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monst · 2 months ago

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Day 1: Shower stall

Double penetration | Tim Drake & Kon-El

Warnings: 18+ content (MDI) Afab.Reader, V. Penetration, Anal, Established relationship Tim x Reader, Bisexual Tim Drake,

Wc: 1.1k

A gasp slips past your lips and you fall forward catching yourself against the wet glass. The grip on your hips keeps you steady when your fingers begin to slip. His bruising grip is also stopping you from impaling yourself on his cock. You swear that he’s lubed up enough to take you faster than he is but Tim is obviously trying to prolong your torture. He really isn’t you’re just desperate for him to fill you. The stretch aches when he pushes past the tight ring. Once passed he slips further in effectively parting the buttery walls of your ass.

He's working into you slowly, each press easier than the last as your cheek rests against the glass shower door. Your empty cunt is slick with envy. But before you can think of it further Tim reaches his hand around, his middle and index fingers coming to press against your throbbing clit. The act causes you to push back, his dick sliding in the rest of the way, his thighs meeting the skin of your ass with a wet slap.

“Fuck” he hisses. “Need you to relax,” you try your chokehold on his length loosening. His wet hand glides up your body easily, his fingers gripping your breast as he begins to fuck you properly. The fingers on your clit leave to part your cheeks, his nails digging into your soft flesh to watch your cute button getting stretched out by his cock. You feel his groan at the nape of your neck. “Fuck that’s hot. Taking it up the ass like this.” He also thinks it's cute how you're trying to stop yourself from being too loud.

You're so into your task that you don't hear the door open, your droopy eyes only catching the fog dotting the glass. But a soft gasp reaches your ears, and it's not that of your boyfriend since it didn't come from behind you. Your lashes flutter as you try to focus on what you just heard, but when Tim ruts into you again all you can do is moan about how good it feels. “Ah! Tim d-don’t stop”

Conner is too stunned for words. His face is hot, and he’s frozen as he watches his best friend fuck his partner. His very hot lover, who is singing so pretty for his former teammate. Tim's cheeks are flushed as he watches Conner, his pink lips stretched in a teasing grin when he notices the clone's obvious desire. He slows allowing you a chance to focus on your sudden visitor. You freeze, caught between wanting to cover yourself and wanting Tim to continue. Your moment of reflection is cut short when Tim leans in to speak, his breath hot on your skin.

“You wanna go ahead and let Kon use your pussy baby?” The words leave your throat dry. Your eyes snap to the straining fabric of Conners jeans. “He's had a rough week darling. Let’s help him relax yeah?”

You nod absentmindedly, suddenly very aware of how much your pussy aches to be stuffed. Tim pulls out, adjusting the condom on his dick and uncapping the water based lube to spread along its length. In the time he does so Conner's already stripped down, you slide the shower door open and allow him to crowd in. You barely have a chance to see what he's packing before his chest is right up against yours. But from what you did see your glad your taking him up your soft cunt instead of your ass.

Tim goes in first, pressing back into your bum with a slow grind. His wet fringe hits the back of your neck as he leans down to pepper kisses on your skin, blue eyes glancing up at Conner with a nod. The half kryptonian grips the bottom of your thighs and lifts you up, pressing your back flush to Tim's chest. The fat tip of his cock plays against your slippery clit. He drags it in a circle, eyes focused on how your pretty lips part.

“Baby you want Kon to kiss you?” Tim asks. You nod, and he wastes no time in claiming your lips. Taking the opportunity to distract you while he slowly angles his cock into your hole. You mewl against his lips at the feeling. Hissing when he slides in deep, dick pressed right against Tim's.

“You okay?” Conner asks.

“Y..yeah” you manager you gasp “s’alot”

“You can take it lovely” Tim reassures. He goes to pull out and even though you feel close to bursting you whine at him not too. He kisses your neck, murmuring into you ear about relaxing again before thrusting back in. You moan against Kon's lips when he also begins to move. Conner’s disbelief at the situation had long since passed as he split your pussy open, his thoughts muddled with how much better this was than his fantasies.

You pull away from his lips to rest your head against his shoulder crying out at the feeling of both your holes being used. When one isn't in you the other is and the not being empty pools your mouth with saliva. Your drooling on his shoulder as they continue to fuck into you. Words beyond you as you just take it, you breaths are choppy and all you can focus on is on not losing your mind. Your body feels too hot and they only press in closer, it's almost too much, tears at the corner of your eyes as you speed towards your orgasm. Conner's chest is pressed snug to your breasts each roll of their hips allowing your nipples to grind against the hard planes. And your bleary eyes catch sight of what cause the sudden closeness. Above you Tim and Kon are making out, Tim's hand tangled in his hair as his other tightens against your waist.

The sight enough to have you tumbling into your orgasm, both holes clenching tight around their cocks. Conner pulls out before he can spill inside of you, he pulls away from Tim to kiss you as he cums on your mound. Tim grunts, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he fills the condom. Your all panting in the stall, and your vaguely grateful that this was Tim's place and the water was fortunately still hot. You're brought out of your thoughts of wanting to finish your shower and head to bed by a shuffling Kon.

“Um.. So..” he pauses, your lax body rests against Tim allowing him to run his palms down your sides. You hum contently waiting for Conner to speak. “Does this make me your third?”

Tim and you both look at each other, Kon isn't sure what to think of your silent conversation but Tim nods and you part your lips to speak-

Kinktober2024|Masterlist

#Up to you on whether y'all want Kon or if this was for fun ✌️#tim drake smut #tim drake x reader #tim drake x reader x kon el #conner kent x reader #Ig this is just not gonna show up in the tags 😕 oh well ╮⁠(⁠╯⁠_⁠╰⁠)⁠╭

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violettwrites · 2 months ago

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trailer park trash 🏹 young!daryl dixon

a/n: had this sitting in my drafts for a while 🫠 but i finally got around to finishing it ! i’m lowkey obsessed w the idea of young!daryl atm as well he’s just so fine 😭 but i hope y’all enjoy this ! please give me a like, reblog, and/or comment if you did 🫶🏻

this is my masterlist !

and my ask box is currently open for requests !

( also shout out to @madelyncilne for being my beta reader i love u gf 🫶🏻😙 )

summary: 1988. reader has been best friends with daryl since they were little. as they celebrate his 19th birthday, drunken conversations happen where feelings that had been pushed down are told. ( pre apoc )

pairing: young!daryl dixon x reader

warnings: mentions of alcohol, smoking, mentions of weed— just a grunge-y trailer park party scene, making out 🫶🏻

word count: 1,856

— — —

it was july, 1988, a sweltering summer evening in the small, beat up trailer park you and daryl had called home for as long as you could remember. the worn out trailers sat in uneven rows, nestled between overgrown patches of grass and dusty gravel.

your fathers were friends— and though they were both horrible people, you were definitely blessed to have found daryl dixon amidst the chaos of your personal life. he had turned into your best friend— your confidant. he was the one you told everything to. no detail was ever too small. and even though daryl wasn’t much of a talker himself, he always listened.

it was daryl’s 19th birthday. merle, daryl’s older brother, had thrown together a party without much care. however, you both knew it was just an excuse for him to get drunk. not that he needed one anyway. he had mostly invited friends of his own. the kind you weren’t really a fan of; loud, aggressive, always looking for a fight— and way too drunk to care about the aftermath. you didn’t mind though, because you were there for daryl.

the air was thick with the smell of cheap beer and smoke, whether it was from weed or nicotine. merle’s sound system drowns out the hum of cicadas with its scream of pantera lyrics. but it was familiar to you, because this was how majority of your weekends were. you and daryl laying in his bed, ignoring merle and his friends as you smoked cigarettes. sometimes one, others five.

“hey! c’mon, you’re fallin’ behind!” merle shouted, staggering over to you with a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. he was already wasted, his wild laughter echoing through the park. you rolled your eyes at him but took a sip of the beer you had in your hand. sure, you were definitely tipsy, and even though you had no desire to keep up with merle and his crowd, it was just easier to go with it.

daryl, leaning against the side of the trailer, had been watching you most of the night. between getting dragged into games of beer pong and the several shots that he had done, he had kept his eyes on you. ready to intervene incase any of merle’s drunken friends put their hands on you.

despite the alcohol in his system, you had noticed he had been quieter than usual. no echoing cheers as he won a tournament, or no whooping after he downed three shots in a row. his shoulders were tense, eyes dark in the moonlight. you really couldn’t tell what was going on through his head tonight, but you knew he wasn’t himself.

“hey, you good?” you asked when you had made your way over to him, the party roaring on behind you. someone had lit a fire out in the field behind the dixon’s trailer, and merle and his friends were starting to get really rowdy, howling at the flames like a pack of wolves.

daryl looked at you, eyes flickering in the dim light. he shrugged, taking a long swig from the bottle in his hand. “yeah, ‘m fine. just… it’s loud, y’know?”

you nodded, leaning against the trailer next to him. you could feel the heat of his arm just barely brushing against yours. it had always been like that with daryl. the way you were always near each other, like magnets that couldn’t quite pull apart.

merle’s laugh rang out again, and you could see him egging on some of the guys, probably looking for trouble. “looks like merle’s having a good time.” you rolled your eyes, sipping at your beer again.

“yeah, well, tha’s merle,” daryl muttered, his voice low and gravelly, like he had something caught in his throat. “he don’ know when to stop.”

the two of you stood in silence for a moment, listening to the noise of the party behind you. motörhead was now playing through the speakers, and the hollers of the group down by the fire in the field was still going.

“hey, it’s your birthday. we should do something. just you and me.” you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol making you bolder, but you decided to say what had been sitting on your chest all night.

daryl looked at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to read between the lines of what you said. “like what?”

“i don’t know,” you shrugged your shoulders, trying to play it off causally, “get outta here, away from this mess. go down by the creek like we used to.”

he stared at you for a moment, and you swore you saw something shift in his expression. he was already drunk, you knew that, but there was something else there too. maybe it was the same thing you had been pushing down since you were thirteen and realised what crushes were.

“yeah,” he said quietly, nodding, “let’s go.”

the two of you slipped away from the party, walking through the field and down towards the creek. although you could still hear the faint bass of the music, it was quieter down there. you could hear the water trickling over the rocks, and the occasional rustle of the wind in the trees. you sat down on the bank, the cool grass under your legs, and looked out at the stars scattered across the sky.

daryl sat down next to you, arms resting on his knees. he was closer to you than he normally was, his bicep brushing against yours. you could smell the whiskey on his breath, but you didn’t mind. you were used to the smell of cheap booze and cigarettes— it was part of life around here.

after a few minutes of comfortable silence, daryl spoke. his voice was rougher than usual, thick with whatever emotions he had been drowning all night. “y’ever think ‘bout gettin’ outta here?”

the question caught you off guard, but you answered honestly. “yeah,” you nodded, “all the time.”

he looked at you, his eyes glassy but intense. “where would ya go?”

“i don’t know,” you said with a soft laugh, “somewhere far away. maybe the mountains, or a big city. somewhere where things aren’t so messed up.”

daryl nodded his head, looking down at the bottle in his hand before taking another swig. “yeah, i think ‘bout it too.”

the silence stretched again, and you felt the weight of all the things left unsaid between the two of you. daryl shifted closer, his knee pressing against yours. his voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.

“i ain’t ever told you this, but… you’re the only person i give a damn about in this place.”

your breath hitched, and you felt your heart pounding in your chest. you’d always felt something more for daryl, but you had never brought it up to him. you didn’t want to ruin the friendship you had, and if you could only have him as a friend, then so be it. because it was better than being alone.

“me too,” you admitted, your voice barely steady. “i care about you too.”

he turned to look at you, his face inches from yours now, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. “i ain’t no good, though. you know that.”

you shook your head, your hand reaching for his, giving him a gentle squeeze. “don’t say that. you’re better than anyone else here.”

his eyes stared at you for a long moment, his eyes flicking down to your lips and back up again. the air was thick with tension, and then, without thinking, he leaned in. his lips crashed into yours, rough and urgent, tasting like whiskey and everything you’d ever wanted.

the kiss was messy, desperate, both of you giving into all of the feelings you’d buried for years. your hands cupped his cheeks, moving to crawl onto his lap, finding a new angle as you continued to make out with the boy underneath you.

when his hands moved to your waist, pulling your body closer, you swore it felt like fire when he touched you. you let his hands roam, both your tongues swirling with each other. it felt like bliss, like you were both lost in a world where only the two of you existed, the years of unspoken tension finally erupting in this one heated moment.

every breath was shared, every touch electric. you both had been waiting for this for far too long. his grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging in just enough to send shivers down your spine.

you felt the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, your nails lightly grazing the back of his neck as you deepened the kiss. the taste of whiskey still lingered on his lips, but now there was something more— something raw and unfiltered. the taste of desire.

his hands began to explore more boldly, pulling you even closer until there was no space left. your heart raced, and you weren’t sure if you were feeling your own heart thump against your chest, or his.

“daryl!” you heard a drunken voice holler from the trees, causing the two of you to break apart, breathless and cheeks red. you looked down at him for a moment, a small laugh coming from your lips as you heard the drunken voice holler once again for daryl.

merle.

“you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that,” he mutters softly, hands gently rubbing at where he had dug his fingertips into you. he held your gaze, eyes dark.

“me too,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper. you could feel the weight of everything you both had left unsaid, all the words that had been replaced by the kiss, by the touch of his hands on your skin.

“daaaaryl!” you heard merle holler once again, and you chuckled softly, rolling your eyes as you moved to get up, holding out your hand to the boy beneath you, pulling him up off the creek bed.

“c’mon,” you huffed, shaking your head as you pulled him back towards the trailer. “merle’s either gonna have a fit, or he’s gonna end up drowning in the creek if we don’t get to him soon.”

daryl just chuckled, enjoying the feeling of your hand in his as you both walked towards the trailer, finding a stumbling merle with a now almost empty bottle of whiskey in his hand not too far from where the two of you had been hiding.

“there he is! there’s my baby brother!” merle shouted, throwing his arms open wide, bottle of whiskey smashing into the trees.

he watched as you let go of his hand to turn merle around, your palms on his older brother’s shoulders as you walked him back towards the trailer, a small smile on his lips.

daryl may have been trailer park trash, but at least he had someone that cared about him.

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msboookesh · 3 months ago

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cling-csc

Pairing: idol!scoups x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, cute jealous and sulky scoups, established relationship

Synopsis: Seungcheol's jealousy about y/n's fictional celebrity suitors meets its match when y/n finds his frustration too adorable.

a/n: happy birthday general leader!

୭🧷✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🧁

One balmy afternoon in Y/n’s cozy apartment, sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm, golden hue over the room. Y/n lounged comfortably on the couch, a soft smile gracing her lips as she watched her boyfriend, Seungcheol, with a mixture of amusement and admiration.

Seungcheol, perched on the other end of the couch, had his toned legs crossed and his expression was one of adorable irritation. He was intently scrolling through his phone, his brows furrowed as he read the various public opinions about Y/n and her supposed type of men. The comments were a mix of speculation and playful shipping, reflecting the K-entertainment industry's tendency to speculate about the personal lives of celebrities.

“Can you believe this?” Seungcheol muttered, his voice tinged with frustration. “They’re saying you’d look good with all these other guys. Just because you’re pretty and young doesn’t mean you have to be paired up with everyone.”

Y/n's eyes sparkled with mischief as she observed Seungcheol’s pouting. She loved seeing him like this, his usually confident demeanor softening into something more vulnerable and endearing.

“What do they think my type is?” Y/n asked, feigning innocence. She already knew the answer, but she enjoyed teasing him.

“They think you like guys who are nonchalant, the ones who don’t wear their hearts on their sleeves.” Seungcheol grumbled, still scrolling through his phone.

Y/n couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh, really? That’s interesting.”

Seungcheol’s pout deepened. “Yeah, well, if they only knew how much you love someone clingy. Someone who can’t breathe without your attention. Someone like me.”

Y/n's heart swelled with affection as she saw Seungcheol’s sulking face. She decided to stoke the fire a bit more. “Maybe I do look good with those other guys. You know, it’s all just for fun.”

Seungcheol groaned dramatically, his shoulders slumping as he scooted away from her, his frustration palpable. “You’re not making this any easier, you know. You’re really pushing it.”

Y/n bit her lip, a playful glint in her eyes. Without warning, she grabbed the front of his oversized shirt and yanked him down to her height. Seungcheol’s eyes widened in surprise as she closed the gap between them.

Leaning in, Y/n captured his lips in a long, passionate kiss. The tension melted away as their mouths moved together, the world outside forgotten. Seungcheol’s phone slipped from his grasp, landing with a soft thud on the couch beside him.

Their kiss grew more intense, Seungcheol’s hands sliding up to cradle Y/n’s face as he deepened the kiss. Y/n’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as their bodies pressed together. The heat between them grew, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they explored each other’s mouths with a hunger that left them both breathless.

When they finally pulled away, both panting, Seungcheol’s expression had softened from frustration to a heady mix of desire and fondness. He wrapped his bulky arms around Y/n, pulling her even closer. His eyes locked onto hers, the playful spark replaced by a more serious, burning intensity.

“Now you’ve started it,” he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. “I think I need to show you just how clingy I can be.”

Y/n laughed softly, her fingers tracing the collar of his shirt as her eyes glinted with anticipation. “Oh, really? Is that so?”

Seungcheol’s hands roamed down her back, his touch igniting shivers as he leaned in to kiss her neck, his lips trailing heated, lingering kisses along her skin. Y/n gasped softly, her body responding to his touch with a mix of desire and need.

“You’re going to have to prove it.” She breathed, her voice trembling slightly as she tilted her head to give him better access.

Seungcheol’s lips curved into a teasing smile. “I’m more than happy to show you.”

He guided Y/n gently back onto the couch, his kisses growing more fervent and exploratory. His hands roamed over her body with a mix of tenderness and intensity, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through her. Y/n’s hands clung to his shirt, pulling him closer as their bodies pressed together.

The room filled with soft, sensual sounds as they lost themselves in each other. Seungcheol’s lips found hers again, their kiss now a desperate, passionate dance. He pulled away just enough to look into her eyes, his expression a perfect blend of adoration and desire.

“You know,” he whispered, his voice dripping with affection and a hint of mischief, “I might have to be a bit extra clingy from now on.”

Y/n laughed, a soft, delighted sound that mingled with the warmth of the moment. “I think I’d like that.”

#choi seungcheol #svt #seventeen #seventeen x reader #tumblr fyp #writers on tumblr #seventeen fanfic #scoups #scoups x reader #scoups fluff

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planetaryupscaled · 6 months ago

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The Bet

Male OC x Tzuyu

Tags: 1k, smut

The story is not ours; we simply alter the original story to our preferred settings.

Tzuyu was sitting in the deserted communal lounge, her face buried in a book. She wasn’t, technically, hiding. That would have gone against the rules.

She was just getting some alone time without all those hands running aimlessly over her body, fingertips trailing her figure and peering beneath her garments, lips and teeth caressing and nibbling every inch of her skin...

Her cheeks flushed, and she felt scorching hot in the oversized sweatshirt she was wearing. She bit her lip and sighed.

The words on the page she had been reading and re-reading for the last ten minutes without really understanding the meaning blurred, as she became engrossed in her thoughts once more, still puzzled as to how she had gotten up in that situation.

A shy, prudish, inexperienced freshman like her was playing with fire. Or worse, with the rampaging hormones of a bunch of college boys.

She made a lighthearted, drunken mistake, but she was paying its price with her body and no end in sight.

Betting with her buddies while inebriated sounded innocuous, and she was confident it wasn’t anything they were going to follow up on anyhow.

But she was wrong - dreadfully wrong.

It was all a game in her eyes. And she was pretty sure she was going to win at the time. But she lost, and the guys eagerly demanded their prize.

She had turned into a real-life sex doll for them: she had to let them touch her body, grab, and grope her as they liked, and offer herself whenever they wanted.

This was her retribution for being so irresponsible and stupid. Worst of all, she was beginning to like it, even though she would never say it out loud.

She had been feeling so dirty and depraved. Tzuyu had only had one previous boyfriend, her high school beau, and she’d never experienced sex or pleasure.

And now, whenever a hand reached for her, a small bolt of electricity would rip through her body, giving her shivers and stealing her breath. Being forcefully exposed in front of others was humiliating, but it gave her sensations she had never expected to feel.

Even though the guilt and shame were eating at her, her body was sending her new signals and feelings that she had never experienced before.

She was drawn sharply back to reality when she was pulled back by her hair.

Electricity coursed through her as she saw two dark eyes upside down, mischievously staring at her.

“Did you plan on staying hidden for much longer? We were worried by your sudden disappearance...” Hyeon inquired, keeping her head tilted and caressing her throat.

His fingertips were ice cold, but her skin felt like it was burning under his touch.

“I had to study. You know, exams...” she mumbled, while he played with the sweatshirt zip, loosening it. His hand crept under, reaching for the bra.

Hyeon cupped his hand around her breast and began massaging it. He let her hair go and did the same with the other hand.

“I see,” he said quietly, “then go ahead and read. I’ll help myself.”

Her vision blurred when he gently pinched and twisted her nipples. She was embarrassed by who she had become, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop it. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to put a stop to it.

Tzuyu sighed as she felt a twitch in her womb. She closed her eyes and leaned against Hyeon’s body, allowing him easier access to her. Against her neck, she could feel already the bulge in his pants.

She blushed again, both from her thoughts and from his gentle touch on her skin. She could feel she was getting wet.

Hyeon drew his hands away from her sweatshirt after what seemed like an eternity. As he leaned over her, he reached for her skirt. He unceremoniously lifted it, revealing her underwear. He slid the fabric to the side, A light touch on her labia made her moan.

“You’re such a slut Tzuyu, you’re already wet...” he chuckled as he gently stroked her.

He pushed two fingers into her warmth, provoking her another moan. She held her breath and widened her eyes as she grabbed his wrist with both hands.

Jisung and Suho were sitting on the desk on both her sides; she hadn’t noticed their presence. They were stroking their erections through their shorts while enjoying the little show.

They laughed as she violently blushed and tried to cover herself. Jisung smiled, bending over to grab her cheeks and kiss her, pushing his tongue into her mouth and sucking her lips.

“Come on baby, stand up,” Hyeon said, pulling his fingers out of her and grabbing her arms.

He pushed her against the desk, ignoring her weak protests and whining. Her hair covered her face completely, blocking her view. She could hear the other two guys unzipping their shorts and the light clank of their belts hitting the ground.

Several hands caressed her skin and lifted her clothes to reveal her body. Someone took her wrists and pressed them against her back.

As fingers grabbed the hem of her undies and pulled them off, she bit her lower lip and held her breath.

A hand caressed and squeezed her buttocks, followed by a slap. As she tried to wiggle out from underneath the guy who was blocking her, she was hit with a harder slap that took her breath away.

“Stop squirming or you’ll hurt yourself,” Jisung said, pulling her head up by her hair. Her gaze met his as she groaned beneath his hands. He kissed her once more, firmly holding her head. While Jisung’s tongue was playing with hers, someone gently rubbed his sex on hers. He pushed his way through her soaked labia and inside. Her moans got lost in Jisung’s mouth, which was still devouring her lips.

The third person let go of her wrists and grabbed one of her hands, pressing it against his erection.

Tzuyu noticed it was Suho masturbating with her hand. She gave in to his grip, wrapping her fingers around his hardness and letting him guide her. Jisung let her mouth and head go, and Hyeon grabbed her by the hair, pushing his length deep into her.

Jisung then kneeled on the desk and presented her with his member, stroking it on her cheek, and lips. She disclosed them and welcomed him, clasping her semi-closed eyes in his as he entered her warm mouth slowly. Hyeon’s tight grip on her head guided her rhythm as her tongue twisted around his girth.

It was the first time they pulled something like that on her, she had never been taken by more than one person at the same time.

Tzuyu thoughts were clouded by pleasure.

With each thrust in her mouth or sex, electricity scurried through her entire body. Her desperate, rising moans were suffocated in her mouth.

Hyeon let go of her hair, which was replaced by Jisung’s grip, and groaning sank his fingers into the soft skin of her hips.

She tilted her head, her senses dulled and inebriated, as they both went faster and deeper. Shivers ran down her spine, and a tingling warmth propagated through her like wild, uncontrollable waves.

Hyeon came into her depths and collapsed on her back. His skin was warm and sweaty, his breathing heavy.

Then it was Jisung’s turn, who came into her mouth, pressing her head against his groin while his throbs slowed and he softened, slipping off her lips.

Suho let go of her hand and rushed for her.

He rolled her over, moved her to the edge of the desk, and positioned himself directly above her head.

Then bent over her and plunged his erection into her mouth.

Tzuyu grasped his thighs, overwhelmed, her mind empty of all but bliss.

One of the guys parted her legs and buried his face in her, holding on to her knees.

Two hands completely unzipped her sweatshirt and reached for her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples.

She was totally helpless, which really just heightened her arousal. Her body was stiffening and twitching as tension built up within her.

The guy eating her, bit her labia, ascending to the clit, then circled it with his tongue, first gently caressing it, then with frantic strokes that left her screaming and squirming under his mouth. He firmly gripped her thighs, lapping and sucking her and pushing her over the edge.

When she thought she couldn’t bear it any longer, he slid two fingers into her, moving them slowly.

Her orgasm burst violently, her back arched, and every inch of her body shivered, pervaded by a tickling ecstasy that released her tension.

Suho came soon after, filling her mouth once again.

She stopped shaking after a good minute or two. She could feel her heart rate lowering, but she kept her eyes closed.

She was feeling warm and fuzzy. She didn’t want to face yet the actuality of what had just occurred.

The three guys were busy pulling up their pants and composing themselves.

to meet the three pleased stares. Tzuyu quickly shut her legs and tried to put back her hoodie, embarrassed.

Jisung seized her hands and held her back.

“Don’t bother covering, cutie; no one else is here. Even if that were the case, anyone would have adored the show.” He reached for her mouth and kissed her.

“When is this prize thing going to end?” she sighed, as she sat on the desk.

“Oh, you don’t like it?” Suho joked as he buckled his belt. “ You seemed to be having a good time two minutes ago.”

She blushed again, looking away.

“It will end when we unanimously decide that the payback for the lost bet is adequate, obviously. And I’m sure tonight at least a couple of gentlemen will be interested in discussing with you what just happened, so don’t go and hide again,” Hyeon added.

He gave her a wry grin and a nonchalant nod before heading out of the room, followed by Jisung and Suho.

Tzuyu was alone again.

The sun had begun to set, and the communal lounge was getting darker.

She retrieved her underwear and put it on.

Her mind was a whirlwind of feelings and thoughts. She was heated and out of breath. She couldn’t understand why she would enjoy the whole bet and prize thing; it was so wicked and dirty. It wasn’t like her, to do things like this, but she couldn’t bring herself to end it.

Tzuyu knew she could demand they stop at any point, and if they refused, she could simply go talk to the student representative. They’d be in big trouble.

But perhaps she just didn’t want it to stop.

She sat at the desk, her head buried in the soft sleeves, until it was completely dark, with just the streetlamps from outside shedding some light on the walls through the large windows.

She took a deep breath and smiled, wondering who would be the first to take her that evening.

#tzuyu smut #twice smut #kpop smut #girl group smut #female idol smut #male reader

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bunnliix · 23 days ago

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Little Doe

All I can say is that I went a lil wild writing this, and that this may have been sitting around in my google drive for months now. So here is what happens when I get inspired and maybe a bit unhinged

Pairing: Outlaw!Mingi x fem!reader Summary: You catch Mingi's eye, and he doesn't want to let you go wc: 1.4k AU: bouncy universe Genre: SMUT warnings: fem!reader, mean!Mingi, stalking, gunplay, being grabbed and held down, being stepped on, yandere-ish Mingi Smut warnings: DUB-CON/non-con?, threats, guns, praise kink if you squint, pet names (doe, love), breeding kink, breath play, talks of branding, talks of primal play, being pulled up by your hair, pain, non-con voyeurism Beta'd by the wonderful @skzdust

The heel of his boot pushes down into your back as you struggle underneath him. “Awww, look at this. You really think you’re gonna escape darlin'?” The boot wedges itself further into your back, as you feel a gun push into the back of your head. “I caught you, little doe, and now I’m gonna have fun with you, and if you try and run, well, let's say it won’t be fun for you.” You hear him say to you, as the gun pushes further into the back of your skull.

You stayed silent, not wanting to get yourself killed, but also not wanting to endure whatever this man would do to you.

“Cat got your tongue, little doe? C’mon, talk to me love. I wanna hear how pretty your voice sounds before I make you scream. Before you have no voice because I’ve made you scream so much that you’ve lost it,” he says, leaning down close to you, as you lay on the ground.

Flashback…

You had left the bar late one night, having had your weekly celebration with your friends. They had all left before you, leaving you in the bar filled with men, one of whom caught your eye, and not in the best way. He was staring you down like a tiger would its prey, you felt like if you stayed any longer, you’d be trapped. So you made your escape, or what you thought was your escape.

Walking out of the bar, you walk down the main road till you reach an alleyway that provides you a shortcut on your way home. You slip into the narrow path between buildings, thinking that you’d be safe now, not having seen or heard anyone follow you out of the bar. You get about halfway down the alley when you hear steps behind you, which pushes you to hurry to the other end of the alleyway. You don’t stop to look behind you, knowing it would only slow you down, and you never know if this person is alone or if there’s somebody waiting for you to look away before they swoop in and catch you within their claws.

You make it almost all the way to the end of the alleyway when your hands are grabbed and pulled behind you. You thrash around in the stranger’s grip, catching him off guard for a moment, allowing you to escape. You make it only a couple feet further before you’re forcibly pushed to the ground, a boot in your back as you struggle to get out from underneath it.

Back to the present…

“Now, are we going to do it the easy way, or the hard way, doe?” He asks you, his voice almost sickly sweet.

You struggled underneath him, trying to free yourself. His shoe only pressing down harder, making your attempts at freedom useless.

“I guess we’re doing it the hard way then,” You heard as you felt him move, as well as a hand snaking up your thigh, finding your panties and ripping them off your body.

“Well, I should thank you for wearing a skirt, making it so much easier for me.” He thanked you, as you felt his fingers on you, finding that you were soaked.

“Oh? It seems I’ve found a dirty little doe. Look at you, getting soaked over a stranger pinning you down and using you. Maybe I’ll just have to keep you after this. Use you for my own pleasure whenever I want, I’m sure you wouldn’t say no, would you, my pretty fucking cocksleeve?” You heard from above you as your hair was gripped, pulling your head up, as fingers appeared in front of your face.

“Suck. If you don’t, then I guess you want some pain, hmm?” You quickly take his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them diligently as he hums happily, or at least you assumed it was happily.

You felt his boot leave your back, as he rearranged himself above you, and you heard clothing being moved, as well as a zipped being unzipped and you knew what he was doing. You felt your skirt being flipped up and a groan as he laid his eyes on your pussy.

“Oh baby, little doe, I’m gonna stretch you out so much, no one else will compare by the time I’m done with you. You’ll want my cock to fuck you over and over again, nothing else will satisfy you.” He told you, as he pulled your hips upwards until you were on your knees.

A hand found its way onto your back, pressing down to keep you in position as you felt the head of his cock at your entrance as it pushed in. The stretch was more than you had ever felt before, but fuck it felt amazing and you knew, as he slid into you, that you’d never find another man to satisfy you ever again.

The man above you groaned, “Fuck little doe, you’re so fucking tight and you squeeze me just right. I’m just gonna have to keep you. I’ll keep you and you can sit on my cock all pretty, and I’ll fuck a baby into you too someday.” He rambled on and on as he slid back out before slamming back into you, his hips snapping into yours.

“Fuck, a pretty little cocksleeve, just for me. Maybe I’ll have to recreate this night over and over again, just to keep the memory fresh. Let you run and get all scared as I chase you. Maybe next time, I’ll trace pretty designs into your precious fucking skin, leave my own mark on you. Maybe I’ll even brand you.” You moaned at the thought of it. “Oh? Someone wants my mark on you permanently? Cute little doe. I’ll brand you, and mark your pretty skin with whatever designs I choose.”

Skin slapping skin was the only sound other than both of your moans and groans that could be heard, as you felt any sanity leave your body. You only wanted this man to fuck you for the rest of your life. He could use you for his pleasure, you didn’t care as long as it meant you getting fucked by him. Maybe he’d be nice enough to fulfill all of your dirty fucking fantasies. God, you’d beg on your knees if it meant he’d use you.

You could feel your orgasm approaching quickly as he kept fucking you hard, your pussy squeezing him. He groaned and you felt his hand move from your back to your throat, gripping it tightly and pulling you up against him, your back to his chest. “Fuck baby, keep squeezing me like that and I’ll come. You want my come inside of your little pussy so badly?” He asked you, as you whined.

Your release hit you, washing over you like a wave without any warning. You moaned before whining as he continued fucking you through your orgasm. “Good girl, cumming on my cock. Fuck baby, I’m gonna come.” He groaned, as you felt his come inside of you as he came, holding you down onto his cock as far as you could go. You were so sensitive you whined in protest as he thrust a couple more times to make sure you had taken all of his cum inside your pussy. You slumped in his arms, unable to keep yourself up anymore, only held up by his grip on your throat.

“Aww, can’t hold yourself up anymore, my doe? Cute.” He told you, as he pulled you off of his dick, his come dripping out of you.

“Quite a performance there, Mingi,” you heard another man say, as the man, who you now knew was named Mingi, chuckled from above.

“Always the voyeur, aren’t you, Hongjoong?” Mingi answered the other man.

“Is it wrong to enjoy seeing you fuck yet another girl stupid?”

“No, but it does make you a bit of a creep, if you weren’t so attractive physically.” After replying to Hongjoong, Mingi hoisted your body onto his shoulder as he stood up.

“Come on lil doe, I’m taking you with me. Nobody’ll miss you, right?” He asked you, getting a whine in return, making him chuckle.

“Cute. And if anyone does miss you, then you’ll just have to tell them how much you don’t want to leave me. Because I know you won’t ever want to. No one ever does.”

Taglist: @callmeghostly @bethelighthalazia @palindrome969

#ateez x reader #mingi x reader #ateez smut #mingi smut #song mingi smut

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blue-devil-of-the-lord · 6 months ago

Note

i'm so happy you're writing for nightcrawler! he's my favorite and its criminal how little fanfic there is of him out there. could i request a slight hurt/comfort fic? kurt has a habit of sitting in the dark in the mansion (its quiet and peaceful for him), and fem!reader finds him up late one night. kurt is completely enamored with reader, so he doesn't want to burden her with his problems, but she gets kurt talking and slowly finds out that the bad memories of his past are keeping him up. kurt walks reader back to her room, and she tells him that if he ever wanted to talk or needed someone, she was there for him. kurt takes her hand, kisses it, and cant resist saying that merely being around her was enough for him to rest easy that night.

i'm sorry this was so long! thank you!

And only the stars will know

Kurt Wagner x fem!reader Words: 1.9K Warnings: slight hurt/comfort, but very faint A/N: Thanks so much for requesting. I feel like I didn't quite get the tone but I hope you like it anyway :)

It was a cold, starry night, the kind of night when you prefer to wrap yourself in a blanket, a hot drink in your hand and stare at the night sky from the windowsill. She was wrapped in a blanket, but she was a long way from her bed as she leaned against the doorframe to the balcony.

Her original plan had been to rush to her classroom and retrieve the papers she had left there, but the cool breeze in the corridors had distracted her from her plan.

Thinking someone had left a window open, she had followed the cold, even though her shivering body protested strongly against it, and ended up at the balcony. The doors were slightly ajar, leading her to think, as she had previously assumed, that one of the students had simply forgotten to close them.

However, just as she put her hand on the handle, she thought she recognized a person in the pale moonlight.

It was hard to make out, at first she thought she was imagining it, but when the clouds cleared the moon for a moment, she could clearly make out the outline of a person. A very familiar person.

She knew he was capable of it, after all, he had explained it to her, but it was the first time she had really experienced Kurt's ability to merge with the shadows and the darkness. Now that she knew he was sitting on the railing of the balcony, she could spot him, but she still had to make an effort to actually see him. Normally she would have spoken to him, but she didn't recognize the usually cheeky, flirtatious man, which had made her pause at the door frame.

Kurt had pulled his legs close to his body and hidden his head in his folded arms. His tail, which usually curled and swung back and forth in a bold and amused manner, was wrapped tightly around his body and didn't move a bit.

He must have been sitting out here for some time, because his body had started to shiver a few minutes after she found him and she couldn't stand it any longer. She carefully pushed the door open further, giving a soft squeak, but he didn't react, causing the worry line on her forehead to deepen, as he was usually so attentive. She shuffled quietly across the balcony, the stone icy cold beneath her bare feet, but he only noticed her when she carefully placed the blanket that had warmed her earlier around his shoulders.

He flinched and looked at her with wide, golden eyes, which she returned with a slight smile. She noticed that it was instantly easier for her to recognize him, as if he was making a conscious effort to remain visible.

„Meine Liebe, why are you still awake?" Her smile widened when she heard the nickname he honored her with. It wasn't much and in a language she didn't really speak, but it made her heart beat faster every time. "I could ask you the same thing, Kurt." She climbed carefully onto the railing next to him, careful not to fall. He seemed to have the same concern, as once she was seated, his tail detached itself from its place around his legs and wrapped itself around her waist.

"I couldn't sleep," she replied anyway, leaning forward slightly and adjusting the blanket so that it completely enveloped Kurt. It was only when she leaned back again that she noticed he had one arm hovering around her shoulders in case she lost her balance. Her smile softened and when he withdrew his arm, she reached for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "And you, honey?"

Kurt let his eyes wander over her face for a moment before turning them skywards. "Same with me." That answer shouldn't have worried her as much as it did. It wasn't like him to answer so curtly or to avoid her gaze. Thinking back to her conversations with Kurt, she couldn't remember him ever letting his eyes wander far from her.

Still, she tried not to be too pressuring and instead attempted humor. "I doubt that. You don't need to read twenty-two essays on Shakespeare to deprive you of sleep." That elicited a slight smirk from him, but it didn't come close to the broad smile she was used to seeing from him. "Not quite, no."

Kurt pulled the blanket into place and she felt the grip of his tail tighten a little around her hips, but said nothing, just watched him in silence. His hands were in his lap and she could see that he was wringing them, apparently not knowing what to do with them. Her eyes traveled up over his tense posture to his face.

His mouth, usually twisted into a toothy smile, was now nothing more than a barely recognizable line and his eyes, usually glowing with energy, looked dull and sad. She couldn't bear to look at him. Kurt was important to her, one of the most important people in her life, and seeing him like this broke her heart.

"Kurt?" Her voice was soft and tentative and he didn't look directly at her, but when he did, his face looked tired, exhausted and resigned. Slowly, so that he had enough time to pull back, she lifted her hand and brushed a few strands of hair from his face before resting her hand on his cheek. "You know you can talk to me? If there's something on your mind... I'm here for you."

For a brief moment, his features softened and he smiled, just slightly but it was a genuine smile. "I know, meine Liebe. It's just a few bad memories. Nothing to burden your mind with." Gently, she let her hand move from his cheek to his hand so that she was now holding both of them in hers.

"Shouldn't it be up to me to decide?"?“

Kurt was silent for a long time and she almost thought he was going to turn away, but he let out a deep, almost sad chuckle and shook his head. "God, you're one of a kind, aren't you? What did I do to deserve the honor of your attention?"

"There was nothing to earn," she whispered. "It was yours from the beginning."

This seemed to leave him speechless for a moment, but when he caught himself, his expression softened, the worry line gone. "It was just a few bad memories," he explained and it took her a moment to realize that he was answering her previous question. "Usually they can't hurt me, but sometimes-"

"-they just come up, no matter how much you've distanced yourself from them," she finished his broken sentence and Kurt nodded slightly.

„Ja.“ His eyes wandered from her face to the lands of the Xavier Institute. "I have found my role, my place, in this world. I am surrounded by people who accept me for who I am, love me for who I am." For a few seconds, his gaze flickered over to her. "But that wasn't always the case."

That sad look she couldn't stand came into his eyes again and he withdrew his hands. "I was fine for a while, in the circus. They may not have all loved me, but I was accepted and respected. That was all I wanted. But outside-" His tail loosened from her hip and curled around his drawn-on legs again.

"Monster, they called me. Freak. Spawn of hell. Abominable. Dangerous..." She curled her fingers into her thighs. Kurt didn't deserve this kind of treatment. He was an angel, wonderful and magnificent, and the fact that people didn't treat him like this infuriated her.

Kurt let out a gasp. "I know none of this is true. I'm not a monster, not a spawn of hell, not abominable, but..."

"It still hurts." He nodded and she felt her heart break in her chest. "Oh Kurt..." She didn't care that they were sitting on the railing of a balcony that hovered several meters above the ground, but acted on instinct.

She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the blue mutant. He froze for a few seconds, but quickly recovered from his shock.

Under her touch, she could feel him relax and bury his face in her hair while his hands clawed at her back. It didn't hurt, but even if it did, she wouldn't say anything. Something slowly wrapped around her middle and it took her a little too long to realize it was his tail.

"You don't deserve this. You least of all of us," she murmured into his chest and felt his grip on her tighten. "You're a wonderful person, an angel, and I'm very grateful to know you." There was silence between them, though neither of them was uncomfortable. She snuggled against him as he buried his face in her hair and his arms and tail wrapped around her.

The softly breathed "thank you" was carried away by the wind, but she heard it anyway and wrapped her arms around him even tighter. If it had been a warmer night, she could have stayed in his arms for hours, but this night was cold and she soon began to shiver, despite the warmth radiating from Kurt's body.

At first she tried to suppress it, not wanting to let the moment go, but over time her trembling became so bad that Kurt noticed it as well and broke away from her, eliciting a complaining whimper from her. He, however, paid no attention and just looked at her with wide, worried eyes. "Meine Liebe, you're freezing to death. Why are you wearing such thin clothes?"

"It wasn't really the plan to go out," she confessed through chattering teeth and Kurt swung himself elegantly from the railing to offer her his hand. She gratefully accepted it and as soon as her feet touched the cold ground, she felt something warm envelop her.

Kurt had put the blanket back around her shoulders as well as wrapping his arm around her middle. He smiled down at her and finally he looked the way she knew he would - wide, fang-toothed smile, bright eyes and a curling tail.

"Come on, my dear, let's go inside. After all, I can't risk my favorite person catching a cold, can I?" She grinned slightly and really hoped he couldn't see the blush in her cheeks. From his smile, he very well could. " Don't let Rogue hear you say that."

He chuckled softly and led her through the hallways to her room. She stopped in front of her door, the blanket wrapped tightly around her, and looked up at him as he began to melt into the shadows again, though this time she had no trouble spotting him.

"Sweet dreams," he murmured with a smile and she lightly smiled.

"You too. And Kurt?" she called back to him as he tried to turn around. Her smile turned a little sheepish.

"If you have bad dreams again or are plagued by bad memories... My door is open to you. Any time."

Kurt's smile widened and his tail curled slightly at the tip as he carefully took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. "Don't worry, meine Liebe." He looked up at her through his lashes and his gaze was so soft and appealing at the same time that she felt like she would instantly burst. "

Just this time near you will be enough to keep me from having bad dreams for the next few weeks."

He gently let go of her hand, winked at her and disappeared into a dark cloud with a slight 'bamf'.

Frozen, blushing heavily, she stood there and looked at the spot where Kurt had been standing before she chuckled softly and turned towards her room. God, this man....

#x men #x men movies #x men comics #x men 97 #x men the animated series #nightcrawler #kurt wagner #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #x men x reader

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 9 months ago

Text

folie à deux

or: the toxic ex boyfriend Ghost AU

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

WARNINGS: || 18+ only MDNI || Toxic masculinity || Possessive & obsessive behaviour || Slut shaming || Groping || Gaslighting || Implied & referenced cheating || Mildly dubious consent

w/c: 5.7k (Read on AO3)

a/n: this was supposed to be like 5 paragraphs, so PLEASE if y'all hate it i dont want to know

It starts with a knock on your front door when you’re only half expecting to see Simon Riley.

He even knocks with a sense of entitlement, and it enrages you. Three hard raps, and that’s it. He won’t knock again. If you don’t open the door, he’ll kick it down to get to you—those were rules you’d learnt the hard way.

You mentally reinforce your motivation when you fling the door open: You’re scared he’ll break your door down, again, and this time, when they try to evict you, Simon won’t be around to terrify them into letting you stay.

How on earth you’d ever found the prick attractive is beyond you in that minute. Except, no sooner does the thought enter your mind do you dismiss it. Of course you had—and still—found him attractive. That had never been the problem.

He wore his military career on his face, much easier to see than the chest candy he bragged about but no less attractive to you–scars and burns, healing and the not-quite healed bruises plain to see on his face, a cacophony of yellows and purples. A nose that had spent more time broken than not, its slight curve most likely a combination of never having been set by a professional nor the opportunity to heal without being broken again. A thin scar dissected his lip, went all the way up the side of his face to his brow, almost like someone had taken a knife to him, carved him up like a piece of meat. You’d never asked, and it’s not like he’d ever volunteered the information.

It just sat there along with the three thousand other things he’d deposited in the chasm that stretched between the two of you.

“You…Jesus,” he breathes, and slams the door shut behind him, making you wince. “Where are you off to, then?”

“N’ wearin’ that?” He prompts again when you don’t answer, motions to your body with his chin.

You roll your eyes when he pulls you into him and plants a hard kiss on your mouth, ignoring your squirming. “Fuckin’ about to spill out, little dove.”

“Spill? Simon, I’m sewn into this dress.” You pluck at his shirt that has deliciously little give where it sits on his hard chest, leaving your palm there as a little treat for yourself. “You would know. You capable of wearing shirts your own size, or does the SAS make it mandatory to have your tits straining against them?”

When he doesn’t respond, you push away from him, and step back, crossing your arms against your chest, definitely not pushing your tits up slightly, and he mirrors your movement. He’s leaning against the wall by the front door now, blocking your exit, and you can only roll your eyes at the foreseeable display of machismo.

“Your stuff’s in the front room. Grab it and go, I have to finish getting dressed. I have plans.”

“With a pimp?”

Back when you were blissfully ignorant of Simon’s penchant for keeping you destabilised at all times, unconditionally wanting the last word, his crass words would have made you sputter and struggle to respond. Oh but you know him so much better now.

Now, the blatant transparency in his delivery just makes you laugh.

You interrupt his next words with a wave of your hand and turn to retreat to your room. “Get your shit and leave, baby.”

You hear his harsh exhale at the dismissal, and once upon a time, the repercussions of dismissing Simon in the middle of a conversation would have excited you. You used to do it to get a rise out of him, instigate him into chasing you around, fucking you silly when he caught you. Now, you just do it because you can.

“No need to be a bitch. I’ll be on my way in a second, just wanted to check on you, little dove.”

Your laugh is breathy, and you have to pull your mascara wand away from your eyes so you don’t end up stabbing yourself with it. “‘No need to be a bitch’ says the man currently being a bitch about me not telling him my plans.” Your laugh is mocking when you turn back to the mirror. “You ever tire of this routine, Simon? Because it’s tiring to me.”

Your words only make Simon’s eyes soften, and he looks at you almost indulgently, patronisingly, as though you were a child throwing a tantrum to get an adult’s attention. “Could never tire of you, little dove.”

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, but he only snorts in response.

It’s all a game to him, you know that. He makes it very clear how much amusement he derives from watching you fumble and fall, how much he gets off on the stress he gives you.

And yet, you’re drawn to him, every single time. Every single time, you play mental gymnastics to find a reason to write off his bad behaviour because, well, it’s Simon. He’s…like no one else you’ve ever known.

Your choices have always been limited between a cruel, mercurial god and inane, paltry men.

Except today. Today you hold your response back, try not to rise to the obvious challenge.

“Come on then, I’ll drive ya.”

“Are you insane?” you screech. “You’re not driving me to my date, you’re not driving me anywhere, what the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?”

A glimpse of his Adonis belt as he stretches his arms above his shoulders and cranes his neck from side to side briefly grabs your attention.

“Don’t be difficult, little dove,” he gently scolds you, and your eyes snap back to his—yours wide with incredulity, his calm and collected in that beautiful, honey brown. “What were y’gonna do, take the Tube with y’tits out like that? If the prick ain’t pickin’ you up, I’ll take ya to him.” He jerks his chin in your vanity’s direction and plops himself on your bed to watch. “Come on, love, finish yer preenin’ then.”

“Preening,” you mutter under your breath as you turn back to the mirror. “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

It’s only when you’re dabbing perfume behind your ears do you catch his eye just as he brings a cigarette up to his mouth, and you squeal. “Simon! The fuck are yo—don’t smoke in my bedroom!”

“Our bedroom—”

“What?!”

“—’n ya didn’t care before. Y’wanna share, ‘s that it, little dove?”

“Oh my god.” You turn around slowly, your hands against your lips, joined together as though in prayer. “Simon.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“You don’t live here anymore. This isn’t your flat, it’s mine. This isn’t your bedroom, it’s mine.”

Simon just continues to smoke as though he hadn’t heard you, dark eyes taking the slow, leisurely route back to meet yours. “Y’look good, baby.” His voice is hoarse, the words slow and deliberate and raspy, and…you can’t deny it. The pull he’s always exerted on you, the undeniably ruinous sirens call—you burn hotter and brighter than accretion, you’re a helpless sailor caught up in his thrall

“Simon”

“Did’ya always look so good?” The way he looks at you as though in a trance…you know he’s not listening, seeming to just be thinking out loud. When he stands up, you take an automatic step back, then cringe when the vanity hits the back of your legs. Nowhere to go to escape his looming presence. “No…not like this. Somethin’s changed.” He puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you around so you’re both facing the mirror.

The back of your neck feels particularly warm as he pushes his entire front to your back, and you can feel him there, hard and insistent against your lower back. When eyes meet in the mirror, he looks at you like you’re a puzzle for him to solve. “Nothing’s changed,” you whisper. “You’re still a dick.”

“Hmm,” he mutters, then lifts your face up with one hand around your neck, and brings his cigarette around to your lips with the other.

Your instinctive inhale makes him shift against you slightly, and your eye twitches from how good he feels pressed up against you like this. How he smells to you—that familiar mix of aniseed and icy menthol, fingers eking that potent hit of nicotine straight into you from where his fingers dig into your skin. “Definitely somethin’ different.” He pulls one strap of your dress down, and you exhale as he places one warm, lingering kiss on your exposed shoulder. “‘S good. Whatever’s different is good, little dove.”

“We can’t—,” you whisper, and his eyes glint at you with interest and arrogance through the mirror. “We can’t do this.”

“You’re so pretty all dressed up like this. Always were so pretty. So soft, and—” he inhales deeply at the spot just under your ear “—always smell so fuckin’ good.”

“You can’t,” you moan in response, but press yourself closer to him, anyway.

“But I can,” he responds gruffly. “‘Nythin’ I like, little dove. And I know y’like it too.”

“Fuck, just—” He interrupts you by giving you another hit, and this time you turn around in his arms to exhale in his face. He doesn’t even flinch. “What are you playing at, Simon? What do you want from me this time?”

Simon continues to look at your mouth as you speak, and almost as if on auto-pilot, slips his thumb into your mouth. You want to bite him for his audacity, you almost kick him in the shin, almost almost almost… But what you really end up doing is accepting it, licking the pad of his thumb and letting him push it into your mouth.

Your initials on the space between the base of his thumb and index finger catch your eye—it’s a new tattoo, and you know this entire game is a ruse to draw your attention to it—but you don’t react. You may be stupid horny for him, but you’re not stupid.

“Always such a good girl for me,” he praises, and it brightens you up on the inside, sparks hot and bright under your spine. “Tell me, love…still me you think about when you touch your pussy?”

Your harsh exhale and slightly narrowed eyes are the only indication you give of having heard him at all. In response, his thumb moves slightly deeper, sitting heavy on your tongue, and you let him.

Your stubborn silence makes him chuckle, and he stubs out his cigarette on the ashtray you (still) keep on your vanity, pushing your dress up over your ass so he can grab your cheeks possessively. The movement is so quick, so fluid that your protest turns to ash on your tongue when he finds bare skin and squeezes hard.

“Forgot somethin, did ya?”

“No.”

“No?” His hands grip you tighter and pull you harshly into him. The angle makes you grind into his cock, and you know that he’s not even half as unaffected as he pretends. “Gonna put out on the first date, then, like a slut? Don’t remember you givin’ me any the first time I—”

“It’s not my first date with him.”

Simon pulls back to look into your eyes, and you’re graced by the first genuine smile on his face all evening—the most brilliant of Rayleigh scatterings put to shame. “It is your first date, love.”

The blunt, matter-of-factness in his words gives you pause, your mind still coming to terms with what he’s just said, your heart starting to race at the barely concealed confidence about your whereabouts. “How do you—what are you saying to me right now?”

“Truth, little dove. Like I promised.”

The casual, off hand remark to one of the most devastating conversations in your life gives you whiplash and you have to physically shake your head to get rid of the feeling of something crawling up the back of your neck. You put your hands firmly on his chest and push him away, and he steps back easily.

“Are you…Simon. Are you having me followed?”

“Don’t need to. I know you, little dove.” He takes another step back from you and cocks his head at your dazed expression. “Put some knickers on. The white ones, y’know ‘em.” When you don’t move, he motions towards your underwear drawer with an expectant expression—as though you’re frozen because you’ve forgotten where they are rather than because you’ve just learnt that your ex boyfriend’s stalking you.

When he crosses his arms, you’re jolted to action. In a daze, you pick up the first pair your hands grab and pull them on. He thrusts your purse at you, and leads you out your front door with his hand clasped tight around yours.

You wish you could say that your ex boyfriend driving you to a date with another man is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, but that’s not realistic for a life lived around Simon Riley.

***

The drive is silent, but one big hand remains on your inner thigh. His fingers are so long that they almost touch the seat on either side of your leg. It feels invasive but it’s also familiar, so you don’t say anything. Classic— he never had to try hard to get what he wanted from you.

When he asks you for a smoke, you light one up for him and stick it into the corner of his waiting mouth, and he kisses your fingertips as they retreat. You still don’t say anything. Instead, your eyes stay determinedly on your initials tattooed on his skin, his warm hand almost a brand on your thigh, and you think about your life with him in the .

The implication that things were normal in the before is wildly misleading, and a genuine disservice to the shit he’d put you through.

Once upon a time, you’d been delusional about your place in Simon’s world; now it just leaves a bad taste in your mouth. He threw special forces and taskforce and lads need me in your face every opportunity he’d gotten, and worse. Simon Riley was not a man who did or could be convinced to do something he didn’t want to—and you’d hardly ever asked for any explanations from him but still, the excuses were on the tip of his tongue, ready to be flung at you at Mach speed.

You’d bargained with yourself for weeks—oscillating between wanting to proactively end the relationship yourself or allowing its inevitable heat death. He was one of a kind. No one had ever made you feel like he had. No one had fucked you like he had.

No one had fucked you over like he had either, but on good days, you show yourself some grace and let that thought slide.

***

You find yourself falling into old bad habits easily—you wait inside the car until he’s on your side, opening your door for you and practically lifting you out of his car.

The warmth of his hands seeps through the material of your dress, through the skin on your hips, superheating the bones underneath. He squeezes the flesh there appreciatively, and though his expression remains hidden to you, you can safely guess the smirking just by the creased skin by his eyes.

“I never want to see you again.”

The words make Simon pause. He considers you for a second, the smirk never dropping. “Go’n, give us a kiss, then, if this is the last time.”

“I would never,” you insist, finger poking at his hard chest, and he retreats from you, puts his hands up in mock-surrender. “You’re a manipulative bastard, Simon,” you hiss at him. “And I’m going on this date.” With your piece said, you walk away from him.

“Never stopped ya, little dove,” he calls out, a hint of an aggravating laugh in his words.

You flip him off without even turning around. “Drop dead, Simon.”

To your great disappointment, your words don’t inspire the heavens to smite him where he stands immediately, and when you quickly shoot one last look back at him over your shoulder, he stands against his car, arms crossed, looking for all the world like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Asshole.

It wasn’t even that Simon was a bad boyfriend to you—though he was certainly the fucking worst—it was the fact that a) he was a bad person and b) you’d become a bad person by osmosis.

Case in point: you wanted to leave your date mid-meal, battling the intrusive thought of just putting your drink down and walking out the front door, but you couldn’t even say why. Your date had kindly acquiesced when you’d insisted on the worst table on the floor. The one overlooking the car park. The window overlooking the only car parked there—the massive black one, with illegally tinted windows and a suspiciously missing owner.

At least the bar was nice. Great ambience, dim lighting and pretty interiors, it should have been the perfect first date. Your date himself was fine too—nice enough with a sweet smile he flashed at you, politely having taken to talking at you when you’d made it clear with your apathy that talking with you wasn’t going to happen.

After just two drinks, you start to have flashbacks—even an hour spent in Simon’s company clearly manifesting as literal madness—which was disconcerting by itself, but the uncharacteristic subject matter has you really worried. Every time you blink, you see Simon’s face…or his cock…and when your date asks if you’d like to share dessert, you answer, “Simon…” before hearing yourself, and feeling the heat of shame dance on your cheeks. Your date just looks confused.

A quick glance outside the window shows the empty car park and…nothing else. No car.

Had he fuckin’ left?

The thought incenses you, and the irrational nature of the anger makes you feel even more shame. Why should you care? When had he ever done what you’d expected of him? And when had he ever been there for you when you’d needed it.

Fuck it, you think.

Maybe you were finally free of Simon and his toxic, shameless, unbreakable hold on your life. Maybe it was time to move on.

You allow yourself a satisfied smile when, in what feels like divine approval of your plan, your date offers to take you home.

***

There are cracks in your ceiling that you’d never noticed before.

You resist the urge to wince, then try to moan but give up when it gets stuck in your throat, and your date misinterprets your sigh of boredom and discomfort as one of pleasure, choosing to go down on you with more enthusiasm than before. Things could not be worse for you—the man between your legs is clearly in need of a compass and a map and trying so hard that you feel guilty about the whole thing—but you’re determined to tolerate it. So that the point is made.

When your date finally leaves, your shaky smile and poorly concealed look of relief convinces neither of you of a second date. You suppose you should be grateful that he left without a fuss, but you’re just relieved that he’s gone. You’re contemplating—holding your head in your hands while your elbows rest on the kitchen counter—when you hear him.

“This is pathetic, even for you.” You turn around, and yep. It’s him alright. Sitting at your dinner table, your flimsy chair all but invisible behind his massive frame. “Breaking in, Simon? Seriously?”

“Y’gave me a key, little dove.”

“Yeah. When we were dating. A key that you’d returned?”

When there is neither a response, nor any change to his posture, you turn around and start to pour yourself a glass of water. Then change your mind and grab two whiskey tumblers and your decanter. “Pathetic,” you repeat. “How long were you planning this?”

His sudden breath on the back of your neck makes you exhale harshly, and he steadies your trembling hands by placing his on yours. Together, you pour two glasses of whiskey, but his hands don’t leave yours even when you’re done.

“How was the date?”

“You tell me, Simon.”

“Wasn’t invited, was I?”

“It didn’t stop you.”

He places a small kiss behind your ear in response. “No.” His hands knead at your breasts and your head falls back to his shoulder with a sigh, and he grinds into you. “Feel that? What even your fake little noises do to me?”

“You were listening?” The thought is…unbearably hot, and you stubbornly refuse to examine it any further in your mind.

“You belong with me, little dove, you know this. You’ve always belonged to me. All of you. Every single inch. Where would I go?”

You reach behind you to touch him, and he’s thick and warm to the touch, even through the layers of fabric, and it’s familiar, it’s all so familiar to you.. “This is fucked up. You were here listening when another man fucked me?”

In a quick succession of lithe, almost impossibly quick movements, he’s picked you up and placed you on your kitchen counter, one glass of whiskey shattering on the floor. “Made your point, baby?”

Your robe is off your shoulders and pooling around your waist in a second, and Simon doesn’t even bother hiding his smirk when he pulls off your panties and pockets them. You don’t bother protesting. It even feels like trouble when he runs a single finger over the seams of your cunt—you’re damningly wet and if you had enough withal to curse your body out for it, you would.

“You've got such a pretty pussy, little dove,” Ghost says as he fingers you, his voice half-muffled because he's pressing a possessive kiss to your forehead. “And so wet baby, you’re dripping on my fingers. All of it fo' me? Or was it that twat, hm?”

You're seething inside, raging that your plan backfired like this. “It was him,” you say, before you can help yourself. “You heard him fuck me, yeah?”

“Fuck you?” Simon’s chuckle is dark and ruinous. “He didn’t fuck you, baby. He just stretched you out for me. Good man. Saves me the work, innit.”

Before you can react, before you can breathe, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, picks up his glass of whiskey in his other hand, and brings you to your bedroom. Fuck, your sheets are still rumpled, dress and bra strewn on the floor, sandals sitting like a death trap of heel and straps by the foot of your bed. The room even smells of sex and the cologne your date had worn—it’s disorienting. You almost feel bad. Almost.

But…Simon’s presence is all over your bedroom too. The smell of his aftershave lingered in the air, noticeable if you closed your eyes and breathed in deep. Other signs too—the faint bitterness of his cigarette from earlier that evening, it’s corpse in the ashtray on your vanity. When he sets his drink down on your nightstand, he sets it on the coaster you keep there—they’re strewn on almost every surface on your flat. Mementoes from Simon from different countries he’d go to on deployment.

“Told you he fucked me,” you say, cheekily—trying to dissuade your mind from leading you towards sentiment—and get a smack on you ass for your trouble.

“‘Course, little dove,” Simon drawls in response. “‘N you enjoyed it too, yeah? Tryin’ t’make me jealous. Took him to the same place we used to go, huh?” Another smack on your backside, this one hard enough to make you gasp. “Think I’d forgotten, baby? Fucked you in that car park, didn’t I?”

“Were you jealous?”

“Why should I be?” He sets you down gently on the bed so you’re sitting upright, then takes a sip of his whiskey. “Y’want this.”

“I didn’t think you were giving me much of a choice.”

“I’m not.” He takes another sip, and when he leans forward to kiss you, the whiskey floods into your mouth, rich and smoky and bitter. He continues to kiss you and you have to swallow around his tongue, which makes him kiss you harder. He’s a bully in every aspect of his life, and kissing you is no different. His fingers clamp around your cheeks and you have no choice but to kiss him back. Even in this he dominates you, trying to win even where there is no fight to be fought.

When he pulls away, your heart throbs at how he looks through the lights of the street outside pouring in through your window. You’ve seen his face before, you’re one of the trusted few that can say they know what Simon Riley looks like, but it’s been a while since you’ve seen him like this. The harsh lights from outside almost soften where they kiss the harsh angles of his face, where the sharp line of his clenched jaw disappears behind his ears, accentuating his thick neck.

He’s beautiful and cruel and bad for you and every adjective you can think of under the sun.

“Y’want this,” he repeats.

“I want this.”

And then Simon moves so suddenly. There’s no preparing for it, no accounting for speed that has no build up—one second you’re sitting upright looking up at him the next you’re on your back and he’s hovering over you, fingers making quick work of his zipper before, in one push, he’s buried in you. Your breath feels like it’s literally been punched out of your chest. He’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat—he allows you one deep breath before he’s got a large hand wrapped around your throat. The one with your tattoo on it.

The thought of it incites something foreign deep in your belly, low and simmering hot—you can’t believe he’s tattooed your name on his hand after telling you that he didn’t think you were what he’d wanted.

You can’t imagine your expression right now, but he tightens his fingers around your throat and it drags your attention back to him. He’s gritting his teeth, his jaw clamped tightly shut while he grinds his pelvis into yours, each thrust driving you further and further away from him and towards the centre of the bed. You don’t even understand the movement of his hips—you’re displaced and jostled from the sheer power of his thrusts—but the motion itself feels like it’s more of an up and down motion, dragging against your walls, punching into your G spot. When your head falls back on a low moan, he jerks your body to alertness just by your throat, and you clench at the feat of strength even when he’s buried in you as far as he can go.

Simon groans in response, the noise sounding like it tears through his throat on its way out, but you’re helpless to do anything at all, just trying to breathe through the foreign sensations inside you right now, clamp tighter and tighter around him, threatening to break. You’ve given up trying to look up at him anymore, the pleasure making you squeeze your eyes shut, one hand intertwined with his by your head, the other clawing at his forearm.

“Shit, baby, hold on, fuck, jus’ let me—” He moves to adjust you, grabbing one thigh to spread you open, push himself deeper inside you, when he freezes.

“Wha—Simon, what—”

“The fuck is this?” His voice is pitched lower than usual, dark and dangerous. You follow his line of sight and he’s transfixed, eyes unblinking, looking at a spot on your inner thigh. You know what he’s seeing, and in the midst of everything that’s happened, everything that’s about to happen, you wonder if you’re seeing the evidence of the existence of a just God.

“You weren’t…you weren’t meant to see it. It’s from ages ago…” He reaches out a slightly trembling hand towards it, stops inches away from it—and oh this is better than anything you could’ve imagined—before he brushes two reverent fingers over the little skull you have tattooed there. “Simon?”

When Simon looks back at you, he seems more determined, somehow. Like the final part of a puzzle has clicked into place, somehow, and a decision has been made.

This time when he moves, it’s deeper, more powerful but equally as deliberate. The hand around your throat moves to your face, brushing sweaty strands away from it, and framing the entire side of your face where it rests. “Got my mark on you, yeah? Want t’keep me, is that it?”

“I want…want to keep you,” you nearly whine at him, and his hips kick up, hammer into you, in and out, in and out— “Want to keep you Simon. Want to be yours.”

He bends over you, his grip on your thigh unyielding, long fingers digging into the tattoo on your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I—” He uses your neck to muffle his own sounds for a second and then leans to kiss you. But it’s more than that. You feel Simon’s surrender in that kiss—the acceptance of the inevitable, your months of torturous longing for your torturer finding release—and when you come, you bite down hard on his lip.

It feels like your body is hot enough to melt the world into soft, sepia tones around you, and you don’t even understand what he’s doing to your body right now as he fucks you through your orgasm. He readjusts your hips as you come, and the slightest brush of the coarse hair at the base of his cock against your clit makes you vibrate from the shock of what feels like your second orgasm bleeding into your first.

And when he comes, he slams his hips into you like he’s trying to crawl inside of you. His groan is long and tortured, and for a man who’s usually silent when he fucks, the sound is delicious. You never want him to stop. “Fuckin’ shit,” he murmurs, and traps you as he collapses on top of you.

In the aftermath, there is quiet.

Simon lifts his head, once, to try to feel his way to the glass of whiskey on your nightstand, all while kissing you deeply. Turns out, fucked out of his mind Simon is clumsy as hell, and so you grab it for him, draining it yourself before offering him the empty glass.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he mutters, unimpressed, before burying his face in your neck.

“Says the man who slept with the entire British army in a matter of six months.” You kiss his sweaty hair and his grip on your hips tightens. “Bunch of slags.”

“Don’t call my sergeant a slag.”

“Your serg—” you gasp, feeling your restart its pounding in its cage. “Not Johnny! You slept with MacTavish? He fuckin—he fuckin’ offered to meet me for coffee so many times when we were broken up! I thought he was being nice!”

“Was bein’ nice, innit. Lookin’ out for his CO’s girl.”

Your head falls back to the bed as you stare up at the ceiling again. “This is messed up.” His casual tone feels like a barb, reopens old wounds and threatens to ignite a fresh wave of hostility inside you. But before you can stew in your bitterness any longer, he kisses the side of your neck and moves off of you.

“Can’t keep doing this, little dove.” He says, gathering your clothes from where they’re strewn all over your room.

You get up on your elbows and cock your head, feigning innocent confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Gonna have twats all over town stretchin’ you out fo’ me before I fuck you?”

“Why? You offering to put the graft in yourself?”

“Maybe,” he mumbles, and when he stands up to face you, he’s got a cig hanging off the corner of his mouth. “Y’got a light around here somewhere, can’t find mine.”

You roll your eyes, reaching over to the nightstand to grab one and throwing it at him. He catches it deftly, and lights up his cigarette. “What’s next for you then, Simon Riley? Off to the pub to find the next victim for the evening? Send me a recording of when you fuck her in the disgusting toilet?”

“Victim? Shit baby, give me ten, we’ll go again,” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“You’re staying?”

He leans forward, smushes your face with his large hand. “You got me inked on you.” You squirm away from him and he lets you go.

“It’s just a skull, Simon. Not my initials on your hand.” When his eyes narrow, you gasp theatrically and your hand flies up to your chest. “Or was I not meant to see that?” You lean up to pluck the cigarette from his fingers and take a long drag. “Obnoxious, by the way.”

He leans forward and kisses you, hard. You inadvertently end up blowing smoke in his mouth, but he doesn’t move, kissing you until you melt. “Love you, little dove. You're a massive bitch, though.”

“Pot meet kettle,” you whisper against his mouth.

You know what they say about history repeating itself. You’ve been through this cycle before, you and Simon. And you know what he promised you when he fucked you—he may have asked you if you’d wanted to keep him, but you hear what Simon doesn’t say. And what he doesn’t say is that you don’t have a choice in any of this. Simon operates like a bully, thinks like a bully because he is one. Like with most other things, Simon brute forces your relationship, moulds and bends and twists to his liking, does not care if anything breaks. You have no doubt that in two or three weeks’ time he’ll be across the world from you, bouncing someone else on his cock but it hardly matters. You’ll get your lick back. It’s what he’s taught you, afterall.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #lumi writes #toxic exbf! Ghost #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader

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killerpancakeburger · 8 months ago

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GHOST 💀x Reader HCS PT.2

Inspired by @temeyes breathtaking art once again.

He's the kind of person who says "If you die I'll kill you".

He's actually fond of people who stand up to him. Not in a way that is rude or irritating, but people who don't put up with his shit and push back when he's being too stubborn for his own good. He's even impressed if the person in question is a civilian and/or way smaller than him.

He'll go suddenly silent after you snapped at him for good reasons, staring intensely, and you think to yourself: That's it. This is how I go. He's gonna murder me in my sleep. Goodbye cruel world.

Then he just snorts. An half amused, half appreciative sound. Looks you up and down, like you're a new person.

Laughing at his jokes will inflate his ego. Specially if you laugh more at them than at Soap's antics. His humour is too dark for most people so its true value is rarely appreciated - according to him.

Agressively cares. If you're looking down he immediately offers to murder whoever did this to you. You never know if he actually means it or not, because he's deadpan as usual when saying it, but he's also the only killer you know that offered to kill for you...

Will pull out his best (worst?) Jokes for you. Calls you out frankly if you're talking shit about yourself and doesn't shy away from calling you a bloody idiot for it. It's easier for him to care about you than to care about himself.

Him trying to seduce you would involve: juggling between hot and cold because one day he's resolute to win you over and the next he convinced himself this is all a terrible mistake and you could never want him, and you deserve better anyway than this ghost of a man.

Him making more jokes than usual, specially when you're alone together. Him showing off - he's not insecure at all about his body nor his skills -, wether it's by lifting heavy things, sweating in the training room, "accidentally" being shirtless when you visit his room...

Will stand behind you in silence so when you walk backwards or turn around you bump into his chest. He wonder how many times he can get away with it before you notice he's very much doing it on purpose.

Uses his height to lean in and whisper things in your ear. Doesn't even need to be scandalous in nature. The rasp of his voice, his accent, the murmur, the proximity of his lips to your skin, all of this make for a deadly combo. And you react so, so well when he compliments and praises you, the filth can come later.

Comes up with more or less believable reasons to pull up his mask more often when he's alone with you because he knows you will stare at his lips.

#mine #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost headcanons #cod headcanons #call of duty headcanons #cod x reader #ghost x you #cod x you #call of duty hc #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x you

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sodapopwrites · 1 month ago

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a ballad of flame and shadow part one

images are not mine! all artwork credits go to termesart for their beautiful drawings!

pairings - lucien vanserra x rhysands sister!reader, azriel x rhysand's sister!reader.

series summary - what's easier to love? a crackling flame or a spiraling shadow? rhysand's sister, emissary of the night court, finds herself delving into her feelings for the seventh son of the high lord of the autumn court while pushing aside something possibly deeper she feels for the night courts infamous spymaster.

chapter summary - before amarantha's party, the emissary of the night court, rhysand's sister, seeks out her lover in the spring court in an attempt to issue a warning of what's to come. she finds a small comfort in his warmth much to the disapproval of her family back home, especially a certain shadowsinger.

word count - 1.6k

read the rest of the series here!

Music floated through the air around her. Fae danced around her in whooshes of color and laughter. She observed the festivities raging around her with a cool separation.

Her black dress a sharp contrast to the bursts of color covering every person and every inch of her surroundings. The bottom of her dress swished around her ankles with every warm spring breeze. The glittering blue embroidery is a sharp contrast to the sweet pastels adoring the clothes of the revelers.

Every inch of her out of place.

She heard her name wrapped in an all too familiar voice.

Cinnamon and crackling flames. The smell wafted towards her like ember red leaves falling to the ground. She straightened her spine, a small show of composure. She felt him before she saw him. At her back, his breath fanning across the side of her neck as he leant down to whisper in her ear.

“I never knew shadows celebrated the summer solstice.”

She turned slowly, facing him at last.

Lucien Vanserra.

Small braids weaved their way through the fiery river of hair flowing over his shoulders. His eyes glitter with something roguish as he watches her eyes flit from his hair, across the planes of his chest, and down the tall expanse of him, before coming back up to meet his gaze.

“I’m here on business.”

“So you came to spoil the fun.”

She let her eyes roll before her hand came up to pull on one of his carefully woven braids. She twirled it between her fingers.

“Who said emissary business can’t be fun?”

He leaned down, closer to her now than he should be. The tip of his nose just brushed hers. His lips mere millimeters away from her own. It was like they shared one breath.

≻──────────────⋆✩⋆ ──────────────≺

The music of the celebrations outside were muted against the windows. An easy quiet flowed through the room as he watched her dress. Slowly pulling the straps of her dress back over her shoulders. She flipped her hair away from her face and he let himself be mesmerized by the way the curls, black like shadow, tumbled down her back. He stretched his arms over his head and let them settle there. Content to watch her flit around his room trying to find her shoes. A small smile snaked its way across his face as he watched her grow more frustrated in her search.

He leaned down and picked a silver slipper from the ground next to his bed. He let it dangle from one finger.

“Looking for this?”

She turned to him and let out a huff of irritation. She grabbed for her lost shoe but missed as he moved his hand a little further. Losing her balance she fell across his chest and he used his free arm to pin her.

“So what was the business you came to discuss with me?”

She glared at him, still reaching for her shoe. Realizing it was a losing battle she gave up and slumped against him, maybe even letting herself savor the feel of his skin against hers, the warmth of it.

“My brother wishes to meet with Tamlin”

Lie.

Lucien raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for explanation.

“Is he going to try to kill him again?”

She scoffed and pushed away from him, “You really do know nothing Lucien Vanserra”

He winced at the name, the harshness with which she said it.

“Don’t”

A small warning. Don’t inflict his family name on him. The reminder of it a petty way to rip him from the sanctuary of the moment. A flicker of guilt lit behind her rib cage and she let the haughty draw of her shoulders fall.

“Rhysand just wishes to issue a…warning.”

Lie. She had come of her own volition. Wanting to warn Lucien and only Lucien about what her brother thought was to come.

“A warning?”

She looked at him. Tight lipped. A small crease in her brow. And he just couldn’t help himself. He reached up and smoothed that crease with his thumb. A feather light touch that seared its way into her skin.

“The war may be over, but there are still enemies to be dealt with. People who we shouldn’t be so willing to put our trust in.”

“You sound just like him,” Lucien sighed, “Always telling me not to put trust in anyone.”

The crease returned. The comparison to Tamlin sending a spark of rage down her spine. The knowledge that Tamlin knew exactly what Lucien got up to every time she visited sent a churning to her gut that she couldn’t bring herself to calm.

“So why trust me?”

Her words came out softer than she’d intended. Like she was asking some unspoken question. He smiled, brushing an inky strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’ve always had a bad habit of letting myself get distracted by beautiful things.”

The playful glimmer in his eye contrasted sharply with her serious expression. He sighed and handed her the shoe still dangling between his finger tips.

≻──────────────⋆✩⋆ ──────────────≺

Her family was scattered around the lower level of Rhysand’s townhouse. Mor and Amren sitting in the dining room pouring over some books and whispering to each other. Cassian, Azriel, and the high lord himself lounging in the living room.

She tried her best to slide into the room unnoticed.

Late.

She had missed dinner and she had no good alibi.

She prayed no questions would be flung her way as she slid onto the couch, tucking herself under Cassian’s arm. The shadowsinger found her eyes first. They flitted over her form, studying it for anything even slightly out of place. His eyes narrowed as he took her in and his shadows curled tighter around his forearms.

Rhysand didn’t bother to look up from his stack of papers and sent a bored question her way,

“Where have you been?”

She shrugged and watched Azriel shift in his seat in what could have been discomfort. Cassian saw it too, the way his friend tried to hide his annoyance at her absence. He wore a wicked grin as he turned towards her, leaning into her, and mumbling,

“New perfume?”

She looked up at him confused for a second, “Excuse me?”

“You smell faintly of…” Cassian rolled the word around on his tongue, “autumn”.

Rhys looked up at this and studied his sister. Cassian’s insinuation rippled through the room.

“Again?” Rhys kept that bored tone, something else behind it now though.

“I was working,” She said, clipped and stern. Not wanting the conversation to continue. But Rhysand pushed forward,

“I didn’t send you anywhere.”

“And since when am I not allowed to do things of my own volition?”

Azriel let out what could only be described as a snort. When she whipped her head towards him there was no humor in his eyes. The small laugh disapproving more than anything else.

“What?”

She was getting defensive now that the shadowsinger deigned to be involved in this discussion. He shook his head at her,

“What exactly were you working on?” His question came out cold and quiet. His shadows creeped towards her as if they could pry the information from her. Cassian laughed. A real laugh.

“She was working Lucien Vanserra.”

She cast an annoyed glare at his crude statement.

“I’m sorry when did my personal affairs become the business of this court?”

Amren’s voice floated from the dining room now, “More like the entertainment of this family.”

She rolled her eyes and looked at the males in front of her. Challenging.

“It’s unprofessional is it not?” Azriel pointed the question more towards Rhysand than to her. “Emotional entanglements.”

“And who are you to say it’s an emotional entanglement? Maybe it’s just someone to get tangled in.”

He winced at the sharpness of her words. The innuendo behind them. She tried not to note how it bothered him, how deeply it seemed to bother him. He shook it off fast though.

“Because I know you.”

Rhysand strained his neck, trying to make eye contact with Mor, trying to get her to come interrupt this conversation. She would not look at him, choosing this time to not get involved.

His friend and his sister glared at each other still. Azriel using his face of stone cold disinterest as a weapon against her. Waiting for her to push at some unspoken boundary. She broke the silence first. Her tone withering.

“Since when do you care who I fuck?”

Rhysand grimaced. Not particularly caring to hear about this aspect of his sisters life. Not particularly happy with whom she chose to share this aspect of her life with. His disdain for Lucien was made evident to her since this whole affair started many years ago. As unsavory as this conversation was he couldn’t stop himself from looking at Azriel, waiting for his friend’s response, waiting to see how far the spymaster was willing to push his sister.

“I don’t”

Azriel’s answer was quiet and laced with some sort of simmering contempt. He leaned back in his chair, signalling and end to his involvement in this semi pointless discussion. His response washed over her exactly the way he had intended. A wave of cold. Triggering a pounding dissapointment in her. She hadn’t really realized how she had leaned closer to him while they sparred. The embarrassment of it hit her as she let herself fall back into Cassian, let his arm snake its way around her shoulders again. She didn’t look back at Azriel as she said,

“Good. Cassian is next.”

The warrior beside her pumped his fist in mock victory and exclaimed with teasing tone, “FINALLY”

Before putting his fist down at the first glower from his shadowy brother. Cass shot him a smirk before leaning down to her to very audibly whisper,

“I’m free anytime little star. Just give me a shout.”

She pushed her elbow into his ribcage and Cassian laughed through the cough the blow sent through him. Rhys studied Azriel’s features. Noting the jealousy etched across them.

“Enough.”

The one word from Rhysand was enough to quiet his friends.

#azriel x reader #lucien vanserra x reader #azriel shadowsinger #lucien vanserra #acotar #rhysand #morrigan acotar #amren acotar #shadowsinger x reader #night court #bat boys #cassian acotar

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levisjinchuriki · 1 month ago

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look at me — suguru geto

summary — geto makes you watch yourself as you enter subspace

warning — nsfw!, descriptions of subspace, sub!reader, soft!dom geto, cursing, petnames, afab reader, geto talking you through it, overstimulation, mentions of crying, praise kink, choking, geto calling you a "good girl", creampie, raw sex, mirror sex, aftercare, cuddling

your body trembles beneath suguru’s, completely at his mercy as he works you through your orgasm. he’s made you come three times already, and you’re not sure how much more you can take. every nerve in your body is on fire, but there’s a thrill in knowing you can’t stop it—knowing you don’t want to stop it.

you’re on your stomach now, arms stretched out in front of you, fingers clutching at the sheets for some sort of relief, but there’s none to be found. your back is arched, your ass raised as suguru leans his weight into you, his body flush against yours. he’s been unrelenting, each thrust sending shockwaves through your overworked, oversensitive body. the slickness between your thighs, a mixture of both your release and his, only makes it easier for him to slide in deeper.

“look at yourself” he growls lowly, his lips grazing your ear as he leans in close. his voice is dark, full of lust and possessive affection that makes your stomach flutter. “look at how fucking gorgeous you are, taking everything i give you”. suguru’s hand finds its place at the base of your neck, fingers curling around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you lightheaded. he forces your head up, making sure your eyes stay locked on the reflection in the mirror in front of you, reflecting every inch of your bare, quivering body.

suguru’s hair has loosened significantly from his half bun– long locks falling down and framing his face as he ruts into you. he has a sinister smile on his lips as his gaze finds yours in the mirror. he looks beautiful, just like he always does, and the sight alone makes you tighten around him.

your mind feels fuzzy. he’s been going for so long now, pushing you right to the edge and pulling you back until your senses are overwhelmed with nothing but the feeling of him inside you, the pressure around your neck, and his rough, filthy praise. it’s too much. your body is buzzing, overworked, and overstimulated, but you’re desperate for more.

you blink slowly, trying to focus, but it’s difficult. your mind is already starting to slip as the next orgasm approaches fast. your breath is ragged, each inhale shaky as his thrusts never falter, his hips snapping against yours with an intensity that leaves you gasping. the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in the room, mingling with your broken moans and his low grunts.

his hand tightens slightly around your throat, pulling your gaze back to the mirror when your eyelids flutter closed. “i said, look”. his tone is firm, commanding. he knows exactly how to pull you deeper into submission.

“you feel so good” he groans, his gaze never leaving the mirror, watching every expression, every quiver of your body. his dark eyes are filled with lust and he looks at you like you’re his prey for the evening.

you can barely recognize yourself in the reflection. your face is flushed, lips parted as soft, desperate sounds escape you. sweat clings to your skin and your body trembles with each thrust. you feel exposed, vulnerable, but there’s something so intoxicating about it—about seeing the way he owns you, controls you, that makes you come apart again and again.

“that’s it” suguru’s voice is softer now, filled with pride as he watches your reflection. “such a good girl. you’re doing so well for me”.

you whimper in response, the praise making your heart pound faster. every word he speaks only pulls you further into the haze, the pleasure building inside you once again. it’s too much, and yet, you crave more. the way he praises you, the way he looks at you with such intensity and possessiveness—it’s almost too much.

your body arches further as he leans into you, pressing his weight down against you, forcing you to feel every inch of him. his chest is flush against your back, his breath hot against your ear as his pace increases, relentless and precise. you feel the familiar coil of pleasure tightening in your core, the fourth orgasm approaching fast, your body helpless to stop it.

“fuck” suguru groans, his voice strained now as he watches you in the mirror, watches the way your body trembles and quakes beneath him. “so fucking perfect like this”.

the words send a shudder through you, and you feel yourself slipping, your mind starting to drift as the pleasure overtakes you. his grip tightens on your throat again, pulling you back to reality, forcing you to stay with him just a little longer. “don’t you dare close your eyes” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “i want you to see what i see”.

your thoughts are a blur, every sense on fire, but all you can focus on is the hand around your throat, the growing pressure inside you, and the heat of his body pressing against yours. and then, with a particularly rough thrust, you feel it—the snap. the moment when everything in your mind goes still, when you stop thinking. you’re free falling now, completely letting go, allowing the pleasure to consume you. everything is muffled and distant except for suguru’s presence grounding you. your mind begins to float, the weight of everything slipping away as the pleasure consumes you. the light behind your eyes starts to dim, your body giving into him fully. you're entering that space, the one where nothing else matters but suguru's touch, his control, his relentless need for you.

he notices the change instantly.

“there it is” suguru’s says lowly as he watches your reflection. his thrusts don’t stop, his hand still firm around your neck, keeping you tethered to the moment. “that’s it, baby” he praises, his tone full of pride as he watches you slip away.

“cum for me” suguru commands, his voice rough and desperate. “just let go. i’ve got you”.

his voice is your breaking point. the coil inside you snaps, and your body convulses as the fourth orgasm tears through you with a force that leaves you breathless. your eyes flutter closed for a moment as you vision goes white, head heavy as you sink into subspace. the overwhelming sensations—the sound of his voice, the roughness of his touch, the pleasure that’s been building inside you—everything starts to blur together. it’s blissful, almost dreamlike. you’re weightless, the world around you dissolving as you fall deeper, completely at his mercy.

you barely register the way your breath hitches, the whimpers escaping your lips as his movements become more deliberate. each thrust feels deeper, hitting that spot inside you that sends shockwaves through your body. he grinds his hips against yours, drawing out every ounce of pleasure he can from you.

his hand leaves your throat and you have no energy to keep your head up anymore as it falls against the bed. suguru’s hands slide down your body, grabbing your hips as he pounds into you with renewed intensity. you can barely process it anymore, lost in the haze, every part of you reduced to the sensation of him—his voice, his touch, his body owning you completely.

you don’t even realize you’re crying, tears slipping down your cheeks as your body spasms beneath him, another orgasm ripping through you. the pleasure is overwhelming, too much, too intense, but you can’t stop it.

suguru groans loudly, his grip tightening as he holds you close, his thrusts becoming erratic, chasing his own release. he buries his nose into your neck as he pounds into you, becoming greedy and selfish for a moment as he bites your skin.

he curses and you’re dimly aware of him filling you, the warmth spreading through you as he grinds against you, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. he groans loudly in your ear as he comes down from his high, hips pressed tightly against yours.

for a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing, both of you lost in the aftermath of the pleasure.

suguru’s arms wrap around your waist, laying you on your side and pulling you into his arms as he presses soft kisses along your skin. his touch is gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness from before. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just holds you close, knowing you need his comfort after an intense session.

“you did so well, baby” he whispers softly, his voice filled with affection and pride. “i’m so proud of you”. his hand strokes your side, a comforting gesture to ease you back to reality. you can’t respond, body exhausted and mind still floating somewhere far away. though you can’t feel much of anything at the moment, the one thing you are aware of is how safe, cherished, and completely his you feel.

a/n: please send me requests!!

creds: @elryisia

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writtenbymisunderstoodnerds · 4 months ago

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Rock bottom (But you pulled me up) (Ingrid Engen x Reader)

I'm trying to work on my requests and WIP, but inspiration is lacking so I thought I'd try something new. This is my first time writing for someone out of the uswnt and in this style so please let me know what you think.

Warnings: Mentions of depression, anxiety, brief emotional abuse. Slightly suggestive at the end. Anything I've missed let me know.

Words: 2.8K

You could tell Ingrid was hurt, it was written all over her face. She had made you a lovely dinner and just wanted to have a movie night after not spending much time together. Yet here you were making an excuse to leave once again, you felt like a horrible girlfriend. Ingrid had taken the time to do something nice for you, but you couldn't get out of your head enough to enjoy it. Before you had the chance to get up, Ingrid uttered those three words that sent dread coursing through you. "We need to talk."

You swallowed hard before speaking, "About what?"

"You barely spend anytime with me anymore. You never message me first, we only do stuff because I organise it. I don't feel like you want me anymore. You're slipping away. Are you trying to get me to break up with you because this hurts so much more than just doing it yourself."

"No! Ingrid-" Tears stung your eyes as you tried desperately to keep it together. Afraid that if she saw how broken you were she would just leave. Things had been difficult for you lately, you were depressed, anxious and stressed. You felt so close to rock bottom, as a result you had been pulling away from Ingrid. The last thing you wanted was Ingrid to leave you, but you also didn't want to be a burden to her or scare her away with your emotions.

"Then what is it? Did I do something wrong?"

You could practically see the hope disappearing from Ingrid's eyes the longer you didn't answer, leaving hurt in its place. "I feel like when I see you, I need to be able to give you 100% of myself, of my energy and time. I can't do that right now and it makes me feel guilty. Like I'm a horrible girlfriend, that you deserve better than what I'm giving you."

Ingrid took your hand, everything in you fighting the urge to lean into her touch, to fall into the comfort you knew was waiting. If only you could bring yourself to accept it. The voices of your parents and ex-girlfriend hung in the back of your mind stopped you though. The voices that told you you were a burden to the people around you, that everyone had bigger problems to worry about and didn't care about you. The voices that told you Ingrid deserved better than you and your problems.

"Elskling, relationships don't have to be equal all the time. There's times where it'll be 50/50, but there's times where you give 90% and I'll give 10% or the other way round, sometimes it'll be 70/30 or 60/40. You get my point. What's going on? You haven't been yourself lately and it's really worrying me. Talk to me please."

You sighed pulling away from Ingrid to cross your legs under yourself, grabbing a cushion to hold. There was a part of you that thought being single would be easier, that there was less risk of hurting Ingrid that way. At the same time you knew it was those stupid little voices in the back of your mind that kept pushing that thought. You loved Ingrid more than anything in this world and deep down you knew she loved you just as much. You didn't want to let everyone else win, you didn't want to let your mind win for once in your life.

Talking about feelings was incredibly hard, it wasn't something you could do while being comforted by Ingrid or anyone really. "I'm sorry for the way I've been acting lately, it's not fair to you and I know that. I-I'll try to explain it all, bu-but I need you to be patient with me. Just let me speak and not touch me, I can't do this if you do."

"Anything you need. I just need you to know that whatever you tell me, I won't ever judge you. I love you Y/n, I love you so much."

"I love you Ingrid. I'm sorry if I ever made you doubt that. Okay, so I um I think I need to start with why I have such a hard time letting people in, especially those I love. My family, well to put it bluntly they're assholes. They were constantly putting down everything about my sister and I, nothing we ever did was good enough. Any problems we went through were nothing to them, they always told us that people had bigger problems, that they had bigger problems and we were just adding more stress to their lives if we talked to them about anything remotely not positive. Tha-thats the short version anyway. My uh my ex was pretty similar, she would tell me that she had better things to do then deal with my trauma or depression. If I was unhappy she would turn it around, say that she wasn't enough to make me happy. Even before her, I majorly struggled with my feelings and opening up to people. Fear mostly, that's why I um haven't told you anything. Fear that I'll be too much for you and that you'll leave me."

Tears threatened to fall, but pushing them back you continued talking. "I'm really struggling right now Ingrid. My depression is the worst it's been in years. The anxiety just sits there constantly under the surface making it feel impossible to breathe. Constant doubt about if I've made the right decisions, if I'm good enough at football, if I'm good enough for you, there are so many more things I could list. Sometimes I feel like everyone would be better off if I just packed up and left. I'm so sick of feeling like this, but I don't know how to get it to stop. This is probably one of the scariest things I've ever done, but I've had already almost lost you Ingrid. I can't let them win by actually losing you. I love you so fucking much, I can't lose you Ingrid, I can't."

Tears were near pouring out of you both as Ingrid sat there for a second. When you didn't speak she must have decided you were finished talking because the next second arms wrapped around you so tightly and you completely broke. Ingrid held you tight until the sobs turned to sniffles then you feel silent. Ingrid's hold never completely let go, it was like a life line at this point.

"I love you Y/n. I loved you before and I still love you just as much now. I'm not going anywhere. Nothing your parents or ex said is true. I always want to know how and what you're feeling, I will always be here for you. No matter what your mind tells you, you are never too much for me or for the team or anyone who truly loves you. Our lives are so much better with you here so please don't even think about leaving because we will miss you. I will be here every step of the way while you figure things out, I will help you get the help you need. If you need space, I'll give you that, but if you need me here then I will always be here. I know you feel like you need to be giving me all of yourself, all of your energy, but you don't. Even if you can just give me 1% until you get over this bump in the road then that's enough for me. You are enough for me Y/n."

"I think there will be times when I need to be alone, but most of the time I just really want to be with you. I need to work on accepting that I deserve your love and comfort so I actually seek it out when I need it or want it. Some reassurance every now and then will help I think. Can we talk about the next steps tomorrow? I just want you to hold me right now."

"I will give you all the reassurance you need and more. Have you eaten today?" Ingrid asked, but the look in her eyes told you she knew the answer so you just shook your head. "Okay, I'm going to order some food while we cuddle here then we can go to bed."

True to her word, Ingrid held you tightly while you lay on the couch, staying close to your side during dinner and as you got ready for bed. "Thank you, for everything you've done, for being here, for loving me."

Ingrid kissed you softly, before pulling away and leaving soft kisses over your face, "Always."

Lying in bed later that night, head resting against Ingrid's chest, you decided to admit the one thing that kept swirling around your mind, "I think I need to take a break from football. Not the training, I think that helps me, but games. The pressure that comes from each game feels like weight being added. Makes me feel like I'm being dragged further down into this hole."

"Okay, if that's what you feel you need then we can talk to the coaches or Ale and she can sort it out. I know the thought of telling anyone else what is going on is scary, but Ale or anyone else on the team aren't going to judge you or think any less of you because of it."

"I think maybe we can talk to Alexia, not tell her everything, but the jist of it."

"I'll be by your side when you're ready." ---

It had been a few weeks since the talk with Ingrid and since you made the decision to stop playing in games for a while. The only person who knew why was Alexia, it was clear that everyone else was worried, but until now you hadn't felt ready to tell them and thankfully they didn't push.

There was still a long way to go, but things had been slowly getting better over the last few weeks. You had started seeing the team therapist multiple times a week and had restarted medication for the time being at least. Everything was starting to become clearer, you weren't as anxious all the time, you were becoming more willing to talk to Ingrid, to actually spend time with her without worrying about not being enough, and smiles and laughs were becoming more genuine when they did happened.

The team had been amazing despite not knowing what was going on, they were as supportive and loving as ever. So you decided it was time to let them in a little bit. You squeezed Ingrid's hand, getting her attention as you spoke quietly, "Can you get their attention please? I know they're worried about me and I think I'm ready to tell them."

"Hey! Can we have your attention for a minute."

Once everyone's attention was on you, the anxiousness started to creep in, but with Ingrid's hand still firmly holding yours, you took a deep breath and spoke, "I know you've all be wondering why I've effectively benched my self the last couple of weeks and I want to be honest about it. I've uh I've been um struggling a lot mentally at the moment and I decided I needed a break. The pressure was too much, I couldn't handle it on top of everything else. So uh yeah, I don't want you guys to keep worrying about me."

It was quiet for a few seconds before many arms wrapped themselves around you, mumbled we love you's and we're proud of you's were heard as you sunk into the arms of your teammates. Surprisingly, Mapi was the first to pull away, cupping your cheeks as she spoke uncharacteristically softly, "You keep doing what you're doing and come back to us when you're ready. You always have is in your corner Y/n. We are so proud of you and we love you. If there's anything you ever need you can come to us okay?"

"Thank you Mapi. Thanks all of you." --- A few months had passed and you were finally feeling like yourself again. There were still hard days, you were pretty sure there always would be, but you were genuinely happy again most of the time. You found yourself more willing to open up to not just Ingrid, but some of the other girls you were closest to. It was safe to say your life was pretty well back on track, there was just one thing left to do and that was get back to football. You hadn't told anyone of your plans to start playing games again, you had just been put in the line up as a sub, but after conversations with the coaching staff you knew you were likely to come in at half time.

When the line up came out, Alexia was the first to notice and speak up effectively getting everyone else's attention, "Y/n?"

"Yes Ale?"

"Is there anything you want to tell us?"

Ingrid looked at you confused as you shrugged trying to be as innocent as possible while knowing exactly what she was talking about. "Oh really? Well how about the small fact that your name is on the substitute list again?"

"Oh yeah. That is a thing I guess."

Smiles grew on everyone's faces as it clicked what was happening. Ingrid practically jumped on you repeating over and over how proud she was, kisses placed over your faces. The team joined not long after, everyone cheered and congratulated you.

"Okay okay, you can let go of me now. Yes I finally feel ready to come back."

Once everyone had let you go, Alexia pulled you up into a hug. Since she found out about your struggles, Alexia had been amazing. She was always subtly checking in whether you were at training or not, she would pull you away when everything got too overwhelming and Ingrid was busy, making some excuse so know one else would know the truth. Alexia was always just there in a way that was subtle and comforting. "Well we're so so glad you're back. I'm so proud of you Y/n."

"Thank you Ale, for everything."

As soon as your foot hit the pitch, you felt the excitement, adrenaline and happiness that you thought may have been gone for good. You felt yourself falling in love with football all over again, it was like the final weight had fallen from your shoulders. There would always be bad days or even bad weeks, you knew that, but with Ingrid, your family and your new found coping mechanisms, you finally felt ready to face them.

---

You arms wrapped around Ingrid as she chopped the vegetables, she briefly turned to kiss your cheek before going back to her task. "Hi Elskling, you played really well today. How did it feel?"

"Hey love. It felt incredible, I know I needed a break, but man did I miss it. Anyway, enough about me I have a surprise for you. I was originally going to give it to you after dinner, but I can't wait anymore. Here." You replied, placing an envelope on the counter in front of her. You could never express how thankful you were for everything Ingrid had done for you over the last few months, for sticking by your side through everything. So instead you had decided to start with a few days away in Venice. It was something she had wanted to do for a while and you decided to make it happen.

Ingrid looked at you for a second before opening the envelope, a smile appearing as she looked at the tickets inside. "What's this?"

"I know what you're going to say to this, but I am so thankful for everything you've done for me. Sure we've spent a lot of time together, but it hasn't been the quality, good time you deserve. So you and I are going to spend a few days alone in Venice in a couple of weeks when we have a bit of time off. Now I don't want to hear any buts or I didn't have to do this, just say you're excited and give me a kiss."

Ingrid cupped your cheeks, allowing you to press her against the counter as she pulled you in for a lingering kiss. Just as Ingrid went to pull away, you cupped the back of her neck pulling her back in as the kiss grew heated. You didn't want to say that you stopped enjoying Ingrid's kisses because that's impossible, it was just intimacy beyond cuddling between the two of you had dropped off to almost nothing the last few months. There were still short kisses here and there, but you couldn't get out of your head long enough to actually be present for anything more and that wasn't fair to Ingrid. Your lips moved along her jaw as a quite moan slipped past Ingrid's lips.

"Di-dinner," Ingrid moaned as your hand slipped under her shirt.

Ingrid's legs wrapped around your waist as you walked back to the bedroom, "Dinner can wait."

#ingrid engen #woso imagines #woso imagine #woso fanfics #ingrid engen x reader #woso

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prettyboykatsuki · 2 months ago

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give yourself up, my treat | h. sakura

✮ tags ; afab + fem!reader (referred to as girlfriend, descriptions of makeup and nails), implied to be shorter than sakura, omorashi, piss!!!! / wetting, humiliation, lots of crying / embarrassment, praise kink, somewhat public, femdom, depictions of subspace, d/s dynamics, like... soft loving sex as aftercare but this is honestly pure kink lol sorry, 18+

✮ wc ; 4.6k (i dont want to talk about it man)

✮ a/n ; this is piss kink. like. full stop. full stop omorashi. im warning you now that this is piss kink to the highest extent. srry sakura . finally let him top and it was after making him piss himself. rip

also!! while sakura is describing how shameful he feels he is doing this all very willingly. they have a safeword but sakura does not feel any need to use it.

✮ synopsis ; sakura lets you push his limits any way you please.

Sakura listens to everything you say. Like some kind of moron.

Can’t help himself really, as much as it irritates him to admit.

That’s always just been his instinct. Any time he finds himself in unfamiliar waters, he leans into that as much as possible. He’s survived a long time by trusting his intuition and a longstanding distrust of other people. It speaks a lot to someone's character usually if Sakura is even mildly inclined to trust them.

He isn’t sure if it’s his intuition that drives him to follow your order without question, but it’s a strong enough pull he finds he can’t help himself even when he so, so badly wants to resist it.

It’s not Sakura’s fault. It’s not really yours either. That’s just how you’ve always been. How its always been.

(Once, well before you and Sakura were a thing - Nirei had made an observation about you. Called you disarming. Suo laughed and agreed before adding that it felt a little misleading to describe you that way even if it was true.

You had just moved into the area after a disciplinary case in your hometown. You’d beat up another student who was bullying your friend, got expelled and moved out on your own after the fact. Cut ties with your family and everything.

Despite the general air of mystery around you, there was something about you that Sakura felt pulled him in. For some reason, you never triggered his fight or flight even when it was way easier to do it. For some reason you made him comfortable, always knowing his limits and rarely teasing him even for laughs.

An undeniable magnetism to you appealed to him a lot more than it repulsed him. )

Over the years, Sakura has mulled a lot over your relationship. How you approached him at fifteen with a cool, carefree attitude that left him uselessly infatuated against his will. How you took your time in getting to know him for years. Later, how you confessed. Roped him into the relationship so seamlessly that by the time things happened for real, Sakura felt totally unnerved by how inevitable—how deliberate you were about it right from the start. Something that occurred to him too late.

You’ve always been good at placating his many troubles too, even when you’re the cause of them. His lingering paranoia, his serious attitude, his inability to deal with compliments. You handle all of it with such grace it’s like those parts of him don’t even exist. Maybe it’s because you went through something similar to him, but you understand all of it well - though you dealt with it in the opposite way he does.

Your carefree acceptance has proved to have a good influence on him. He’s less anxious and more relaxed around you. He always feels like listening to you, and always does - and after dating for four years, he’s rarely mad about it.

Sakura always listens to everything you say because some part of him is conditioned too. His body does it instinctively, placing more trust in your words than he does in even himself. You’ve built that in him.

As troublesome as you can be, you’ve yet to lead him astray.

Embarrassing as it is, a long relationship has instilled a sense of obedience to you and his… love for you that runs deeper even than his intuition.

That’s why, when you tell Sakura to—

“Drink,”

—he does it without hesitation.

He drinks another cup of tea in one gulp before wiping the corner of his lip as you smile at him very briefly.

He no longer feels a clear sense of how much time has passed, despite the fact he’s currently very sober.

Cramped against the wall, Sakura’s head spins as you lean your weight against his other side and chat with Umemiya over drinks. An airy smile on your lips and gentle look in your eye. Damn you.

His chest heaves as the thick, warm air enters his lungs and stifles his already difficult breathing further. Dim lights overhead cast shadow underneath the table and only barely illuminate the topside well enough to see the remnants of a long night. Empty glasses, canisters of beer and shochu as well as a variety of small plates cleared of everything apart from stray crumbs littering its surface.

Around him, his loved ones part into small groups and chat amongst each other. Sakura has no idea what the topic of conversation is anymore. He hasn’t heard anything other than the sound of your voice in his head for an hour and hasn’t spoken up for the last thirty minutes. When someone tries to call him into conversation, he mumbles something before you speak for him and no one bats an eye at this for which Sakura’s fucking grateful.

It’s so hard to think of anything when his bladder feels this painfully full.

His head is filled with white noise, red flush crawling even further along his neck until it dusts along his nose - up to the ends of his ears. Under the table, your fingers drift subtly to his inner thigh and push inward. Sakura winces, biting back a pathetic little whimper and glaring at you weakly from the corner of his eyes.

This is torture.

You aimlessly draw something in his thigh with your fingers before smiling gently as you nudge another cup of lukewarm tea his way. Leaning in while your conversation partners are all distracted by ordering something else, you whisper into his ear. The light warmth of your breath makes him shake, painful pressure in his abdomen steadily increases as the liquid starts to travel down his throat. Your hand is careful as it slides underneath his black t-shirt and lightly grazes his skin. It’s dark enough to not be obvious. The dull ends of your manicured nails scratch lightly at the soft, lower swell of his belly before the pads of your fingers push hard into his core.

His body gives into the pressure, eyes widening with fear at the sudden sensation. He barely stifles a gasp before shooting you another mean look you easily ignore.

“Haruka,” You hand him his cup again, filled to the very brim with liquid. “Drink some more tea,”

He grits his teeth.

“Fucksake. I can’t—I can’t.”

You raise an eyebrow as your hand smooth down his thighs. Your lips quirk up into a smile so smug it nearly rocks him out of his anger.

“Is that right?”

A test. He’s always welcome to give up. He knows that. He knows that if he does you won’t hold it against him either. You want him to do it because he wanted too, always. He hates that about you.

Sakura grinds his teeth and takes a hold of the ceramic tea cup, knocking the lukewarm tea back in one go. Your expression morphs into something pleased and endeared from the corner of his eyes and his heart starts to flutter. He isn’t sure if he’s thankful or not for all the people around, for the environment.

It gives you free reign to lean even further into him and whisper the words he’s been desperately aching to hear all evening.

“Good boy,” You hum, careful and deliberate. A innocent kiss gets placed on his cheek, the lipgloss dampening his skin. “You’re being so, so strong.”

The words him melt him unwittingly. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, the rush of affection threads through his nerves and unwinds his sense of danger further. Enough that he might slip completely. He has to hold it until the clock hits midnight. Just until then. You’ll take a cab home and Sakura will relieve himself finally, finally. It’s seventeen more minutes until he can go home and empty his bladder. He can’t screw up now.

This is the first time you’ve made Sakura hold in public. You’ve always been considerate enough to do it at home where the safety net of your mutual understanding and familiar bathroom are there even if he fails to keep it in. Even if he pissed himself in your living room or in your bedroom - it can be dry cleaned or tossed. Most of all there’s no one to explain it too.

In public it’s different. He could pretend that he’s drunk and while it wouldn’t be less fucking embarrassing - at least it’s understandable. Sakura is sure that’s part of the reason you chose a place like this do to attempt such a public play. To give him the out, just in case.

But regardless, the shame and humiliation of not being able to hold it in front of everyone he knows is a threat. It’s just so goddamn embarrassing. So horrible and awful. The anxiety makes his stomach churn but he can’t focus on a damn thing else.

He has to go. He has too.

He always whines about how much he hates this but you both know he doesn’t entirely mean it. It’s not that he likes this miserable sensation, as much as he likes how you get off on it. How sadistic it turns his unusually kind and light-hearted girlfriend.

You’ve always relished in Sakura’s shame like the freak you are. Pure pleasure on your face and absolute adoration as you watched Sakura break apart slowly and guide him through it with hushed whispers. Watching the light color of his jeans or joggers stain dark from wetness or watch him be jostle around enough to almost piss but not enough to give him actual relief. Teasing him until he trickles and makes his own boxers damp enough to be uncomfortable—to be cognizant of the fact he’s pissed himself helplessly while not being able to take care of it on his own. Not without your explicit permission.

You’ve done all sorts of play together. Usually, you have and indoor date and movie night where Sakura knocks back a few liters over of water over long few hours and gets increasingly desperate. And you get him hard during that, always sure to tease him until he’s just on the edge of wetting himself.

You always shower together afterwards. Yet, you don’t hesitate to touch Sakura’s soft, piss soaked cock with reverence either way. Quick to praise him, whether or not he’s failed or succeeded in holding it. Despite how shameful the whole thing is and how much he protested it at the start - some part of him deep, deep down can admit he sort of likes it. Or at least, he likes the pleasure he gets from you when you take the reigns.

It feels good, though he really resents even kind of admitting that. The relief from holding and holding and holding and then finally getting to let go is just as good every time. Pissing himself always feels good in the moment.

And you’re always so aroused by him after. He likes that way more than everything else being frank. Likes the way you get wet over his humiliation. Likes how softly you stroke and lick his cock when he’s all cleaned up, eyes lidded and full of pure love as he gets to cum too - another reward for holding in so well. He loves the warm whispers of good boy against his neck and shoulders when you finally sink down on his length and the way you feel when he holds you in his lap and buries his face into your shoulder.

All of that feels so much better when he does what he’s told and he likes listening to you. So even though it’s usually against his best interest in conditions like these - he bites his tongue and continues to drink until he feels like he’s sating your appetite, silently ignoring the ballooning in his bladder only getting worse with each pass of breath.

And he drinks, and drinks, and drinks until the clock hits midnight.

You’re deliberately brutal in the last seventeen minutes. In that time, you make Sakura down at least another half liter of liquid and continue to tease him all the way until the izakaya closes. He’s antsy by the time the night ends. His friends slowly disperse outside and go home in different directions until it’s just the two of you waiting for a taxi to come pick you up.

Sakura is counting the fucking seconds.

He needs to go, but he doesn’t want to piss himself in the taxi. His legs are crossed, shifting his weight anxiously as you hold his hand and smile plainly like nothing in the world is going on.

Another two minutes until the cab arrives, another twelve to go home. You hum to yourself as you reach your hand up and caress the back of his neck, palm brushing the trimmed hair and sliding slowly over his rapid pulse and flush skin. With no one around, you don’t bother hiding your intentions. You slide your hand just into the waistband of his black jeans, just above his soft cock.

His brows raise high as your eyes lock.

And then you push at that angle - push hard enough he feels a slight trickle. Not enough to stain his light-wash jeans, but enough that the fabric of his underwear is noticeably damp. Sweat forms at his temple from a mix of stress and shame - eyes screwed closed as he curses. He’s afraid to look at you but does anyway.

You’re smiling just as warmly as he thought you’d be. His voice cracks under the weight.

He thinks this is the hardest it’s ever been. The pressure is so much stronger when there’s stakes and Sakura is mildly horrified. And he has to go so bad, so bad he can’t think of anything else.

“Fucking—,” He crumbles, feeling shameful and red faced and lightheaded as he admits this to you with trembling lips and terrified eyes. “Dunno if I can make it home, I need to - “

You stand in front of him and push up slightly to kiss him. It’s a nice distraction. Your soft, sweet lips salve his nerves just a touch. You gaze up at him lovingly.

“It’s okay baby, promise. Home soon.”

The words of protest die on his lips. Despite being taller than you, Sakura finds himself feeling so incredibly small. So incredibly helpless and so, so dependent on you in that moment he hardly knows what to do with himself. It usually takes him longer to get like this. You’re the only that can bat for him if he really does wet himself. He’s doing everything you say, being obedient, chasing after the familiar high of the aftermath and it’s sinking him so deep into that headspace. He feels suspended in air.

He grips your hands a little tighter and you smile at him. His brows furrow.

“Wanna hold me a little baby? On the way home.”

He nods feeling as tender as ever and you nod back, kissing his temple.

“Mm. Good boy. It’s okay.”

He hides a whimper into your hair as he hugs you from behind, a light laugh leaving your lips when he does. Two minutes feels like two hours.

The taxi pulls up not long after. You open the doors for him and talk to the driver, giving him your address. Something plays on the radio that gets turned up to give you and Sakura some room as the driver makes way. It’s a short, short drive over to your apartment. Just seven minutes.

As soon as the driver steps on the gas, Sakura turns his gaze on you pleadingly. And you smile at him, shifting to lay a little against his chest. He buries his face against your shoulder in measured breaths as your other hand comes up to play with his hair.

“You’re extra whiny today,” You whisper without any malice. A doting edge to your words. “Can’t help it can you? We’re almost home, baby.”

Sakura bites back another whimper, mustering as much sense into his speech as he can though he hardly wants to talk. Hardly wants to think, either.

“So close, Haruka. Just a little more and then you can go.” You nudge him with your nose “Such a good boy.”

“So full,” The words come out hot, on a heavy breath as his hand grips your waist tighter. “Can’t—no more,”

“Shh,” You soothe. The shared affection between you looks like normal PDA through the reflection in the drivers mirror and it makes him feel even more self-conscious. “Three more minutes, Haru. A minute or two to walk in. Two minutes in the elevator, and another two to get the door unlocked. Nine minutes. You’ve held it for so long. I know you can hold it in a little longer.”

He grits his teeth and closes his eyes. “Tell me I’m good.”

“So good baby.” You nuzzle against the crown of his head. “So, so good.”

The next few minutes feel like a complete blur.

One more light until the driver pulls into the parking lot of your complex, politely wishing you goodnight before pulling away. Sakura nearly has to lean on you as you walk into the empty elevator and take the trip upstairs. His grip on your hand is tight as you lead him through the corridor, grips even tighter as you fish your keys out from your purse and unlock the door.

The sound of the lock undoing makes Sakura feel so relieved. You usher him in carefully, his thighs tight and knees nearly buckling from the pressure of his bladder. He’s so full it’s painful, so full it aches and it’s so much he can’t think about anything except that and how much he wants to be free from it. He's delirious and sweaty. He just needs to go so badly.

He tries to rush to the bathroom but jostling around while he walks doesn't work out well.

A looming sense of panic sets in immediately.. He knows what's coming instinctively - the uncontrollable relaxation on his muscles when his body has reached his limit. He looks up at you pleadingly, though he’s not sure what he’s even asking you for.

He can’t think. Barely moving as something starts to unfold inside of him, crashing into him all at once.

It’s obvious that he’d start to feel the urge to piss when he's comfortable at hom, finally in his own space but—

He shakes his head, looking at you with blown out eyes.

“I can’t,” He hiccups as he shuffles closer and closer to the living room, teary at his lashline Trying his best to get to the bathroom and failing. “Can’t make it to the—fuck, please, I can’t. It’s.—It’s gonna, I’m gonna -“

Your eyes widen in understanding as you crouch just at the entrance alongside him, petting his back.

“Oh sweetheart,” Your voice is the softest, sweetest sound he’s heard all night. “Poor thing. Shh, it’s okay baby. Let go. It’s alright, I promise. You did so good.”

Something in him...breaks. Shatters.

His eyes go wide before they blur with tears and piss leaks from between his legs unwittingly.

Sakura is reduced down to sobbing. His whole body shudders so hard, he’s knees buckling under the weight as the pressure finally stops. He can’t help but listen, even though he’s so, so ashamed of himself.

Fuck. Fuck, it feels so good.

Sakura finally, finally lets go. He crumbles under his own weight, shrinking down to his knees as he feels it soak through the layers in a hot rush between his legs. His clothes dampen and drench as he lets out long breaths. You card your fingers through his hair as he sobs through the endless stream. It feels like it’s never going to stop. He can’t open his eyes to look but he can feel the puddle forming underneath him, how it soaks into his jeans and shoes and makes them wet. How ashamed and humiliated he feels being completely unable to stop himself from wetting himself. It flows and flows and flows, testament to just how much he had to drink.

The entirety of his pant leg is soaked with his own piss and mess. Embarrassment makes him curl up as he’s unable to stop once he starts. It goes on for so long. But it feels so good to let it out. The sheer sense of relief is more of what’s making him sob than anything else.

Piss trickles down his legs as he heaves through deep breaths and short sobs. He feels your hands cup his face as you bend in a squat, unconcerned with the way it splashes against your shoes or tights. When he finally gets his vision back as you swipe his tears away, you’re looking at him with such reverence he wants to cry all over again.

“You did so good baby,” You praise, warming him. You kiss him on the lips first before brushing against the crown of his head. “So good. You’re so perfect. Let’s get you cleaned up, hm? Give you you your reward.”

He sniffles as he stares at you. “You’re such a damn pervert.”

You laugh a little. “Mm, that’s true. Sorry, baby.”

Clean-up is always less of a hassle then he expects it to be.

Maybe because you have a routine for it now, but it doesn’t take very long at all. You do most of the heavy lifting during it which only worsens the feeling helplessness Sakura has been experiencing for the last few hours. He doesn’t make any effort to get away or out from that headspace, though it dies down with time. The promise of a reward has been the only thing keeping him level for hours now and he’d be damned to let it all go to waste after he worked so hard.

After a long, warm shower and change of clothes - Sakura finally gets what he wants more than anything.

Affection and attention.

In the safety of your bedroom, Sakura feels particularly floaty as he holds you in your lap. Lazy and worn out, he nuzzles himself against your neck as he feels your naked torso squish against his. He’s too embarrassed to tell you verbally like this that he loves you and hopes the nuzzling does the job for him.

Your nails feel good on his scalp as you card them again through his wet hair. Your skin smells nice too, and you’re soft and warm. The mellow thump of your heartbeat soothes him as you shower him in endless praise. It’s usually impossible for you to do this. Only when he’s bone tired like this do you get the chance.

Too embarrassing to let you do it unless he’s worked hard for it like he did today.

Sakura feels his length slide against your pussy and lets out a soft noise. You’re always so wet during this kind of play. It makes him feel wanted in a way he finds cringeworthy and doesn’t dare voice. Still, he doesn’t mind the feeling - aimlessly sliding his hips up and against your slick folds with a huff.

You do him the favor of moving. Copying the gesture by sliding yourself up and against his cock without penetration. His fingers tighten on your hips, cock painfully sensitive as he whimpers. Pre-cum leaks from his tip, weepy and spent and red as he humps against you even harder - lost in the sensation.

“Wanna cum like this Haruka? Don’t need to ask permission.”

“Nghh.”

He nods wordlessly as you grind yourself down harder onto him. His tip passes over your clit enough times to make you sigh pleasantly, and that sound drives him over the edge. Thick ropes of white cum spills against your soft pussy as Sakura moans and shudders violently. Despite how close you are, he can’t help but feel like it’s not close enough.

Maybe you sense it, because you do him the favor of sliding yourself onto his half hard cock without so much as another word. It’s still not enough for him, but it sates him better than before at least. He wraps his arms around you hard and squeezes tight. Just for a little while.

He scowls a little as he looks up at you, sobering up enough to form a sentence after spending some time hugging you. “Have you cum yet?”

“Don’t worry about it, baby.”

“Shut up,” He replies with no bite and a scowl. Another flush crawls across his face. “I can make you feel good too.”

You raise your eyebrow.

“Sounds like you’re declaring war not trying to give me an orgasm. I’m glad I made you feel good though,” You add cheekily. He flusters immediately, instinctively getting aggressive but not wanting to shove you off of him even as you break out into a fit of laughter.

“Fuck off. I d-don’t feel good doing that weird shit with you. I only do it because - “

You interject. “Because you love me? That’s a better reason to you? How sweet Haru.”

He frowns deeply.

“Be quiet, you—don’t put words in my mouth, damn it.”

“Pfft, okay. I’m sorry. I hope I’m not pushing you too much.”

He huffs a little, pouting as he goes back to pressing his cheek to your skin. His voice is a touch softer than it was before.

“I don’t do things for bullshit reasons. Stupid.”

“I’m glad, then. Even so, you had a tough time today hm? So I’ll let you fuck me as much as you like. Just do whatever you feel like.”

“I wanna…return to the favor or whatever.” He says after thinking on it. “Just… wanna make you feel good too. Like….” His voice goes small “…You make me feel. Or whatever.”

You smile at him. He can feel it, not see it. He’s avoiding looking at your face since he’s sure you’re all goofy and loveydovey.

“The floor is all yours. No rush though okay? I like spoiling you and we’ve got all night.”

Sakura scowls, casting his gaze down at the bedroom floor. “….I love you.”

You smile and press another kiss to his head. He feels so content he wants to die. Your reply comes easily anyway.

“I love you too, Haruka.”

#piss cw #writing tag #sakura x reader #sakura smut #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker smut #tbh this is not worth tagging its simply too niche but who cares

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badaleesbish · 1 month ago

Note

Hello!! Would it be alright to request prompt 12, interlacing fingers during it.. with Dom Bada, please? Smutty flutf?

☆ { interlacing } your fingers during it

°PAIRINGS:

𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚖!𝚋𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚡 𝚟𝚒𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚗!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

°CW:

𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆, 𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚢, 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙-𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚋𝚊𝚍𝚊 𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜... 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙵 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳‼️ 𝚂𝙾𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴𝚂‼️

She was so gentle. The way her touch felt like a feather against your boiling skin, caressing every inch of your body. Like your body was some sort of fine china, antique that she couldn't dare be scratched.

She was so soft. Her kiss felt so warm and pillowy against yours, heavy breathing between the two of you as seep into one another.

"Tell me if you want to stop, okay?" Bada whispered against your lips as she pulled away to adjust the harness around her waist.

Bada looked up from the strap, giving you a sly smirk as you watched in curiosity, awe as she stroked the dildo with this liquid substance,

"Bada... what's that for." You asked curiously.

"It's lube. It will make you feel good and make it easier for both of us." Bada started, ".... even though I don't think we need much." Bada crawled over you, slipping two fingers through your folds, ".... since you're so wet for me, sweet girl."

You were nervous. There's no other way to put it and not even lie, you were scared shit less. Bada positioned herself between your legs, rubbing the silicone item against your core. You winced at the pressure, squeezing your eyes tightly shut as Bada began to ease into you. You couldn't do it. You placed your hand against Bada's lower stomach, gently pushing her away,

"Wait..." You said nervously.

Bada stopped her actions, "What's wrong, baby?" Grabbing your hand, interlocking your fingers with hers. "Tell me, it's okay."

"I'm... I'm scared..." You sighed, looking down in embarrassment. This isn't something you should be embarrassed about. It is your first time, so it's normal to be nervous, scared, and not know exactly what to do. You trust Bada, but this is a bit scary, though.

Bada cradled your cheek, bringing your hand to her lips, kissing your knuckles with her soft plush lips, "We don't have to do this, sweetheart. I understand."

"No, I want to..." You leaned into her touch, hand gripping onto her wrist as you looked into her eyes, "Just be gentle, go slow, please."

"Of course, my love." Bada adjusted herself between your legs once again, bringing her hands down to your waist, rubbing the skin as she eased slowly into you.

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, gripping onto the sheets beneath you. You winced at the pressure and slightly pain, biting down on your lip, it was so uncomfortable.

"Baby..." Bada called out, "Look at me." She interlocked your hands once more. "It will feel better soon, I promise. You trust me, right?"

You opened your eyes, locking with Bada's, nodding to answer her.

"I need to hear you say it..." Bada began to move her hips more. "Say it... say you trust me."

You opened your mouth to speak, as the feeling of pain and pressure slowly seeped away as pleasure took its place, "I... trust... you... Bada..."

Bada began to thrust into you inch by inch as her pace became faster. Her hand slid down your body, up your thigh, pulling it up around her waist as you wrap the other around, as well as pulling Bada's body close to yours,

"That's it, baby... pull me close." Bada gripped the pillows above your head as she sunk deeper into you. Your grip on Bada's hand tightened, "Bada... feel 's good..."

Bada smirked, leaning down, placing her lips onto yours, swallowing each of your moans, "You're so beautiful, so beautiful..." Bada's lips trailed along your skin from your lips to your neck, her kisses just as gentle and light as before. Bada lifted her head from your neck, watching as you take her so well, bringing your hand to her lips again, "You're doing so well, baby." She grunts, "I'm so fucking proud... you make me so fucking proud."

"Bada..." Your breathing increased as this foreign feeling coursed through your body. This was nothing like how it felt if you touch yourself it engulfs you and doesn't let go. "I think..."

"Cum for me..." Bada snapped her hips sharply between each word of her sentence, the sound of your thighs slapping against Bada's hips filled your ears as you unravel beneath her, "Oh... Bada..."

Bada slowly pulled out of you, removing the harness from her waist and placed it to the side. Laying next to you bringing you close to her as you place your head against her chest, reaching for her hand and interlacing them once more.

"Thank you for taking care of me and being so gentle..." You said, kissing her knuckles, "and for being my first."

"Of course, my love." Bada said, kissing your forehead, "Thank you for allowing me to be your first."

#bada lee #bada lee smut #bada lee imagine #bada lee x reader #bada x reader #street woman fighter x reader #team bebe #street woman fighter 2 #swf2

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kiryoutann · 4 months ago

Text

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

Simon fucks you like a lover returned home from war.

Strong hands lifted you onto the kitchen counter; the sudden movement made you gasp before it was swallowed by his lips. He kissed with urgency, almost brutal in its intensity—tongue tracing each of your teeth, sucking lightly on yours as he tilted his head to continue deepening the kiss. You sigh—thighs clad in thin stockings clamp down on his hips, feeling his jeans against the inside of your knees.

Much like a stray dog to an open door of a house. Like fangs on flesh. His entire digits are famished, looking for solace that seeps through your skin. He traces the curves of your body as if time is his biggest enemy and every second snatched is a victory.

You tangle your fingers in his blonde hair, pulling him to trail kisses down your jaw. His stubble scrapes your skin. Your pulse sped as you felt him begin making his way down your neck. Placing a hand against his solid chest, you pushed him away, creating a small distance between you.

“Wait,” you interrupted. “Please don't leave marks. I have practice early, and the director, he'll..." Your words trail off in a mumble.

The disappointed grunt that he lets out almost escapes your notice. “Right, can't be having that, now can we?”

Simon, in opposition to what he had said, leaned closer still and planted his lips in the hollow of your neck. It curved your back, drawing a breathy gasp out of you. His hand slides down to grip your ass, bringing you closer against the hard evidence of his arousal. Slowly, his fingers slipped under your sweater. He finds your breasts, giving one experimental squeeze before the second. Your head was thrown back as you let out a sigh.

“Fucking things,” Simon grumbled almost offended when he felt the barrier between his palm and your thigh – your stocking getting in the way. He lifted his head and looked at you, “Let’s get you out of this, yeah?”

A shy smile curves your kiss-swollen lips as you give him a nod. It was quite amusing, seeing a man his size so undone by a thin piece of fabric. You straightened your legs to make his job easier.

“Good girl,” he says, and your core throbs excitedly from the praise.

Simon rolled the stockings down your legs, calloused fingers rubbing over your shins. You hold your breath from the contact. As the lace is finally removed, your feet feel a sudden exposure to the coolness. You watched him slowly roll the stockings into a slim coil before placing them on the edge of the counter.

When he leans in close again and claims a spot between your spread legs, you take the chance like the sly fox that you are. Overpowered by the desire to feel him again, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a new kiss. Simon's teeth graze yours as he grips your curved spine and grinds his hips even harder into your soaked underwear. Needy moans spill from your throat.

Then your hands flew to his trousers, fumbling for the zip. Simon grabbed your wrist, ending the kiss, and pulled back just enough to see what you were going to do.

“What’re you up to?”

It's frustrating; he's frustrating. He knows what you're trying to do, yet he still asks, as if he's waiting for you to openly admit it.

Biting your lip, you try, “I want to feel you.”

For a moment, he hesitates in consideration as he sweeps his gaze over your exposed position. Panic seized you for an instant. Just because you did it last time doesn't mean he's necessarily okay with doing it again. Perhaps your eager desire has clouded your judgment, and you wonder if all he wanted was some harmless make-out, nothing more.

“Turn around for me, love.” He rasps before you can speak again.

Your eyes flickered at his command. Giving a hesitant nod, you turned around; elbows resting on the cool granite beneath you. Your thighs clenched self-consciously.

Glancing over your shoulder, you ask in a small voice, “Like this?”

“Aye, just like that,” he replies, burning a hole in the back of your head.

Despite the sense of vulnerability that came with surrendering control, it ignited something within you. This trust you placed in a barely known man, this risk you took—was it bravery or recklessness? Like clay for his hands to shape, a canvas for his passion to paint. The thrill of not knowing in which way he would touch you set your pulse racing, making your heart beat faster with each passing moment.

When his fingers hook the waistband of your panties, you hold your breath. Slowly, he pulls the lace down your thighs, and you heat up with each new patch of skin revealed. By the time the fabric reaches your feet, you well realize you're a dripping mess—this tight, little hole begging for his touch, his mouth.

Gripping your thighs, he spreads your folds open before bending to place an open-mouthed kiss. You gasp, your back arching as he explores with his lips and tongue. His nails dig deeper holding your writhing form. The sounds that came out of you increased in pitch with each swipe and suck.

“Mmmfh—! Haah~! Simon!!”

Simon removed his lips from your cunt, replacing them by planting two digits into your silky hole. He's knuckle-deep in your heat. One thickly corded hand circles around your shoulders, aligning your soft curves to his hard chest. Your moans become more intense when his fingers curl inside you, opening you even further with slow, steady pumps.

It was a beautiful painting, and Simon weaved this moment by moment into his hippocampus. Your sweat-slicked hair. Your lips, he knew, were gaping with desire. The perfect cheek of your ass as he continues to hitch your skirt higher to access your swollen flesh further. All else is insignificant, though, when you utter his name aloud like a reverent preacher's prayer—this one has the ability to make his cock throb for attention beneath his jeans.

“Relax that gorgeous body for me, darling.” He whispered next to your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

The words he growled became indistinct as he continued to gently seal his lips around your earlobe. His inked hands embrace you tighter. White patches began to form in your mind; your breath came in short gasps. Your focus spreads before narrowing at the sensation of the knot threatening to untie in your lower stomach.

Quickly, Simon withdrew his fingers to work open his zip. Pulling out his cock, he clicked his tongue, seeing the glistening pre-cum on its tip. He was ready to sink home at last, to breach inside. However, his semi-conscious brain was spinning, knowing that he had forgotten something

"Shit, where's the rubber?" he asked.

“Don’t bother.”

Your murmur shocked both you and Simon. No sensible woman would risk it all just for a taste, and only the reckless would dare to bet on the possibility that carnal pleasures could bloom into something real. However, the words have been spoken, and only a coward would take them back. You never claimed to be the wiser. This oblivion is the only type of surrender that you can provide.

Simon doesn't seem to be all that different either.

In one deep thrust, he sheathed himself to the hilt, seating his thick girth in your tight channel. Simon could hardly contain the moan at the corner of his throat as your raw, exquisite heat enveloped him. His massive hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he tried to find his pace. As he began to move consistently, your throat remained tight and continued to drag out the strings of his name in the lewdest way.

Your thoughts were cloudy, centered solely on the feeling of his naked cock clamped between your walls. His wandering hand moves upwards, palming the swell of your breast through the sweater. But it isn't enough; he must feel you, skin to skin.

In one smooth motion, he hitches the garment up and slips it into your bra. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he released a plump breast, weighing the soft fat in his palm.

“Fucking perfect,” he said.

The sensation of fullness in your pussy shortens your breath. He rolls your nipple between his digits—his side entertainment as he continues his pounding.

Your spine forms a beautiful curve when he moves his finger to circle your clit. Each breathy sigh and needy mewl throbbed his cock. Your hand reaches back blindly—an invitation for him to come closer, and as a good guest, Simon accepts the siren's call by taking your earlobe between his teeth.

“So fucking wet for me, darling. You like having my cock buried deep, don’t you?”

“Mmh—! Yes, yes!”

A deep chuckle shook his chest. This little ballerina was so cock-drunk that she was unable to talk, behaving like her tongue was chained and her lovely lips could only produce vulgar moans. Flames burned higher and higher—the whole room caught fire. He feels a faint, growing throb within you before it becomes more pronounced and stronger.

Hesitant to stand on your wobbly legs, you surrendered and bent your back. Goosebumps crawl all over your body when the cool granite touches your sensitive breasts. The new angle gives Simon more access to redouble his efforts. He watched, delighted, as his fat cock disappeared between your folds, only to reappear slick and pulsing.

“Simon—ah! Simon- I’m—! Ohgodohgod..!”

A few more thrusts, and he feels your tight walls hugging his cock as it starts to flutter and ripple. Heat collects in your lower stomach. Short gasps of breath escape you as your heart races. With a keening wail, your climax bursts out in waves.

Simon tightened his hold on your hips as his own orgasm began to peak. Thinking through a thick fog of ecstasy, he reaches for the tissue at your side before pulling out of your quivering cunt and letting his angry tip finish on the material. The room fell silent again, with the exception of the refrigerator's gentle hum and the sounds of two people catching their breath.

Slowly, the fog of pleasure lifted. As his brain winds down, reality comes crashing back in. The poor woman is still draped over the counter, trying to calm her heaving chest. He hurriedly adjusted his trousers.

“Shit.”

At Simon's curse, you attempt to turn around, but your legs feel weak and shaky, unable to support your body's movement. Recognizing your struggle, he moves closer and settles his big hand to help you seat yourself on the edge of the counter.

“Should've wrapped it. Wasn't thinking straight.” He continued, apologetic underneath.

Reaching for a towel, he runs it under warm water before returning to you. At first, he was hesitant—not sure whether to give it to you or do it himself. He ends up dabbing it on your thighs. His brows were wrinkled in concentration as he cautiously swept the towel. You can't help but let out a giggle at that.

"Something funny?" he asked.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, still smiling. “I just never thought I'd see this side of you, is all.”

It's an unexpected turn of events, indeed. When the day began, you would never have predicted that you'd be seated on the kitchen counter with Simon gently cleaning you up with a damp towel, paying you such intimate attention.

This time, it was his turn to chuckle. Your heart nearly jumped out of your ribs when a pair of brown eyes met yours. “Yeah, well. Don't get used to it, alright?”

Simon gently put the towel aside. He rested his large hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. You swept your gaze over his face. He seemed tired—his eye bags were darker than before, and his blonde hair was slightly longer than when you last saw him. If he made any attempt to appear less zombie-like, it was through his recently shaven stubble. For a moment, the two of you remain silent, attempting to relish the comfortable quiet while his thumb traces idle patterns on your legs.

“I never thought I would see you again after that night,” you mutter timidly.

Simon doesn't say anything. The weight of his gaze still remained on you, as if he knew you had more words to say. And he's right. There's this itchy question scratching at the back of your throat, demanding to be answered.

All this time, where did he go? Where did his long strides carry him in those months, when failure was the only thing you found every time you tried to look for him? Did he return to some house tucked away in the countryside? Is there anyone else with the privilege to claim his time – a family, or worse, a lover you won't be able to compete with? You ache to understand what took him from you and what pulled him back into your orbit.

"Where did you go?" The words stumbled out in a rush before you could stop yourself.

At your question, something shifted in his gaze, but it was gone before you could decipher it any deeper. Simon transferred his weight to his other leg.

“Got deployed.” The only answer he can provide.

"Oh." You breathe, almost to yourself – the reality of Simon's life settles upon you once again.

Your eyes scan him intently, observing every visible part of him with a new sense of awareness. His face remains unharmed. The backs of his hands bore no new marks. His neck is also untouched.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

But, you ask anyway, wanting—needing reassurance that the t-shirt he's wearing isn't concealing any fresh injuries he has brought home, that no part of his body is in need of healing.

“Just a few bumps and bruises, is all. Comes with the job.”

He responded in a casual manner, showing little to no care for his well-being. It was as if this was normal—and, in fact, it is for him. He knows that every mission he takes could be his last, so coming out with just a few bumps and bruises sounds like a pretty good aftermath.

But still, you want to be the judge of that. After all, being able to endure it does not mean he is obligated to withstand it. You want to see it for yourself, to actually assess the extent of his injuries and make sure they're as minor as he claims.

As he begins to pull away, you feel a surge of panic at the thought of him leaving. Without thinking, the words tumble from your lips: “Wait!”

Simon froze immediately, turning questioning eyes on you. You bit your lip, looking for an excuse to prolong your time together. Your gaze falls on the cabinet where you keep your coffee grounds, two packs of Earl Grey tea, and a bottle of foreign drink.

“I don’t know much about bourbon,” you admitted, hoping he could decode the meaning beneath your lines. “But I think I bought the one you liked.”

He left the offer hanging as he searched your gaze for something. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Please understand what I ask of you—stay for a bit longer. There's a heavy longing that lives in my chest, and it's weighing me down to the floor. The night is too cold for me to feel that undefined ache alone. Please, please, please—

However, whether he got the message or not became unimportant when he gave the answer.

"Alright then, pour us a drink."

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