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ateezscupid · 2 days ago

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─── FEB FILTH FEST: Cry For Me - CORRUPTION ♡

SUMMARY / An average night with your boyfriends, except this time it's more raw, more intense, the first time you fall into subspace.

warnings ✩ SMUT, DOM/SUB dynamics, soft dom!mingi, switch!wooyoung, sub!fem reader, poly relationship, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, petnames (tiny, love), praise and degradation, choking, slight voice kink, reader falls deep into subspace

word count ✩ 2,68k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @shinebyeoli @dawn-iscozy @xh01bri @mallielovssyou @clxssy1997 @soreberry @nopension @kitten4sannie @faeriehwas @lustfxq @ashistrashhhhhh @hwallazia @aurorasjoongie@seonghwaswifeuuu

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST / FEB FILTH FEST

"You're doing so well," Mingi ran his fingers across your chest, occasionally pinching your nipples. His voice was low, a gentle rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You lay on top of him, barely able to hear him due to Wooyoung's head between your legs, his tongue playing with your clit in a way that made your toes curl. The room was dimly lit, only the glow from the laptop screen casting a soft blue light across the sheets. The faint scent of vanilla candles filled the air, mixing with the musky aroma of sex.

Your breath grew ragged as the sensations built up inside of you. You felt the beginnings of something new, a feeling of floating, as if you were slowly detaching from the world. The pain and pleasure intertwined, creating a pattern of sensations that washed over you like waves of warmth.

"Woo…" you croak, your thighs trembling around his head. "P-Please," you beg, not even knowing what you're asking for. The intensity was like nothing you've ever experienced before, your body hovering on the brink of a precipice you didn't even know existed.

Mingi's eyes, filled with a fierce tenderness, met yours. He read the desperation in them, understanding the depth of your need. With a nod, he gently squeezed your hips, urging Wooyoung to increase his pace. The world around you narrowed to the sensation of his tongue, the pressure building until it felt like you were going to shatter.

"Focus, tiny." Mingi whispers in your ear, the endearment a stark contrast to the firm grip he now had on your hips, guiding you. You felt the mattress shift as he repositioned himself beneath you, his erection pressing against your ass. Your eyes glazed over with arousal, unable to resist the siren call of his voice. Wooyoung's tongue grew more insistent, each stroke of it pushing you closer to the edge.

"I-I'm gonna c-come--" you whimper, leaning your head back on Mingi's shoulder. His arms tighten around you, holding you close, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady cocktail of lust and love.

Wooyoung's eyes dart up to meet yours, a silent question in them. You nod frantically, giving him the green light. His grip on your thighs tightens, his tongue flicking faster, more demanding. The orgasm hits you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs and sending your vision swirling with stars. You scream, a raw, primal sound that echoes through the quiet apartment.

Wooyoung pulled away and replaced his tongue with his fingers, sliding them in and out of you as the aftershocks of your climax rippled through your body. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt your eyes roll back into your head. Your muscles clenched around his digits, and a strangled noise of pleasure escaped your throat.

"I-I can't-" you try to protest, but the words are barely out of your mouth when Mingi leans in to whisper, "You can, baby. Trust us." His voice is a velvet promise that wraps around you, giving you the strength to endure the overwhelming sensations.

You throw your arm over your face, your thighs closing only for Wooyoung to open them back up. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, his expression one of pure, focused determination. He slathers your clit with his saliva, and then starts to suck on it, gently at first, and then with more pressure, as if trying to coax more pleasure out of your trembling body. Your cries become more frequent, each one more desperate than the last.

Tears started to fall down your cheeks from pure pleasure. Mingi's hand caressed your side, his thumb stroking your hip in a gentle, reassuring pattern. He could feel the tremors in your body as Wooyoung brought you closer to a second orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your breathless whimpers and the wet noises of Wooyoung's ministrations.

"Cmon," Wooyoung murmured, looking at you with a mix of passion and determination. He added a third finger, stretching you even further, while his thumb found your clit again. The dual sensation was too much, and you felt your body start to shake uncontrollably. The pressure grew, a tight coil in your belly.

"F-Fuck!" you cry out, the pleasure becoming too much to handle. Your nails dig into the sheets, clutching at the fabric as if it's the only thing anchoring you to reality. Your vision swims, and you feel your body start to drift away, leaving you floating in a sea of sensation.

"Good girl." Mingi's voice was a low rumble, his grip on your hips unyielding as Wooyoung's relentless attention sent you spiraling towards another peak. You could feel your orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that seemed to expand with every heartbeat. The room spun around you, the only anchors being the strong arms that held you down and the mouth that worshiped you.

You collapsed on top of Mingi, Wooyoung crawling up to kiss you as the last of your orgasm ebbed away. Your legs were jelly, unable to support your own weight. You felt boneless and utterly spent, your chest rising and falling with the effort of each breath.

"Tiny, you okay?" Mingi's voice was a gentle murmur against the roar in your ears. You nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, and felt his arms wrap around you protectively. The world was a haze of sensation, colors bleeding into one another as you descended into a place where pleasure and pain were one.

"Y/N?" Wooyoung's concerned voice broke through the fog of pleasure. You nodded feebly, unable to find the words to express the intensity of what you were feeling. Your eyes were unfocused, and your body was a mass of sensations, each more profound than the last.

"Jesus, she's in subspace." Mingi's voice was filled with awe and concern, his eyes never leaving yours as he felt the change in your body. You had gone limp in his arms, a soft whine escaping your lips as the last vestiges of your climax washed over you. The room grew quieter, the only sounds the harsh panting of your breath and the thud of your heart echoing in your ears.

You lazily reached around, tugging at Wooyoung's sweatpants, needing more of him, needing to feel him inside you. He must've sensed your desperation because he pulled away just long enough to shed his clothes, his erection springing free. The sight of him, all hard lines and sinew, made your mouth water, your body aching to be filled.

"N-Need…it…" you whimper, your hand shaking as it reaches for Wooyoung's cock. The words are barely coherent, lost in the haze of pleasure that's taken over your body. You're in subspace, a place of pure sensation and need, where the boundaries between reality and ecstasy are blurred.

"Be careful." Mingi's warning was a gentle nudge, his hand steadying your wrist as Wooyoung positioned himself at your entrance. You could feel the warmth of his cock pressing against you, a promise of more pleasure to come. His eyes searched yours, seeking confirmation, and you gave it to him with a nod that was more a twitch of your chin than a conscious movement.

Wooyoung pushed himself inside, filling you completely, and you let out a long, drawn-out moan that seemed to come from the very depths of your soul. The feeling of fullness was almost too much to bear, but it was exactly what you needed. As he began to move, you felt your body respond almost on instinct, hips rolling back to meet each of his slow, deliberate thrusts.

"Good girl," Mingi murmured in your ear, his voice thick with arousal. "You're doing so well, letting us use your tight little cunt like this." His words were both praise and degradation, a heady mix that sent your mind spinning even further into subspace.

Wooyoung's thrusts grew stronger, more demanding, and you felt your body respond in kind, your muscles clenching around him as if trying to pull him deeper. "Look at you," he groaned, his voice low and raspy with desire. "You're such a slut for us, aren't you?" His words were a brand on your soul, claiming you as theirs.

You could only whimper in response. Mingi wrapped his hand around your neck and lifted your face, his gaze piercing through the haze of pleasure. "Say it," he demanded, his voice a dark velvet whisper. "Tell us how much you love being our little slut." The words were a hot brand, but you were beyond the point of caring about the sting.

"…l-love it," you breathed, the words slipping out like a confession. "I-I love being…y-yours." Your voice was barely a whisper, lost in the symphony of pleasure that consumed you. The admission was like a key, unlocking something primal within you, something that reveled in the feeling of complete and utter submission.

Mingi's grip tightened on your neck, his thumb pressing gently against your pulse point as he watched the play of emotions across your face. You were lost in subspace, a place where the lines between agony and ecstasy were erased, leaving only the purest form of pleasure. Your eyes were glazed, your breaths coming in short, erratic bursts as Wooyoung's cock claimed you with every thrust.

More tears started falling down your cheeks, but they weren’t from pain—they were from the overwhelming rush of pleasure and submission. You were adrift in a sea of sensation, the world around you nothing but a distant memory as you floated in a haze of bliss. Each thrust from Wooyoung sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, the feeling so intense it was almost painful.

"You feel so good," Wooyoung grunted, his hips pistoning into you with increasing force. His grip on your thighs tightened, his fingers leaving bruises in their wake, but you didn't care. In subspace, pain was just another facet of pleasure, a note in the symphony that played through your body. Each thrust sent you spiraling deeper into the abyss, each gasp and moan a testament to your submission.

He slowed down for a moment to pull you down a bit, pushing your knees to your chest and sliding in even deeper. The new angle made you gasp, the sensation so intense it was almost painful. But in subspace, that pain was a sweet, delicious agony that you craved. The room spun around you, the only anchor being the two men who held you in their thrall.

Mingi kept your hair out of your face, his grip firm but gentle, as Wooyoung's pace grew more demanding. The friction of his cock against your g-spot was unbearable, a constant reminder of your vulnerability, of your complete surrender. Your breaths hitched and your eyes rolled back as he hit that perfect spot over and over, your body jolting with each impact. The pain was a beautiful crescendo, layering over the pleasure until you weren't sure where one began and the other ended.

" 'm gonna…c-come…" you whimper, your voice barely audible through the haze of subspace. The sensation of Wooyoung's cock filling you up, the pressure of Mingi's hand on your neck, the sound of your skin slapping against theirs—it all combined into an overwhelming symphony of pleasure that had you teetering on the brink of another mind-shattering orgasm.

Mingi's grip tightened, a silent command for you to hold on, and you nodded, desperately trying to cling to the last shreds of coherence as Wooyoung's pace grew frantic. The world around you was nothing but a blur of colors and sensations, each more intense than the last. You could feel yourself starting to fall, your body no longer your own as the pleasure claimed you completely.

"S-Shit--" Wooyoung's breath hitched as he felt your muscles tighten around him, a clear sign of your climax. His own orgasm was close, the tension in his body coiling tighter and tighter with each stroke. The room was a symphony of sounds—your desperate whimpers, the slap of skin on skin, the harsh exhales of the two men who owned every inch of you. "Fuck, I'm gonna come so hard inside of you."

The words barely registered in your subspace haze, but your body responded with an even deeper clench, as if eager to milk every drop from him. The world was a kaleidoscope of sensation, each thrust a burst of color in the abyss of pleasure. Your thoughts were scattered, reduced to fragmented whispers of need and desire.

"Gonna milk him dry like a good 'lil cumdump?" Mingi's voice was a dark whisper in your ear, his fingers playing with the sensitive skin of your neck as your body tightened around Wooyoung's cock. The word "cumdump" sent a bolt of arousal through you, and you nodded, eager to fulfill your role.

Wooyoung cursed, halting his thrusts for a moment as his own climax hit, the force of it making his whole body spasm. You felt his cock pulse inside you, filling you up with warmth, and it was like a switch had been flipped.Another orgasm crashed over you, more intense than any you've ever felt. It was like your entire being was a live wire, electrified with pleasure. Your muscles clenched around him, milking him for every drop of his release, just as Mingi had said. The sensation was so overwhelming you couldn't hold back the scream that tore from your throat, echoing through the quiet apartment.

"Are you okay?" Wooyoung's voice was soft, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and satisfaction as he watched you try to catch your breath. You nodded, the word "yes" lost in the symphony of sensation still reverberating through your body.

"Do you wanna take a break, love?" Mingi's voice was a soothing balm, his eyes filled with a gentle concern that was almost foreign in the haze of pleasure that still clouded your vision. You nodded, unable to form coherent words as your body trembled from the aftermath of your orgasms.

Wooyoung carefully pulled out of you, his cock glistening with your juices. He leaned in to kiss you softly, his own breath still ragged. "I'll get your bath ready," he murmured against your lips, his hand stroking your cheek before moving to gently wipe away the tears that still stained your face.

As Wooyoung disappeared into the bathroom, Mingi held you tight, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you came down from the high of subspace. The room felt too quiet, the absence of Wooyoung's body against yours leaving you feeling slightly empty. But Mingi's embrace was warm and comforting, his touch a gentle reminder that you weren't alone in this.

"What…" you mumble, your voice still lost to the depths of your subspace haze. "What…happened?"

Mingi's smile was soft and full of pride. "You fell into subspace, baby. It's a good thing, a sign that you trust us completely." He kissed the top of your head, his arms holding you in a firm, reassuring embrace. "It's kinda like a trance."

"It…was…amazing," you murmured, still lost in the afterglow. The world slowly started to come back into focus, the sounds of Wooyoung running the bath water a comforting background noise.

Mingi chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath you. "It certainly was." He stroked your back, his touch feather-light. "But it's also intense, and you need to come back to us completely before we go any further." His eyes searched yours, ensuring you were okay with the gentle dominance in his tone. You nodded, feeling safe and loved in his care.

As the aftershocks of your climaxes subsided, Mingi brought you to the bathroom and sat you inside the tub. Wooyoung knelt beside the tub, a warm, damp washcloth in hand. He gently wiped away the remaining tears from your face and cleaned you up with tender strokes, his eyes never leaving yours. The warmth of his gaze made you feel cherished, a stark contrast to the raw, intense pleasure you'd just experienced.

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daryltwdixon · 2 days ago

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Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Tension at camp is nothing new, but after Daryl nearly takes a swing at Shane, you pull him away to the quarry, offering a distraction that quickly turns into something else entirely.

Tags: smut MDNI, pinv, fem reader, pullout method, kissing, public(ish) sex, outdoor sex, quickie, quarry!daryl, protective!daryl, husband!daryl, shane ‘tell ya what’ walsh is an ass what's new, little bit of praise kink, established relationship, sweet relationship, age gap mentioned but not specified

a/n: I’ve been watching season 1 on repeat too often. I remember when I didn’t think quarry Daryl was that cute and now I’m FERAL for the man. Top 3 fave versions of this man that’s for damn certain. thank you for reading!! lmk what you think!

The smell of campfire smoke was thick in the air, clinging to your clothes, your skin, following you no matter where you sat. It was the first time in a while you’d joined the others instead of sitting around the separate fire Merle usually built on the other side of camp. But with him gone on a recent run into the city with a few of the others, along with the sight of the pile of fish Andrea and Amy had hauled in, you told Daryl the best way to get a bite was to play nice and sit with the group—unless, of course, he wanted squirrel stew for the fifth night in a row.

But now, sitting there, you were starting to regret that decision.

Even with the world gone to hell and class lines erased overnight, some things hadn’t changed. They still shrank away from you, their discomfort as thick as the smoke curling through the air. And Daryl? They didn’t just avoid him. They dismissed him. Ignored him. Like he wasn’t worth a second glance.

You didn’t pay it any mind. You were used to people underestimating him, used to them not seeing him for who he really was. Beneath the sharp stares and sharper tongue, he was a good man. Your man. And these people—they’d never understand that.

The sun dipped lower, setting the valley in a wash of pink and orange, the glow of the fire growing brighter with every passing minute. Conversations murmured around you, voices low as they discussed camp security—how to reinforce their perimeter, how to keep the geeks out. So far, they’d been lucky, nestled deep in the woods with none of the dead stumbling through just yet.

Still, that luck wouldn’t last forever.

You shifted, glancing toward the tree line. “We could set up noise traps,” you offered. “Tin cans, broken glass—something to warn us if somethin’s comin’.”

The second the words left your mouth, Shane, a man with dark eyes and even darker scowl, scoffed as he paused mid conversation with another resident. You barely had time to blink before he turned on you, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you’d had the audacity to speak up.

“Yeah? That what you think?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Tell you what, next time I need advice on how to run this place, I’ll be sure to come find you, sweetheart.”

The word dripped with condescension, slow and deliberate.

Your lip curled, rolling your eyes as you turned away. “Dick,” you muttered under your breath.

Shane barely let a beat pass before he fired back, voice laced with smug amusement.

“Better watch your lil’ backwoods girl there, Dixon,” he sneered, dark eyes flicking toward Daryl. “Might just have to give her somethin’ to scoff about with that mouth on ‘er.”

Silence hushed over the group like an uneasy wave. The fire popped, the only sound in the sudden, tense stillness as the eyes of everyone in the camp turned to look at you.

There was a loud scrape of metal groaning, Daryl’s lawn chair shoving back under him as he stood abruptly.

“The hell d’you just say, asshole?” he snapped, voice sharp as steel.

Shane barely flinched. His jaw worked, tension coiled tight in his shoulders, but instead of rising to the fight, he let out a slow breath through his nose. He ran a hand down his face, shaking his head.

“Christ, Dixon,” he muttered, voice low, measured, not even smug, just tired. “Ain’t gotta get all riled up. Was just a joke.”

Daryl’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah? Didn’t sound like one.”

Shane exhaled hard, eyes flicking around at the others watching before landing back on Daryl. His expression hardened.

"Ain't my fault you can't take a joke, Dixon. Least when your brother was here, we didn't have to listen to you run your mouth. He at least kept you on your side of camp.”

Daryl’s knuckles went white, his fists clenching tighter as he glared. Across the fire, Shane held his gaze, eyes steady—calm, almost—but there was a challenge in them, a quiet go on, do it lingering beneath the surface, prodding without a word.

You felt the fight still coiled tight in Daryl’s body as you wrapped your fingers around his upper arm, could feel the way his muscles flexed under your grip, the way his whole damn being was strung tight. You stepped in closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Come on,” you murmured, his body warm as your hand curled tighter around his bicep, firm but gentle. “Let’s get outta here.”

Daryl didn’t move at first, his breathing still uneven, his fists still clenched.

Then, finally, he exhaled sharply and let you pull him back, turning away from the fire, from the camp, from the people who would never understand either of you.

The sun's dying light stretched long over the jagged rocks of the valley below, the water rippling in deep, coppery hues as you walked down to the quarry to get your mind off the argument at the firepit.

When you finally got to the bottom, Daryl leaned against a boulder, his face half-lit in the glow of dusk. He'd been quiet most of the evening, despite his blow up earlier, deep blue eyes flicking to you like he was chewing on something he didn’t quite know how to spit out.

You stepped in front of him, close enough to smell the sweat and earth clinging to his shirt, the faint scent of pine from the day hunting. "I’m sorry about…about whatever that was,”

His jaw ticked. “Ain’t nothin’ for you to apologize for,” he muttered, but he wasn’t looking at you, gaze fixed somewhere past your shoulder. “Dickhead don’t even know good advice if it hit ‘em upside the head.”

You sighed, reaching up to brush a short lock of hair from his forehead. He let out a breath, more like a huff than anything, barely audible, but you caught it.

“You always get like this when you’re thinking too hard,” you teased softly. “What is this really about?”

His lips pressed together, jaw working, like he was still chewing on the words. Then, as natural as breathing, his fingers found your waist, rough and certain, pulling you in just a little closer.

“Just don’t want ‘em talkin’ to ya like that,” he admitted, voice gruff, quieter than the night settling around you. “Like you ain’t worth listenin’ to. Like you ain’t got a damn brain in your head. They only do it ‘cause you’re with me.”

Your chest ached at the frustration in his voice, the way it came out stiff, like he hated even saying it out loud.

“Daryl…”

“They already look at me like I don’t belong here,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Ain’t gonna let ‘em do that to you too.”

You cupped his jaw, fingers grazing over the rough stubble, waiting until he finally looked at you. His blue eyes were sharp, searching, like he was waiting for you to tell him he was wrong.

“I don’t give a shit what they think,” you murmured. “I chose you. You get that, right?”

Daryl swallowed hard, something flickering across his face–vulnerable and open, his brute mask slipping now that it was just the two of you. His grip on you tightened, his body pressing just a little closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“I ain’t gonna let ‘em make you feel small,” he muttered, almost more to himself than to you.

Your chest ached at the way he said it, like he wasn’t sure how to handle the way he cared. Like the thought of letting them think so little of you was gnawing at the edges of his mind. Your thumb traced over his skin as you held his face, grazing over his bottom lip, his chin, until you leaned in.

“You don’t have to,” you murmured, lips barely ghosting over his. “I know who I am. And I know who you are. Even if they can’t see it.”

His blue eyes caught to yours, something different in them, something raw and sweet that no one else was ever allowed to see. Then, before you could say another word, his mouth was on yours, sweet and gentle, lips chapped but insistent. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but the fast, unsteady rhythm of your heartbeats.

You melted into him, hands sliding around his neck, letting the kiss ignite into need and heat, letting him pour everything into it—his frustration, his fear, the love he wasn’t good at putting into words. The quarry was silent except for the quiet rush of the wind over the water and the uneven breaths you shared between kisses.

When he finally pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he took a long moment just to breathe as he closed his eyes. His hands stayed on you, gripping you tightly against him, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged across your lips.

"Thinkin' too hard again?" you whispered.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Shut up," he muttered, but his lips brushed yours again, even softer this time, like he couldn’t help himself.

No one understood Daryl like you did. Not the folks at camp, not the people who side-eyed him like he was nothing but trouble, not even his own damn brother.

Thing was, no one really tried to know Daryl. They saw the brittle edges, the temper, the way he kept to himself. They saw the bickering between him and Merle, the way he came back from hunts with blood on his hands, all silent and brooding.

But you saw the man beneath all that.

Before the world turned upside down, you saw him for what he truly was. Gentle in ways he didn’t realize, kind in ways he never gave himself credit for. A man who had spent his whole life bracing for a fight, wearing his rough edges like armor, until you came along and showed him there was more to life than just surviving, even before the dead came back to life.

You were younger, but that never mattered to you. And once you finally convinced him that nothing—not even a pesky thing like an age gap, and definitely not his own doubts of whether he was good for you—was going to stop you from being with him, you watched him… soften. Let you in.

You saw him on lazy summer afternoons, stretched out in the bed of his truck, hands behind his head, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he stared up at the sky. You saw him when he picked you up for late-night drives, old country rock humming low from the radio, one hand on the wheel, the other resting warm on your thigh.

Back then, he was just a man trying to carve out a place in a world that had never been kind to him. A man with rough hands but a soft touch when they traced the curve of your back. A man who met the world with a scowl but looked at you like you were a miracle—something precious, something his, something he’d spend a lifetime trying to deserve.

You remembered the nights he’d come to you after a bad fight with Merle, his knuckles split, his jaw clenched. He’d never talk about it, never tell you what happened—but he’d let you run your fingers through his hair, let you patch him up in the glow of your bedside lamp.

“You’re too good for me,” he’d mutter sometimes, voice low, like he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear it. Like he was afraid that this time you’d believe him and run for the hills.

And you’d brush your fingers through his hair, tilt his chin so he had no choice but to meet your eyes.

"You don’t get to decide that," you’d tell him, voice warm, certain.

He never argued. Just pulled you close, held onto you like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers.

And now, here in the middle of the world ending, he still held onto you like that.

The way those rough, calloused hands could still be careful, still be tender when they touched you. The way he always put himself between you and trouble, whether it was a walker shambling too close or some asshole in camp running his mouth. The way he let you get near, let you see him in a way no one else did.

Some things hadn’t changed, even when everything else had.

Something about those memories had your lips crashing back onto his, pressing him against the boulder with a force that made him grunt softly into your mouth. His fingers dug into your waist, like he wasn’t sure if he should stop you or drag you closer, but you didn’t give him a choice.

You grabbed the collar of his dirty shirt, fisting the fabric as you kissed him deep, claiming, letting him feel the way you wanted him. He let you have it—let you take and take, let you push up on your toes and press into him like you couldn’t get close enough.

Then, when your hips rolled just right against his, he growled. Low, guttural, needy against your mouth.

His hands slid down, gripping the curve of your ass, dragging you closer until your hips fit against the hard press of him. You gasped against his lips, nails raking up the nape of his neck, and pulled the short hair that stuck there, and that was what made something snap in him.

He twisted you around so fast you barely had time to think, hands gripping your hips as he pressed you forward, your palms bracing against the boulder. The rough stone bit into your skin, but it barely registered. Not with the heat of him behind you, breath hot against your neck, hands dragging under your shirt, spanning wide over your ribs before sliding down.

“You want somethin’ from me, girl? Hmm?” His voice was ragged but taunting, sending goosebumps down your spine as he leaned his body over you.

A sharp breath left you when he pulled your hips back against him, grinding slow, measured, and the stiff press of his cock behind his jeans made your eyes roll, feeling just how much he wanted you too.

His lips dragged over the back of your neck, sucking in a breath like a hiss when you pressed your ass back into him.

“You, w–want you, Dare,” you murmured, the sound of his name breaking something open in him.

His fingers hooked under the waistband of your denim shorts, yanking them down with a roughness that made your breath catch, the cooling night air biting against flushed skin.

After the clatter of his belt buckle and the sharp zip of his jeans, he was on you—kissing your shoulder where the strap of your shirt fell, your neck, anywhere his lips could reach. Then he was there—thick, warm, heady with a scent that made you dizzy. He pressed the tip of his cock into you with a need so desperate it made your knees weak. Your center was slick with wanton need just from his touch, his kisses, the way he took you like he had to—like it was instinct, carved into him, a hunger he could never ignore. His hands splayed over your stomach, dragging you back onto him with a solid thrust, his breath heavy against your shoulder as he took you to the hilt in one long press of his hips.

“I love you,” he said, voice hoarse as he continued to press open mouthed kisses to your skin, “Love you so god damn much,”

The sun dipped lower, its dying light casting everything in cool blue and shadow, the only warmth now rolling off Daryl’s body. You turned your head, reaching back to thread your fingers into his hair, tugging until his lips found yours in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. It was haphazard, messy in the way that made it real—the slide of tongues, the clash of breath, the moan that tore from your throat, loud and shameless against the quiet night.

He groaned into your mouth, swallowing the sound, pressing his forehead against yours for the briefest second before dragging his lips down your jaw, your neck, everywhere he could reach with his mouth. His hips rolled in steady, aching thrusts, sinking deep before dragging his cock out slow, teasing, making you squirm against the rock.

“I love you too,” you murmured, voice wrecked, sincere. “Always, Daryl.”

His jaw slacked and he rested his face against your shoulder, his pace growing rougher, more erratic, each thrust punctuated by the sharp slap of skin against skin, his groans mixing with the wet, sinful sounds of your bodies joining in the cool evening air.

“So good f’me, baby,” he whimpered, the sound raw, unraveling. His hand slipped between you and the rough stone in front of you, fingers seeking, finding, calloused fingertips pressing into the heat of you. He knew your body too damn well—knew exactly how to wind you up, knew what it took to have you gasping, shaking, screaming his name just the way he liked it.

“Daryl, it’s—too much—they’ll hear—” you choked, gasping as his fingers worked tight, slow circles over your swollen clit, a shudder wracking through your body.

His lips dragged up the side of your neck, breath hot, voice ragged.

“Fuck ‘em,” he murmured, his voice low and grinding. “Wanna hear every pretty sound you make for me. Wanna feel you come on my cock, just like you always do—c’mon now, baby, give it to me. Be a good girl now.”

A shudder rolled through you, his words sinking deep, making it impossible to fight the pleasure coiling hot in your belly. His fingers pressed harder, circling your clit with devastating precision, his thrusts turning sharp and frantic.

You bit your lip, trying to smother the cry threatening to break free, but he wasn’t having it.

Daryl’s free hand came up across your chest, fingers gripping your jaw, tilting your head so his lips were right against your ear. “Don’t you hold back on me,” he rasped. “Wanna hear you, feel you, know you’re mine.”

Your body tensed, the pleasure mounting too fast, too sharp, and when his teeth scraped down against your pulse point, it sent you flying.

Your moan broke free, loud and inhibited as your eyes rolled back, Daryl groaning in response, the noise tearing from his throat as his hips slammed in rhythm with his fingers against you.

“There it is,” he gritted out, voice strained. “That’s my girl, fuck—jus’ like that, baby.”

The pleasure tore through you like wildfire, your palms trembling against the rough stone. Your walls clenched tight around him, and Daryl let out a deep, wrecked fuck, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release.

With a sharp curse, he pulled his hand from your clit once he knew you were through, his breath hot and ragged against your shoulder. His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, rougher, chasing his own release. At the last second, he pulled out, his fist working over his cock, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his throat as thick ropes of cum spilled onto your lower back, hot and slick against your skin.

For a long moment, all that filled the night air was the sound of heavy breathing, the cool breeze ghosting over sweat-slicked skin.

You turned your head, looking at him over your shoulder, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Come wash up with me?”

Daryl huffed, still catching his breath, his hands squeezing at your hips like he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet. “Yeah? That what you want?”

You leaned back just enough for your ass to brush against him, teasing, knowing exactly what you were doing. “Well… we’re already dirty,” you mused, glancing at him with a glint in your eyes. “Might as well get clean together.”

Daryl let out a rough chuckle, his fingers dragging slow and deliberate over your skin. “You’re killin’ me, girl.”

You grinned, pulling off the rest of your clothes before taking his hand and tugging him towards the water’s edge.

“Well? You comin’?”

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pyract0 · 2 days ago

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Random thoughts with MHA men!

☁︎Lowkey just a heap of stupid ideas I had for different characters I thought were funny/ cute. Might extend on a few of these into longer fics if I find the time :) ☁︎Going back to finishing some requests after this! Sometimes read and can't process what I just read so might take a while to finish them all! Feel free to request but might be a bit slow at the moment, but I'll get through them when I can! ☁︎Not really any warnings other than swearing (Tried to keep it to a minimum but habit when I can't think of a fitting word)! Gn/ unspecified reader :))

╰┈➤ Katsuki Bakugo who follows a strict routine he set for himself to get the most out of the day, in bed by exactly 8:30. Yet he coincidently always happens to be awake when you try to sneak in and cuddle under the covers with him. Gets annoyed at you for "interfering" with his schedule, but he never lets himself fall asleep if he knows your planning to visit, even if at ridiculous hours of the night. ╰┈➤ Shoto Todoroki who lacks certain aspects of understanding when it comes to social cues, specifically the idea of personal space after you start dating. Will stand behind you breathing down your neck just wanting to be near you, not realising how odd it appears to anyone passing by. Similarly, will practically sit ON you instead of beside you, squeezing between you and anyone/anything so he can sit right beside you.

╰┈➤ Izuku Midoriya who often forgets or simply doesn't realise when his habit of rambling starts, sometimes scaring the shit out of you when he suddenly breaks the silence. Will need you to sometimes cover his mouth when out in public before he says something that would accidently make any sane person uncomfortable. Talked about murder out of context at least a few times and got y'all kicked out of somewhere </3

╰┈➤ Tenya Iida who understands the concept of money and it's overall value, but frankly doesn't care when it comes to you. Buys you awfully expensive items that reminds him of you/ thinks you'll like, hiding just how much he actually spent so you don't reject it (you know, you just don't have the heart to tell him.) Will gift you like it's only something small and beat himself up for not getting you something better (It cost more than what you make in 3 months). Prides himself on responsibility but it all falls out the window when about his decisions around you.

╰┈➤ Eijiro Kirishima who shows you off like some sort of deity, constantly praising anything and everything you do. Accidently degrades himself while praising you, saying how he doesn't deserve you (he's literally an angel :(( ). Will do anything for you, if you ask him or not, choosing to show just how much he loves you through his actions not just words. Tells you he loves you at least 5 times a day <3

╰┈➤ Neito Monoma who respects you even if you're in class 1a, never speaking poorly of you even when shitting on your class. Stops whenever you're nearby and starts acting all sweet like he wasn't badmouthing each of your classmates to their faces minutes prior. Another one who worships your every movement and the ground you walk on, but instead of degrading himself puts everyone else but the both of you down. (My favourite little menace)

╰┈➤ Hitoshi Shinsou who without fail whenever you're alone hands you some random ass cat inspired thing that reminded him of you. First it was a small succulent pot, next some really doped out looking cat plushie, then a little keychain of a black cat with a witches hat.. it just kept going. Gets you wondering how he manages to keep finding these objects, and how he always manages to have one when you see each other unplanned (He has a little hidden pocket where he stores the little strange trinkets) ╰┈➤ Rody Soul who sometimes activates his quirk, summoning Pino, at the most random hours of night. Will get woken up by your sudden screams, thinking you had a nightmare only for it to have been Pino scaring the shit out of you by sitting on your chest in the middle of the night and scrutinizing your very being (lovingly). Has been forced as a result to spend the next day begging for forgiveness for Pino's actions (He had a dream of you and she was just admiring you with the same level of affection as him, just hers a bit more creepy..)

╰┈➤ Mirio togata who even after years of practice with his quirk, happens to forget what activating it in normal clothes does. Has tried to phase through the ground to surprise you with his sudden appearance just to end up flashing you, both of you now sitting in embarrassment while your struggling to breathe through your laughter. Apologises before joining you in going along with your everyday life (It will happen again)

╰┈➤ Tamaki Amajiki who uses you as a form of protection, not from physical danger but from people trying to communicate with you both. Will hold your hand in his and stand right against your back, head often against yours or on your shoulder while he lets you talk for him as well as yourself. As soon as you finish, will drag you away to a more secluded area and embrace you with more confidence as a way of showing his appreciation for never complaining about his shying away from socialising.

╰┈➤ Giulio Gandini who chooses to not wear his eyepatch when you're both alone, trusting you in his most vulnerable form. Who is able to use his robotic eye as a camera, recording your interactions to preserve the memory. Often pulls up these moments on the screen of his prosthetic arm when you're apart, watching through them when he misses you. Moves certain ones to a USB and prints out photos to give you (some in lockets, some just as a copy to frame) leaving you confused on how he managed to get them. (I love him so much :(( lowkey the main reason I liked the 4th movie sm)

╰┈➤ Touya Todoroki/ Dabi who will only let you help when it comes to dyeing his hair (aka forces you when the black is washing out to help fix it up). Will sit on a random chair he dragged in or the edge of the bathtub while you touch up his roots, probably moves constantly unless you hold his head in place. Gets you to join him in the shower to help wash through it, being a little shit about it and smudging the dye on you so it'll stain.

╰┈➤ Tomura Shigaraki who refuses to touch you with all 5 of his fingers, even after he's confident in his abilities to control his quirk. Will always have a finger lifted from your body while he holds you in his embrace, wearing artist gloves when sleeping beside you just to be safe. Holds your hand constantly when alone like the touch starved person he is but never has a proper grasp, loosely intertwining your fingers while he leaves his pinkie away from your hand.

╰┈➤ Shota Aizawa who similar to his son has a habit of handing you random stuff when he returns home, though his are more concerning. If you had a nickel for every time he came home to hand you a kitten he found in an alley, you would have two but it was very strange it happened twice. Came home after his long shift one night and handed you a cat like it was just another causal Wednesday. So anyways you guys have 2 cats now :))

╰┈➤ Keigo Takami who likes to use his feathers to tickle you at the least expected times, often resulting in a fresh bruise the next day. Will each and every time forget you like to swing when his feathers are tickling at your sides, with your first or leg accidently colliding with some part of his body. One time was his face, another his calf, or the time you accidently hit him where the sun don't shine. He learnt to move back after that one..

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venusalexian · 2 days ago

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solet • let me do this for you

part 1

barça femení x teen!reader, alexia putellas x teen!reader

in which you finally let someone in, and Alexia accepts that she’ll be having a bigger role in your life than she first expected

Ale had driven you to the grounds this morning, as she tends to do now if she has a free day when you have a game. You were so excited for this game. Your grandpa had recuperated well from his surgery, even if he now needed some extra care, and Ale’s presence in your life had become a constant. You couldn’t believe this was your life now.

You went into the game eager to win, to score, to lead. By half time, you had scored once and provided an assist. You were on fire, but everything changed when you stepped into the tunnel and Ale was waiting for you, a worried frown in her face.

“Solet, I need you to stay calm while I tell you this, okay?.” She said. “Your neighbor called, they’ve had to take your grandma into the hospital because she fainted. They firmly believe she’s going to be okay. I will drive you to the hospital right now if that’s what you want.” You can’t believe she’s even doubting it. There is no way you’re making it back out into the pitch now.

“Please Ale, let’s go.” You rush to the locker room to get your things and run all the way to Ale’s car, impatient.

“It’s all gonna be okay, I promise.” Ale says as she lays her free hand on your arm, the other on the steering wheel.

You really want to believe her, but you don’t really think she has the ability to fulfill this one. You don’t respond. You just lay your head against the window and let its coldness ground you to reality.

As soon as you get to the waiting room you make a beeline for your grandfather, who sits in a corner. He’s recuperated from his surgery, but he still can’t stand for long periods of time and needs help remembering to take his meds. You break down as soon as you’re in his arms.

”Oh, mi niña, everything’s gonna be okay. She was awake when they got her into the ambulance. It was just a big scare, but she’s going to be okay.”

You nod against his chest but don’t detach from his hold. You won’t believe it until you see her with your own eyes and doctors confirm it, but you appreciate the comfort of his words. You turn a bit to look to your left. Ale is talking with your neighbor. She has her capitana face on. That relaxes you further.

You hate how unhelpful you’re being. You should be more composed, asking questions, making sure your grandpa is also okay, planning for any contingencies that might come from this incident. But you can only cling, and cry, like a child. So you’re happy to see that Ale has taken control of the situation, because at least somebody has. You’ve been trusting her with more of yourself and your life over the past months, and you’re so, so glad about it now. She looks over at you, and you know she understands what it means to you. The guilt of your impotence stays, but the pressure eases and you let yourself just fall.

Alexia is looking at you and seeing a kid. A strong, resilient kid. But a kid. So she takes charge, and she accepts that caring for you is coming more naturally to her every day. And as she waits with you for news about your grandma, she gradually also accepts the role she wants to play in your life. More than she’d let herself in the past, more than she’s ever said out loud.

“So… Why are the kids talking about you adopting another kid?” Marta approached Alexia with a massive smirk at the end of training.

“Yeah Ale, I thought you’d at least talk to me before you got a kid outside of this team.” Oh, Irene was having too much fun with this conversation.

“First of all, there is no another, I don’t have any kids, period.” A chorus of ‘hey’ and ‘rude’ was heard from the other side of the room, most notably (and loudest) by Vicky and Jana. Alexia just rolled her eyes. Apparently, the whole team was a part of the conversation now. “And secondly, I have not adopted a kid. I’m just… mentoring.”

“Mentoring? Is that what they call it now? Mentoring is driving a kid to and from practice?” Jana continued teasing her.

Alexia had gotten into the habit of driving you when she could especially to and from late night practices, thinking that it was much too late for you to be out taking public transportation.

“Or staying to watch those practices?” followed Sydney, who’s joking character was coming more and more out as she became more comfortable with the first team.

Now, Alexia knew how to perfectly justify this one.

“I am captain of this team, I have a duty to check in with the B team and source for talent.” she answered, feeling smug.

“Oh, and is having Sunday lunch with her and her family a form of recruitment?” added Vicky, who had become closer with the teen and had taken to chatting with her on occasion.

Alexia actually didn’t know how to respond to this one. She had taken your grandmother’s invitation a couple of time when you had Sunday morning games and she had a free weekend. She loved getting to know you more by spending time with you and your grandparents. And although she thought you pressured yourself too much, she saw herself reflected in your protectiveness, diligence and sense of responsibility toward your family and team.

“Better yet. Why did your girlfriend text me asking if I could give her more information about the kid because she wants to make a good impression when you bring her over for Sunday dinner at your mom’s this weekend?” added Ingrid.

Alexia muttered “traitor” as the locking room erupted in chaos. Everyone knows how much it means for their protective and family-oriented captain to introduce people to her family.

“Okay, enough. I care about her, yes. And she doesn’t have too many people on her corner, so I decided to become one.”

Everyone softened at that, understanding the importance and vulnerability of the statement.

“Now, no more social chit-chat about my life or you’re all running three times as much before practice.”

The soft expressions were replaced with groans, complaints and the occasional soft object thrown at her. Oh how she loves her fútbol family.

Your neighbor has had to leave; she has her own family to care for. So it’s just you, your grandpa, and Ale. Each sitting on a seat to your side. The doctor comes out after a half hour of waiting. The good news is that she’s okay, she’s awake, and there is nothing life-threatening. It feels like a toll has been lifted off your shoulders. But then he continues: it was a big fall, a symptom of an underlying heart condition. It means more medication and the possibility for this to happen again or other bad things. You feel dizzy again. You only hear bits and pieces of the rest: needs more monitorization, will need more constant care for a couple of weeks, she’s gonna stay overnight, you’ll be able to see her soon. You cling to the last part to stay in touch with reality.

Ale sees you drowning, so she asks, “Do you trust me to help, to take over now and help you through this? Let me do this for you?”

You nod. You need her to. You don’t even have any space in your worrying to overthink what this means or why she’s willing to do all this for you. You need her now, and the rest will come when everything’s more calm.

“I’m gonna make a few calls, okay? Can I tell a couple of people what is going on? The girls, mami and Olga are all worried. I won’t say much, just a quick update, okay?”

You nod again. You haven’t uttered a word since you got into Ale’s car. You can’t. So when she nods back, you hide your face in your grandpa’s chest again. You try to distract yourself with happier memories until you can see your grandma again. Thinking of her still hurts, so you focus on your team, your friends, and the people in Ale’s life you’ve met in the past weeks.

You felt dizzy from anticipation. You kept bouncing your leg in the passenger seat, and checking your outfit on the rear-view mirror. Ale noticed your fidgeting and laid her free hand on your shoulder.

“Are you nervous?” her eyes didn’t stray from the road but you noticed her half-grimace. Ale is not the best at not asking obvious questions, but you know it’s because she doesn’t know how to start the conversation otherwise.

“Yeah, I just…” you also grimaced, feeling like a little kid. “I want them to like me.” you mumbled, embarrassed.

“Oh, solet. They will. Mami is a natural caretaker, she’ll take you under her wing immediately. And Alba and Olga will just love having one more person to team up with against me.” Ale rolled her eyes, fondly.

She exudes a different type of softness when she talks about the women in her life, even when she fakes being annoyed at their antics. Her response calmed you, though.

Ale was absolutely right, of course.

As soon as you entered Ale’s home, her mom was giving you a massive hug and when she pulled away, she told you how beautiful you are and that she was really excited to meet you. You were blushing again. She hugged her daughter next, and then motioned for you both to go to the living room while she finished cooking. You offered to help, and you were rewarded with a wide smile and a pinch to your cheek. Ale got a quip that “she ought to keep her instead of her daughters if she keeps this helpfulness up”.

You’re still flushed when you reached the living room with Ale to find her sister and girlfriend sitting at the table in conversation. They stood up when you entered the room. Her sister moved to you, hugged you and introduced herself. You opened your mouth to do the same but she interrupted before you could utter a word.

“Oh, I know who you are. Ale won’t shut up about you.” You both turned to her, but she was too busy kissing her girlfriend to notice. Alba covered your eyes and shouted. “Women, not in front of the kid!”

You smiled as Alba moved away her hand and smiled back at you, all nerves forgotten by now, replaced by warmth. Ale and Olga were walking towards you both now, Ale’s hand on the small of her back. Olga hugged you, and her smile was just as warm and soft as Ale’s.

“Yeah, Ale hasn’t shut up about you. We’re all really excited to meet her mini-me.” And there you were, blushing again. Had Ale really referred to you like that? Before you could ask, Ale’s mom called the four of you to finishing setting up as dinner was ready.

Conversation during dinner flowed. Ale was right, you had nothing to worry about and the night went perfectly. They all asked about you, eager to get to know you better. Alba and Olga did use your presence to rile Ale up. They shared embarrassing stories as she blushed and covered her face.

“I’ll lose my tough captain facade, stop.”

“You never had one to begin with, Ale”

By the time dinner ends, you couldn’t even believe you had been so nervous to meet them. Ale and Olga offered to drive you home. As you and Olga waited for Ale to finalize some arrangement with her mom, she put her arm around you, as the night had unexpectedly cooled and neither of you had come dressed for it. You basked in the comfort of her warmth and touch.

“I’m so glad Ale brough you over.” You looked up to the older woman, her smile exactly like Ale’s. “She is right, you know? You’re such a solet. I’m so glad you have each other.” Before you could respond, Ale was ushering you both inside the car and the motion of the road and the fullness from dinner lulled you to sleep. You miss their smile at your sleeping form, and their unspoken understanding of their care for you.

By the time Alexia finishes texting and calling, she has a plan. Alexia does well with plans, likes to prepare for things. But she has to talk to your grandparents first, and she doesn’t know how that conversation is going to go. Alexia is also quick on her feet, though, and works with what’s given. Knows how to fight for what she thinks is right.

It doesn't take long for a nurse to come by and lead the three of you to your grandma’s room. You cry again when you see she’s okay. You can’t cling to her like you did with your grandpa, so you’re content to sit by her side and hold her hand while she asks questions about the game, and you do your best to respond to her. Your words are stilted, but Ale and your grandpa smile because it’s the most you’ve spoken in hours.

After some more assurances, your grandma convinces you to go down to the cafeteria with your grandpa to have dinner. You’re hesitant to comply, but both her and Ale reassure you and don’t accept no for an answer. You give them one last glance to reassure yourself everything is okay befor eyou leave the room.

Alexia is nervous to be left alone with your grandma. She needs to start the conversation she knows is coming and despite the encouragement from her family, she isn’t sure to be ready for it. She doesn’t have to be, though, because your grandma beats her to it.

“She needs you.” There’s a heavy silence that follows; Alexia doesn’t know how to respond.

“She needs you because she’s a kid but doesn’t accept it. We both know that this incident means that both I and my husband need more help than she should be burdened by. She’s stretched thin enough, she already does too much. We want her to have fun, be a kid, a student, a footballer. Not a nurse, or a caretaker. She can’t do that if she’s constantly worried about us. And I know you know all this.”

Alexia stands seriously and silently and measures her words before speaking. She knows what’s next, but this is not her family, she doesn’t want to overstep. But if directly asked for her input, she’ll do it. She’ll take care of everything. For you.

“I do, yeah.”

“We need that kind of help but it can’t come from her. So will you help? I’ve seen you grow closer to her, she admires you so much, relishes your attention and care. If we ask you for it, if she agrees, are you ready for this?”

Alexia doesn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

She can see the tension leave your grandma.

“Good. Now we can talk specifics. What’s your plan? Tell me and then we can tell her together.”

In the morning after you, Ale and your grandpa went home to sleep –Ale taking the couch even if you insisted on her taking the bed–, it’s Ale also who drives back to the hospital and brings your grandma home when she’s released. All four of you sit in the living room and when you try to fuss over your grandma, all three of them reassure you she’s okay.

“Mi vida, we have something to discuss.” Your grandma starts, and you squirm, uncomfortable at being out of loop.

“Alexia and us have a proposal for you, mi niña. We’ll do only what you want us to, but we think this is the best for all of us, and especially you.” You don’t respond to your grandpa, just nod, the anticipation driving you crazy. Your grandma takes over the conversation again.

“We love you so much, mi vida. We love how kind you are, how responsible, and how much you care for us. But your grandpa and I need more help, and we want you to not be burdened by it.” You’re about to protest –they’re not a burden, would never be, you love them and you’ll always care for them–but Ale stops you.

“Ssh, solet, listen to what we have to say first, okay?” You nod again instead of responding.

“So remember when I made a few calls yesterday at the hospital? I set up a couple of things. First, there is a home-care medical team that will be taking care of your grandparents from now on. They’re the best, but we still get to pick who’s going to be coming to stay with them for continued care. You’ll be part of that decision too.”

You exhale, thankful that Ale took over arranging this service. Deep down, you know that even if you would have tried your hardest, your grandparents need specialized care you wouldn’t be able to provide.

“And we also thought something else, but we’ll only do this if you want to and completely at your pace.” You become uneasy again at their own nervous expressions.

“Mi vida, we’ve thought that you spend so much time moving from here to the city, and it’s not benefitting you in your studies, or your football career, so Alexia kindly offered an arrangement that we think will work for all of us.”

“Solet, I’d like it if you moved in with me.” There is nothing but shock in your expression now. You have no idea how to respond, this being the last thing you expected from this conversation.

“We were thinking you could stay with me over the week, so you can go to a school that is more understanding of your football career, like many of your teammates, and be closer to the training grounds. You’ll come back to stay over weekends with your grandparents, so you’ll still see them a lot. And you can obvious tell me anytime you wanna be with them, and we’ll make it work so you never feel detached.”

You stop her nervous rambling with an obvious question, still in shock.

“You really want me to move in with you? Are you sure?”

Her smile is so, so soft again. Her eyes so kind, but also somewhat exasperated, she can’t believe you don’t understand how much she cares for you yet.

“Yes, solet. And before you ask. Yes, I’ve talked to Olga, she also thinks this is good. She’s in and out of the house these days because of work in Madrid so she thinks this is actually good for us both, apparently I don’t struck her as someone who lives well alone.” She rolls her eyes when she shares that part, but she’s still smiling.

“And, avis, you think this is best for all of us? Because I’ll still miss you a lot, but you’re right that I’ve been struggling these days.”–you finally admit–“And I guess if there’s a professional caring for you here and I can call you anytime and come often, then, I guess, it seems like a good solution to me too.”

All three of them smile widely at you, glad that you see the same things they do.

“Yes, mi niña, we do. And this is always your home, you can be here as much as you want to.”

“Okay” You say, and it feels definitive, the start of something.

—

an:

so here’s the second part of solet! it took me a bit longer than expected but I wanted to do a good job at setting everything up and it made it longer than i initially expected.

this is the end of setting up the arc, and stories from now on will be just instances of solet’s life :)

I already have some ideas drafted, but I’m super eager to get requests and asks about this world of what kind of things you’d like to see from solet’s life.

thank you for reading!

xoxo, a.c.

#barcelona femeni x reader #barca femeni x teen!reader #alexia putellas x teen!reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #barca femeni x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #teen!reader

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strang3lov3 · 2 days ago

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PLEASE GIRL I WOULD ACTUALLY KILL FOR DAD!JOEL IM NOT EXAGGERATING I WILL DO ANYTHING PLEASE I WILL GET ON MY KNEES PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE IM ALREADY HORNY JUST THINKING ABOUT IT PLEASE I WILL KISS YOU PLEASE

Warnings - dubcon/noncon. Unprotected PIV, age gap (assume reader is an adult), incest obviously. Joel is your dad. Do whatever mental gymnastics you need to do to make it palatable lol, or don’t. If it’s not your thing, don’t read. This is fiction.

Another bad day. Joel’s been having more of these bad days lately. Everything coming up fuck, nothing going right.

As he walks up his stairs, he peels off his damp, navy blue shirt, and tosses it into a nearby laundry basket. He needs a shower and a beer to wash the day away, but first…

…your door’s open. Like it should be. Your window’s cracked, and the warm, evening summer air blows gently through the second floor of his house. Joel raps on the door twice, then pushes it open all the way.

“You’re late,” you mumble. Your eyes are stinging, tired from staring at the TV.

“Yeah, I know,” Joel says. He takes heavy steps through your room, boots thudding on the hardwood floor. He presses a quick kiss to your cheek, unzipping his pants and pressing his hand against his bulge. He smells like sweat and sawdust as he leans over you, tugging your sleep shorts to the side.

“Daaaad,” you whine, squirming away from him. You’re really not in the mood tonight. You’re pissed, actually. Joel promised he’d be home on time. He promised he’d bring you pizza and that you would watch a scary movie together.

“Dont fuckin’ gimme that, I need this, kid.” Joel licks his fingers, still dirty from the day’s work, and pushes them inside you. “M’your father. I’ll love on ya if I wanna. You’re mine, you understand?”

You sigh deeply. “Yes, Daddy.”

Joel pulls his fingers from you, then frees his hard, leaking cock from the confines of his denim. He notches the thick head at your entrance, then pushes into you, his tip kissing your cervix. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, then pulls out of you.

“The fuckin’ parts guy didn’t deliver,” he says with a grunt, fucking into you again. You moan softly at the pleasure. “An’ Uncle Tommy fucked up the goddamn…” Joel trails off, lost in his own pleasure. “Oh, Christ. It doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Daddy missed ya, baby girl.”

#Joel miller smut #Joel miller x reader smut #and that concludes incest Thursday #thank you to all who participated #I am fucking exhausted lmao #cw incest #cw noncon #anon ask #Joel ask #request #snippet

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fearcvlt · 2 days ago

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❝end of the water(feel)❞

pairing. caleb x fem!reader note. i only downloaded this game for the caleb debut and... yeah, he got me locked in. very new to lads, might be some slight timeline inaccuracies for which i apologise. needed to write virgin caleb so bad though so... forgive me. reblogs/feedback forever appreciated. mwah <3 tags. nsfw, mdni. loss of virginity. p in v. creampies. pre-mature ejaculation. kind of obsessive caleb. psuedocest. panty sniffing. fingering. yearning. jealousy but it's not a focus. pipsqueak is here... not sorry. no use of y/n. 2.9k words.

Caleb finds it easy to remember the moment he realised he was madly in love with you.

He’s sure it had always been the case — he’d spent the majority of his childhood following you around like a lost puppy, doing anything he could just so you could smile at him. Feeling things and knowing what you’re feeling are two different situations entirely, however.

He’s always thought you were pretty, but you weren’t the only girl he would look at and think that (it just so happened he ended up looking at you more than any other girl he knew). It wasn’t until you got your first ever confession that he realised how much he disliked the fact that other boys could find you pretty, too.

The note was from a classmate of yours. It shouldn’t have even been a blip on Caleb’s radar — nothing more than an innocent, heartfelt little confession from someone who liked you. It made an unfamiliar feeling twist in his gut as he watched you giggle as you read over the letter. His blood felt like it was burning in his veins. He was unable to keep the scowl off of his face, unable to prevent the burn of his eyes when he realised he’d never gotten you to smile at him that way.

Caleb had to flee so you didn’t see his reaction, brewing in a mix of jealousy and self pity as he curled up on his bed, tears stinging his eyes.

The following day, Caleb played the protective big brother card for the very first time, practically snarling at the boy until his face was splotchy and red and he looked like he might cry. He should have felt bad. He didn’t. He’s sure he’d never been prouder.

You were upset, of course. The very first person to ever confess to you had suddenly started avoiding you at all costs — you thought you had done something wrong.

Caleb was more than happy to offer you a shoulder to cry on. He held you close to his side, his heart thumping at the close proximity, eyes wide with wonder as you only snuggled up closer. He remembers thinking that you were still the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on, even as you were crying. He even remembers the promise he had made.

“I’ll protect you, pipsqueak. Forever.”

Maybe he thought he’d grow out of the crush one day. Maybe he just didn’t care. All he knew was that every boy that came after the first was never good enough for you. No one was good enough for you. Caleb kept them all away, but it was for your own good. You’d understand that eventually.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Caleb’s feelings only worsened with time.

What started off as an innocent crush devolved into something more akin to obsession as he grew. He was climbing closer and closer to his mid-twenties, and yet he still felt like a small child carefully guarding his favourite toy when he was in your presence.

His thoughts began steering into dangerously non-brotherly territory when he came home from the Aerospace Academy for one summer to find you had already returned. You had… changed. There was a newfound confidence surrounding you since you began your hunter training, like you’d grown into yourself in the time he was gone. It felt almost bittersweet — he had called you pipsqueak out of habit, but the nickname didn’t feel quite right anymore. You laughed and pushed his hand away as he ruffled your hair. He didn’t like it, yet somehow your touch made his face heat up now.

Caleb liked feeling needed. He wanted to feel proud of you for coming out of your shell and gaining independence from him, but he couldn’t. He hated the idea that he needed you so badly, but you might not need your big brother as much anymore.

The first time it had happened was an accident. He had insisted he would do your laundry for you when you came home tired one day. He’d tucked you into bed all tight, pressing a kiss to your temple to silence your complaints.

You were all comfy and half-way to dozing off, and Grandma had already turned in for the night, so he was alone as he carried your things to the laundry room.

He wanted to make sure he did a good enough job that you would realise you could still rely on him. He carefully separated each article of clothing before placing them into the machine, making sure none of the colours would bleed, that anything delicate wouldn’t shrink or tear.

His fingers brushed lace, and he swallowed thickly. The offending material belonged to a pretty pink pair of panties. His chest started heaving as he stared down at them, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

When the fuck did you start wearing things like this?

He didn’t like it. He absolutely fucking hated the idea of you getting these to impress some other guy. He hated himself for the way all the blood in his brain seemed to immediately rush south and impede any reasonable thoughts from entering his brain.

He brushes his thumb over the fabric once. Twice. A third time when he notices the gusset of the panties feels different against his skin.

His gaze flicks quickly to the laundry room door. He waits, perking up like a dog waiting to be scolded as he listened for any sounds in the home. When he found none, he shuffled closer to the door, shutting it before bracing himself against it with an arm. Slowly, cautiously, he raises the fabric to his nose.

He inhales once, and immediately realises he’s doomed. His eyes flutter shut as he lets out a shaky inhale, burying his face deeper into the fabric. He presses his forehead to the door, his free hand sliding down his body so he can palm at his steadily hardening cock through his shorts.

He gasps instantly at the contact, panting into the fabric. His tongue darts out to taste them, and all it takes is two more shaky touches before he’s coming in his pants.

Caleb’s eyes widen and he jerks back like he’s been burned, the panties quickly being flung back into the washing basket. He switches on the half full machine, quickly skittering out of the room to have a cold shower.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“I thought you would grow out of being so fussy,” Caleb scolds lightly, brows furrowing as he watches you wrinkle your nose at the sight of some of the vegetables on your plate. “That’s why you’re so short, pipsqueak. You haven’t been eating your greens.”

“I’m not even short,” is your immediate response, tongue coming out childishly. Caleb can feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “And I do eat vegetables. Just not… these ones.”

“Riiiiight. Are you sure that’s the case? You’re terrible at lying to me, you know.” He pauses, tilting his head with a small smile. He places a hand on the back of your chair, leaning in closer as he picks up your fork, stabbing it through some of the remaining food on your plate.

“Open wide, pipsqueak. Colonel Caleb has a very important flight to land.” He teases, doing the whole here-comes-the-aeroplane act with far too much enjoyment.

“I’m not seven anymore, Caleb. That stopped being cute over a decade ago—“

“Ah-ah. I don’t remember asking for you to argue with me. What stopped being cute a decade ago was that bratty attitude of yours.”

He pokes the tip of your nose with the hand that was previously resting on the back of your chair, grinning as his hand slips lower. He runs his thumb over your bottom lip without thinking, trying to pry your mouth open.

Bad idea, bad idea, bad-fucking-idea.

Your breathing hitches, and your lips part instinctively. There is no way the heat he feels rushing to his cheeks haven’t made it abundantly clear how helpless he is when it comes to you. He lets out a shaky breath, trying to focus on your wide eyes rather than how hot your breath feels against his thumb (and how easy it would be to feel just how warm and wet the inside of your mouth is).

Absolutely fucking terrible idea.

His pants are feeling particularly strained right now, and he’s praying to ever deity he’s ever heard the name of that you haven’t noticed. Caleb isn’t good at handling how his body chooses to react about you, but he’s always been great at deflecting and teasing you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, praying you don’t notice how breathless he is. He can see every imperfection on your face right now, every single lash as you look up at him. God, was he always this close? It’s taking all of his restraint not to lean in closer.

“You don’t need to be shy around me, you know. It’s only me. You trust me, don’t you?” You nod, and he gives you a lazy smile. “You’re so pretty. Sometimes I worry about leaving you all alone.”

Of course, by sometimes, he means he sometimes gets so nauseous when he lets his mind wander to what you might get up to without him around that it makes him dizzy. Not that he would ever vocalise that fact.

“Pretty?” You repeat in a voice that’s so soft and sweet and hopeful that it’s dizzying.

“Pretty.” He confirms, dropping his forehead against yours.

Caleb doesn’t remember leaning in to kiss you, but suddenly his lips are on yours, and you melt. He smiles against your lips, his fingers trailing along your jawline before they’re moving up to cup your cheek. It’s clumsy and sweet — he can tell you’ve never done this before, and that makes something warm blossom in his chest.

He wants to ruin you, but he’s not entirely sure you haven’t ruined him, first.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip until it parts to let him inside. He brushes his tongue against yours until you’re practically a puddle in his arms, only pulling back when he needs to breathe.

“Pipsqueak,” he murmurs, eyes solely focused on your spit-slick lips. “Can I take you to your room?”

You nod.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Is this okay?” Caleb whispers, brows furrowed in concern at the way you hiss as he slips two fingers inside of you. He withdraws them slightly, leaning down to spit on your cunt before slowly pushing them back in. They move easier now, and he finds himself letting out a relieved sigh as the crease between your brows melts away.

“Good. It’s… it’s good.”

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he starts to thrust his fingers into you, gently scissoring you open. “Or if I do anything you don’t like.”

You nod again, and he rewards you by brushing his thumb over your clit experimentally. Your walls clench around his digits as you moan, so he does it again. “Good girl.”

His touch is more exploratory than anything. He watches your face closely the entire time, repeating the actions that make your nose scrunch up all cutely. He doesn’t stop until your cunt is practically drooling all over him, leaving him very at risk of coming in his pants.

“I’m going to be gentle, okay? Are you ready?” He asks softly, hands trembling as he slides his fingers out of you. His hands move to shed off his own clothes, his body draping over yours. He doesn’t make any move to do more until you agree.

“Yeah. Please, Caleb.”

Caleb has dreamed of this moment. He’s almost tempted to pinch himself, just to be sure this is really happening. His lips part with a strangled groan as he pushes the tip of his cock past your entrance, his head tipping forwards.

“Oh… you’re so tight.” He gasps, practically shaking as he continues to slowly press forwards. His hips meet the back of your thighs, and he can’t help but stare down at where the two of you are connected in awe.

He rolls his hips experimentally, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he feels the way you try to greedily suck him back in. It’s too much and not enough, all at the same time. You whine, squirming underneath him, trying to get him to move again.

“So good… feels so good,” he practically whimpers, repeating the movement a few times so that his eyes can take in the way he disappears within you. “Fuck. I love you, y’know that?”

Of course you do. Caleb has never been shy when it comes to showing how deeply he cared about you, but the words feel different now. More charged.

You say you love him, too, and Caleb grunts. His hips stutter, then he pauses. Blinks. His eyes flick downwards, a flush overtaking his face as he watches his cum start to seep out of you, pushing past the barrier his cock provides as the droplets slide down your ass to stain the sheets. You’re still panting, whining, begging him for more.

He swallows. Hard. His throat bobs as he pushes past the sensitivity to start rocking into you with more confidence this time, his now half-hard cock slowly stirring back to life. He knows you must have felt it, the sudden warmth flooding you. Fuck, that’s so embarrassing. He’s been waiting for this moment for years, saved himself just for you, and that was all it took?

He leans over you a little more, pressing deeper in an attempt to make up for it. Your back arches and you let out the prettiest sound he’s ever heard, lips parting in a way that makes him feel light-headed. Suddenly, he’s not so worried anymore. He smiles, letting out a soft little laugh as he presses a kiss to your temple, fucking into you slow and deep.

“You look so beautiful like this.” He breathes. Running his nose along your cheek, your jawline, down the line of your neck. He inhales deeply, lashes fluttering as he takes in your scent. His chest is starting to hurt from how fast his heart is beating, but he doesn't care. His entire focus is on you — the sounds you’re making, the way you feel as your cunt sucks him in, the warmth of your body pressed against his.

“I love you.” He says again, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His arms wrap tight around your waist to hug your body tight against his own, leaning all of his weight onto you as he continues to thrust into you. His movements are almost lazy. He’s addicted to the feeling of being inside of you, the slow, languid drag of his cock. The way you gasp as he presses his hips flush to yours. He can’t stop smiling.

“I love you too, Caleb. Always… always loved you.” You gasp. Caleb hisses at the breathless sound of your voice, his thrusts growing harsher and more erratic.

He sits back on his heels, dragging you along with him. He keeps his grip on you tight, crushing you to his body as he fucks up into you, gasping and panting each time his cock sheathes itself fully within you.

“Close… I’m so close, baby. Cum, please… need to… need to feel you cum.” He grits out through his teeth, head lolling back as his fingers dig into the flesh of your back, desperately attempting to bring you closer. If he could, he’d merge your bodies together so he’d never have to be without you.

“Can’t… I can’t, need more—“ You gasp out in response.

Caleb groans, one of his hands slipping down your back and around your side, pressing itself between your two bodies so he can rub at your clit. Your core flutters around his length, a fresh wave of arousal setting your nerve endings on fire. You rock into his touch, grinding back down to meet his thrusts before you’re pressing up to chase the touch of his fingers.

Your body tenses, walls clenching around him as you come with a cry, arousal soaking him until its dripping down your thighs. You’re trying to kill him, he’s sure of it.

He finds it impossible to deny his release much longer. How could he, when you look so perfect against him like this, your expression hazy and blissed out. You looked utterly wrecked, and it was entirely his doing.

His hips jerk forwards shakily, a series of grunts and curses spilling past his lips as his cum fills you to the brim. He drops his forehead against your shoulder, both arms moving to wrap loosely around your waist to keep you close to his body.

He keeps you there for a moment before slowly lowering you back onto the mattress, gently draping his body over yours. He nuzzles your neck just to have another excuse to breath in your scent, the smell of sweat and sex mixing with something so distinctly you.

The silence is only broken as you whine, pushing at his chest. “Caleb, heavy.”

“Oh? Am I?” He teases, laughing against your neck as you try to wriggle free. He just tightens his grip. “Nuh-uh, pipsqueak. You’re stuck with me.”

He means it.

#lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #caleb x y/n #caleb x you #caleb smut #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader smut

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tbaluver · 13 hours ago

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S/O With ADHD- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader requested: by a couple anonnies ♥︎ a/n: hihi my lovelies! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i just want to mention a disclaimer about this. while i do have adhd, everybody experiences things differently so what might be common for me, can be completely different to another person! these symptoms presented here are only what i’ve experienced and what my friends have experienced and what people have requested! do not refer to this to diagnose yourself. if you suspect you might have adhd, please refer to a professional! there will be a part two to this because theres more to add but anyways enjoy reading ! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He didn’t fully grasp the idea when you tried to explain your adhd to him, your thoughts would jump from one thing to another and he tried to keep up. He would do his own research to understand better what you were going through. He would notice the little things, the way you would say you 're going to do something but never actually start or how tasks seem to take you forever to finish.

No worries about being late or rushing to go on dates or hangouts with him, there’s no set start time. Often times the dates and hangouts are flexible. He’ll wait until you’re ready as long as he gets to spend time with you and eat yummy food together, he’s happy

Indulges and learns your hyper fixations and your current obsessions. He’ll learn more about them on his own time so he can talk more about them with you

If you’re okay with it, he’ll join you whenever you need to rest and watch your comfort shows whenever you’re feeling drained or overstimulated. He’ll make the atmosphere in the room feel more cozy either by giving you space, adjusting the lighting and closing the curtains, tucking you in your blankets, so you can recharge

Praises your smallest victories even if it was just cleaning your room or finishing a simple task in under an hour without thinking or worrying about it. He knows that even the simplest tasks can feel overwhelming so when you manage to do something without thinking or bed rotting before doing something, he’s genuinely proud of you.

Zayne:

He would truly listen when you go off on a tangent of your hyperfixations, letting you ramble about them without interrupting you. Even if you branch off too many topics that you swear relates to the main topic, eventually forgetting what the point was, he patiently brings you back to the main point.

“..wait what was I talking about?”

“you were talking about how ___ and __”

He’s very organized, constantly tidying and rearranging things for you without needing to be asked. He doesn’t mind it at all. He organizes in a way that he knows would help you but if you ever forget where something is, he’s quick to help you. lost your keys? by the dining room table. your jacket? in the laundry basket. your phone? you’re holding it

Tries to keep his explanations short and easier to understand. He’ll give you just enough without getting lost in any unnecessary details

When he’s not around, he helps you by texting you on specific times to check up on you or to help shift your focus

Separate calm activities alone but together with him. You could be doing your own thing while he reads his book(s) or finishes up any medical reports

Calculates how long it usually takes you to get ready, so he’ll plan dates with reservation an hour or two ahead of time, sometimes maybe even more depending on the date, just to avoid overwhelming you. He’s always patient and understanding, sometimes he’ll help you get ready to take the weight off your shoulders

Rafayel:

In the beginning, he’ll notice you can run late to things but once you explain that it’s because of your adhd, he’ll be more understanding. Still, he can’t help but tease you just a little but he means well. He’ll just plan more hangouts that don’t require any set start time, just as long as you two are together at the end

Yap sessions with him take up an ungodly amount of hours. You both branch off to different topics, each one you both swear is just as important as the last, so the conversation goes in different directions. It takes forever to circle back to the original point.

He loves hearing about your hyper fixations. You can tell him everything, every little fact and he’ll ask you a million questions, indulging in your passion for it as well.

Loves to spend time with you but he is mindful and lets you have the space to unwind whenever you might feel overstimulated or just need to recharge

Shows so much encouragement whenever you show your creative and passionate side. He’ll recognize and appreciate the things you’re good at, even if you’re not able to see it in yourself

It’s canon that he sends you separate messages instead of big blocks of texts but its not because that’s how he feels more comfortable texting but also because he knows that long paragraphs can feel overwhelming. He doesn’t want you to miss anything or feel pressured to read through a lot at once

Sylus:

Lets you hold his hand whenever you want, no need to ask. He knows how much you fidget and he loves how you rub circles on the back of his hand, melting under your touch. If it helps you feel better, then go ahead. He’d even buy you rings to fidget with, ones that maybe match and also just so you can have something to twist and twirl when he’s not around

He adores listening to your obsessions and your hyper fixations, letting you ramble your latest interests or the new trinkets you’ve added to your collection. He’ll even surprise you with little trinkets he remembers from past conversations, knowing they would make you smile

Enjoys spending time with you even if you were focused on your own thing, whether it was hobby related or just unwinding in your own way while he’s also doing his own thing.

When you need help focusing and he’s not around, he’ll reach out at a certain time to check in and help refocus your attention

Doesn’t really send you paragraph lengths of text messages but sends you shorter messages so it doesn’t feel as overwhelming. He’ll mostly send voice messages that are short and the right length so it doesn’t let your mind drift away

Online shopping with him can help so you can control yourself from impulse buying so many things. He doesn’t mind you buying the entire world with his card but sometimes he has to stop you from buying things you absolutely don’t need

Caleb:

It’s easy for tasks to slip through or become overwhelming. You might start one thing but your mind jumps to something else and it takes a while before you can get back to what you were originally doing. Caleb would help by breaking down your chores one at a time or with more manageable steps or most of the time he’ll step in and take care of things for you so you don’t feel burdened.

If anything important was coming up the day after, he’ll leave little sticky notes for you all over the house, each one with a tiny apple doodles. They’ll be on your mirror, bedroom door, anywhere else he knows you’ll see them

Ever since you were a kid, he’ll still help you go over any of your works or anything you were unsure about when you feel like you missed any details. He’ll make sure you don’t miss anything

Never judgemental at all if you cut him off mid-sentence. He understands that you need to get your thoughts out quickly before they slip away so he lets you speak freely without worry

Sometimes you might forget to reply to a message or forget to come back to the conversation, so he’ll send a follow up message like, “whaddya think pipsqueak? :o” or he’ll send you a post to bring you back to the convo

If you’re struggling to focus on something, instead of pushing you to keep going, he’ll encourage you to take a break. He’ll help you ease back into it whether it’s breaking things down further or offering some encouragement

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bunny-jpeg · 20 hours ago

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belonging

lewis hamilton

tags: smut/pwp, curvy!reader, dirty talk, (slight) jealousy, doggy style, established relationship, big chest & wide hips, praise, fashion & clothing

a/n: lewis hamilton is so pretty what the fuck

you weren't the most fashionable person. despite your degree in design and your eye for it, you got pleasure in dressing others up. and lewis could understand that, but still tried to help you experiment a little more with style.

"you make everyone look good, love. time you look good as well." he chuckled before he kissed you on the lips.

"i'm not a barbie doll, honey." you giggled when he tried to egg you on to try one more outfit.

"no, of course not! the blond piece of plastic cannot compare to you." he leaned in to kiss you on the lips. you leaned in to him and he held your rounded face for a moment, "one more, and then we can go home." and while he was a guiding hand, nothing could prepare him for the outfit you chose while he was testing with ferrari.

it was nothing over the top. but simplicity sometimes meant good. and with the dress that stopped at your mid-thigh in a dazzling lilac colour and made of a fabric that held to your curves perfectly. especially your breasts, which made lewis do a double take.

his often tired lover who spent so many hours in your little 'workshop', dressed in over sized t-shirts and bigger hoodies, to see something so close to your body made him tense up for a moment. his dark eyes held shock as he admired you.

you looked around for a moment before you took off your dark sunglasses and tapped the arm of them against your soft full bottom lip. your gaze darted around to see is you could spot your partner. when you did see him, you weren't paying any attention to the couple of lingering stares at you. you waved at lewis and quickly went over to him. he could feel the pounding in your chest before he went met you with open arms.

he felt his heartbeat skin when he got armfuls of you. you looked into his eyes and smiled before you kissed him. your kiss tasted like artificial peach and he loved it.

what he didn't like was how a few engineers and assistants took a good look at you. lewis wrapped an arm around your middle to hold you closer. he simply flashed you a winner's smile and asked, "where did you get this?"

you leaned back a little and replied, "well, i took some advice from you and put it together with some fabric i had leftover. the one from the other dress i made for that client. i thought the colour was nice."

"well, it looks amazing on you." he said with total and utter affection for you. he then caught a glimpse of a worker, but their gaze was taken from you when lewis caught them. lewis looked back to you and kissed you on the lips, "go get seated, we're going to start soon." except part of him wished you had a neon sign that said,

"my boyfriend is sir lewis hamilton, do not touch!"

lewis was not possessive by any means! he trusted and loved you, there was no need more something petty like possession. he just didn't like you being mentally undressed by others. you kissed him once more before he watched you walk off to where you needed to go for the practice. he clenched his hands in his red gloves for a moment and got it together. it was time to drive.

it felt like days had passed by the time he got another grasp of you. and somehow after only about three hours of testing, you had became more beautiful. when you kissed him, you simply lit up. and in turn you lit him up. and that light shined through an excellent training. it lasted until you both got back to the rented apartment for the visit.

once in private, your beloved lewis was more vocal along with his hands on your hips as he pressed against you. his kisses grew needy, he yearned for his lovely lady's perfect body.

he caught your gaze on him, doing more than just observing as you licked your lips. he said to you softly, "like what you see, gorgeous?" then started to take off his t-shirt.

"you worry about people staring at me, meanwhile you look like the finest statue the greeks could ever make!" lewis laughed and you continued, "fuck, you look better than that. you look perfect." you reached out for him and you two kissed once more.

you were soon chest to chest as he admired you, "and you look beautiful as well. make anyone jealous." he chuckled lightly, "beautiful and smart. perfect."

your placed a hand on his chest before he turned with you in his arms and led you towards the bedroom. you got up onto the bed once you were close enough and lewis only crowded your space. his hands on the fabric of your dress, but he yearned for what was underneath.

"i want you." he said with total conviction. he laid you out on the bed and touched you with careful hands. he felt his pulse pick up, "i want all of ferrari to know you are mine. the woman who keeps this engine running." his cock twitched in his pants as he undid his belt slowly.

you helped him out of his clothes and soon after you were both naked. your pretty dress thrown over top of his blue jeans. you pressed against him and the kisses intensified. you moaned against his lips and felt the shudder of want through you. it only grew in heat when lewis got you onto your stomach with your hips raised to meet his hard cock. you let out a small noise from the anticipation of sex with him.

"all to myself. you know i love you deeply. i trust you, but knowing i can have you and none of those engineers can does get me going. especially when you look so good on the track. i can't get enough of you. you have no idea what you've done to me." his words grew the heat between you two as he rubbed his hard cock up against your behind, "i love you."

"and i love you, honey." you said before you moaned. there was a moment of tension then you relaxed to accept all of him. you let out another sweet moan that made lewis feel pleasure rush through him as he started to move again you.

he leaned up against you as he rutted up against you. the angle let him hit all the right spots. he could feel the pleasure on the tip of his tongue like unspoken words. "look at you." he said softly as he moved. the movements plus his hands on your wider hips, the flesh of your ass bounced with each thrust. he loved it, he loved you. remnants of your perfume clouded his head as he kissed your shoulder, "as much as i'd love a million photos in every angle of you. i guess i'll just have to take mental ones."

you squirmed, "i didn't know that you liked it all that much. i just put it together, i would've put more time into it if i had known" you moaned into the pillow you held on tightly to and arched your back a little more.

"i love it. you look stunning." he let out a small goran as his pace quickened. you were well aware of your curves and to hear them so thoroughly praised made your cheeks hot.

you replied, "maybe i should make another dress. let you pick out the fabric, i think i'd make the back dip a little bit more." you grew warmer, "it'll let you touch my skin when you hold my back."

"i'd love that. i want to watch you work, you always get these lines right between your eyebrows. it's sweet." he laughed as his hips worked against your ass. the movements continued, his breathing was heavy from the exertion of his thrusts. the pleasure was a comfortable warmth in his body. it was a steady pounding of his heart while sweat dampened his tattooed back.

he loved you, the feeling of you. his words were filthy as he said to you, "from the moment i saw you, i knew we'd be together for a long time. you are mine and i am yours." he exhaled deeply, "have never tasted, felt, loved, fucked anyone quite like you. being with you is everything i crave. it doesn't hurt that others are jealous of what i have by my side. you." his words were like honey on his soul as you felt the pleasure course through your body. aided by his words.

the temperature rose and you could feel the burn of heat high on your cheeks while lewis continued his rough movements against you. he leaned over you, his core tightened as pleasure built up in his sweaty body. he wanted to make you feel what he saw every day. the most beautiful in the world.

you held on tightly and let the feeling wash over you. you loved the feeling even as your thighs quivered, your heart was racing and your head felt a rush. even after all the times you were intimate, it felt better each time. it was an experience that built every time you were intimate.

"lewis." you moaned. your hips shifted and you swore into the covers. you licked the dryness away from your lips after your gloss stained the pillowcase.

lewis was encouraged by your airy moans. his movements were quick, his broad hands on your plush hips. you felt amazing, your cunt took him perfectly as he moved at a steady yet quick pace. he couldn't help himself, you simply felt too amazing.

there was a softness to you that only turned him on further. curves that made him excited, breasts that made his throat dry, soft cheeks that made his cock twitch in his pants with a want to finish across them. the want he had for you was undeniable!

"fuck, honey." you moaned loudly. your toes curled as the pleasure started to reach its peak. you shakily exhaled.

"next time, i want to look at you while you finish. i want to see that beautiful face as i ruin you." and you came from his erotic words.

"yes, yes! fuck!" you near yelled as the fire of lust reached its peak and you came around his cock. which in turn made him pick up the pace to reach his own climax. lewis moaned a little louder and he gave it a few more thrusts before he finished inside of you with a tension in his body. he continued to work your body through his orgasm and enjoyed the feeling of you around his length.

his head swam as he slowed to a stop, and he panted heavily. he leaned in to kiss you on the back, he said softly, "i love you."

"and i love you." he replied before you both laid out in the bed. the two of you kissed once more, you held his face and felt his affection warm you while on top of the covers.

eventually he pulled away, hi brown eyes gazed into yours. his breathing heavy as he asked, "can i have a little bit if input when you make another drss for yourself. there are some things i'd love to see you in."

"of course. but only if it can have pockets too." you poked him on the chest, "i need pockets." your smiled was small, blissed out around the edges.

"of course, beautiful. of course." <3

#bunny writes #reader insert #formula 1 #formula one imagine #f1 smut #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #formula one smut #formula one #lh44 smut #lh44 #lh44 fic #lh44 x reader #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x you #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton smut

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natsaffection · 2 days ago

Text

Redline. Pt 3 | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha x Younger!RacingDriver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), reflecting trauma, kinda sexual tension

Word count: 7,5k

A/N: part three!!! In the next one, we’ll focus more on the chemistry between Natasha and you. 🫢

Part 2

The rhythmic thud of a punching bag filled the space, the only sound aside from your controlled breathing as you threw another strike, then another. Your muscles ached, fire burning beneath your skin, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. This was the only thing that made sense anymore, pushing yourself past the limits, past the doubt, past the thoughts you didn’t want to deal with.

Until the doors slammed open. The sound cut through the room like a gunshot. There was no controlled amusement this time. No smirk, no teasing remarks. Just pure, simmering rage. The kind that made the air feel too heavy, like the walls were closing in.

Natasha.

Yelena had followed behind her, though she kept a safer distance, arms crossed as she watched the impending execution unfold. Natasha’s gaze locked onto you, sharp as a blade against your throat.

“You missed the meeting.” she said, her voice quiet, far too calm for how angry she was. You rolled your shoulders, wiping sweat from your brow. “I was training.” Wrong answer. Natasha’s expression darkened, her jaw tightening as she took two slow, measured steps forward.

“And?” The single word was sharp, cutting, as if she was daring you to keep going.

You clenched your fists, keeping your ground. “And I thought it was more important than sitting in a room while PR tells me how to smile for a camera.”Natasha inhaled through her nose, slow, controlled, like she was restraining herself from snapping you in half.

“You thought?” Her voice was too smooth, too dangerous. “Let me make something very clear, because it seems you’ve already forgotten. You don’t get to think. You don’t get to decide what matters. I do. And when I say you show up, you show up. Do you understand me?”

You held her stare, the defiance still there, but your body tensed. Natasha saw it. Felt it. The resistance. The fight to not give in and she wouldn’t allow it.

“You think training gives you a free pass? That you can just ignore my orders and do whatever the fuck you want?” Natasha stepped closer, crowding into your space, forcing you to either hold your ground or back down. “Let me tell you something, dorogoy (sweetheart). You work for me. Not the other way around. I don’t care what you used to be, who you were before, or how good you think you are. In my world, you either fall in line or you get the fuck out.”

Your breath hitched. The air between you was suffocating. It wasn’t just the words, it was the way Natasha said them. The control in her voice, the absolute certainty that she meant every single thing. There was no bluff, no space to argue, no ground left to stand on.

You swallowed, your muscles still coiled with the need to fight back. But Natasha saw it..the way your jaw tightened, the way your fingers curled slightly, the way you were still resisting. And Natasha smirked. Slow. Cruel.

“You don’t like being told what to do, do you?” she murmured, tilting her head slightly, voice dipping into something almost amused. “I can see it..right there. You’re dying to argue. To push back. To prove something.”

She leaned in, lowering her voice just enough that it sent a shiver down your spine. “But you won’t. Not this time.”

Natasha studied you for a second longer, watching the way your body still fought not to react, still fought not to break.

“Now..” Natasha exhaled, her voice slow, taunting, the smirk still lingering. “Be a good girl and go shower.”

Your stomach twisted. You wanted to argue, wanted to throw back a response, wanted to not let her win. But you had already lost. You knew it. Natasha knew it. And she wasn’t going to let you forget it.

You swallowed hard, your jaw still clenched, body still trembling with frustration, exhaustion, and something else you didn’t want to name. You didn’t say a word, and you ou just grabbed your towel and walked away. Natasha smirked, watching you go. She had won. And you both knew it.

Yelena let out a slow breath, shaking her head slightly. “You know, she’s still adjusting, right?”

Natasha didn’t look at her. “I know.”

Yelena tilted her head. “And you could’ve gone easier on her.”

Natasha finally turned, meeting her gaze with a look that was pure Romanoff steel. “And what would that teach her?”

Yelena sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “You’re impossible.”

Natasha smirked. “And yet, she’ll be in the meeting on time now, won’t she?”

Yelena shook her head, muttering under her breath as she walked away. Natasha glanced back at the empty space where you had stood, where you had fought back, where you had finally..finally realized what it meant to work for Romanoff Racing. This wasn’t a team. This was Natasha’s empire. And you? You were learning exactly where you stood in it.

You arrived at the meeting on time. Not a second early. Not a second late. Exactly when you were supposed to. You weren’t about to give Natasha another excuse to put you through.

The tension in the room was thick, even before you stepped inside. Conversations were already in motion, staff members talking in low voices as data flashed across the massive LED screens. The polished glass table was covered with neatly arranged folders, stacks of reports, and the ever-present presence of Romanoff Racing’s insignia stamped on everything.

You took your seat near the middle of the table, arms crossed, jaw tight, resisting the urge to sink into your chair. The moment you settled, the meeting continued.

A PR executive stood, clicking through slides on the massive screen. Media coverage. Headlines. Reactions from the unveiling event. You already knew this would be bad. But fuck. Hearing it all at once was worse than you expected.

“Public reception has been…mixed.” the PR rep started carefully.The first slide displayed headlines from the biggest news outlets:

“Your Comeback: Redemption or Desperation?”

“Natasha Romanoff Bets Big on Fallen Driver, Will It Pay Off?”

“Dreykov Laughs Off Romanoff’s Signing: ‘She’s Damaged Goods.’”

You cringed. There it was. Right there. Every reason you had avoided coming back. The PR rep continued, voice calm, practiced, as if they weren’t presenting a full breakdown of your entire existence. “Online engagement has been high. Social media discussions are up 230%, and you’re currently the fourth most searched name in the industry.”

You exhaled slowly through your nose, not sure if that was a good thing or not. The slide changed again, screenshots of tweets, live TV commentary clips. Some were supportive. Some were brutal.

“She should’ve stayed gone. She’s never gonna be the same.”

“Romanoff must be insane. There were better drivers available.”

“This is a PR stunt, right? No way she’s actually racing again.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. You had heard worse. You had survived worse. But it still felt like a goddamn gut punch.

A press clip played on screen, Dreykov himself, sitting in front of flashing cameras, reporters hanging onto his every word.

“Romanoff’s choice? Interesting. Bold, I suppose. It’s always nice to see an old name come back, even if it’s… well. I just hope she finishes a full season this time.”

The words hit harder than they should have. A slow, mocking grin stretched across Dreykov’s face in the video, and you had to force yourself not to react. Because that? That was a very public, very intentional slap in the face. The clip ended, and the PR rep hesitated before clicking to the next slide—Walker. Because of course, they shoved a mic in his face the second the event ended.

You didn’t even need to see it. You already knew what kind of bullshit was about to come out of his mouth. “Am I surprised? A little. But hey, I wish her the best. I mean, she was great..once. Let’s see if she still has it, huh?”

The clip cut out. Silence settled over the room. You exhaled slowly, pressing your palms against your thighs to keep yourself from curling your fingers into fists. You weren’t surprised. You should’ve expected all of this. But it was one thing to think about it. And another thing to hear it out loud.

The PR rep cleared their throat. “Obviously, their strategy is to undermine the credibility of your return. They’re not outright attacking, but they’re implying doubt, planting the idea that you’re a risk.”

You almost laughed. Implying? They weren’t implying shit. They were saying it straight to your fucking face.

Natasha had been silent this entire time. But when she finally moved, it was just a shift in posture. One smooth, measured movement. Enough to make the entire room go still.

“Let them talk.”

Your eyes snapped toward her, but Natasha didn’t look at you. Didn’t look at anyone. She just watched the screen, unimpressed, unaffected.

“Let them doubt her.” Natasha continued, her voice almost lazy. “Let them laugh, let them underestimate her. It makes our job easier.”

The way she said it, like she had already won. Like none of this mattered. You wanted to believe that. You really did. But then—the conversation shifted. One of the PR executives sat forward, folding their hands. “That brings us to the next point. The press conference is in three days. We’ll need to start preparing her for it immediately.”

Your entire body tensed. You had been expecting it. You knew it had to happen eventually. But still, fuck. The PR rep continued, completely unaware of the way your stomach had just twisted itself into knots. “We’ll go through standard media training, responses to common questions, body language adjustments, phrasing techniques to redirect the narrative in your favor-”

You barely heard the rest. Because you already knew what the hottest topic was going to be. Your crash. It didn’t matter what they rehearsed, what Natasha’s team prepared for. The moment you stepped in front of the cameras, someone was going to ask. Someone was going to force you to talk about it.

And you didn’t know if you could. Natasha must have noticed the way you stiffened, because her eyes flickered toward you, studying you. You kept your gaze straight ahead. Didn’t react. Didn’t let yourself flinch. You weren’t going to give Natasha the satisfaction.

The meeting ended with a sharp nod from Natasha. No unnecessary closing remarks, no wasted words. Just business as usual.

Chairs scraped against the polished floor as people stood, gathering their notes and murmuring amongst themselves. You moved on instinct, standing as well, ready to get the hell out of there before anyone could expect you to give some kind of reaction to the media storm they had just dissected.

You were already halfway to the door when, “Sit down.”

Natasha’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a blade. You froze. Slowly, you turned, your fingers twitching at your sides as you met Natasha’s gaze.

Everyone else was still filing out, but the room suddenly felt too big. Too quiet. You hesitated for only a second before forcing yourself to sit back down, your posture stiff, tense as hell. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask why. Because you already knew.

Natasha was still seated at the head of the table, watching you. Then, in one slow, calculated movement, she stood. She walked toward you, not with purpose, not in a rush, just pure control in every step.

You barely kept yourself from shifting under her gaze. Natasha reached the table, but instead of sitting in her chair, she pushed herself up onto it, one hand resting against the polished surface as she settled onto the edge, directly in front of you. Close. Too fucking close.

Green eyes studied you, not rushed, not impatient..just watching. You clenched your jaw. You hated that stare. The way Natasha could see things you didn’t say. The way she could strip you down to nothing without even opening her mouth.

The room was so silent now that you swore you could hear your own heartbeat. “You’re afraid of the press conference.”

You exhaled through your nose. “I’m not afraid.”

Natasha’s smirk was slow, cruel. “Liar.”

Your fingers twitched against the table. You didn’t respond. Didn’t argue. Because what was the point? Natasha already knew. And she was going to make damn sure you knew it too. She tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking over you like she was studying something fragile, something on the edge of breaking. “What are you afraid of?” Natasha asked, voice quieter now. Softer.

You swallowed. Where the fuck did you start? The press? The questions you knew they were going to ask? The fact that you didn’t have an answer for them? The fact that no matter how much you pretended otherwise, you still weren’t sure you belonged here? Or worse, what if they were right? What if you had come back for nothing? You inhaled slowly, voice tight when you finally spoke. “I already know what the questions will be.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Do you?”

You scoffed bitterly. “You do too. Everyone does. The crash. What happened that day. What went wrong. How I felt when I woke up in the hospital. How it felt to lose everything.” Your jaw tightened. “How it felt to…fight to get back here. If I even deserve to be back here.”

You stopped yourself before your voice shook. But Natasha caught it. She didn’t move. Didn’t react. Just watched. Your fingers dug into the fabric of your pants, gripping hard enough that you felt your nails pressing into your skin. “And then there’s them.” you muttered, voice lower now. “What my parents will think when they see me sitting in front of cameras again. What they’ll say when they hear the same questions, when they have to relive the same goddamn day all over again.”

The words came out faster than you intended. You hated yourself for admitting it. But Natasha didn’t look smug. Didn’t look satisfied. She was just listening. And somehow, that made it worse. Because if Natasha wanted to, she could take every single thing you just admitted and use it against you.

A long, slow silence stretched between you. Then, Natasha leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, eyes locked onto you like a challenge. “You survived all of it.” she murmured, voice smooth, even. “And you’re telling me a few cameras are what’s going to break you?”

Your stomach twisted. Because it wasn’t that simple. Natasha made it sound so easy. Like she hadn’t spent years avoiding this moment. Like the weight of the past wasn’t crawling up your spine every second you thought about stepping in front of the press.

“You..don’t get it..” you said, voice quieter than before.

Natasha hummed, the sound almost amused. “You think I don’t?” She tilted her head slightly, her voice dipping into something darker. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to be picked apart by the world? To have people who don’t know a damn thing about you decide who you are, what you’re worth?”

You clenched your jaw but said nothing. Because fuck. Natasha wasn’t wrong.

“You survived the fire.” Natasha continued, her voice almost too soft now, too careful. “You survived the months of rehab, of rebuilding yourself. And now, you’re sitting here, trying to tell me that a couple of journalists with microphones are the real problem?”

You hated how your throat felt tight. How your nails pressed harder into your palm. How Natasha was right. Again. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet Natasha’s steady, unyielding gaze. “And what if I don’t have an answer for them?”

Natasha smirked. And for the first time, it wasn’t cruel. It was patient. Amused. Like you had just asked a stupid fucking question. “Then you do what I do.” Natasha murmured, tilting her head slightly.

You frowned. “And what’s that?”

Natasha’s lips parted slightly, her smirk widening just enough to make something in your stomach twist. “You give them the answer you want them to hear.”

You exhaled slowly. Because fuck. That was probably the most Romanoff answer possible. Natasha straightened, finally standing, stretching her arms slightly before glancing down at you. “You’ll be fine.” she said, voice effortless, confident. Like it was already decided. And in a way..maybe it was.

You weren’t sure you believed her. But something about the way Natasha said it, so sure, so steady, made it feel a little less impossible.

You didn’t say anything after Natasha’s last remark. You just nodded, slow, measured, your jaw still tight like you were holding something back. Natasha took it for what it was, the closest thing to acceptance she was going to get. She let the silence stretch for another second before leaning back, tilting her head slightly. “You can go.”

You didn’t hesitate. You stood, pushing the chair back, muscles still tense from the entire conversation, and walked toward the door without looking back.

Natasha watched you leave, the faint trace of a smirk still playing at the edge of her lips. Because you could fight it all you wanted, but you were getting closer. Whether you realized it or not.

The garage was usually a place of noise. Machines humming, tools clinking against steel, mechanics shouting orders across the floor. The sound of progress, power, precision. But tonight? Tonight, it was silent.

Except for one person. Natasha had been walking through the complex when she noticed it, a figure near the car. She stopped just outside the garage entrance, leaning against the wall, keeping to the shadows as her eyes locked onto the scene in front of her.

You. Standing next to the GT car you would be driving soon. The car was sleek, lethal, polished under the dim lights of the garage. It was a machine that belonged to champions. A machine that demanded control.

And you were just standing there. Not touching it. Not inspecting it. Just watching it. You had headphones in, music spilling softly from them, blocking out the world. Your face was unreadable.

But your posture? Tense. Stiff. Natasha could read it like a book. This wasn’t excitement. This wasn’t confidence. This was doubt. Natasha didn’t move. Didn’t call out to you. She just watched.

Because this was the truth, wasn’t it? Not the version of you that stood in meetings, that threw sharp words back at her, that pretended like you weren’t thinking about every single thing that could go wrong. This was real. This was you, standing in the garage at midnight, alone, staring at the one thing that could either save you or destroy you.

Natasha tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. This was a crucial moment. And you didn’t even know you were being watched.

The next days came too fast. You barely slept. You had tried, laid in bed, stared at the ceiling, told yourself you were ready. But the truth? Nothing could’ve prepared you for this.

The press room was a sea of flashing lights, cameras, journalists packed together, waiting, ready. The air was thick with the low murmur of voices, the tension palpable even before the conference had begun. At the center of it all was a long, immaculate table with microphones set up, the Romanoff Racing logo flashing behind them on a massive LED screen.

And sitting at the head of it: Natasha. She was dressed perfectly, as always. Not a single detail out of place, her tailored suit sleek, her expression cold and unreadable. And beside her? You.

You had barely spoken since arriving. Barely breathed. Because the second you sat down in that chair, facing the crowd, you felt it. The weight. The expectation. The waiting.

The journalists wanted blood. And you were the easiest target in the room. Natasha shifted slightly beside you, adjusting her mic, and you could feel the glance she gave you. You didn’t look. Didn’t let yourself move. Because if you did, you might crack.

A moderator spoke into the microphone, giving the usual formalities. “Welcome, everyone, to the official Romanoff Racing press conference. We’ll start with pre-approved questions before opening the floor.”

You barely processed the first few questions. They were for Natasha-business-related, team-focused. She answered smoothly, effortlessly, as if she had already predicted every single thing they would ask.

Then..the shift. A journalist leaned forward, their voice cutting through the room. “A lot of fans were shocked to see your return to racing. What made you decide to come back?”

Your throat tightened. You expected this. You knew it was coming. But fuck, hearing it out loud…The microphone was too close, the lights too bright. You could feel the hundreds of eyes staring at you, waiting. You forced yourself to inhale.

“I never stopped thinking about racing.” you said, keeping your voice calm, steady. “It’s a part of me. It always has been.”

The journalist nodded, but their expression sharpened. “And yet, after your accident, you disappeared. No press, no interviews, nothing. Why now?”

Your fingers curled slightly under the table. Before you could answer, Natasha spoke. “She’s here because she’s a racer.” Natasha said smoothly, cutting through the noise like a blade. “And racers belong on the track. Next question.”

The journalist hesitated, like they wanted to push back, but they didn’t dare. Another question came, and another. Some were easy. Some were loaded.

And then..the moment you had been dreading. A woman in the second row leaned forward, microphone raised. “Y/n, after your accident, there was a lot of doubt about your ability to return to racing. Some experts believe you’re not the same driver you once were. Do you think you’re still capable of competing at the highest level?”

Silence. Your breath hitched. There it was. The one question you didn’t want to answer. The one moment that had haunted you for years, now laid bare in front of the world. You swore you could feel the room lean in. Waiting.

You opened your mouth, and nothing came out. Your pulse thundered in your ears. The flashes of cameras, the expectant looks, the fucking memory of it- The way the car had flipped. The fire. The medics pulling you out. The moment you stopped breathing.

Everything crashed down all at once.

Your hands pressed against your lap, digging into the fabric of your pants, trying to ground yourself, trying to breathe. But Natasha saw it. Of course, she saw it. She shifted slightly beside you, not visibly, not obviously, just enough that you could feel it. A reminder. A warning.

“She doesn’t-”

“No, wait.” you said, your voice firm. The room went dead silent. Natasha turned her head slightly, her sharp green eyes snapping to you. It wasn’t a warning. Not quite. It was more like..curiosity. Like she was waiting to see what the hell you thought you were doing.

You exhaled slowly, turning your gaze back to the journalist. You forced your voice to stay steady. “You want to know what happened after the crash?” you asked, leveling your stare at him.

“You think I lost something in that crash?”

Somewhere, a camera shutter clicked rapidly, someone shifting in their seat, but no one spoke. You could feel Natasha watching you, but you didn’t look at her. You kept your focus straight ahead.

“I lost the ability to move my legs for two months.”

A murmur rippled through the room. But you didn’t stop.

“I lost thirty pounds of muscle in eight weeks. I lost my ability to walk without help. I lost my grip strength. I lost my reaction time. I lost everything that made me a driver.”

Your fingers curled slightly, nails pressing into your palm, but your voice never wavered.

“I spent half a year relearning how to do basic human functions. And then another half a year relearning how sit properly in a car. And every single day, someone told me I couldn’t.”

You scanned the room, taking in the faces of the journalists who had written the headlines, the ones who had picked apart your downfall like vultures.

“Do you have any idea what it feels like to wake up and have your own body feel like a prison?”

The air was thick, suffocating. Natasha, the woman who always had something to say? Was silent.You let them sit in it. Let them feel the weight of the hell you had to survive.

“I built myself from the fucking ground up. And now? Now I’m here.”

You sat back, jaw set, gaze unwavering.

“So if you’re asking me if I think I’m still capable?Watch me.”

A few journalists shifted in their seats, uncomfortable. But you weren’t done. You leaned forward slightly, resting your elbows on the table, keeping your expression unreadable. “They were wrong. And now? I’m here.”

You let that hang in the air. You let them absorb it. Then, you leaned back, perfectly composed. “That answer your question?”

The journalist swallowed hard. “I- yes.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but she didn’t. Because what else was there to say?

Another beat of silence. Then, Natasha smirked. Not mockingly. Not cruel. Just slightly impressed. She turned back to the room, one eyebrow raised. “Well, now that we’ve cleared that up, next question.”

And just like that, the press conference moved on. The press conference wrapped up soon after, but the weight of what had just happened lingered in the air. You had taken control of the narrative. You had spoken for yourself. And for the first time since stepping into Romanoff Racing, you hadn’t let Natasha speak for you.

The journalists left in a flurry of movement, camera crews packing up, murmurs spreading across the room as headlines were already being written. You didn’t move right away. Your hands were still pressed against your lap, knuckles faintly white. You weren’t shaking. But you weren’t steady, either.

Natasha stood slowly, adjusting the cuffs of her tailored suit, her every movement calm, practiced. She didn’t turn to you right away. Instead, she let the tension settle, let the weight of the moment hang between you. Yelena was the first to break the silence.

“Well. That was unexpected.” she muttered, throwing a grape from the snack tray into her mouth. She glanced between you and Natasha, one eyebrow raised. “And you’re still alive. That’s a miracle.”

You finally looked at Natasha. She was already watching you. There was something in her eyes, sharp, calculating. And yet, she wasn’t mad. She tilted her head slightly, stepping closer, lowering her voice just enough that only you could hear.

“You surprised me.”

You weren’t sure if that was a compliment. You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat. “I wasn’t trying to.”

Natasha hummed, amused. “You’re learning how to play the game.”

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not playing a game.”

Natasha’s smirk deepened, and fuck, that was a dangerous look.

“Sure you’re not.” she murmured, her voice too smooth, too knowing. You hated how your stomach twisted at the way Natasha looked at you, like you were more interesting than before. Like you had just stepped into a new level of control, and Natasha was enjoying it.

Yelena cleared her throat, clearly done with the tension. “Alright, before one of you murders the other or something worse happens, what’s next?”

Natasha finally looked away from you, as if she had decided this conversation was over.

“We keep control of the media. We don’t react to Dreykov’s team. We move forward.”

She turned back to you, her green eyes flashing with something unreadable. “And you? You prepare for your first race.”

Your breath hitched. Because fuck. That was next. No more press. No more talk. It was time to get back into the car. For real.

——

The racetrack buzzed with energy- a chaotic storm of activity. Mechanics shouted instructions over roaring engines, and the stands were already packed, a mass of color and noise. It felt familiar, yet foreign at the same time.

You took a deep breath as you approached the Romanoff Racing GT car waiting for you in the garage. It gleamed under the bright lights, looking sleek and dangerous, built for speed, built to win. Your heartbeat picked up, nerves mixing with adrenaline as you stepped toward it.

Natasha was already there, headset on, posture straight, her presence radiating authority. She didn’t speak immediately, just observed as you settled yourself into the racing seat, pulling the harness tight over your shoulders.

Then, her voice came through clearly over the team radio. “Radio check, Y/n. Do you copy?”

You adjusted your helmet slightly, pressing the comm button on your steering wheel. “Loud and clear.”

There was a slight pause. “Good. Systems check?”

Your eyes flicked over the dash, scanning the familiar indicators. The lights blinked back at you, everything perfect, everything waiting. “Systems all green.” you responded evenly.

“Copy that.” Natasha replied smoothly. You could hear the background noise behind her, the engineers confirming fuel, tire pressure, engine temperature, and everything else that mattered. But Natasha’s voice remained steady, almost reassuring in its calm authority. “Standby for track clearance.”

You exhaled slowly, feeling the vibration of the engine beneath you, your grip tightening around the wheel as your pulse quickened. Your heart was hammering now, anticipation building.

“Alright.” Natasha finally said, voice lowering just enough to feel like she was speaking directly into your ear alone. “It’s just you and the car now. Focus. Trust yourself. Let’s show them what you can do.”

Those words settled something inside your chest. You felt steadier, more certain, as you flipped the ignition switch. The engine roared to life, raw power vibrating through the cockpit, through your bones, filling your veins with fire.

Mechanics cleared away, giving you space as you slowly guided the car from the garage toward the track entrance. Your breathing steadied with each passing second, your world narrowing until it was nothing but the track stretching ahead.

The final instructions came through your headset. “Track is clear. Take it out.”

You didn’t hesitate. You pressed the throttle, and the car surged forward, cutting through the air with a precision and power you hadn’t felt in years. And just like that, everything else fell away.

It was just you, the car, and the track. The car hummed beneath you like a living thing, every shift of the throttle sending a pulse of raw energy through your bones. It had been a while since you’d driven something this powerful. And fuck..you felt it.

You eased into the first few turns, warming up the tires, testing the brakes, feeling out the balance of the machine you had just been handed. The steering was sensitive, the throttle was brutal, and the sheer speed of it all?

You let out a slow breath as you took another corner, muttering under your breath. “Goddamn, you’re fast.”

You adjusted your grip on the wheel, rolling your shoulders as you pushed just a little harder into the next straight. The car responded immediately, roaring under your hands, begging to be let loose.

You smirked slightly. “I hear you.”

The radio crackled in your ear. Natasha’s voice, smooth and controlled. “How’s it feeling?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you took another turn, still feeling out the car’s behavior. “Like a wild animal.” you muttered. “One wrong move, and I think it’ll kill me.”

You heard a chuckle from the radio. “Good.”

Of course, Natasha fucking Romanoff would say that. You rolled your eyes, shifting your weight as you lined up for the last sector, pushing just a little more. The car gripped beautifully, the back end barely twitching as you found the perfect exit.

The lap wasn’t fast, but it wasn’t supposed to be. You were getting used to it. Letting the car tell you what it wanted. Listening. You reached the final straight and slowed, bringing yourself to a stop at the grid, right before the traffic lights.

The engine rumbled beneath you, waiting. You flexed your fingers against the wheel, inhaling deeply.

The first light flickered on. Then the second. Then the third. You tightened your grip. Everything in your body coiled, ready to launch.

The fourth. The fifth.

And then- green.

You slammed the throttle down. The first few laps had been clean. You had found your rhythm, felt the car beneath you, learned its language. You had danced with the machine, not fought it. Every turn, every straight, every shift..perfect.

The moment you pulled out of the pit lane, Natasha’s voice was in your ear.

“We’ll start simple. Build heat in the tires. Weave down the straight.”

Your hands moved before she finished speaking, the car already shifting left and right, smooth, controlled. You could hear the faint sound of engineers in the background, data being recorded, but your focus was on the car, on the way it responded, on how the weight transferred with each movement. Natasha didn’t react. She simply continued.

“Turn 3, keep the throttle steady before braking. No coasting.”

You followed the instruction exactly, the front tires gripping as you carried speed into the corner, braking later than your instincts wanted, but exactly how she would have demanded.

“Better.” she murmured, voice clipped, all business. You kept going, each sector executed with precision, every command from Natasha met with immediate response. She was directing, you were following.

And then, you did it before she could say it. The upcoming chicane was tight, demanding a quick flick of the wheel, a perfectly timed shift in weight. Before Natasha could give the instruction, before her voice could even breathe into your ear.

It lasted less than a second, but it was there. A pause. A hesitation. Then the radio crackled. “Good.”

No approval, no compliment. Just that single sound, laced with something unreadable. She picked up again, her voice neutral. “Don’t get cocky. Turn 9, brake harder or you’ll compromise the exit.” And just like that, the rhythm returned.

You didn’t push. You didn’t acknowledge what had happened. You just followed orders again, steady and controlled, as if nothing had changed.

But then, the car twitched. Just a little. A fraction of instability. The back tires twitched in a high-speed section, and for a second, your body reacted before your mind could. You barely even had to correct it, the car settled almost immediately, but it was already too late.

The sound in your head, metal screaming, tires screeching, the gut-wrenching silence that had come before the crash..It slammed into you, full force.

Your chest locked up. Your breathing hitched, and before you knew it… You were slowing down. Your hands gripped the wheel too tight. Your heart was hammering. The track around you warped, the air too thick, the inside of the cockpit too fucking small.

Natasha’s voice cut in, sharp, controlled, but tinged with something harder. “What are you doing? Keep pushing.”

Your fingers twitched over the radio switch. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Natasha’s voice came again, this time lower, firmer. “Y/n, talk to me.”

No. Your stomach twisted. The sounds in your head were too loud, too consuming, too goddamn real. So you did the only thing you could think of… You cut the radio. A sharp click, and silence filled the cockpit. Natasha was gone.

In the control room, the moment the radio went dead, Natasha stood up so fast her chair nearly toppled over. Her team froze. The tension in the room turned suffocating. She whipped her head toward one of the engineers. “Tell me she did not just cut me off.”

The man stammered, eyes flicking to the radio log. “…She cut you off.”

Natasha’s jaw locked. Her fingers curled into fists. The cameras showed your car stopped dead on the track. Not stalled. Not damaged. Just stopped. Natasha’s chest burned with rage. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. She had calculated everything… pushed you just enough.

Had she miscalculated? Had she pushed too fucking far? She turned sharply, already storming for the exit. “Unbelievable.”

Yelena grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

Natasha spun on her, fury in her eyes. “She just stopped on the fucking track, Yelena! I’m going down there!”

Yelena, for once, didn’t smirk. She looked at the monitors, at you. “She’s panicking, Nat…”

Then, she got an idea. She pulled out her phone, scrolling fast. “She always has headphones in before a race, right?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Yelena didn’t answer. Instead, she connected her phone to the main speaker system. The engineers looked confused, but Yelena smirked as she hit play.

And suddenly, music flooded the track. The second the music blasted through your headset, your mind snapped back into reality. The engine was still roaring beneath you, the car vibrating with power, but the sound, the fucking sound..didn’t belong here. It didn’t belong in the cockpit, in the race, in your head. It was your playlist, your music, your ritual before a race, and now it was bleeding through your carefully controlled silence like a blade.

Your breath caught. Then it hit. Yelena. Your grip on the wheel tightened. Your pulse pounded, heat climbing up your spine, something sharp and furious breaking through the fog that had been suffocating you just moments before. You flicked the radio back on, voice ice-cold, clipped.

“Turn that off.”

The pit crew was silent for a moment before Yelena’s voice came through, casual as ever, utterly unfazed. “Oh hey, there you are. Took you long enough.”

Your jaw locked. Your body was still in overdrive, still burning, still balancing on the razor-thin edge between control and complete fucking chaos. “I said turn it off!”

Before Yelena could respond, before you could breathe, another voice crashed into your headset like a gunshot. “You think this is a fucking joke?”

Her voice hit like whiplash, slicing through the cockpit, leaving no space for you to breathe. “You shut me out? On my track? In my car?”

Your grip on the wheel tightened. “Do you have any idea how many people would kill for this opportunity? How many drivers I could’ve picked instead of wasting my time on you?”

Your stomach twisted, your chest tight with frustration, with rage, with the need to fight back, but you couldn’t.

“You’re wasting my time.” Every word was sharp, biting, dragging through you like a blade. “You’re driving like you’re afraid, like you don’t belong here. And maybe you don’t.”

Your jaw locked. “You don’t get to turn me off when things get uncomfortable. That’s not how this works. That’s not how I work. You either keep up, or you get the fuck out of my car.”

The rage in your chest boiled over. Your breath came hot and sharp, your heart hammering against your ribs as the words ripped out of you before you could stop them. “Fuck you.”

And the radio went silent again.

"S-She turned you off again."

Natasha's head snapped toward the screen, her eyes wild and boiling. She shoved back from the desk, her chair nearly toppling over as she pushed to her feet. A girl? A fucking girl was giving her this much trouble? On her track? In her car? A slow, low growl rumbled from deep in her chest, her nails digging into her palms. "Fix. It."

One of the engineers hesitated. "We, uh- we can override the headset, but she can shut it down again.."

Natasha's nostrils flared, her breathing coming short, clipped. "Then override it again. And again. And again! I don't give a shit how many times it takes! Get me back in her head!!"

The static crackled back into your headset, “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Her voice was razor-sharp, dripping with controlled rage. “You’re in my car, on my track, acting like a fucking brat?”

You knew the trick, it wasn’t without reason that you had been one of the best mechanics for years. So, you turned the radio off again.

The engineers in the control room flinched as Natasha ripped the headset off, her movements violent, lethal, uncontrollable. “Done. I’m fucking done.”

Her chest heaved, eyes burning with something between rage and disappointment. Yelena, watching from the side, chewing on a protein bar like she wasn’t witnessing an absolute meltdown, tilted her head. “You sure?”

Natasha shot her a look that could’ve set the entire control room on fire. “I don’t repeat myself.” She grabbed her phone, already dialing management. “Get the contract ready. I want it on my desk. Now.”

No hesitation. She turned, already storming toward the exit. She was done. Done with the attitude. Done with the defiance. Done with you. Then, A beep. A new sector time update. An engineer swallowed hard, staring at the screen. “Uh..boss-”

Natasha didn’t stop. Didn’t care. Then—Another beep. The numbers changed. “She just broke Walker’s lap record.” Natasha stopped. Yelena smirked. “Oh. That’s interesting.”

Natasha turned, slowly, like she couldn’t quite believe what she just heard. Another update. “She just broke the second record.” Her heartbeat roared. The control room was silent. Everyone watching. Waiting. The third sector. Another record.

Natasha’s jaw locked. Her hand clenched around the phone, the unfinished call abandoned. Because now? Now she wasn’t leaving. Now? She was watching.

You were going faster. Faster. Faster than anyone had gone before on this track. Your hands flexed over the wheel, your body moving on pure instinct. Every turn, every shift, flawless. You weren’t driving to prove something anymore. You were driving because fuck her. Fuck Natasha’s doubt. Fuck Walker’s legacy. Fuck every single person who thought you were done.

Lap after lap, the speed increased. Natasha barely had time to react. You were coming in too fast. Way too fast. Her breath hitched. Her instincts kicked in. Her hand shot toward the console, her finger hovering over the radio switch, ready to step in, to stop you from making a mistake that would end this entire session in a wreck. She had seen this before. This was the moment where drivers panicked. Where their talent collapsed under pressure.

“Y/n-”

You didn’t panic. You didn’t flinch. You owned it. The weight transferred seamlessly, the balance perfect, the tires gripping the apex at the last possible second—And Natasha watched as you took the smoothest, most precise fucking corner she had ever seen.

Her breath hitched. Yelena, beside her, let out a low whistle. “That was kinda sexy.”

Natasha didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t speak. Because for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she had just created a monster. Or if she had finally found the driver she had been looking for.

The tires screeched as you pulled into the pit lane, the scent of burning rubber and overheated brakes clinging to the air. Your pulse was still racing, every inch of your body vibrating with adrenaline, sweat sticking to your skin beneath the fireproof suit.

The cockpit ripped open. Natasha. Storming. Fuming. Burning. Before you could even move—before you could even reach for the harness, she grabbed you. Yanked you out of the car like you weighed nothing. Your boots hit the pavement hard, but you barely had time to react before..

Her hands fisting into your fire suit, dragging you closer, shoving you up against the side of the car. Her grip was tight, possessive, unforgiving. And when she spoke? She was livid.

“You do not turn me off!”

Your breath hitched. “You do not shut me out!”

Her voice was low, dangerous, vibrating with barely restrained rage. Your chest tightened. You tried to speak. “Natasha, I-”

“Shut up!!”

Her fingers tightened, her nails digging into the fabric of your suit. “I don’t give a fuck what’s going through that reckless little brain of yours. I don’t care what you think you’re proving. You work for me.”

Her breath was hot, her lips barely inches from yours, her eyes a dark, consuming fire. “And you do what the fuck I tell you to do!”

You clenched your jaw, your stomach twisting in something between anger and the unshakable feeling that she was enjoying this. And then, her smirk. It was barely there, just the faintest tilt of her lips, but you felt it.

“You wanna prove something?” Her voice dipped lower, smoother..too smooth. “Then do it on my terms. Not by acting like a brat who can’t handle being told what to do.”

Your body tensed. Your fingers twitched, fighting every goddamn instinct to shove her away, to push back, to match her fire with your own. You opened your mouth. “I-”

But her grip yanked you forward before the words could come out. “No!”

Your breath caught in your throat. “You don’t get to speak right now!”

Her voice was a whisper now. Sharp. Slow. Dangerous. The heat between you was suffocating. The world outside didn’t exist anymore. Just her hands on your suit. Her body, pressing you back against the car. The anger crackling between you like a live wire.

Then, a voice cut through the chaos. “Y/n?”

Your body froze. Your head snapped to the side. And there he was. Your father. Standing at the edge of the pit. Watching everything. Your stomach plummeted. Natasha didn’t let go immediately. No. She let her fingers linger for just a second longer, her eyes flicking over to your father with a slow, lazy amusement.

But instead of stepping away, she straightened your fire suit. Her touch slower than necessary, smoothing down the fabric, fingers ghosting over your shoulders, your collarbone. Her hands brushed down the front of your torso, flattening the creases with a touch so deliberate, so calculated, it made your entire body go rigid.

And when she finally spoke? It was for your ears only. “If I knew Daddy was coming to watch, I would’ve made you struggle a little more.”

Your pulse spiked. Natasha hummed, smirking like she had just won something. She took a step back. Calm. Controlled. Untouchable. She pulled out her phone as she passed Yelena, not even breaking stride as she spoke into it, her voice bored, detached. “Take the contract off my table.”

Then she hung up. And just like that, she was gone.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha smut #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanov smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov

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daycourtofficial · 1 day ago

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Tell me I’m the only, only, only, only one - part six

Pairing: Eris x Azriel x reader | WC: 4.2k | warnings: general angst, mentions of dizziness and nausea

Summary: you wake up only to find out you were unconscious much longer than anticipated, leading to multiple needed confrontations

Author’s note: I’ve been a bit MIA lately 😅 just throwing this out in the void before going through my dms/inbox. I’m soooo excited for the next part

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You didn’t need to open your eyes to know how bad your head hurt. It felt impossibly heavy, practically glued to the pillow beneath you. You weren’t entirely sure your neck could hold up its weight anymore. You groaned, not really certain where you were. You combed through the last things you remembered, all of it a blur of blood and exhaustion, none of it clear.

“Do you want to tell me what’s been going on with you?”

A low female voice greeted you, receiving only a grunt in response. Thinking was hard and it only caused the throbbing in your head to worsen. You weren’t entirely sure who was talking to you or why, but you focused all of your energy trying to remember what happened.

All you could remember was blood and pain, a tiredness that you carried in your bones. There was arguing and arrows and Eris. Slowly more and more came back to you until you sat up, wincing at the sudden change, nearly nauseous from the movement.

“Azriel? How’s Azriel?” Your eyes cracked open to find your room around you, albeit slightly cleaner than when you had left it. The still room was a sharp contrast to how you felt inside. Nesta was sitting in a chair next to your bed, a book in her lap, a finger marking her place in it.

She didn’t look happy to see you, nor did she seem to care that you were awake.

“He’ll be fine, thanks to you it would seem.”

You groaned, falling back onto the bed. The suddenness was something you had not learned from when sitting up. Now the room was slightly spinning before you shut your eyes tight, hoping for some reprieve. You rubbed your eyes harshly until you saw stars.

“It would also seem like you almost burnt out saving him.”

Burnt out.

It was something they warned all healers, magic or not. There is a breaking point. A point of no return. It’s happened to many healers over the centuries, especially during times of war, when they don’t quite know their own limits.

Something all healers learn is the whereabouts of their magical limitations, where they need to stop before doing serious damage to themselves. All healers were taught not to place someone else’s life above your own. It’s drilled into your heads, one of the first rules of practicing the healing arts.

But you had done it. You had placed Azriel’s life above your own without even a second thought.

The pained look that was on Eris’s face was enough to keep you from crumbling from that realization.

For hours, you placed Azriel’s healing above yourself. You made the choice over and over again, choosing him over yourself. You made the right call. You would do it again. You could handle a broken bond, but not a dead one.

Maybe this one sided devotion was proof enough you were making the right decision.

“I’m sure you have a better understanding than I do of how stupid and reckless that is, and yet you still did it.” Nesta’s voice wasn’t the happy, soothing voices you usually hear patient’s families spoke with after they wake up. If you heard someone chastising a patient after waking, you’d chew their heads off. Instead, you stayed quiet, just watching Nesta as she continued on.

“For weeks now, I have sat idly by as you spiraled into self-destruction, but I can’t do so anymore.” Her voice cracked with each word, betraying the anger she was trying to inject into each word. “You are my friend, and I care so much about you. I’m worried about you.”

Her concern cracked at your heart. She crumpled into herself, bringing a hand up to her mouth. She looked uncomfortable, like her body had been glued to the chair and was finally unfolding itself from strange positions to find comfort.

“I’m fine, Nesta.” You were groggy, nauseous, and a bit heartbroken, but you’d be fine. Azriel was alive, you were going to be mateless, but you’d be fine.

Her eyebrows pinched together, a look of annoyance crossing over her features. You weren’t sure if it was over your words or interrupting her.

“I haven’t been there for you as I should. I thought you needed space, and now you’re here.” She spat out the last word, but you knew she wasn’t talking about being confined to your room.

“How long was I out?” You had to stop Nesta’s spiraling and get a handle on the situation. Madja wasn’t here to tell you what had happened, but surely you could parse out your state from a few questions Nesta should know the answers to.

“Four days.”

Nesta must be wrong. Surely there was no way you were incapacitated for four whole days. That was ridiculous. But you looked over Nesta, taking in the purple bags beneath her eyes, her hands fisting into the fabric of her wrinkled dress.

She wouldn’t lie about that.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” And you hadn’t. You hadn’t thought of anyone except for Azriel and Eris for several hours, all of your attention on the two males. When you weren’t examining Azriel for his condition, your gaze would end up floating to wherever Eris was.

But now neither of them are here, just you and Nesta.

“You didn’t scare me. I was terrified. I thought you were gone, thought you wouldn’t wake up.”

“Nesta, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Wasn’t that bad?” She repeated your words with a venom that had you recoil, preparing yourself for the strike. “You were wailing in Cassian’s arms in the foyer. You were inconsolable until you passed out. Madja’s been here nearly every hour to check on you.”

Shit. If Madja was making hourly rounds, you were in worse shape than you thought. Hourly rounds meant you must have been practically knocking on death’s door.

“What happened out there? What happened when you were with Azriel and Eris?” Nesta was practically pleading, desperate for some kind of answer. She was like a dog, a scent stuck in her nose until she nosed her way to the truth. You wanted to break, tell her everything.

Until you’re struck by the memory of Eris’s hand, pushing through Azriel’s wings, finding you. How tight his grip was, he warm his skin had been.

“We were ambushed. Azriel took the brunt of it. We healed him and came straight back here.” You absentmindedly rubbed at your wrist

“But you were gone for hours. You should have winnowed back.”

“Eris winnowed us somewhere. He was in bad shape, so I fixed him. How’s Azriel?” You needed to know more about his condition. Nesta said he’d be fine, but did that include any long term effects? How much had your healing helped him?

“He’s resting, but he’ll be fine.” She crossed her arms, her fingers tapping on her arm, not telling you much more than she already had. You were sure this was her punishing you, by leaving you in the dark on Azriel.

“If he wasn’t fine after you nearly killed yourself to save him, I’d resuscitate both of you to kill you myself.” You hadn’t realized you forgot to respond until she chastised you.

“Nesta-“

“You both were gone for hours. It was supposed to be quick. None of us realized until Rhysand couldn’t get through to either of you.”

You blinked, surprised at that. Eris must have had some form of protection put around the cabin that stopped Rhysand.

Interesting.

“And now you’re telling me next to nothing.”

“I just woke up. I can hardly recall it all myself, okay?” A lie. You remembered all of it clearly. The splintering wood, having to carefully remove the arrowheads, all of the blood gushing from him, Eris’s quick remarks.

“Did you fuck him?” The question was quick and unexpected, and you nearly snapped your neck with how quickly you looked at her.

“Who, Eris?” She didn’t move, didn’t give away any slight movement. Still as a statue as yiur heart began beating faster.

“Yes, Eris. You reek of him these days. I won’t tell the others, but I need to know.” His name on her tongue sent a rush through your body, your jaw ticking in annoyance.

“Yes Nesta, I fucked him while Az was bleeding out.” The barb was quick on your tongue, this conversation raising your heckles and irritating you more than anything. Nesta’s eyes hardened for a flash, a mischievous glint in them before she softened ever so slightly, her voice turning from admonishing to conspiratorial in a manner of seconds.

“Do you think he’s a selfless lover?”

“No.” The response was too quick, too ready on the forefront of your mind, something that didn’t go unnoticed by your friend. “I imagine he’s selfish in every aspect of his life.”

“So you imagine it?”

“Nesta.” Her name was sharp from your mouth, a knife slicing across the room. She took a more defensive stance, approaching your bed. A knowing smirk overtook her features for just a moment before it quickly contorted into one of concern and annoyance.

“Mother’s sake, tell me something, anything.” Nesta was pleading at this point, uncaring at the vulnerability and guilt she was sure was all over her face.

“I can’t.”

“You can tell me anything. Are you in danger?”

“No.”

“Well, I don’t know! You’re avoiding everyone, you're being self destructive, you’re spending a lot of time with Eris of all fae. What am I supposed to think?” She was pacing now, her footfalls back and forth across your floor, an anxious rhythm that only dug the secret deeper and deeper inside of you.

“Nesta, I can’t tell you.”

“I’m not accepting that.”

“What?” Her concern was shifting into nosiness. You clenched your hands in frustration, nails digging into skin harsh enough to leave marks.

“It’s not good enough.”

Rage was coiling inside of you, a ferocity nipping at your fingertips begging to be let out. You had to swallow down a growl from slipping out, the territorial feeling nearly consuming you.

You had to stall her. Get her out of here before you exploded before her.

“Give me a month to figure things out. I’ll be honest with you then.”

“A week.” You sighed through your nose. Of course Nesta was going to barter with you. Your left hand felt warm. A small trickle of blood was about to stain your sheets, no doubt.

“Two weeks.”

She looked to the window, her face blank as she thought over your offer. She was taking this almost too seriously, as if it were hostage negotiations or preparing for war.

“Fine. Fourteen days from now you’re telling me everything.” She pointed a long finger at you, the agreement weighing the air down. You felt a shift in the room, uncertain of the magical perimeters of your verbal agreement.

You released your hand, grabbing the pillow behind you. You didn’t care about the blood as you held the soft material to your face and screamed.

Members of the Inner Circle trickled in throughout the day, each one wanting to see for themselves you were awake and had all your faculties about you. It was sweet, but by the time you had seen Cassian and his boisterous laugh, your head was pounding so hard it made the soft lights in your room appear blinding.

Feyre had come in a few hours after Cassian, boxes loaded in her arms as she came into your room. You were a bit groggy, having just woken from a nap in the hopes it would tampen your migraine.

It half worked.

“What is all that?”

The boxes shuffled in Feyre’s arms, ringing and tingling with each step.

“Well, I wanted to bring some jewelry to look over for the gala in a few weeks.” You had completely forgotten about it, had forgotten that one of the days you were incapacitated was a scheduled day for you, Feyre, and Mor to go dress shopping.

“Thanks, Fey. Sorry for missing-” she shushed you, not letting you finish your apology. She spread the boxes across your bed, gently lifting the lid of each one to reveal exquisite necklace after exquisite necklace. Each one contained more vibrant jewels, shinier than the last.

The eight boxes practically blinded you with the light coming in. Feyre noticed the squint in your eye and quickly closed the curtains.

“They're gorgeous, but I haven’t even picked a dress.”

“Maybe you could pick a dress after you pick the jewels. Black goes with everything, so..” she trailed off, sitting in the seat next to you, her back straight. She watched you eagerly, her eyes flitting between you and the pile of jewels before you.

“Are you wearing any of these?”

“No - Rhys surprised me with some onyx pearls. Want them on full display.” She reached a hand up to her throat, as if feeling for the necklace. It was pretty easy to figure out exactly what Feyre meant - skin, and lots of it, on display. She was much quicker to adapt to fae views on modesty than you had anticipated.

“Oh, well in that case.” You sat up a bit straighter, moving slowly to avoid as much pain as possible. Each necklace must have been worth a pile of gold marks.

A few of them looked quite similar - chunky gemstones of varying colors set in different metals. One necklace did catch your eye. You kept looking over to it, the other ones looking dull and lifeless in comparison. Deep red stones perfectly set to resemble Night Court jasmines. The dark red nearly looked black until the light hit it, refracting rays of red. The stones branched out, weaving around the neck to create multiple flowers connected by leaves.

You couldn’t stop looking at the necklace, your hand gently rubbing across it.

“Do you like that one?”

Feyre had a knowing look as she watched you, but you didn't turn to see it.

“Yes. I do.”

A few more visitors came and went - Madja (again), Rhysand, Mor. Each one not the shadowsinger you wanted to see. Maybe it was better to wait. Build your strength up a bit before shattering your heart.

Rhysand and Mor could both tell your head wasn’t with them. Rhys accepted it, leaving you to your thoughts, but Mor lingered, her never ending stories an attempt at distracting you. The attempt half worked - at least now only every other thought was about Azriel.

But most of the other ones were about Eris.

Your friends tried to help clear your mind, but all your thoughts whirled and swirled with fire and shadow, bright and vibrant colors immediately snuffed out by the darkness.

Everyone told you Azriel was fine. But where was he? You felt unsettled, unable to truly concentrate without seeing him.

You glanced over to your bedside table, the book on broken mating bonds practically laughing at your turmoil.

You went over what to expect again, trying to see if you can recall all the symptoms and long term side effects of the broken bond, repeating them to yourself like a mantra.

It wasn’t until the next day you saw Azriel. He had gently knocked on the door before coming in, each movement slow and unsure, as if approaching a wild animal.

“I had heard rumors you were awake. Wanted to check for myself.” He stood with the door to his back, as far away as possible from you. One hand on the knob, but his body was angled right at you.

You couldn’t think of anything to say, only stare at him outright.

Azriel looked beautiful, like always, but he carried a tiredness with him. His wings weren’t as high as they usually stood, his shoulders were caved in a bit. His shadows were slithering in every direction, all trying to reach you, but held back by some invisible tether.

He looked miserable.

“If you don’t want me here, I can go.” Azriel’s voice was soft, an echo in the dark woods late at night. A salvation or a new fear.

“Have you visited while I was asleep?” You didn’t want to tell him how much you wanted him here, how much you still thought of him.

So what if you were going to stretch out the last few minutes of your bond.

“Madja wouldn’t let me. She had Cassian and Mor practically guarding the door day and night to ensure I stayed put until completely recovered.” He scoffed as he said it, as if he were nothing more than an animal incapable of decisive thought.

Or they didn’t think he was the coward he had been for the past few weeks. They thought him capable of seeing you.

And yet here he was. Despite his self-loathing, his inability to make a decision, to speak, to do anything his mates need him to.

He wanted to be the male his mates needed.

“I wanted-“ he began, searching the room for his next words, as if they would be written out on your wardrobe or the painting behind your head. He tightened his hand into a fist, the scars nearly turning white as he looked at you head on.

“I wanted to thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s my job.”

“It’s not your job to nearly die saving me.”

“I would have done it for anyone else.” The second the words left your lips, you knew Azriel wouldn’t believe them. He always knew when you were lying somehow, as if the mating bond gave him some unfair advantage to your heart and motivations.

Azriel only nodded, not fighting you on the lie. You watched him suspiciously, watched his chest rising and falling, subconsciously counting his breaths.

“Are you tired?”

He looked anguished, like he carried a deep hunger and no meal was enough to sustain him, let alone nourish him.

“No.”

“Nesta said you needed more rest.”

“Nesta lies when it suits her.”

An awkward silence settled over the two of you, weighing you down further into the bed. You took a deep breath, propping yourself up on your elbows until you reached a sitting position. You knew what you had to do, what you had to say. It wouldn’t get easier the longer this went on. Azriel moved to your side, moving pillows to give you a proper cushion and to help prop you up.

“We should talk, Az.” He looked over you, the pillows abandoned as all of his attention was focused on you. You held your hands in your lap, wringing them for every ounce of courage they contained to get through this conversation. Your stomach churned with dread, the thread around your heart trying to stop you from saying what you had to.

“When you were injured, because of me, I decided it’s not fair to you or me to keep dragging this out. We should end things.” You looked at your hands, proud you had gotten the words out without stuttering or breaking. You swallowed harshly, your throat dry, but you couldn’t bring yourself to reach for the water on your nightstand.

Quiet surrounded you, a stillness you hadn’t expected from this conversation. There were no shouts or sobs, no frustration sitting in your chest. No relief or songs of praise at being free.

Just silence. Like you had made him incapable of thought or feeling with those words.

“Is that what you want? Or is that what you think I want?” His words startled you, and you finally looked up to find a layer of rage coating his face. He had come closer while you were looking elsewhere, finally being in the room, allowing himself in the narrative.

Finally taking charge.

“Isn’t it? What’s the point in having a mate who doesn’t want you?” Your words had an immediate effect on him, the male before you rubbing his hands on his face. One of his shadows hooks around his fingers, trying to pry them away, to make him seen. Another one swirls his ear, and you can’t discern it, but you hear a light buzzing from it.

He sits in the chair next to your bed before quickly getting back up and grabbing one of your clammy hands.

“I have not been good to you or Eris. This is hard, okay? No one has ever had this happen and I didn’t want either of you hurt.”

You scoffed, trying to pull your hand away, but he held it tighter. The textured grooves of his skin were more prominent as he held you. “Bit late for that.”

“Please. Please, give me more time. Give me a chance. Maybe we can figure something out, some kind of arrangement.” He was desperate, a pleading voice you had never heard from him. Was this how criminals of the Night Court looked to him, pleading at the ends of their lives for just one more chance?

“An arrangement?”

“I don’t know, okay? I’m not sure what to do when I have two mates who I care about who also hate each other and they both currently hate me.” He paused, chest heaving. His hazel eyes looked so lost, so unsure. “Not to mention someone out there knows about us or about us being out there. I haven’t been able to figure it out, haven’t been able to figure any of this out.”

The end of his sentence tapered off into his spymaster voice. A tone full of obsession and getting to the root of things, a dogged voice of determination.

“Please, let me take care of you. If not as your mate, as your friend. I care so deeply about you and you are where all my thoughts have been the past few days.”

“What of Eris?” Azriel used to recoil at the mention of his other mate, his name so foreign on your tongue. Now he showed no change, almost happy to hear it.

“He’s popped in now and then. He’s angry with me for getting hurt.” The mention of it sent you back there. A large, heavy body nearly crushing you in an effort to save you. Hoe you had felt him slump into you, his body giving out, unable to hold himself up any longer.

“Is he upset you shielded me?”

“Eris would be more upset if I shielded him. Autumn males are incredibly proud creatures.”

“As proud as Illyrians?” Your question brought a smirk to his lips, a twitch you knew he couldn’t suppress. You hadn’t seen it in a few weeks, but it felt more like a lifetime since you had a chance to see anything other than impassiveness or pain on his face.

“Almost.” He chuckled, lighthearted and free. A rarity you didn’t take for granted. His smile melted, a more serious, solemn expression overtaking his face. His hazel eyes were a shade full of desperation you knew a little too well.

“Give me time. Please. I’ll handle Eris. Just don’t - don’t reject the bond if you have an ounce of hope this could work. That’s not a sadness I wish to see you carry.”

“Why are you talking to me about this now? You’ve been avoiding this for weeks, Az.”

“I was afraid. I thought if I acknowledged it, I'd be hurting Eris. But I hurt both of you anyway. And I need-” the words die on his tongue, an awkward pause as he searches for the right words without being too vulnerable. “I need to- I needed to.. I don’t know how to do this. To be the male you both need. But I’m here now. I’m here.”

“Are you here because you have to be?”

“No. I want to be here. Let me be here. Let me try.”

Something about him cracked you open inside. In the weeks of this turmoil, the constant push and pull, the uncertainty, Azriel hadn’t looked so open, so vulnerable, so pained. If you spent long enough, you were sure you could map out every regret on his face.

Two roads laid before you. To end it all now, cut off any further heartache. Or you could try, allow Azriel time to figure something out.

He cared for you, you knew that deep inside of you.

With each passing second, your earlier resolve to end things became weaker and weaker, your heart winning the argument with your mind. Perhaps Nesta was right: you were self-destructing. Or was it the mating bond, so loudly swirling in your chest, determined to see itself recognized, even if it meant leading you overboard into frigid waters?

“You may stay. One condition.”

Azriel’s face relaxed, but he still seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, your words only lifting a few pounds off the load.

“You can’t leave at any inconvenient time, can’t just leave or shut me out because things get hard. I am your mate, and if you don’t treat me as an equal, or someone of importance… I’m gone.”

“Of course.” A light tingle gripped you again, less powerful than the magic that had floated around during your deal with Nesta. This time it was more like a light wind disturbing settled dust, spreading it across the both of you. Azriel’s skin almost brightened with the promise, breathing new life into him.

It suited him.

Only, only one taglist: @ssmay123 @scarsandallaz @meritxellao @saltedcoffeescotch @2ooopenbook @wintersquirrel @manicmanuscription @wavegirl @thisishwrworld @tempermentalbookworm @romantasyreader28 @marina468 @i-know-i-can @rcarbo1 @lifesdisasters @tele86 @ireneisbored @yazzzmints @azysmate @bsenpai @curiosandcourioser @elisha-chloe @yasmin-oviedo @that-one-little-soybean @azrielslittledove @stormieandateacup @anon1227 @phoenix666stuff @asahinasstuff @acourtofbatboydreams @anainkandpaper @mother-above @sunshinedayz19 @bibliophilr @famousprincesscollector @calamislunafox @dnfhascorruptedme @blightyblinders @l11lll1th @cabbageisdead @love-over-fears @paintedbyshadows @azzydaddy @kbear8863 @luxlingbabe @the-sweet-psycho @whyucloudingmymind @lets-talk-about-xyz @slytherin-pen @krowiathemythologynerd @ailoda @fourthwing4ever @anehempel

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x you #acotar writing #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel x eris x reader #azriel x reader x eris #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #eris x reader #eris vanserra fanfiction #eris x you

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luvseraphh · 3 days ago

Note

heyy! i really loved the headcanons ab the mha guys with an autistic s/o! could you write another with eijiro, katsuki and shoto? if you only want to do it ab one of them you could just do kiri! this is my first ever request so im not rlly sure how to do this haha

autism e. kirishima, k. bakugo, s. todoroki

in which how mha boys would treat their autistic partner <3

notes might be slightly ooc , might not be super accurate to everyone with autism , gn reader , fluff , hcs

˙⟡ — e. kirishima

single handedly the most patient man alive

listens intently every time you info dump

and tries to learn as much about it as possible to impress you

and he buys you so many gifts based on your special interests / hyperfixations

great at understanding your nonverbal communication

admires you so much

he's just so down bad

˙⟡ — k. bakugo

tries to pretend he doesn't care about your info dumps but if you stop talking he'll turn to you like " ?? keep talking ?? "

would get so pissed if someone said something even SLIGHTLY negative about you

if you have sensory issues he'll subtly try to eliminate any need for you to touch them in your life

whenever he can tell your overstimulated he'll get you out of the situation while making it seem like it's for him to get the attention off of you

˙⟡ — s. todoroki

he is super quiet

which is great when you're overstimulated

also a great listener

just silently sits there, eyes tracing your face while you info dump

and you think he forgets about it

but he'll bring it up a few days later

and it's so cute :3

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nitadllyss · 2 days ago

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Cutness agression ɞ

Hyunjin x reader

Genre: Fluff, Headcanon, Extremely Sweet!

----------------------------

Hyunjin has a serious problem with cute aggression, especially when it comes to you.

• For example, in the mornings

"Good morninggg" you said without opening your eyes, still half asleep, smiling when you woke up feeling Hyunjin hugging you.

"AHH, HOW CAN YOU BE SO CUTE?!" Hyunjin felt like the luckiest person in the world for having you as the first thing he saw when he woke up. He cupped your cheeks in his hands and started showering you with kisses all over your face.

"Hyunjin, wait" you said between laughs, trying to pretend you were annoyed.

"Why?" Five kisses on your right cheek. "How can you be that...?" Another three kisses on your left cheek. "Freaking gorgeous." Lots and lots of sweet kisses on your lips.

When he finally let you go, you were dazed from the overwhelming amount of aggressive affection he had just given you.

"You’re so weird..." you gave him a look, but the smile on your lips betrayed you.

• Or at breakfast

You were eating together while watching a drama.

You were so focused on how the characters were fighting over the female lead, dipping your cookies in milk without even looking and bringing them to your mouth, surprised by the plot twist.

Hyunjin felt like he was going to die from love.

He started making whiny noises, making you look at him immediately.

"Babe, what’s wrong?" you asked, concerned.

"I’m going to cry because you’re so cute" he laughed while trying to continue his fake crying act.

You rolled your eyes.

"I literally didn’t do anything..." you said, not understanding his reaction.

"That’s why I want to cry! How can you look so cute doing literally nothing? I hatelove you so much."

Before you could escape, he hugged you from behind, holding you tightly while kissing your neck.

• Also, when you smile

That day, Hyunjin had brought you flowers without reason. When he gave them to you, you thanked him and smiled.

Big mistake.

"HYUNJIN, ARE YOU CRAZY?" you ran for your life. Hyunjin had just whispered, "I’m going to bite your cheeks off." What was wrong with him??

"Come on, please! I need to vent. You can’t smile that cutely and expect me not to want to bite your cheeks" he pouted while following you. He caught up to you.

"Hyunjin, what the hell…?" You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He was so in love it was starting to get weird.

Then he began to gently bite your cheeks, leaving sweet kisses on them afterward.

• Let’s not forget when you wear his hoodie

After taking a shower, you went for the coziest outfit you could find to stay at home. That warm hoodie of Hyunjin’s looked so inviting, so you put it on.

"Are you trying to kill me...?" he murmured with wide, deer-like eyes, mouth slightly open, looking you up and down.

"Huh?" you looked at him confused.

You blinked, and he was already messing up your hair.

"AHGGG!! You look so cute. Keep all my clothes if you want" he genuinely looked like he was about to explode.

At first, you fought him off, but in the end, you just gave up.

• When you sleep

Hyunjin got home late from work, exhausted and missing you. He opened the door and nearly cried from love.

You were sleeping on the couch, hugging a Jiniret, your mouth slightly open, your lashes pointing down, a little drool at the corner of your lips, your hair beautifully messy.

If it weren’t for the fact that you’d kill him for waking you up, he would have already been on top of you, hugging you and not letting go.

He doesn’t know how, but he restrained himself. He just took a picture and set it as his wallpaper.

• But when you’re doing nothing, that’s his favorite

You were watching TikTok on the couch when, out of nowhere, you felt Hyunjin’s weight crushing you.

"AABSSBSBAHJABABAHAJABABW" he babbled nonsense and started biting your arm.

"Bro, wtf?" you looked at him amused. "Can you explain what’s happening now?" you raised an eyebrow.

"BSBSNDBANZ" he responded, then began kissing your face desperately.

"I just hope you don’t have rabies…"

( There are thousands of situations like this, but it would be an infinite post)

•When you’re cooking and he comes up behind you, trapping you and leaving you no way to escape while hugging you.

•When he sees you doing your makeup and can’t resist kissing your lips carelessly, just because your lipstick made him fall in love and he needs to have that pink from YOUR lips.

•When you come out of the shower and he grabs your cheeks for at least 10 minutes, making your face turn red.

•When you sneeze and he swears you’re a kitten. When you wrinkle your nose, he probably fainted.

•Etc.

----------------------------

English is not my first language, so if you see a mistake, please let me know. 🙏🏻

I'm just a girl in love with Hyunjin and his cute aggression attacks. 😭🫠

#skz #skz x reader #stray kids #skz drabbles #skz fluff #skz imagines #skz stay #fluff #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin headcanons #hwang hyunjin x reader #skz headcanons #cutness agression #jiniret

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bananayuyu · 3 days ago

Text

Walker, Stalker

Pairing: Yunho x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 6.6k

Summary: The captain of the soccer team and the strange new girl who'd just moved in next door. Who would have thought that you and Yunho had the same fucked up fantasies?

Warnings: MDNI, smut, reader is short, size kink kinda, voyeurism, masturbation, sex toys, collars, stalking, degradation, mean yunho, unprotected sex, cnc vibes, please don't read if that isn't your thing!

A/n: this is inspired by that video above of Yunho walking and also this instagram post that had me losing my damn mind. @yuyusbabygirl thanks for making me insane. I hope you all enjoy <333

The air was cool and crisp the day you moved into your new dorm, campus nearly empty for spring break. As your beat up sedan pulled up to the curb you sighed, taking in the rare moment of silence.

It had been a harsh two weeks following your expulsion. And in all of the hiding and lying, you'd worn yourself thin. But what were you to do, tell the truth? If anyone here now, or anyone there then, heard the true reason for your transfer, you knew you'd never be able to show your face anywhere. Your accomplice had promised to keep his mouth shut too, promised to keep this whole thing a secret just as you had. And you had reason to believe him; his job was on the line, not just his reputation.

By then you were a jaded sophomore, already over everything about college; the power dynamics, the social expectations, the politics and bureaucracy that hung over all the professors. You'd learned too much about that, getting involved with him. It had been a bad idea, of course. But you had an insatiable need to fulfill certain fantasies, and try as you might you were never able to make the rational choice when it really mattered.

Moving in all on your own made for a tough day, but you were thankful for the solitude. Your friends and professors at your last school had been constantly asking you why for weeks; I thought you hated that school? All it's really got going for it is it's sports program.

You should have been more sad to leave them all behind; yes, you should have been, but your brain didn't seem to work the way it should, and you'd never been very attached to anyone. No one in the world could understand your true desires; and though you always tried to live as normally as you could, you'd realized this last year there was little point in truly trying to suppress it. The suppressing had only made it worse, which led to the shit storm you'd just passed through; you were determined not to make that mistake again.

The week passed in relative peace; with campus nearly empty you could walk about and get used to your new space, the new routes you'd have to take to your classes, the drive to the nearest grocery store. You'd heard mixed things about this place, but the cooler, wetter weather here meant that trees and bushes grew in abundance, and the grass by the student union building was actually soft enough to lay on. Your birthday was about to come, at the end of the week, and you resolved to buy yourself a little gift to celebrate. You'd done well to escape that potentially disastrous situation; you deserved a little treat for being so positive about the ridiculous move you'd just had to make.

You woke the morning of Friday with anticipation coursing through you, your legs and core already tingling with delight. The package wasn't set to arrive until the afternoon, so you busied yourself with what you could; going for another walk to double check your new routes, stopping by the store again to buy yourself a little cake to have with dinner. No one knew you were turning twenty today, but you didn't mind; you were going to celebrate tonight in your own way, in the way you liked, and that was all that mattered.

When you arrived back at the dorm in the mid afternoon the parking lot still looked relatively empty save for a few cars that you'd not yet seen. You had been so alone these few days, already growing used to it; but that was to change as soon as you entered the front doors and headed through the kitchen towards the stairs. As you walked past the refrigerator door slammed sharply; you jumped and peered back, locking eyes with a tall and broad man, his brown hair floppy and messily pushed back, his grey hoodie adorned with the school's bright green logo.

The eyes he fixed you with were dark and domineering, but he obviously looked surprised, seeing a new face here. The building wasn't tiny, but it wasn't huge by any means; you'd always imagined dorms to be massive enough for relative anonymity, but the one you'd been selected for housed only about twenty people, few enough that he'd certainly know everyone well by now. You snapped your eyes away from his quick and made for the stairs, your small cake clasped between your hands, your whole body trembling for some unknown reason. Maybe these few days you'd gotten so used to solitude that simply seeing another human ws scaring you; but really, if you were honest with yourself, it was something about the look in his eyes, the way they looked intense and dead all at the same time.

It was roughly an hour later that there was a knock on your door; opening it you found his face again, eyes still piercing yours when they met. Up close he looked massive, towering over you so much you had to look nearly straight up to see him, his shoulders so wide you couldn't see them all with the door only partially ajar.

"This came for you," he said, holding up your package, and your heart about fell out of your ass.

"Oh, thanks," you responded, swallowing hard, your mind racing with the knowledge of what was inside and his huge hands that somehow reached around the entire box. Your eyes fixed on the package as you grabbed it from him; your hands brushed, and a jolt of static snapped between your fingers. You jumped back, breath knocked out of you, before you stared back at him. He was staring at you too, eyebrows low, but his lips were turned up in the whisper of a smirk. You couldn't read him at all; you gaped as you watched him walk back to his room, the one right next to yours, and close his door without another word.

As you placed the package down it was obvious in an instant; there were multiple lines of tape that had graced the cardboard box, residue lines that were unmistakably in different spots that the current tape. Had he fucked with your package, had he opened it? You shook your head, feeling crazy; it was probably just a mistake that had been made at the warehouse, and the package had to be opened and taped up again. You didn't understand what it was about this guy that was shaking you so deeply. You were tired of feeling on edge, that was all the last few weeks had been. You needed to finally relax, that had been your plan for tonight; you pushed your worries from your mind and ripped open your package, immediately forgetting them all as you stared at the beauty in front of you.

A collar, with tiny spikes on the inside, that tightened if you pulled on the leash. And a stunning eight-inch dildo, purple and sparkly, a massive suction cup on the end. You'd had a routine down for months but had thrown out all your old toys during that period of suppression; now it was time to start building your collection again, and taking care of these sexual needs yourself. Your cake sat tantalizing you on your desk; but it would have to wait, you needed to try out your new toys.

You tied the leash to the back corner of your bed, making sure the rope was quite short; already the process was bringing you to the dark and sultry place your head liked to be, and you could feel yourself getting wet even before you'd grabbed the dildo, suctioning to the wall at just the right height. You started licking it, teasing it, getting lost trying to take it down your throat as far as you could; after gagging it was soaked with your spit, and in an instant you ripped off all your clothes and turned around, securing the collar around your neck carefully and tugging on the leash to make sure all was secure.

Then you positioned yourself in front of it; lining up your soaking entrance with the dildo you sunk onto it slowly, groaning at the stretch it was giving you, a sensation you hadn't felt in far too long. You liked feeling like you were splitting open from the inside, liked when it felt a bit painful, like it was too much for you to take. As you rocked forward your body weight pulled at the leash, squeezing the collar against the side of your throat deliciously, relenting slightly as you thrust back again. You started keeping a rhythm, the collar squeezing on the upswing, the dildo hitting your cervix the other way. This was what you'd needed to relax; the mix of pain and pleasure was numbing your mind just right, and as you continued to thrust your pleasure grew, your moans gentle as you tried your best to keep your volume down in this building you were no longer alone in.

You ripped several orgasms from yourself, over and over again, before you heard it. You'd lost count at that point; you were about to have another when you heard the unmistakable sound of metal creaking outside your window, and flashed up your eyes to see a grey hoodie moving past the glass, someone clearly on the fire escape outside. It all happened so fast, it didn't seem real; you didn't want to lose the pleasure you were feeling, so you started up your movements again, this time keeping your eyes trained in that direction. You'd lost it momentarily but the orgasm was building again; your mouth was slack open as you breathed hard, trying still to keep your noises soft, the tension in your core building even harder than it had earlier. This was bound to be a hard one, you knew it, and just as it started to wash over you, just as your legs began to tremble and your whole body erupted in flames of pleasure, you saw his face at the side of your window, his intense dead eyes meeting yours. Unable to stop yourself you came; right here infront of him, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, and as soon as you pulled off he vanished, his face disappearing from view.

It was undeniably awkward the next time you saw him in the kitchen, later that night, putting the left over half of your cake in the fridge. He was still in his hoodie, still looked exactly the same; you'd showered, changed, tried to wipe yourself clean of the slight debauchery of your evening. Compared to some of the things you'd done in your life it was nothing, but you were so scared of getting kicked out again, you had tried to recalibrate your understanding of where the line should really be.

He just stared at you again. No greeting, no hello, those dark eyes never leaving you as you walked past. You too, said nothing; what could you say? You were so convinced of your own insanity that you were questioning if you had really seen his face. Maybe you'd just wanted to, had hoped he'd be there watching. He was by all accounts your type; you like them huge and tall, like them to scare you and intimidate you.

Over the next weeks you learned just how intimidating he was; when he stalked around campus he could part a sea of other students, no one daring to step in his way. His shoulders swaggered and his head hung down a bit, and all it gave off was a sense of complete confidence and superiority. He dressed nice, was clearly doing well for himself. It took some time, but soon you learned he was captain of the school's soccer team, played right back, was feared by everyone, and was all that any girl around seemed to want to talk to you about.

You didn't even have to be subtle about your questions; people wanted to offer up everything they knew, from minor injuries he'd had, how the last game on the road had gone for him, who his parents were, his class schedule, everything. People on campus basically stalked him, you realized; which wasn't exactly uncommon these days, especially as he posted on socials enough to provide the dots to be connected. But to everyone he seemed uninterested in them; he barely followed anyone else, only his family and a few other boys on the team, and was never seen to be leaving comments on anyone's posts. He didn't give a fuck to know everyone else; that he'd made clear over his four years here, and as he was set to play professionally come the fall, everyone figured his attention was laser focused on his sport.

It would have shocked them all to know what really had started to fill his evenings; you had a regular schedule of masturbating, that he'd figured out right away, and it was all too easy for him to sneak out on the fire escape between your windows and catch a glimpse of you, complete ecstasy on your face as that collar bore down on your neck, your eyes rolling back. Behind your building a line of massive pine trees lay like a wall, and out here he could touch himself without a soul seeing, so long as none of the other students in this building looked out windows that faced this direction. He didn't know what had come over him, other than you'd unlocked that dark disturbed part that he'd hid away years ago; that first day he'd seen you in the kitchen he was awe-struck, your body impeccably curvy, your height minute compared to his, the slightly frightened look in your eye going straight to his crotch.

When he opened your package later and inspected the contents, his mind spun at the thought that not only was the girl who moved in next to him unbelievably hot, she was a glutton for pain, from the looks of it. Unfulfilled fantasies ran through his mind, fantasies he'd always known were wrong, disturbing. But your frightened little presence had him constantly thinking of them; he couldn't help it, he needed to know more. He'd always been one to use his computer skills for his own gain; it took a while, but he finally tracked down the name of the new girl just assigned to this dorm building a week ago, and with that he was up and running, searching far and wide to find anything he could about you.

Nothing about your family or friends was findable; you'd barely ever posted pictures with other people, but he could tell from the jump that there was something off about you, something strange about the way you'd just shown up here during spring break. He'd found the name of your old school easily; but breaking into their system would be a project, and with classes and practices of the upmost importance now, he'd have to be patient to find out why'd you'd left. Ordering you a little present, however, wouldn't take much time, and soon enough he was standing at your door and knocking again.

Not a word had passed between the two of you in weeks; just fearful and tense glances, or the fierce look you gave if you caught him in your window. You were used to it by now, and appreciated the intrusion; it added to your little escapades, and while you took time building up your toy collection again, you were grateful for it.

You opened your door as you had that first day, slowly and deliberately. As soon as you spotted him your eyes widened a bit, your grip on the handle tightening, your face turned up to look at him.

"This package came for you," he said, almost identical to your first interaction. He had to hold back laughter at the look of pure confusion that crossed your face; you hadn't ordered anything, and were positively vexed. But soon you saw the the package was addressed wrong; this address, but his room number, and the name Jeong Yunho.

You swallowed, grabbing the package from him and nearly slamming your door shut. Inside you sat on the floor, heaving. What the fuck he was playing at, you weren't sure. If this was a joke, he'd surely be knocking on your door again now, right? You set the package down and pushed it away from you, trying to collect yourself. More than ever your demeanor was one of panic and unassuredness; even with your daily ministrations you hadn't been able to completely calm yourself. You needed more, you needed to order more actual packages for yourself and get yourself off the way you needed.

You left it until evening, until your homework was done and your body was begging you to satiate it's needs. You opened it gingerly; a new collar sat inside, bright pink with a bell on it, and a long line of pink rope. As you lifted it you found a page of instructions; under that, what looked like a small box-cutting knife.

Follow these instructions, were the only words written in pen; everything else was printed, words explaining how to tie your own wrist restraint and tighten it down by pulling with your feet. You peered over at the knife, at the collar, and you could see plain as day what all this meant. For a moment you felt an almost sobering sickness come over you; the fact that this wasn't making you go and report him immediately was all the indication you needed that you hadn't really changed at all. It was in your nature, to like this kind of attention; attention you shouldn't want, attention that was wrong and invasive and all together disturbing.

You set the box aside and went to sleep that night without a bit of sexual pleasure, Yunho sticking his head around your window only to find your room dark and your small form curled up underneath your bed sheets.

He panicked, a bit, that night. Maybe it had been way too far, of course it had been way to far; what a crazy thing to do when the two of you had barely spoken any words to each other. You clearly were a bit kinky, but maybe he'd read it all wrong; maybe you weren't as depraved as him, maybe that little spiked collar didn't really hurt as bad as he thought it did. You made it a remarkable week without masturbating; your longest record in many years, and it had his edginess slowly building. You swore you could see it on him when you passed him in the kitchen or the hall; even once out by the fountain, as you walked towards the fine arts building, you saw his jaw set in tension as you walked by him, eyeing him only for a moment before turning your head away and smirking, acting with all your might like you weren't affected by him one bit.

You were only waiting to make it more fun for yourself, in the end. That Saturday you broke, doing just as the instructions had told, and as you pumped your hips back against that purple dildo the little bell on your collar rang and rang, loud enough that you worried a house mate might hear and come knocking about it. As soon as he heard rustling in your room he was up and outside; watching the whole scene unfold, watching you mess up the knot three times before finally getting it right. You eyed him nearly the whole time this time, and he didn't even reach into his pants, instead enjoying the view for all it was and stamping it permanently in his memory to use for as long as he could.

When you'd finally finished, the sun well and truly set and the air cool outside, you looked at him pathetically, the knife in hand. How you were going to get the knot off yourself, you weren't sure; even with the knife it was a struggle, for the angle your hand needed to reach was virtually impossible. You tried several times over, but failed each time; his smile grew and grew, and it was the first time you'd ever seen any expression on his face other than that of pure anger. His lips curled up at the corners slightly, his cheek bones popped; he looked positively terrifying and it made you actually whimper in response, your eyes darting away. You tried for the next hour to get the ropes cut off, but there was no way you could; you went to bed that night without peeing, your wrists still bound. There was no way to get dressed, no way in hell that you'd be leaving this room even if you could. You'd finally started to spark up a few casual friendships with two girls who lived downstairs, and on the off chance that they or anyone saw you scrambling to the bathroom, you decided to stay in.

Your sleep was fretful, but more for how turned on you were than anything; you couldn't stop putting your bound hands between your legs, feeling how fucking wet you still were, coming somehow again and again. It must have been early morning when you finally fell asleep; and then it was only a few hours later when he snuck into your room, your eyes barely opening and your consciousness barely there as he sliced you free of the restraint, running back to his room with the knife and rope in hand. All you'd felt was a large hand on yours and your restraints falling away; later when you woke you had no recollection of it, confused when you tried to find the rope and knife and couldn't see them anywhere in your small room.

Your wrists were badly bruised form it all; you'd had to wear long sleeve shirts for weeks even though the weather was heating up. The packages continued too, and you realized he was very selective with when he gave you them, only coming when the two other boys who lived down the hall from you were gone. Both were on the soccer team as well, so he knew they were at their study group for Japanese, one they never missed because the grad student who ran it was one they both had the hots for.

It was weeks of debauchery; more gifts, more collars and dildos, once a beautiful, bright pink shiny vibrator that must have cost hundreds of dollars. That became your favorite; along with the collar with the bell, which you combined with your spiked collar for the pain, you stuck that vibrator between your legs and rubbed yourself forward and back, coming harder than you had in ages. It was almost getting you there to that point you needed to be; but you still always made him wait, still never used these new toys too soon after you'd received them. His frustration was clearly only growing; a few times he'd left short notes in the boxes, I own you or Your secret is safe with me, slut. But you never responded to them, never said a thing. You eyed him if you passed by, by chance; but by then he was starting to try to strike up conversation with you. You never responded, only looked at him with those pathetic scared eyes and maybe scratched at your arm, pulling back the fabric of your shirt to reveal your bruises, or wore a low cut top and pushed your tits together "accidentally," eyeing him afterwards.

Suddenly the term was almost over, and you couldn't believe it; you weren't doing amazingly by any means, but you were set to pass all of your classes, as long as you didn't bomb any finals. It was a stressful week but you made it through, barely thinking of Yunho and his gifts, not having time for it.

"How are your finals going?" he asked you when you passed him on the stairs; you only ran away, sprinting up to your room, closing the door quickly. Later a note slid under your door; stop pretending like you can run from me. You only chuckled at it, slipping inside and taping it in your journal. He loved to be threatening in his notes or with the looks he gave you, but you were pretty sure at this point he didn't have the balls to actually do anything about it. On the whole it was probably a good thing; summer was about to come, and you'd stay to complete extra credits, but he'd be gone for good and graduated, and you'd never have to worry that he'd get you in trouble all over again.

"The final soccer game of the season is this Saturday, you should come!" your two friends told you as you sipped coffees in the student union building, your last final behind you.

"Wait, tomorrow Saturday?" you asked, and they nodded.

"I know you don't like to come out on the weekends but they're so fun, and the dance team performs during half time, they have fireworks usually for the last game of the year too. And there's always a big party afterwards at the huge frat by the stadium, Wooyoung texted me yesterday about it," one said, voice bright as can be.

"Wooyoung?" you asked.

"Wait, you seriously don't know who Wooyoung is?" she asked you.

"No, should I?" you said, trying to keep the sarcasm from your tone.

"He's the one who lives in the room next to Yunho's, just down the hall from you," she said, and it brought forth the image of long shaggy black hair and chiseled abs, the boy loving to walk around half naked whenever he had the chance.

"Oh, yeah, of course," you laughed, smiling at her.

"You should come to the party, seriously, it's so much fun," your other friend added.

"I don't love frat houses-"

"This one isn't like most of them, seriously, it's very nice and the parties are always actually fun," she said, cutting you off.

"I'll think about it," you chuckled, thinking of the healing bruises on your neck, your last bout with your collar having been a bit on the rough side. What you'd wear to the game and party to cover it all up, you had no idea.

But by Saturday you'd thought enough about it, and with the stress of finals behind you, there was enough of your brain trying to push you towards the health and normality of being involved in college life that you decided to go. You'd wear your favorite green hoodie; it wasn't officially school merch, but the color was close enough, and it covered the fading bruises on the side of your neck well enough. Paired with short spandex shorts and your white tennis shoes, you looked preppy and in spirit enough to fit in. The bus to the stadium was uncomfortably packed but your friends knew the best seats; they ushered you through everywhere with ease because they came for every game, and thankfully didn't make you sit in the student section like you'd expected.

Down near one of the corners you had a wonderful view, and as the players started to exit the tunnel the stands erupted in rumbling, everyone stamping their feet against the metal bleachers and waving school flags high and proud. Most of the players ran out; but then you spotted Yunho with a number nine on his back, walking in that way he always did, his shoulders swaying, his eyes fixed to the ground some distance in front of him, his jersey hanging off his lean broad frame in the most tantalizing way. His swagger from his angle was too much to handle; his back to you, you knew he had no idea you were there, would never expect it. He looked massive next to the other players; you didn't know much about the sport, but looking down now it seemed like soccer wasn't typically played by tall guys. His frame was a scary sight to the other team, it was obvious; as the game started it seemed they all dreaded when they came into contact with him, and as the minutes rolled on by you couldn't help the visceral reaction you were having to seeing just how good he was.

After a while, a whistle was blown; players started walking off the field as the dance team walked on, and your friend answered your look of confusion by telling you it was halftime. Like before most of the players ran back to the tunnel, but Yunho walked behind, talking with one of the coaches. He was facing you now and you stared at his face, flushed a bit but set in such a stony look of concentration. Suddenly he turned his head as if to stretch his neck; he caught sight of you, and he stopped momentarily in his tracks, doing a double take. His coach seemed to asked him what he'd seen; he looked away quickly and waved his hand while undoubtedly saying it was nothing. But the whole second half he was shooting daggers your way; now that the two teams had switched sides he was mostly facing you, and somehow even so far away you felt yourself shivering under his glare, the intensity of it not lost no matter how big the distance between you was.

Fine, you'd said, agreeing to go to the party. Your friends were so excited as you'd never been out with them before, and you too were excited if you really were honest, having missed letting loose a little, getting in the spirit of the true college experience. You had sworn you hated it all a few months ago; but that was before and during expulsion, when everything was blowing up in your face. As strange as it had felt you'd enjoyed the game, and as your friends showed you the way across the street, you were baffled by just how many people were walking that way with you, this house no doubt very large.

You all waited for a while in the backyard, the house apparently not ready for action just yet. Behind the frat was a large forest, and already people were drinking beers they'd snuck from the stadium, the air buzzing with anticipation. Finally the back doors were opened; there stood the entire soccer team, most still in part or all of their jersey's, and the group in the backyard cheered for them, their effort tonight apparently something worth celebrating. You weren't even sure if they'd won; you were preoccupied, and knew so little about most sports that it was hard to keep up. But you were having fun, the whole point of the evening.

It got off to a comfortable start, and you were feeling good with these two girls, giggling about your lack of knowledge as you sipped a seltzer, your first drink out in too long. Inside the house was beautiful, and though it was filled with many people you weren't being bothered. You fell into a calm state, almost forgetting any reason to be worried; that was until you spotted Yunho plodding down the stairs, clearly having showered, his hair only slightly damp and his clothes fresh and clean.

You were sure he hadn't spotted you, as your height often kept you hidden in groups. But you couldn't have been more wrong; as soon as he made it to the floor he was walking towards the kitchen, then back to greet everyone in a slow dance of moving closer and closer to you and your little group.

"Can we move outside?" you asked them, sensing the danger, his head sticking up above most of the rest of the crowd. He wasn't being obvious by any means, but you could see it; he was sneaking glances at you, was keeping an eye on your whereabouts the whole time.

"Yeah, you feeling hot?" one asked you.

"Yeah, and I can't take my hoodie off, I didn't wear anything under it," you joked, using the excuse she'd just put in your lap to cover up the real reason you wanted to move. As you three snaked between people you caught his eye only briefly; it was a blunt and scary look, and you could almost see the fires lighting in his brain, his anger at your movement so obvious. But you were just doing what felt right; just following your gut, following the instincts inside you.

Once outside you resumed sipping your drinks and chatting away; a few other people had already had the same idea as you, though everyone stuck to the paved area out back, the forest now dark and spooky with the sun fully set. Things were peaceful again for a moment, the air still and quiet out here, only the distant call of some bird disturbing the silence.

But then he exited the house too; now he was stalking towards you, unmistakably, his eyes fixed on you as he swayed the way he always did, his steps deliberate and strong and fast, his gaze as dead and dark as you'd ever seen it. Before you could register what was happening he grabbed you by the arm; your seltzer flew off into the bushes and you scrambled to keep up with him.

"I'm tired of these fucking games," he growled, his grip tight and painful.

"What games?" you whispered, running along to keep up with his huge strides, your eyes wide as you looked at him.

"You know what fucking games," he said, voice low and dark as you both stumbled onto the grass, the forest coming into view in all of it's darkness and mystery.

"What- what are you doing?" you asked, trying to pull away from him now, the grip starting to feel truly painful even though the sleeve of your hoodie was protecting your arm.

"What the fuck do you think?" he spit, spinning you around and hitting your back against the trunk of a tree, his features almost obscured in the faint light from the house behind.

"I- I don't know," you cried as he pinned your wrists together with one hand, holding them in front of you as he caged you in against the tree.

"Don't pretend like you didn't know what you were doing tonight," he growled, face only inches from yours now.

"I d-don't know what you m-mean," you stuttered, your body trembling hard now, your chest rising and falling fast as your breaths became almost hyperventilation.

"Coming to my last game? The most important game all season? Distracting me on the one day I needed to be perfect??"

"I had no idea, I-"

"You love to act all innocent, don't you?" he said, looking down at your outfit, something he'd seen so many freshman girls wearing.

"I'm not trying to," you responded, your blood pumping through you fast, your body alight with adrenaline. You tried wrenching your hands free; you felt strong, but it was no match for his strength, and he only doubled down on his grip, nearly crushing your wrist bones. "Ow, ow," you cried, trying to use your body weight to your advantage, only hurting yourself in the process.

"I bet that's turning you on, isn't it?" he spit, running his free hand over your parted lips, your eyes wide and your whole body cowering from him.

"N-no, not at all," you all but whispered, trying to steady your breathing.

"You're not a good liar, you know," he growled, face closer and closer to yours, before his lips smashed over yours and he fully crushed you against the hard bark of the tree, ravaging you.

Your breath was knocked from your throat in an instant; your body was tingling with excitement, every bit of you so happy that he'd finally broke, finally taken matters into his own hand. You hated to be the one responsible; you liked that this was his fault, that whatever messed up shit was about to unfold was his responsibility. You continued to twist and pull at him, but only enough to egg him on more; really you wanted this, your thin shorts already soaked, your hips bucking against his thigh that was pressed between your legs.

"See, I knew you liked it," he said, pulling back harshly, biting at your bottom lip. You let out a squeal of pleasure at that; it was hard enough that now you tasted blood, and the sharp metallic taste was making your head spin even more. You had no words to retaliate with; he chuckled in knowing he'd won, spinning you around and pulling at your shorts, pushing them down your legs just far enough to see your flushed pussy glistening at him, barely illuminated.

"Wait, not out here, they can all see-"

You were cut off by his cock slamming into you, the feeling more painful that pleasurable at first, and you let out a guttural scream, Yunho's hand coming up to cover your mouth as he pulled back and pounded into you slowly again.

"I know what you did with that professor, doll. I know you like when people are watching," he growled in your ear, hips slamming into yours repeatedly, your cunt struggling to adjust to the size of him. He was somehow bigger than that dildo you'd been using; how you were taking him without any warm up you had no idea. Your wetness was no doubt helping, but the severity of the feeling was leaving you almost limp against the tree, as you clung on to the bark for dear life and tried with your might not to collapse.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grunted behind you, hand still on your mouth, the other pushing on your back and holding you against the tree in front of you. It was only another few strokes and you were coming undone; squeezing down on him sharply, your legs shaking and making it even harder to stand. The pain inside was now met with a sweet warmth, your whole body erupting in shakiness as the pleasure rolled through you. Your eyes rolled back, and then closed; you forgot entirely where you were in the darkness as he fucked you to that pleasure again, this time his hot load filling you, trailing down your legs after he'd pulled out.

He scooped you up as you started to collapse, your hands and face scratched from the tree bark, your shorts completely and obviously stained. You were slack against him, your head resting against his shoulder as he carried you bridal style; only a few more steps and he was lowering you into his car, driving you both back to your dorm. Again he carried you upstairs; it was totally empty, thankfully, for everyone was still at the frat party down the road. He cleaned you up in the bathroom, put a bandaid over a particularly bad cut on your left hand. You'd had to respond to some very worried texts from your two friends, assuring them you were home and fine; you knew that there'd be far more explaining to do the next few days.

You fell asleep as he cradled you in his bed; you felt at peace, finally seeing the way he kept things, feeling like you were stepping into a part of his mind and getting to have a look around. Calm, you felt so calm that night, finally; you were quite sad now that he'd be leaving so soon, and had a sinking feeling that you'd never meet someone who understood your fantasies as much as he did.

#ateez x reader #ateez smut #yunho x reader #yunho smut #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #dark fic

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littlelamy · 1 day ago

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This request is NASTY...but smut: Reader has never swallowed/she finds the idea of it gross but Rafe just loves her so much and has such primal desires that he just wants her to do it and wants to see her with it dripping, and he's just really begging (but in a sweet loving way, not like toxic and demanding)

notes: i am giving everyone permission to send more NASTY requests 🤭😏

you’ve never done this before.

he knows that. he knows how you wrinkle your nose at the thought, how you always pull away at the last second, letting him spill anywhere but in your mouth. it’s not that you don’t love him, not that you don’t want to please him—it’s just the idea of it, thick and warm, coating your tongue, sliding down your throat. it’s always been a hard no.

rafe loves you so much it aches. and God, does he want this.

he’s on his knees before you, hands gripping the plush of your thighs, lips pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses against the inside of your leg. his eyes flick up, pupils blown wide, chest rising and falling in heavy, shuddering breaths. he’s already wrecked, just from the idea, just from knowing he’s got you here, flushed and nervous but willing.

"please, baby," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with need. "just once. just for me. wanna see you take it, wanna see you messy with it. fuck, i know you’d look so pretty."

his words send heat straight through you, pooling low in your belly, making your thighs twitch beneath his grip. he notices, of course he does, and he groans, pressing his forehead against your leg like he’s trying to ground himself.

"i’ll make it good for you," he promises, tilting his head up, lips brushing against your knee. "promise i’ll take care of you. just need you to try, y/n, please."

your heart is pounding, your skin hot, the room thick with the scent of sweat and sex and rafe. he’s watching you like you hold the entire fucking world in your hands, like he’d do anything, give anything, if you just said yes.

and maybe it’s that—maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, the way his voice shakes just a little when he begs, the way he’s already so far gone, already teetering on the edge—that makes you nod, makes you whisper, "okay."

his breath catches. his grip tightens. "yeah?" he breathes, like he can’t quite believe it.

you nod again, a little slower, a little more sure, and he groans, dropping his head against your thigh before surging up, crashing his lips against yours. it’s messy, needy, desperate, all tongue and teeth and a deep, low sound from his throat that makes your knees weak.

his hands move, tracing down your body, fingers slipping into your hair, gentle but deliberate as he guides you lower. "just like that, baby," he murmurs, voice rough, urging you downward. "fuck, need you so bad."

you hesitate for only a second before sinking to your knees, looking up at him through your lashes. his breath stutters, his fingers flexing against your scalp, holding back even as his whole body trembles with need.

"angel,you don’t understand how bad i want this."

your lips part, tongue flicking out, teasing, and the way he chokes on his breath makes you feel powerful. you want to see him undone, want to see him lose every ounce of control he has left.

and so you do.

his head falls back, a deep, guttural moan slipping from his lips as your mouth wraps around him. he’s gripping the back of your head now, fingers tangled in your hair but still careful, still reverent. "fuck—just like that, baby, just like that."

his thighs tense beneath your hands as you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, the weight of him heavy on your tongue. he’s breathing raggedly, curses and praise tumbling from his lips in a broken, desperate mantra.

"gonna—fuck, baby, gonna cum—please, wanna see you take it, wanna see you be so good for me—"

when he finally spills, his whole body shudders, his grip tightening just for a second as he groans your name, thick and wrecked. the taste floods your mouth, warm, salty, overwhelming—but you don’t pull away, not this time. you let him see, let him watch as you swallow, as you part your lips after, sticking out your tongue to show him.

his breath catches, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, hands cupping your jaw, stroking his thumb over your lips. "fuck, baby. that’s my good girl." your lips part, tongue flicking out again, teasing, and the way he chokes on his breath makes you feel powerful.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry @lil-sparklqueen

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unholyhelbig · 2 days ago

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Can we please please PLEASE have part two of Brackish?

Title: Brackish [Part Two] | Read Part One Here

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanov/Romanoff

Word Count: 3454

Warnings: Mentions of torture, mentions of mind control, mentions of ice baths, cannon typical violence, nightmares, physical testing, murder, KGB conditioning, Horrible grammar I don't proofread!

Summary: Agent Romanoff is sent into an interrogation room to break the only prisoner they pull from a Hydra compound, but things don't go exactly as planned.

[A/n: Totally wasn't expecting the response the first part got, thank you so much! Truthfully this ask and the draft was sitting in my inbox for months. This is just a bunch of fluff. I don't know where to take it from here. Hopefully you enjoy!]

You’d woken up screaming, something that never bothered Daniel Whitehall. There were stretching corridors that were damp from broken pipes and water buildup. It smelled thickly of metal and never offered any kind of warmth. It carried your agony like a music box, or a greeting card. It had amused him- his men. So, you did your best to swallow your distress. But sometimes it was impossible to tamp things down in the bridge between sleep and alertness.

It had been three days and you still expected to be jerked back into the reality. A frigid tub of ice and metal under Whitehall’s hand. You must have lost your grip on reality and the Avengers Tower, Agent Romanoff and her rigid kindness, was all a mental tactic, to account for the trauma. You’d finally been broken.

But no: Right now, as you woke up screaming as the hours rolled into the fourth day, she was there. The bed was too soft. You’d learned, and sleep did not come easy. But you drifted off in spurts and woke with air caught in your throat. Never yelling. Never in such a panic.

You didn’t remember what had startled you, but there was a cool hand against your cheek and another one splayed against your chest and worried green eyes peering into yours. You moved to fight back, wanted to push the limbs away until you realized who they belonged to. Until you breathed in that polished scent.

“Sorry, I’m sorry” You whispered, your fingers ghosting over her wrists.

She was a busy woman. You’d realized that over the past 72 hours. Agent Romanoff was in high demand, her signature was required on countless documents and many with downturned eyes stalked up to her with a nervousness that you didn’t quite understand but, you were beginning to.

After some persistent pushing from Natasha on the second day, you’d agreed to blood tests, to EKG’s and other medical trials to make sure you were relatively healthy after years of captivity. She’d promised to stay, and she did. While a certain heat and embarrassment colored your cheeks at the unspoken request, she saved your dignity that morning by not brining it up.

Natasha frowned, didn’t say anything but applied a short pressure to your jaw with her thumb before guiding a glass of water to your hand as she lowered herself to the bed. “Sip this, all of it until it’s gone. Don’t gulp, it’ll hurt your stomach.”

You nodded, doing as you were told. She watched you carefully until you finished the glass. You wanted to cower under her scrutiny, but your heartrate had slowed by the time you’d drained the water and she’d taken it the moment it was empty, her hand on your knee as a grounding source. She was like that, you’d learned, attentive and able to read what you needed though you’d not found your voice to ask.

There wasn’t a clock in the guest room. You didn’t know what time it was, but no morning light seeped through the crack in the door and sleep still clung to you like a heavy blanket. You let out a deep breath and pressed your head against the wall behind you, tempted to let your eyes droop shut, but stopped from the fear of another scream ripping through you.

“The nightmares won’t go away. They’ll come less and less, but they’ll always be there.” She swallowed audibly, ran her fingers over a raised pink scar from a blade, or a bullet, or some type of metal that could easily tear skin against her exposed muscle. “What you went through isn’t easily forgotten. You can manage the symptoms, push it to the back of your mind during your waking hours but it’s hard to fight that kind of thing when you’re asleep. You’re guard can’t always be up.”

You nodded, working your hand through your damp hair. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“You didn’t” Natasha assured “Would you like me to stay?”

More than anything. It felt like crossing a line. There wasn’t a chair in the guest room. It was fairly sparce. A bed and a nightstand and lamp that had bathed you both in a soft golden glow. It would be easier to tell her no, to ask her to leave. But your chest wouldn’t forgive you for that.

So, you scooted over, looked at her expectantly, going as far to peel back the duvet. Natasha huffed out something akin to a laugh and laid in the spot that you had just vacated. You could feel the heat of her skin, the closeness of her as you lowered yourself down next to her. She paid you a mercy by turning the lamp off.

The two of you lay, shoulder to shoulder, breath synchronized. You couldn’t sleep. Wouldn’t. Your entire body was wound up. While Agent Romanoff’s presence was a balm, it also wound you up like a spring. You were conscious of every movement. Every twitch of your finger and tense of a muscle.

“It scares me that I can’t remember things.”

You could hear Natasha turn her head in the dark, the shift against the pillow. Her breath was warm against the side of your face. Your fingers curled against the fabric of your shirt, a stone on the center of your chest. You couldn’t remember feeling this comfortable- this at ease- in a long time.

“Do things come back when you sleep?”

It was her job, you knew, to pull things from you. In exchange for a bed and warm meal, you’d give her anything. She had quiet eyes and a quietness to her that gave away the fact that she was examining you methodically. But there was something else there that you couldn’t pinpoint. Something caring.

You turned onto your side, facing her, curling up more for your own comfort. “More of a feeling than a memory. Being there, I recall everything. Whitehall, his brainwashing, his tests and his tortures. His why’s and his motives are foggy. It was like he just wanted to inflict pain. But at his core. At Hydra’s core, I know that’s not true.”

Natasha adjusted on the bed, turned to face you. Inches apart. Her nose was close enough in the dark to bump against your own. Neither of you spoke for a moment, hands brushing closely like a bridge uncrossed.

“I worry that they changed me in way’s that can’t be unchanged, but can’t recall who I was before they’ve changed me. That they kept me alive because they were… succeeding in something that they hadn’t before.” You let out a heavy breath, it splayed hotly against Natasha’s chest, warmed her. “That deep down inside, something uncontrollable is there.”

Natasha made a small noise in the back of her throat that could only be described as a whimper. Tentatively, she’d shifted in the quiet, had found the edge of your jaw in the darkness and traced the sharpness of it with her touch. You let your eyes flutter shut, leaned into it.

Soon, her palm was against your cheek, warm from the prospect of sleep. Her hold soft as she pulled you forward, the initial shock of the swift movement replaced by that detergent scent and the instant comfort. An undignified grunt escaped you when you slotted so perfectly against Natasha’s front.

You’d learned rather quickly that she liked to show her protection.

When your blood had been drawn, the tech on the medical floor insisted of her credentials but quickly blanched with a glare from the Black Widow herself and the assured hand at the base of your spine. You’d shown your strength during the physical trials as they monitored your heartrate during a mile run, and Natasha had watched with a warning stare as another tech adjusted the censors.

And now, she wrapped her arms around your center and hooked her leg over your own. She was tense until she felt the coolness of your nose against her pulse point, the way you nuzzled against her, sighed into her comfort instead of tensed, as if she feared of rejection.

“We’ll figure it out.” Her voice was a rumble, your ear this close to her chest. “Get some sleep. I’ve got you.”

There was a sensor under your collarbone, one on either side of your chest, and another directly under your ribs. Two more that had been stuck to your abdomen. The adhesive was unbearably itchy, and you had half the mind to tear them away. A huff pulled uncomfortably at you. Another huff earned you a sharp glare from the woman wrapping your hands.

Natasha was on her knees for you. Not for you, but certainly in front of you. Either way it made you blush profusely. She worked with intention, making sure that the next trial they were putting you through was safe enough for you to participate in. A tech had offered to do this for her. For you. But she’d refused.

“Stop pouting, sweetheart. This is the last one and then they’ll leave you alone for at least the weekend.”

“Promise?”

Natasha sighed and her exhale was hot against the skin on your chest, forming a valley of goosebumps. You swallowed back a shiver. “No. Now sit back.”

You did as you were told, all the while, another SHIELD tech kept a keen eye on the both of you. Nameless, faceless, dressed in black. You almost preferred them this way. Whitehall was a constant for you, a villain that always signified a form of hurt and anguish. The constant revolving door of men and women made it impossible to link a test with a face.

Natasha was almost the opposite. You were starting to associate that piney, vanilla bergamot scent of hers with safety. It scared you. Her hands were assured and so were her movements. You were very aware that she had been with you nearly all hours of the day since you’d been pulled from the wreckage of all you’d known for possible years. Stockholm syndrome, some would call it.

You approached it with reckless abandon. You didn’t care. She was warmth. She was opposite of ice baths and frigid water that you choked on until you blacked out. She was lean muscle and healed scars and tender green eyes. She made it easier to think. She gave orders that were easy to follow: To sit back. To Stop Pouting. To Get some Sleep. You could do those things. Those things were easy.

“We’ll start at a weight of fifty and steadily increase until you cannot support the bar any further.” The nameless, dark-eyed man said, not looking up from his tablet. “If at any point, you feel uncomfortable during the test, please alert me or Agent Romanoff. Do you have any questions?”

You shook your head, laid back on the cool bench and adjusted yourself until you stared up at the metal ceiling. It looked taller from this angle, impossible to reach. Black weights were saddled on either side. Agent Romanoff’s presence was at your six the entire time. Lingering, watching with careful and apt attention.

“Alright. You may begin. Make sure not to lock your arms.”

The bar was nothing in your hands, a slight nuisance, if anything. Ever-so-slowly the weight was increased: Fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty. All the way to 700 before another huff left your lungs, chin tipping towards Natasha as you stared up at her. Pouting. You were absolutely pouting.

They were being methodical about this, and that also meant it was taking ages. One of Natasha’s brows was quirked and she worried the nail of her thumb between her teeth as they upped the weight to a solid 1,000. You adjusted your hold on the bar. Nothing more, nothing less. There was no strain, no sweat. No spike in heartrate.

“Okay. I think we know enough.” Natasha finally barked. “Right?”

“But I-“

“Right?”

Sure, it had only been a few days, but you knew that tone and it was enough for the SHIELD agent to snap his jaw shut and for you to replace the bar before sitting back up. The test, you were sure, was far from over. But there was such a finality in the demand.

You knew you had some strength to you, sure. Daniel Whitehall wouldn’t keep you locked up the way he did, in a steel-enforced cell, if that weren’t the case. The binds you’d sometimes recall were much too thick for anyone that had the normal stamina, someone who could survive his trials. You don’t remember being tested like this before, your limits pushed.

The SHIELD agent tapped at his screen, letting out a non-committal noise “Well, your strength is remarkable. You say you don’t remember a thing? I think you could benefit from some memory recovery sensory therapy.”

Natasha rumbled in the back of her throat, snatching the tablet from the man before shoving him roughly from the room. You watched the display with raised brows, the protective edge to her that you knew was there, but hadn’t been privy to at this degree. He protested, but didn’t’ overtly stop her. Not even when she slammed and locked the door with the waggle of her fingers and the lowering of the blinds.

“The know at all’s from logistics get on my nerves.”

She wouldn’t look at you, instead clicking off the screen and throwing the tablet onto the counter. There was a light blush to her cheeks. You peeled off your shirt, almost in habit now, leaving you in nothing but one of the agencies issued sports bras. The adhesive was getting too irritating.

Your eyes lingered on her. “Uh-huh, is that all?”

“Yes, that’s all.”

But when those deep green eyes snapped up to yours, the way her breath hitched betrayed her. You’d effectively flustered the Black Widow herself and it brought a sort of heady confidence to you that you quite enjoyed. You ripped the sensor from below your ribcage away, the stickiness making an odd noise as it pulled away.

“I don’t know what you’re smirking about, what he was suggesting is out of the question. They’ve run enough tests on you to determine that Hydra didn’t place any type of chip in your brain. They didn’t change your bone density or alter your blood chemistry. With your added strength, your speed.” She closed the distance between you, ripping another sensor off with little abandon, her hands cold against your skin. “We’re looking at an infinity stone.”

You grunted under her touch, fingers soothing over the spot she’d just torn, a silent apology. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Wanda Maximoff, do you know her?”

You shook your head, remaining still as she moved to the next sensor. Agent Romanoff pulled with the same quickness as before, but was softer with her hands, instantly using the coolness of her palm to quiet the sting that soon followed. You’d given up peeling them away yourself. Instead, you peered up with her with watery eyes, blinking and doe-like. They’d melt her if you weren’t careful, and it seemed like you never were.

“Hydra conducted experiments on Wanda and her twin brother Pietro using something called the Mind Stone. A very powerful mineral that ultimately should have killed them, but it didn’t. It changed their DNA and gave them abilities. Pietro super-speed and Wanda the ability to manipulate the world around her.” Natasha’s voice was smooth as she spoke, the final sensor ripped away, you watched her do it, frowning at the red mark it left behind.

After a few moments of labored silence, she dragged her touch feather-light against your jaw and guided your attention back to her own. “They think Whitehall got ahold of the power stone, and they think it was used to torture you for years to replicate the success achieved with the Maximoff’s.”

“I don’t think he was very successful,”

Natasha’s grip tightened on your chin, not enough to wound, never enough, but a soft warning. “Nonsense. You’re more capable than you think.” Her thumb ran over the blush that was suddenly running across the bridge of your nose and your cheek. “Let’s take a break from all these boring trials. I want to show you something.”

There was a basement that resided below the cacophony of spruced up cells in the Avengers tower. You’d stood shoulder to shoulder with Agent Romanoff and watched as the numbers descended. Her scent had soothed you, even as the cold infiltrated the elevator and reminded you too much of a metal tub, safe for the water.

It jolted to a stop before the anxiety swirling in your lower belly could solidify. Natasha led you into another corridor that looked like all the other corridor’s in the tower. She walked with no urgency and you followed with the same pace. Finally, you reached another non-descript door, only accessed by the card on Agent Romanoff’s belt.

You were hit by the sharp scent of decaying paper, quiet leather and dust. There was a coolness here. A dull light that Natasha flicked on. A heaviness that reminded you of a library. There was a history here that told you it hadn’t been accessed in a long time.

Copy boxes lined bookshelves bracketed to the walls, a single table with a few chairs sat pushed in the corner. Natasha seemed to know exactly where she was going, exactly the files she was looking for. “We’re a multi-trillion-dollar organization, yet, all of the incriminating evidence about the Avengers exists in this singular room.”

You flinched, eyes meeting Natasha after she hauled the off-white box to the center of the table. You watched her carefully, not moving from your rooted spot at the edge of the doorway. You blinked at her, mouth slightly agape. She was trusting you with this. She was trusting you with this?

“Natasha you can’t… you don’t have to…”

“I want to. Come, sit.”

The chair was frigid against your skin, the whole room kept tepid to preserve the documents. Natasha sat adjacent to you, your knees brushing in a surge of warmth. Neither of you moved to pull away. She pushed the box to the far end and pulled out the first file, edging her fingers against the manila.

Before she could pry the cover back, you gripped her hand, squeezed it with fervor. “Wait, you can’t do this. Agent Romanoff, if you… if you tell me this, and I’m- if Whitehall did something that fundamentally changed me and I turn around and betray you, then I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

“Mm” She hummed, frowning down at the file. “There’s more to you than that.”

“And if there’s not? I don’t even have a name, and you’re about to trust me with everything from your past, everything you’ve worked so hard to scrub. I can’t let you do that.”

“You’re not letting me do anything, darling. I didn’t scrub anything, I embraced it.”

Her other hand engulfed the one that had covered the one that had grasped her own. You hadn’t realized that you were squeezing so hard for purchase. Goosebumps covered your entire body, and you were trying not to tremble. It felt as if your bones were trying to claw their way from your skin. You ground your teeth together to keep them from clacking.

Natasha’s hand left yours for only a moment, peeling the cover of the file back, moving it in between the both of you. “I was born in Stalingrad Russia, indoctrinated into the Red Room by a man named General Dreykov. The Red Room was a program designed to create sleeper agents utilized by the KGB. Young girls were taken against their wills and molded into perfect killing machines.”

Your thumb moved over her knuckles, scarred from years of strain. She grasped back, grounding herself.

“For years, I was just that. Ruthless. Cruel. I spilled an impossible amount of blood because that’s what I was trained to do. It was a cycle. Wake up, kill, sleep. Wake up, kill, sleep. Sometimes they’d throw a little torture in there just to spice things up.”

You knit your eyebrows together, a small whimper escaping you.

“Tough room.” Natasha gave you a sad smile “milaya devochka, eventually, someone saw through the dripping ledger and what Dreykov had done. They saw me. That made a world of difference when the programming I had was all I’d ever known.”

You swallowed thickly, fingers tracing a raised pink scar at the edge of her palm. You let out a shaky breath. “And you… can be that person for me?”

“I’d like to be.”

[Dt: @ima-gi--na-tion, @l0nelyish, @taliiiaasteria, @ahintofchaos, @redhoodte]

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