeats, turning to look at you, his jaw set.

You frown, he can’t be serious. “Him? I’m nothing like him, I would never.” Curly’s just trying to distract you.

You get on your knees in front of him. “Are you trying to tell me that you have a thing for your best friend?” Resting your cheek on his thigh, you run your fingers along his stomach. He’s so warm, he could be your own personal space heater if he let you close enough to snuggle in his lap.

“God,” he sighs, spreading his legs wider. “You don’t give up, do you?”

You shake your head, grinning. You knew he was gonna give in eventually. You’ve always been praised for your resilience, and it’s really paying off. Curly’s cock is heavy in your mouth, weighing down your tongue.

You play with your food, circling the fat head with your tongue before you take it all down your throat. Curly’s hips shift, he knocks the back of your throat and you gag.

Glancing up at Curly, he looks almost conflicted, lips pulled in a thin line as he looks on. You sink deeper down then, his passiveness splits into a moan. That pretty face of ecstasy.

You watch every minute shift in his expression, drooling slick into your panties. Fuck, he’s hot, in the way men shouldn’t be. The top button of his uniform strains against the size of his tits, they’re bigger than yours.

Trailing your mouth down, you run your tongue along the seam of his balls. Curly’s dick rests on your brow bone as you try to fit them in your mouth. Your lips split and your eyes roll back at the taste. He smells like musk and something so Curly that has your thighs rubbing together.

Eventually, you get to your feet, fumbling with the myriad of buttons on your uniform before you seat yourself in his lap. Your cunt’s leaving a wet spot on the fabric, you can’t help it.

Leaning closer, you kiss Curly soft, slow. He lets you do it more than he reciprocates, but every soft movement of his lips has your heart going in your chest.

You pull away, his forehead against yours, and if you close your eyes, you can pretend like this is some form of romantic, because it should be— that’s what you deserve for your hard work.

“Do you like me now, Curly?” You smile shakily, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the base of his cock.

He looks like he’s two seconds away from crying, but at this point he always does. You kiss away his brewing tears. You can be gentle, you could be so good for him. He just needs to see it.

You throw your arms around him and kiss him harder, trying to show your sincerity. Your pussy’s pressed right up against his cock, your heartbeats match.

If he doesn’t understand, you’ll make him.

It’s nighttime when you finally finish up with your work and you’re able to head back to your quarters. On your way you hear noises of a struggle. You stop and peer out from around the corner.

It’s Jimmy. He’s got his hand around Anya’s throat. She’s got two hands on his forearm, trying to pull him off. Then he shoves her back against the wall, her head meets the metal with an ugly clang. Anya goes limp in his grip, sobbing.

As the automatic doors close behind them, the sound abruptly cuts off. Are the quarters sound-proof? You leave with your newfound information.

Daisuke would’ve been so much better for you, you think as you watch him. He’s soldering something, you don’t know what. You’re sitting far enough away to not need goggles. Daisuke’s so simple. Nothing to worry about in his life, bouncing around from this internship to his video games and back again. If you came onto him, he wouldn’t complain.

Curly’s making himself choose between you and authority when he could have both. You’ve never made him choose either. He’s got no one else on this ship that would care for him the way you would, the way you’ve been trying to show him.

He doesn’t get it, you lament, that’s why he said you were like Jimmy. You’re not like him. You’re good. That’s what Anya said. Anya, who got her brain knocked around while you just watched.

It wasn’t any of your business. You did help her. You didn’t let Jimmy get the sleeping pills. Though that might be the reason she was walking funny. Whatever, she probably deserved it. At least she’s staying away from Curly now.

The buzz of the soldering iron stops and Daisuke slides up his protective mask. “Wanna see what I’m working on?”

You nod and get up to look. It’s a tiny metal Polle. The shaping is a little crude, but it’s very impressive.

“How long did that take you?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, like, a couple hours? I make stuff like this when Swansea gives me free time.”

“Maybe you’re better suited for this than engineering.”

Daisuke looks at you. “You think so? My mom wants me to be an engineer.”

“Who cares what she says? Do what you want.”

He blinks for a moment before he nods, resolute. “Okay.”

Heading out of the Utility Room, you see Curly and Anya in the hallway. Curly’s got a hand on either side of her, the illusion of a comforting embrace.

“I’ll fix this, don’t worry.” He whispers, but you hear it all the same.

“Are you cheating on me?!” You exclaim, rushing towards them. You shove Curly away from her and get in between them, he staggers back in confusion.

“I’m not— We’re not—,”

You glance at Anya, pleading your case. “He made me do things. Things I didn’t want to do.” You glare at Curly. “And now what, you’re gonna try it with every girl on the Tulpar?”

“What are you talking about?” Curly asks.

“Don’t play dumb, Captain. Anya, I told you I’d look out for you. I told you that you should’ve stayed away from him, he’s a jerk, he’s—“

“I’m pregnant.” She says, eyes downcast.

You fall silent, blinking at her. “What?” You turn to Curly. “How could you—?”

“It’s Jimmy’s.” He says. “I’m going to talk to him. Again.” Curly leaves, glaring at you over his shoulder.

Something shatters inside you, and you don’t know why. You ignore it, because all you can see is Anya. Anya with a little rape baby growing inside her, Anya with a court case and Anya with money and all you can think about is how goddamn lucky she is.

She sniffles, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Her makeup never runs, despite everything, but her eyes are bloodshot. Tentatively, she hugs you. Your heart stops, confusion and what your body mistakes as guilt running through you.

Anya wraps her arms around herself, staring down at the rusted floors. “We’ve got each other’s backs, right?”

You nod, fighting everything in you that makes your face want to wrinkle with disgust. “Yeah.”

“I have… enough painkillers to…,” she winces, burying her face in her hands. “Please. I want you to tell me not to do it.”

You stare at her for a moment, so long that she meets your eyes again. “What else would I say?”

“I don’t know… you and I, we’re the same, aren’t we?” Anya smiles shakily. “You’ve got Curly and I’ve got Jimmy. You’re okay, right?”

You’re lying to her. You keep lying to her. She’s too airheaded to know the truth. You nod. “Yeah, it really shook me up though.”

“I’ll look out for you too.”

“Thank you.” But inside, you want to laugh. She can’t even protect herself and she wants to help you?

“After what you told me about Curly, it seems like you’re the only person I can trust,” she admits quietly. “I’m grateful you’re here, y’know.”

Your words are lodged in your throat. You can’t say it back.

You’re not sure what exactly to do now. You’ve been informally declared the midwife of Anya’s moneybag, and Curly’s doing everything in his power to put space between you and him. Like he can try. There’s no restraining orders in space.

And there’s no locks on the sleeping quarters.

You dip into his room, the automatic doors opening at your whim. You expect him to be sleeping at this hour, but he’s sitting at his tiny desk, the warm light of the incandescent lamp on his golden features. Curly’s pretty like a sculpture, he barely offers you the generosity of a glance as you walk in.

You sit on his bed, his back to you. “What do you want?” He says, scribbling something in his captain’s log.

You rest your hands on your lap. You’re wearing nothing but a sheer nightdress, no point in underwear when you’re gonna take it off anyways. “I just wanted to talk.”

“You never just want to talk.” It’s an accomplishment, really, that you’ve pushed the kind-hearted captain to this level of bitterness. You’ve been breaking him down—persuading him to see your side of things, and it seems to be working.

He turns to look at you now, and that ever-present filter of exhaustion looks so good on him. “They think I assaulted you.” Curly can’t say rape, it’s kinda cute.

“A girl can dream,” you sigh. “Jimmy’s the real rapist.”

“You don’t think I know that? I’m trying to hold this ship together and you and him just keep fucking things up.” He looks exasperated.

You scowl. You and him, it’s always you and him. “Don’t drag me into this. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

He shakes his head. “You and I, we…,” he cuts himself off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Curly can’t say it.

Nodding, you say, “we did. I remember you dragging me down to the cockpit and telling me to ‘get on my knees if I want to keep my job.’ That’s not very workplace appropriate, is it, Curly?”

His face pales. “You wouldn’t. That would ruin my life.”

“Anya’s life is ruined now,” you shrug.

“You don’t give a shit about Anya.”

“I don’t.” You get up, walking over to him. Running your fingers through his hair, you cup his cheek. “She’s got a suicide plan ready to go. How about I tell her to go through with it? Put the blame on both your poor leadership and Jimmy’s wandering dick, would you prefer that?”

“What the fuck are you trying to do?” Curly looks up at you, bewildered.

“You. That’s all I want, Curly. You make it so difficult.”

—

You are the hurricane that has blazed through his life. You are what brings out the worst parts in him, what makes him sink into himself and hide. Not Jimmy, not Anya, not Pony Express’s termination. You. It all comes back to you.

Curly thought you were just another Jimmy, he attracts them like a magnet. That’s what he told you, hoping to spark an ounce of self-realization. But you’re something much worse. You don’t hide, you don’t need to. Every fault will end with the blame on his shoulders.

You have made him so many things he never imagined himself being. A rapist? He’s not– he would never hurt someone, especially not a woman. But here he is, his hands balling into fists, rage blurring his thoughts as much as his vision.

Curly gets up out of his chair, he towers over you because he is a man and you are nothing. He is the captain and you are a subordinate who gets off on biting the hand that feeds you. He hates punishment in every form, he much prefers talking, but words don’t work around you.

And this is the thing that finally scares you. Because he knows that you know that no one can hear you in these sound-proof quarters.

Curly tosses you onto his mattress, you yelp and your eyes go wide, you push at his chest but he is more muscle than he isn’t. Under your dress is your leaking chasm of a pussy. Of course, you’re turned on even now, because every wire in your brain is so dutifully crossed.

A hand around your throat is sufficient work for holding you down, your blunt nails drag along the corded muscle of his forearms. You look so small, so negligible.

Maybe Curly understands Jimmy just a little, just enough to not actually be like him. Fortunately for you, the look of fear in your eyes is enough to satiate him. He lets go of you, sitting back on his heels and staring at the mess between your legs. No blood, he wouldn’t do that to you. Jimmy would, and he is so far from Jimmy.

It’s sobering, this feeling, much better than any attempt at therapy. He feels sane, like he’s been given something tangible to latch onto and it’s you, what he can inflict on you.

You’re not crying, but you’re visibly shaken. You drag your knees up to your chest, crowded against the headboard in a sorry attempt to put distance between you and him. You swallow, your eyes never leaving him, as you come to the realization that he could be so much more than you give him credit for.

“Hey, come here.” He pulls you closer because that is the easiest thing to do. It’s Curly who apologizes, Curly who strokes your hair and makes love to you the way you have been begging him to.

Because that is his responsibility.

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