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ghostedbunnie · 5 months ago

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nightmare in the daylight

knight!ghost x fem!reader

based on my prompt that you can find here.

warnings: non-con/dub-con, size kink, spanking, oral (f.receiving), fingering (f.receiving), thigh riding, biting, creampie, breeding kink

a/n: i feel so rusty so please be gentle i rewrote this way too many times, it was a lot longer and had more plot but i might just end up writing pt.2 if there is interest, I added a tag list for those who wanted to see this! 🫶

Ghost hadn't anticipated encountering a robbery on the forest trail while en route to collect his king's future wife. It was unexpected but not unwelcome; he was yearning for a skirmish, for blood and broken bones. The recent tranquility had left him restless. These bandits wouldn't pose much of a challenge, but they would at least satisfy his craving.

The skies began to pour as soon as he dismounted from his horse, startling the highwaymen. They were engaged in a one-sided fight with a few knights who had undoubtedly been sent to protect the carriage on its way to his kingdom. Before any of them could react to his arrival, heads started rolling. Chaos erupted once more, with screams of terror cutting through the forest and startling the remaining fauna.

After the final enemy fell to a sword through his abdomen, Ghost approached the carriage with slow, deliberate steps. As he opened the door, he was taken by surprise as a curtain was thrown into his face and a shard of glass was aimed for his neck by a scrawny, wild-looking maid. Despite your trembling, there was a fierce determination in your eyes, a vow that you would not give up without a struggle. Beneath his face plate, the corner of his mouth curled up, and with a wry snort, he deflected the shard from your bleeding hand. Seizing you by the back of your neck like a feisty kitten showing its claws, he pulled you out of the carriage and dropped you onto the chilly, muddy ground. As he turned back to the carriage to retrieve the princess, he realized she was no warrior; she had fainted at the sight of his imposing figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

As he carries your mistress to his horse, you launch at his back, kicking and screaming, trying to make him let her go. He unceremoniously deposits her on the horse like a sack of potatoes. Finally, he turns back to catch your hands, which have been beating at his back, with one of his much bigger hands. Your eyes go wide with terror as the reality of your position with this beast sinks in. He can't help but relish in the look of you now, wet hair sticking to your face, wild eyes, and scratches on your cheek from the broken glass. You look like a tasty meal for his beastly appetite and he's been starving for far too long. You are unaware of it but attracting his attention will be the worst mistake of your life. As he draws you closer with your bound wrists, he whispers into your ear so that you can hear him over the pouring rain, “Yer brave but stupid, girl.” After that, he hits the back of your neck and everything goes black.

The next thing you know, you are standing in front of the king who explains the entire situation. However, somehow that doesn't help the sinking feeling in your stomach, especially when the king mentions a reward for the behemoth of a man towering over you. He is still covered in blood, and daylight doesn't make him any less terrifying. He stalks around like a nightmare in black leathers that hug his form tight and emphasize his width. As if sensing your thoughts, he takes a step closer, taking up more of your space, and before you can move away, you catch the last words uttered by the king: “You brought me, my bride, Ghost, it's only fair you get a reward. Take your pick - anything you wish for will be yours.”

A weighty, gloved paw settles on the nape of your neck, causing you to startle. "I'll take 'er." Your mistress immediately starts to protest but despite her objections, the king simply nods and smiles, disregarding you entirely. You have no option but to allow the beast, that he called Ghost, to guide you away with a firm hand on your nape.

After navigating through several twists and turns, you find yourself in an unremarkable room. It contains only the absolute necessities—a bed and very little else. The one thing that draws your attention in the room is the sizeable tub that is still emitting steam, indicating it was just filled a few minutes ago.

Silently, Ghost pushes you towards the tub, and you promptly begin to retreat away from it. You refuse to bathe in his presence. Even though you are just a servant, you are still a virtuous lady.

“Either you go voluntarily or I'll throw you in kickin' and screamin'.” He growls and then says, "I'll relish it either way." You can sense the predatory undertone in his voice. You're fighting a losing battle, as going willingly gives him complete control, yet resisting might provoke an even more... primal response.

You break free from his hold, realizing that he let you go willingly.

"Can you... turn around?" he scoffs, moving to a chair that creaks under his weight. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, he gestures for you to proceed. Though you want to scream or lash out, you hold back, sensing that he's waiting for you to lose control. Instead, you turn around and slowly peel off your muddied and torn dress. As you reach the chemise underneath, you sneak a peek and notice he has removed his helmet and face plate, revealing short dirty blond hair, black coal marks around his eyes, and prominent scars cutting through his lips and brow. Despite his broken nose, he remains strangely alluring, which frightens you. Hastily, you turn back, slide the chemise down, and attempt to hide under the steaming water.

"Good girl," he growls, satisfied with your obedience. Just as the relief that maybe this is all he wanted starts to sink into your bones, it's replaced with dread when you notice he starts shedding his clothes too. He loosens up his dark, blood-stained leathers with ease and deftness you wouldn't expect from a man his size.

"What are you doing?" Panic is evident in your question, but it doesn't seem to bother him at all.

"Can't bathe with my clothes on," he answers matter-of-factly. Once again, a wave of indignation courses through you, but it's quickly overshadowed by a pang of heat that forces you to rub your thighs together underwater. Your eyes can't help but stay glued to him, just as he did to you when you were taking your dress off. He is now down to his breeches, and when he pulls them down his thick thighs, you audibly gasp when you notice he is not wearing anything underneath. This earns you an amused chuckle, especially when he catches you looking again through your fingers.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him, but before your thoughts can drift to what lies between his powerful thighs, he steps into the tub with you. Water spills over the edges, though he doesn't seem to mind. He pulls you close, turning you so your back presses against him, your body nestled between his legs, leaning on his firm chest. The light tickle of his hair brushes against your skin, and his strong arm rests across your stomach, fingers splayed making you feel even smaller. The contact makes you squirm, but as you try to pull away, you only stir the hardening length behind you, making you flush with heat.

“Relax,” he grunts into your ear, more command than a suggestion.

“How can I possibly –ah.” Your reply gets cut off by a moan as his other hand falls from the edge of the tub and wanders between your legs. Your attempts at closing your legs seem futile even with one hand he is strong enough to force his way in and drag his fingers through your folds nearing the opening. Your spine arches instinctively and he answers with a nip to your neck and jaw, while forcing a finger up to the first knuckle in.

“Gotta loosen you up a bit, pet.” You have no choice but to surrender to his touch as he sinks his finger in and curls it, drawing a moan out of you before you clap a hand over your mouth to keep the sounds in. But all that decorum is forgotten when he adds a second one and scissors them before slowly prodding you with the third making you see stars. The tension building in your body suddenly snaps, sending you reeling, legs going numb and your fingers digging into his arm still wrapped around your stomach.

With your mind hazy from your first-ever orgasm, you don't even register that he pulls you out of the bath, drying you, and carrying you to the bed in the center of the spacious room. Your body already half asleep.

His gravelly voice pulls you out of your post-orgasmic haze. “Naive, little thing.” Suddenly he is trailing hungry, open-mouthed, and nippy kisses down the length of your body. Marking your neck and collarbones with angry red marks, biting down harder than necessary on the underside of your breast leaving behind imprints of his teeth, and making you hiss when the pain mixes with the pleasure, he licks a trail down your stomach and in a moment of clear-headedness you try to fist his hair and tug him up and away from your center but his hair is cut too short for any leverage. When you lock eyes with him, between your legs forcing them open with hunger and lust written all over his face you try to get away just for him to deliver a loud smack to your outer thigh before dragging you closer and licking a stripe through your folds with a loud guttural groan that you feel more than you hear it.

His thumb circles your clit while he alternates kissing, sucking, and fucking you with his tongue. When your squirming in an attempt to get away turns into grinding your hips against his face, his other hand rests on your stomach adding slight pressure and making you cry out which only spurs him on. The sounds that reverberated through his chest were nothing short of animalistic and when your second orgasm shot through your core, you fell limp against the sheets with a moan that would make you blush if at least half of your brain was still functioning properly. A new wave of panic sets in when you realize that he isn't stopping. On the contrary, he probes you with his fingers in addition to his tongue. You can feel the coil in your lower belly tightening again, heating up with his ministrations.

You plead with him, saying you can't take anymore just for him to disregard it with a growl, “You've got plenty more in ya.”

You've lost count of how many times you came when he manhandled you around onto your hands and knees propping your hips up with a pillow. You turn to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him standing behind you with his massive hand tugging at his thick, angry-looking, and leaking cock with his eyes glued to your core, still pulsing and wet from all your previous orgasms. Without warning he grabs your hips, aligns the blunt head of his cock with your entrance, and pushes in. Your fingers dig into the sheets from the sheer stretch as you mewl and whimper when he drags himself all the way to slam back in. Everything is too much and not enough at the same time, with every thrust his fingers dig into your hips and you are sure there will be fingerprints left with how hard he is gripping you and the idea makes you wetter. Prompted by the delicious drag of his cock your walls keep tightening around him, as he pushes you closer and closer to your release. One of his muscular arms circles your waist, his chest flush to your back, as his other arm comes to rest next to your head with one of his legs still firmly planted on the floor and the other resting next to you on the bed for better purchase. This new angle combined with the gravelly grunts so close to your ear become your undoing and you hurtle full-force into another mind-numbing orgasm with Ghost following close behind.

“Come f'r me, pet.” Again, not a suggestion but a command and who are you to refuse him? So you do as he says, pussy fluttering from the aftershocks as he fucks you through it, thumb circling your clit before he fills you up, not allowing you to move an inch, keeping your hips propped up and when he pulls out which drags another set of whimpers from you he meticulously pushes his spend back with thick, calloused fingers. “Gotta make sure it takes.”

If your consciousness weren't slipping away, you'd likely be alarmed, but instead, your eyes begin to close again, and this time, sleep claims you.

You wake to a heavy weight pressing down on your back, and it takes a moment for your mind to catch up with the events of yesterday. When it does, your entire body flushes and you attempt to move out of bed, only to find it futile. You're pinned beneath strong arms marked with scars—some from arrows, large and small, and others older, circular, and still appearing raw.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted as a thick, muscular thigh presses deeper between your legs, forcing them apart. Without much thought, you begin to grind against it, a primal urge stirring within you. Despite the lingering soreness from yesterday, a fresh wave of need starts to build, and any trace of resistance fades in the face of overwhelming pleasure. It feels shameful, but you can't stop the tentative movements, slowly finding a rhythm—until the sudden flex of his thigh makes you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

“So needy,” he growls close to your ear but there's no trace of anger in his voice, if anything he sounds pleased. “Come on, ride it harder.” He punctuates the sentence with yet another flex of his thigh and a nip to your neck, making you shudder but follow through with his command. As you grind back against his thigh you take a note of his cock stirring, resting heavy and hard between your bare ass. You push against it absentmindedly and find yourself pinned under him, your legs still held apart with his thigh that's now embarrassingly slick with your arousal. The visual of it makes you turn your head away, eyes closed and whimpering. Ghost doesn't like that. His massive paw of a hand grabs at your cheeks, your lips puckering involuntarily while he grunts at you to keep those eyes open for him. As he licks into your mouth, it suddenly dawns on you—this is your first kiss. You had already let this beast inside you before even sharing a kiss, and everything felt so out of order, that it made you want to scream and cry. Instead, you settle on throwing your hands around him and clawing at his back as he aligns himself with your needy, sore pussy and thrusts to the hilt without so much as a warning.

Even after yesterday, the burn of the stretch to accommodate his length makes fresh tears spring up into your eyes and roll down the apples of your cheeks. You swear you see his scarred lips twitch up into a savage smile at the sight of them before he licks them clean off your cheeks with a satisfied groan. In retaliation you dig your nails deeper into his sturdy back, hoping to break the skin and leave a mark that only ends up urging him to fuck you harder, faster. The sounds reverberating in the room drive you crazy; over them, you don't even notice a soft knock at the door but whoever it was scurries away registering the sound of the moans he wrings out of you with one particularly hard thrust that pushes so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Effortlessly he manhandles your legs on his shoulders to hit a different angle. As you struggle with the overwhelming feeling of fullness he leaves a deceptively soft kiss on your ankle before he folds you in half again and wrestles another mind-shattering orgasm out of you and succumbing to one himself, painting your insides with his spent. Pulling out, he doesn't bother moving, he simply rests his head on your chest between your breasts, squeezing the air out of your lungs with the sheer size of him. “Rest now, pet. Plenty of time for more o' that later.”

At that moment, you know there is no turning back; you've been taken, branded from the inside out. You wonder if this is truly so horrible, perhaps this nightmare of a man will drive away all the other nightmares plaguing your mind.

Or perhaps he is even more dreadful than your imagination could have ever conjured.

taglist: @a66-1 , @ghostlythots , @rttxcmt , @september-22-1998 , @fluffysmiko , @gyusbrownie , @bumblebeesfromvenus , @magicalforestcat , @nommingonfood , @tami-doodles , @fateisnotafactor , @m-a-l-a-c-z-a-r-n-a , @nicolebarnes , @msdevil333 , @lilpothoscuttings , @tealeaftallulah , @not-reptilian , @moonfloweronmars , @aliceinwonderland-5678 , @marshmelloe , @i-love-you-just-the-same, @lazyperfectioniste , @tragedyinwaves , @thisisforthebest97 , @talkingcorn , @hxnneydew , @resplendantrosewood , @telvannitea , @the-casual-act , @hello-lemons, @kiwicopia , @just-a-sewer-goblin

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #x reader insert #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #bunnie writes #tw noncon #tw dubcon #simon riley x reader #cod smut

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tojisun · 6 months ago

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EXPAND ON THIS

https://www.tumblr.com/tojisun/758472884430716928/no-matter-how-hard-you-try-you-just-cant-make

AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

aww im glad that u (all) liked that blurb!! didnt expect the vitriol in ur guys’ reactions but ykw? samesies <3 oki uhh so heres something quick and simple

cw: fivesome (but they go in order, also simon doesnt properly get a turn im sorry 😞); f!reader; subspace; builds up into consensual noncon; unrealistic sex; rambly as hell and its set up messily; wc is 3.6k :’3

(you tell them it’s a wrong send, and that it’s meant for johnny so they all said, “oh damn. welp,” and leaves you and johnny to go at it all night long teehee <33) (jk) (unless) (no ok im jk)

johnny fucks you first. the guys didn’t complain, and trickled into your room, ready to fall to whatever place they could sit down to watch. johnny laughs, and tugs you towards him, gently slapping your hand away when you try to cover yourself up with your shirt, and tells them, “watch me.”

not us, but me. like you’re a nameless hole whose only worth is to be fucked, and somehow that… doesn’t deter you at all.

instead, you ignore the warmth flooding in your cheeks and the stares that drag on your body, and focused on johnny’s smirk and his crooning words and his wide palms roving over whatever sliver of your skin he can touch. he positions himself in between your legs, his fatigues an uncomfortable sensation against your oversensitive skin.

he doesn’t care. he drags down his zipper and frees his cock from his briefs, before swiping his palm on the inside of your thigh, gathering the excess lube glistening there to use it as oil for his prick. your nose scrunches when he brings his hand to give himself a quick tug, foreskin peeling from the head to show off how flushed it is.

he crawls until he’s on top of you, and throws out, “let me show ye how to fuck ‘er, yes?”

you don’t even realize the words are for the rest of the squad because he’s already slipping his cock in your cunt, slow and careful, and you keen because yessss—

this is the delicious burn you’ve wanted. oh god oh god—

it didn’t even take johnny long before you’re cumming, your throat spasming at the scream that rips itself out from within you. your hips rise from the bed, your body jolting, unable to ground itself at the breaking euphoria that forced shockwaves to raze your synapses.

you fall on the bed limply, satiation filling you up in lapping waves. johnny pulls out and fucks his fist and sprays his cum all over your stomach. he musses it up, rubbing his palm against it like it’s a damn lotion, and lathers whatever inch of your belly he can cover.

it’s gross and weird, especially as the recollection that you’ve had an audience hits you, but then johnny’s stepping back and moving away. you try to shut your legs close, but someone’s already shuffling in, taking up the space that johnny had carved out.

you stare up at your captain, shock filling you up. he doesn’t ask with words but he quirks his brow up, waiting, and you don’t know what it is, but you give him a nod before ducking your head to the side.

which was a mistake, you learn, because you make eye contact with kyle; kyle who is—was—slowly rubbing himself through his pants, his palm gliding over his chub. his eyes are blown wide and he looks ravenous as he meets your gaze.

you hiccup, feeling cornered and delighted at the same time, but then john’s rubbing his cock along your messy folds, using the mess you and johnny made to lube himself up, and you mewl, tearing your eyes away from kyle to meet john’s stare head on.

he looks… calm. not teasing nor hungry, but poised with forced grace like this is another mission, and he has willed his full body to sync together so that not even a stray strand of hair will falter and miss a beat.

you don’t know how to position that with yourself, not like you needed to dwell on it any further because john’s already thrusting in. like johnny, he is careful, but he is more cautious, pushing inch by inch without even a ragged breath like he’s scoping out your reaction before he could let out his.

god, why’s everything so difficult with him—even now, speared with his cock, you still don’t know how to react. it’s like you’re a recruit all over again, dawdling underneath your CO’s scrutiny. it’s jarring, terrifying, really, but then john’s drooping onto you, his head tipping down to nuzzle close to your jaw, and this level of intimacy is what rips a moan out of you. it is drawn out and high-pitched, and so, so utterly debauched.

you hear more than see john’s pleased laugh, his breaths coming out in puffs that brush against your neck in a ticklish manner. the moment drags on—nuzzles and quiet huffs, and slow rocks of his hips almost like he’s taking his time to savour you; to allow you to get used to his size because he’s so different from johnny.

johnny is thick, but john is long. he is reaching deeper than you have ever known, and it’s so overwhelming that you begin to cling to him, in need of any way to ground yourself down from the slow-racing pleasure.

you don’t know how long he’s got you like that, but then he’s pulling back and away, and, “nonono, please. please, sir—”

“shh, i’ve got you,” he rumbles, still so utterly quiet that it forces out the tears faster, and you know something’s changed because john is looking at you with a proud smile, all tactile as he manhandles you to your side, before disappearing behind you. you feel your head being lifted then dropped onto something harder than your pillow, and it is only the smell of ozone that lets you know that john had pillowed your head with his arm, while the other snakes around your waist to pull you closer to him.

you stare at the expanse of your room but everything looks like they’re appearing underneath a hazy filter, so you blink your eyes to clear them from that mist but it remains unchanged. you feel heavy, all of sudden, like you’re submerged in water, wading through the ripples. floating.

you try to look at the others but all you see are blurs of colours, and you know this should terrify you, you know something’s happening in your mind, but you feel so good. so happy. so you fold into yourself, accepting the haze with a keen because john’s fucking back into you.

it is still so utterly gentle, like love-making, and this makes you sob because the euphoria is dizzying and overwhelming. it is something you haven’t felt before—johnny fucks you like a man starved; john fucks you like he’s trying to meld himself into you. or you into him.

it is so drastically different, and you were made to navigate the changing tides. but you can’t, not when john—

“fuck!” you scream, thrashing in his hold, but john ignores your voice as his heavy hand falls on your cunt with consistent smacks.

you feel lightheaded, untethered, and this is what pushes you to the edge. your orgasm is cataclysmic. it’s like having the fabrics of your reality collide until you are a supernova, bright and burning and so, so, so ecstatic.

you don’t even know how you came down from that high, but when you wake up, john’s already pulled out and your thighs feel extra sticky. you sniffle, turning to accept the quick kiss he leaves on your cheek. he pulls away and you watch him sink back to the lone chair in your room, and only then do you realize he’s still in his uniform. still in the fatigues.

it makes you extra vulnerable somehow and you twist, trying to find anything to cover yourself with, but your shirt’s been thrown to the floor, far from your reach, and your blankets were kicked off the bed.

you grumble, shyness encroaching again now that there’s no one to monopolize your attention, but a movement from the corner of your eyes makes you jolt. you turn, forcing your eyes to focus, and you blink in surprise because you are sure that kyle wasn’t there before—close to your shelving that is stuffed with little knickknacks and souvenirs brought to you by the boys when they take on separate missions that don’t require your involvement.

the same shelving where you’ve plopped your charging vibrator on. the very same one that is being held up by kyle.

“kyle?” you ask, unable to say any more with how wrecked your voice has become. but the call echoes like a gunshot in the suddenly stifling room, and they all look at you as one. like it didn’t matter if kyle was the one holding the wand because they all knew what they want, and it is to see you be fucked with it.

excitement fills you up despite the throbbing exhaustion settling in your bones, and you wonder if they could scent it with the way the pressure in the room grows heavy, almost bladed—ice shards against still waters.

kyle moves towards you and your eyes track the wand, almost hypnotized by it, and watch as he drops it on the mattress to shuck off his clothes. it is only then do you turn to him, hungry in the way you devour how he moves, how he breathes, how he unbuckles his belt.

his trousers come first, then his shirt. kyle is a catastrophic wonder—seeing him naked like this makes your core throb, aching need stretching in the yawning of your stomach, because he is so beautiful, terrifyingly so.

he reaches for your waist and drags you so you’re laying on your back again, your legs sprawled out on either side of his hips. he looks down at you, his eyes crinkled in his smile. he looks so charming, boyish and youthful, and he makes you thrum with quiet desire because you feel safe even when you’re bare before him.

you feel particularly cherished, like you are the apple of his eye.

“you’ve been so good to us, love,” he murmurs, but in the silence of everyone, his voice bounces off the walls, seeping into where the others are, watching raptly once again.

you nod, not knowing what else to say. kyle chuckles, the sound trickling like quiet chimes, and you wonder if he’s doing this for you—talking to you in whispers to give your body time to come down from the tremors, or filling you up with something other than a cock because johnny had come in scathing, and john had pierced you with something consuming, and kyle—

kyle is trying to distract you.

you’ve forgotten about the toy, sitting there so innocently. it’s out of your reach, tucked preciously close to kyle’s left leg the way he treats all his smaller guns—never straying beyond his person, and hovering close. you’ve once asked him if it wasn’t more comforting to have it on him where he can feel its weight and kyle had looked at you with that soft smile like you’ve uttered something so delightful, before telling you, “there’s a certain pleasure in having it displayed.”

like a promise and an assurance—he will always be faster; the one who is more in control.

and today, kyle is treating the wand with the same vehemence.

you didn’t even know you were already shaking your head until kyle had cupped your cheek, quiet sounds of comfort rumbling from his chest.

“don’t worry,” he says, eyes blazing with a terrifying promise. “all good girls have to be rewarded.”

kyle doesn’t fuck you with his cock right away; instead, he’d bent over and took a nipple into his mouth. it makes you gasp, back arching at every wet suck. there is pleasure to derive, but it is so muted that you begin to settle back into your mattress, waiting, almost in bated breath because kyle has yet to reach for the wand.

you jolt when he finally uses his hands, stomach tensing in anticipation. but still, kyle doesn’t reach for it, and instead he swipes a finger to your slit. your pussy’s still so sensitive so it makes you buck, a sharp animalistic sound tearing from your throat, and kyle takes advantage of the sudden change in the pace.

he slips in two fingers in your cunt, curling to poke at your walls, before fucking them out—he lifts up and sucks your other nipple—and punching them back in. it’s a wet slide, each thwaps ring in your head, and you moan, clawing at kyle’s back because how could he make you feel good just like this?

it’s almost a laughable parallel—just an hour ago, you had been in the same position, with your legs parted open and two fingers fucking in, while your other hand flicks at your nipples because you had so desperately wanted any form of orgasm. god, it didn’t even need to feel ecstatic, just something that’d rip your aching need into quiet tides. and now here you are, spread open with kyle mirroring every flick of his fingers and every pinching sensation on your nipples, and he is making you feel good.

how dare he. how dare he give you unadulterated pleasure with just his fingers? how could you ever go back to masturbating now that he’s even triumphed over your previous failures, showing your body that there are ways to make your toes curl without a cock nor a toy?

how dare he—

“no!” you whine, circling your hand around his wrist when he pulls out. you were so close; its tendrils spreading all over your body in the wake of your encroaching orgasm. you thought you were going to be rewarded? kyle promised. he said so!

“oh, love,” kyle coos, breaking through the swirling turmoil in your head. “i’m not done yet, i promise.”

you have to bite your bottom lip to stop the sob that is lodged in your throat as you watch kyle give his cock a pump before lining it up with your cunt. unlike johnny and john—and the reminder that they’re there, with simon, makes you jolt for a quick second—kyle doesn’t press in slow nor gentle.

no.

kyle punches everything in. you scream, the sound guttural as you are filled so quickly and so deeply, leaving you to feel the sudden crescendo of your pleasure. your body spasmed—because there was nothing else that could explain the sensation of having all your synapses sing with a ripping pleasure—before you black out for a second.

you come to the feeling of kyle’s hand mapping your belly, digging just enough that his fingers dimple your skin. you are still stretched and stuffed, and the remnants of your pleasure fire up again.

he flicks his eyes up to you with a smile. “came so soon f’r me, love.”

your only response is a gurgle. it makes kyle laugh.

“that must mean y’r ready for something else, yeah?”

a confused whimper bubbles from your throat. kyle just snaps his hips in reply, rendering your mind shut again. you hear him shuffling against the sheets, his free hand reaching for something you cannot see, and you feel your mind pressing at its edges, trying to retrieve the memory of what it is he is looking for because you know what it is, you’re sure.

buzzing noises fill your ears, the sound ricocheting around the space, and your body locks, recollection slamming into you. you tear your gaze away from the far wall to look at kyle.

you wonder what your face must’ve looked like because kyle begins to croon.

“i’ve seen this from a homemade porn video.” he shrugs at the incredulous expression on your face. “and i’ve always wanted to try it because sweetheart, they didn’t press it on her clit.”

what—

kyle moves, his body rippling with ease. you don’t notice but the boys crowd in, interest bright in their eyes. only ghost continues to be rooted in his spot, and it is only his head tipping to the side that lets the others know he’s just as interested.

kyle presses the toy on your belly. your nose scrunches in displeasure because it just feels like you’re being massaged incorrectly, but he keeps shifting, hunting, and it’s weird because kyle’s still in you so what—

you gasp, eyes widening at the odd sensation. kyle freezes, his body curling into something predatory, and digs your wand there on your—

“no way,” johnny laughs, and you want to snarl at him to go away but you can’t because he’s right.

no way.

kyle had pressed the vibrating bulb of your toy just below your belly and slightly before your upper pelvic area—kyle had pressed the toy on your womb.

the pleasure is new, uncharted, and it is petrifying because you’ve never felt this way before. you didn’t even know it was possible to stimulate yourself there, but kyle’s already resuming the pace he’d set, fucking his cock in deeply almost like he wants to feel the buzz from within.

you begin to sob but the tears feel different this time. they’re still out of pleasure, but the swirling surprise melts the euphoria into something frightening. you don’t even realize you’ve begun to babble.

“no more!” you hiccup, weak fists thumping against kyle’s chest only to be restrained by john and johnny, each man pushing them down with their own hands.

everything feels too scary, all of a sudden. this pleasure of yours is bigger than you have ever expected and it’s building up too fast and too soon, and still, kyle remains unfazed.

“i’m scared! i’m scared, kyle please!”

your words turn into unintelligible warbles, and kyle just says how you are so adorable like this.

“y’r pussy’s going stir crazy, baby,” he croons amidst your tears and you want to scream at him, to be mad and say something mean, but you feel so utterly lost in the bubbling bliss.

it is something you’ve never felt before; it’s almost like you are relearning your body at this very moment—like kyle is unmaking you, and remodelling you, and you feel this cathartic bloating of your orgasm.

kyle sees the moment you succumbed to the enveloping terror of your euphoria, and it’s like he’s been waiting for this moment because he begins to fuck you faster. deeper. his pelvis meets the plush of your ass with every thrust, while he digs the toy further down your flesh.

how could the vibrations ripple past the fat, you don’t know, but your orgasm is building, peaking—

it breaks with another scream tearing from your lungs. this one is much stronger than the previous ones, and enveloping because it feels like your whole body has shut down in the wake of your release.

your mind splinters, your body falling limp like your strings have been cut loose, and kyle turns forgiving again because he shuts the toy down and throws it away. he pulls out and only then do you feel the trickle of his cum sliding out of you.

he leans in, brushing his nose over your cheek. then, “just one more, little bird.”

kyle slides off the bed, but so do john and johnny, and you hiccup, still sobbing, still floating from the world-shattering climax, when simon greets you.

he is quiet for a while, watching as you catch your breath. you couldn’t even stop yourself from sniffling, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes to stain your already blotchy cheeks. he grunts, hand falling to brush unimaginably soft touches across your body, observing.

waiting.

“was’it?” you finally bite out because you know simon—you know ghost—and there is something that’s sitting on the tip of his tongue that he so desperately wants to spit out.

simon grumbles, rolling his eyes.

you groan, growing impatient. “tell m’.”

but he still doesn’t talk, choosing instead to manhandle your body until it is close to him. you want to tell him to give you a minute; that you’re still so sore and tired, and kyle just fucked you mindless that you need a goddamn break, so, “s’mon, no…”

he grunts, palming along your waist, then your hips, before it stops on the fat of your ass. he grabs a handful.

“won’t you let me fuck this hole instead,” simon finally replies.

your heart lurches to your throat, and you’re not the only one surprised because johnny’s bounding in close, excited, chatting simon’s ear how he wants to go next, “please, LT?”

you want to tell him to ask you, not simon, but simon’s already giving his assent with a huff, chirping how johnny’s so impatient—a master and his dog—before they turn to you again.

it is only then do you realize that simon hadn’t been asking for proper permission; it was all formalities because he was not going to settle for anything that isn’t yes.

anal sex hasn’t been something you are really interested in; no amount of porn and online anecdotes can change your mind, but simon’s gaze is heavy. it’s final.

before you can even reply, john’s already throwing something to simon. he catches it with ease, and only when simon flicks his hand do you recognize it to be the lube you’ve chucked away in your anger when this whole night started. kyle returns with the wand.

you lay there, on simon’s lap, seeing them flanking you for this… corrupting.

“okay,” you muster, trying to stake even a semblance of control.

thankfully, they ignore the shaking of your fists or the way your chest begins to heave in your morbid anticipation. simon laughs, and swoops down to nip your cheek.

“good girl.”

whew whyd it become a long ramble of smut??? it was supposed to be a john n johnny centric fucking bc of the prelude but alas, i needed to write a semblance of dark!kyle so here we are <3

temp taglist bc yall are animals (affectionate)!!!: @getosuguswhore @slut-lmao @mxtokko @imjusthereforkonig @bratzdolly4 @mabelwinters @stars4sar @sergeant-jasper @spiceywawa @j0r-d1e

#suns #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #cod smut #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mctavish x reader #john price #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley

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hamletteprinceofdenmark · 1 year ago

Text

One day in 2019, I had pain so bad I went to the ER.

My gut felt like there were red hot needles and knifes being stabbed into it. I felt nauseous. I felt faint. I very nearly threw up.

It was not the first time I felt this way but it was the worst I’d ever felt. I’d been getting increasingly bad pain for over a year and I had gone to countless doctors trying to determine what it was.

The doctors at the ER — thankfully — took me seriously. They determined I had a severely infected gallbladder and the only way to save my life was to have surgery to remove it.

I still had to give consent before the surgery.

I remember being terrified. I was alone. There was no one to help me. And somehow, even though the only course of action I could take was to consent to the surgery the fact that I had to before they could take action made it all the more terrifying. The consequences of the surgery would mean I would live, but I’d never quite be the same. I felt cheated by my own body. Why was it this way? Why couldn’t I be healthy? Functional? Why wasn’t my body working with me?

The nurses, doctors, and surgeons there were all incredibly kind to me.

One surgeon in particular — the one who ended up operating on me — said something that will stick with me for the rest of my life. “Your body is there to help you. Sometimes, when part of the body is no longer helping you, the best thing to do is cut it away. You’ll be so much happier after the surgery. You won’t be in pain anymore.”

I think about that a lot.

I think about it a lot when I see trans men begging for help to get top surgery and are met with resistance or well meaning but ignorant messages begging back to not “mutilate” their body.

I think about my surgeon, who was so kind to me and knew what to say when I was scared and crying and alone in my hospital bed.

Your body is there to help you.

Sometimes, when part of the body is no longer helping you, the best thing to do is cut it away.

You’ll be so much happier after the surgery.

You won’t be in pain anymore.

I hope you get your top surgery.

I hope you will be so much happier.

And I hope the pain will end.

#surgery #top surgery #trans men #gall bladder #gastroscopy #lgbt #queer

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kissforyouu · 27 days ago

Text

too much ☆

pairing : sugar daddy!jungkook x fem!reader

genre : smut , fluff

warnings : sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship , implied age gap (reader 20s, jk 30s) , size kink, BIGGGG DDDD (9 inches) , choking , groping , d riding , daddy kink , hickeys , slapping , creampie , panty sniffing , use of petnames (angel, doll, baby, sweetheart) , he talks u thru it , squirting , anal penetration , slight dacryphilia , he gets off to her orgasming , the whole point is he’s too big for her

Today was the day.

You’re so determined to do it. You can do it. Yes, you can.

You were fully prepared, laying on your sugar daddy's expensive ass master bed, wrapped in white lace like a little present for him to unwrap. You looked as if you were a sweet angel fallen into his room filled with all things black and the only thing light being the white walls. And the little parts of you you'd leave hanging around. like makeup, books, clothes, etc. etc.

Too excited, that's what you were. but also nervous, in a way, but you had one goal for tonight. And that was to fit your sugar daddy's cock inside and ride him.

There was a very evident size difference between the two of you. Him being 6ft tall already gave it away, but to add to the list you stood at 5'2ft. He was big in every possible area you could think of, even his cock was massive. fuck. His palm could easily cover your asscheek perfectly without any flesh slipping out. He was a tall successful man with broad shoulders and a muscular body. Thick thighs, big arms—everything you liked in a man.

In addition to that, he was rich. So so rich that he offered you to be his sugar baby. You both met at the mall. So excitedly you went through all the cute dresses you could wear, but definitely not afford. You were still in college. No further explanation needed.

“Ah! this, er, maybe that? don't know!” You were on facetime with your friend, reviewing all the cute dresses you would buy if you had the money. Delusional!

“Nah, nah, nah, the purple one with butterflies would look so good on you!” Your friend squeals, making you squeal back. You might be making too much noise in ths store, but you didn't care.

“You know what would look good with this dress? a cute cardigan and I’d pair this up with some gold hoops."

“Hmm, sounds really pretty”, your friend answered.

“Wish i had the money though...” there was a pout formed on your lips when you look back at the prize tag.

Somehow, your friend ended up having to leave the call due to some work. You end the call, ready to exit the store with absolutely no bags whatsoever. But someone, a man, stops you.

And then he asks you the most out of the blue question ever.

“Want me to buy you that dress?”

That was how it all started. He offered you to become his sugar baby after a full day spent at the mall of him buying you random things. At first, you said no. But he gave you time to decide and also kept sending you gifts over and over. At the end, you agreed. To be fair, you expected him to be the most obscene, rude, horrid man ever. But he's actually...pretty nice. sweet. caring.

Your relationship was 50/50. All you had to do was to take care of that man emotionally, shower him with love which you'll gladly do and also have bomb ass sex with him and he'll pay off all your bills and buy you a shit ton of things in return. The sex wasn't even a topic brought up at first, he didn't need that kind of favour. Just needed a pretty baby to spoil who'll love him in return. The sex just happened on a random friday night. Ever since, you've been getting the best dick you've ever had in your entire life. But there was one problem.

He was too big.

And you were too small.

Sure, the sex was so good and he always made sure to make you cum at least twice each time. It was so good that you couldn't even count the stars rotating around your head each time you orgasmed. But one thing that always managed to bother you...was he satisfied? Because of the obvious size difference, it was hard to fit him inside. Most of the time you’d end up stopping him because it hurt. He won't even be fully in when that happens. Although he always reassured you that he's far more than satisfied with you, you still wouldn't buy it.

But today, you’re going to do it. Gonna make all of him fit inside and give him the orgasm he deserves.

You laid on your back with your eyes fixed on the pattern of the ceiling, feet kicking in the air as you mindlessly waited for him to return home.

But a flirtatious whistle catches you off guard. you immediately rise back up from the bed, eyes darting to the man leaning against the door frame looking at you with a smug look.

“Jungkook!” you squealed.

“Was wondering where you were.” He makes his way towards you.

“I was here.” you mumble.

“I can see...” he snorts.

He lifts you up to sit on the bed by his hands on your waist, then touching your bare stomach, right above the little lace skirt you were wearing.

“For me?” there's a little smug look on his face.

“Who else would it be for?” there’s a sly smirk on your face, batting your lashes as you spoke.

"hah, you little minx" he slaps your cheek with the back of his hand, soon cupping your chin and raising your head up.

"when did you buy this?" his thumb teasingly caresses your lower lip.

"mmm, last week. bought it when i went shopping with mina..."

jungkook snickers, thumb now poking in between your lips. instinctively, you open your mouth for him to easily slide his thumb in between. you let out a muffled giggle, swirling your tongue around his thumb.

you both had wide grins on eachother's faces, fully aware of where this was heading.

you choke on his entire thumb the moment he pushes it all in, his thumb and a part of his hand, stuffing your mouth full. with a little bit of drool slipping out of your mouth, you close your eyes with a hum, but jungkook pulls his hand out.

hurriedly, with a satisfied grin, jungkook begins to unbuckle his belt. but before he could move any further, you were quick enough to stop him, bringing confusion to his face.

"huh?"

"kook, the bed. get on the bed, please." you request.

jungkook raises his eyebrow as your unusual request, but still obeying. he removes his shoes first, then gets on the bed, legs spread and leaning against the headboard as he waits for your next move. you couldn't help but let out a small giggle, excitedly making your way to sit in between his legs.

jungkook, in the other hand, admist his confusion, still couldn't hold back the little smile that threatened to come out. let's just say...this relationship was more than just being a sugar daddy and sugar baby. for him, at least. he'd like to think so.

you push some of your hair back, brushing it along the way and letting it fall down your shoulders as you made yourself comfortable between his legs. pretty, jungkook thinks.

"what're you going to do?" he asks, voice as gentle as ever.

you let out a long hum, fingers struggling to open the zipper of his trousers. he was rock hard, so it was hard to get the zip down. ugh.

jungkook chuckles at your struggles, "want me to take it off for you?"

you shake your head in denial. no. you were gonna do everything tonight with no help from him. with the help of the strong mentality you've set on getting goal done, you manage to successfully pull the zipper off.

you sigh, relieved, but jungkook just laughs at you, almost mockingly.

"what?" you ask.

"nothing, baby, 'just love watching you trying to please me. you're gonna take my cock tonight? hm?" the corner of his lip curves up.

"hmmmm, yes" you're moaning.

jungkook snorts, as if he's not believing you. but he takes off his trousers and boxers, leaving his lower body bare. you're gulping while staring at his erect cock, finally free from the restraints of his white calvein klein boxers. he's already leaking precum.

you lean forward, taking his fat cock in your hands, giving it a few pumps. smearing the precum all over the tip, you use it as lube, pumping his cock again. it barely fits in your hands. you have to use both your hands to hold it.

your ass was up, back slightly arched as you took his cock in your mouth. a muffled moan immediately escapes you, as you slowly slowly take him in deeper in your mouth inch by inch. fuck, was it hard. suddenly getting the urge to cough, you quickly pull him off of your mouth and turn your head around to cough.

"shit, you okay, doll?"

nodding your head in embarrassment, you take hold of his cock again to leave kitten licks all over it. you begin by licking the tip of his cock, swiping your tongue over the small alleyway of his cockhead several times. jungkook hisses at the feeling, eyes droopy. happily, you're licking all over his shaft as if it's your favourite ice cream.

you lick a long stripe up his shaft again, then circling your tongue on the dent in his cockhead. pulling away to spit on his cock, you rub your saliva all over the base with both your hands, then taking his cock in your mouth again.

you sink it down your throat further, slobbering all over his cock, saliva gushing out of your mouth and covering his cock full. his hand instinctively lands on the back of your head, caressing your hair and giving your scalp a subtle massage.

you were so beautiful, he thought.

slowly, you move your head up and down his length, sucking his cock in your mouth. his cock repeatedly hits the back of your throat, causing him to let out a few grunts from here and there. he was surprisingly very vocal during sex. and that just got you even wetter.

"mhm, that's right. taking my cock well, huh? taught you good?" his free hand taps your cheek, feeling his cock against your cheek. your cheeks were hollow, your face felt hot. it was obviously heating up, and so was your pussy. jungkook's hand leaves the back of your head to touch your other cheek, both hands holding up your face now as you took him in your mouth. he grunts, releasing another breath.

you slurp up your saliva on his cock only to spit it back, swiping your tongue on his base. you bob your head on his cock, enjoying all of his moans to the fullest. his thumbs swipe over your cheeks repeatedly, wiping away the small tears that are falling down.

"bet you're soaking right now, hm? fhuck—i can imagine how pretty your panties look right now. drenched and sticking to your pussy? isn't that right, angel?"

you hurry to nod your head, still sucking him in your mouth. fuck, you were so cockdrunk. jungkook knew exactly how to get you riled up. the small touches and caresses, holding your face and hair, he knew you liked that. of course he did. he knew your body like the back of his hand.

"yeah?" he acknowledges your nodding, petting your head. you try to best to flash him a smile, moaning in between. "that's right." his palm lays flat on top of your head again as he pushes your head back down on his cock, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat again.

you're pretty sure it's gonna bruise there.

up! down! up! down! you go, warming his cock up by the insides of your mouth. your right hand is wrapped around the rest of his cock that you can't fit while the other squeezed his balls.

the harder jungkook pushed the more you gagged on his cock. it felt suffocating, but you knew jungkook would never do anything to hurt you. you're whining, clawing his thighs. your eyes rolled to the back of your head followed by a series of cusses coming from jungkook's mouth.

"ohhh, oh, hah, fuck, fuck." his head is thrown back against the headboard of the bed. he lets out a whiny little moan, spilling his load into your mouth. jungkook wipes away your tears once you slip his cock out of your mouth with a pop, reassuring you on how well you did.

"you did so well, angel. took my cock so good." he pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail to raise your head back up. you looked so fucked out just from his dick in your mouth. it was definitely a huge ego boost for him. as much as he loved seeing you pretty and dolled up for him, this look on you has got to be one of his favourites. naked, sweaty and fucked out from his dick. you were so pretty.

"hmm...", he groans, hand sliding up from your left breast to the back of your neck, pulling you on top of him so that you'd be sitting on his lap. "liked having a mouth full of cock?" he grins mockingly, left arm folded on his back as he rests back on it. you nod your head, eyes still closed. the man chuckles, wiping away the drool on your face and chest. he makes sure to wipe his hand on your asscheek also, then slapping it afterwards.

"good now?" he checks up on you.

"yes. all good." you flash him a toothy smile with a thumbs up. jungkook smiles, tongue poking his cheek. "c'mere." he pulls you closer by your waist and securely wraps his right arm around you. your cheek was resting against his peck while he caressed your hair, giving your scalp a few massages here and there.

jungkook trails kisses from the back of your ear down to your neck, darting his tongue out to lick some areas known to make you moan. "let me take care of you, doll."

your sugar daddy gently lays down your body on the bed, hovering over you quickly. he takes a moment to stare down at you, a stupid little smile brightening up his face. you raise your eyebrow, quick to pick up on that. "what? why're you smiling like that?" you ask.

"why not?" jungkook snickers, he pinches the tip of your cheek, thumb gently caressing it afterwards. you feel your cheeks heat up. leaning into his touch, you smile a little.

jungkook lifts you hips up, angling his cock with your entrance and you almost— almost forget your plan. immediately, you halt and place your hand on his chest with a shake of your head.

"why? something wrong?"

you nod your head, gently pushing the man back.

"what're you doing?" you shush him up with your index finger pressed against his lips and shaking your head. jungkook raises his eyebrow.

"i wanna ride you."

jungkook just stares at you as if you've just told him the craziest thing ever, eyes wide as well. stop. this is making you feel embarrassed. what if he just laughs at you?

"what, you're gonna ride me now?" jungkook couldn't help but laugh a little, but immediately shutting himself up when he sees the frown on your face. "okay, sorry, sorry."

"yeah, i am." your voice came out almost inaudible. you felt so small in his large presence. with his big eyes boring into yours, you feel put on the spot. like. like everyone's looking at you holding a mic to your mouth expecting you to talk.

the corner of his lip slightly twitches up, then he breaks into a smile. big hands land on your hips and effortlessly drags you closer to him, he then lifts your chin up, thumb swiping over your lower lip. "sure you won't hurt yourself?"

"yes, daddy. not gonna hurt." jungkook chuckles at the nickname, finding it amusing. you both never really used the name daddy, just once or twice. although, you can't deny how the nickname gets you feeling sort of...thrilled? aroused? jungkook could say the same.

"daddy, huh?" he clicks his tongue.

you nod your head with a small hum, raising your body up to sit on your knees. "lie down, please."

jungkook listens to your request with a teasing smirk on his face. hah, you wanted to fuck that smirk off of him soooooo bad. he lies down on the bed with two pillows supporting his back and makes himself comfortable. he raises his eyebrow watching your puzzled expression, trying really hard to read your face. his legs are spread, fat cock rock hard and leaking that precum you love so much. you gulp down the drool that was already pooled up in your mouth, eyes darting between jungkook's eyes and his cock.

"what're you waiting for? come fuck me, girl."

and you do.

gliding yourself over his muscular thighs, you settle yourself on top of him, your thighs on each side of his waist. you avert your gaze down to his massive cock, twitching with pre cum leaking from the tip, impatiently waiting for you. you take a long deep breath before raising your body over his thighs, then angling your pelvis over his cock. wrapping your hand around his base, you teasingly rub the tip on your folds. jungkook tugs on his lower lip as your pussy twitches against his tip, both your juices slightly mixed with eachother. you raise your hips up again and this time, a string of wetness appears connecting your hole and his reddened tip.

"fucking nasty. you're soaking." jungkook couldn't help but reach out to touch your pussy one more time. you groan once his thumb harshly rubs on your clit while his fingers sunk into your pussy for a moment. he pulls them out before you could even enjoy the feeling, ending it with a slap on your clit. "go on. get on this dick."

jungkook was such a slut.

the moment you finally sink yourself in, or try to, both of you let out a soft gasp, taking in how genuinely tight it felt.

"god, kook...mh", your chest heaved up and down as you balanced yourself, still not fully sunk in his dick yet. you move your hand down there to spread your pussy lips a little further apart, then pushing yourself down a little further.

jungkook stayed silent watching you struggle for a few seconds before deciding to step in. "you okay? want help?" his fingers caressed from your waist to hips, trying to soothe you. you whine, frustrated, ugh—

"i can't. can't do this—mh, too big!"

you give up.

jungkook clicks his tongue, clearly disappointed. he shakes his head, disapproving your decision. "come on, baby. 'know you can do this. you're a hardworking girl. it's okay."

"no, no, no, ahh, can't." you shake your head in denial.

"tsk. no. you're gonna do this. slap my thigh if it's too much, m?" a tear escapes your eye as you finally agree to proceeding to pursue your initial goal. jungkook decides to lend a helping hand by rubbing your clit in various patterns slowly to get you wetter and make it easier for you. "better not cum."

"hmm...", you moan out.

with your throbbing clit being rolled in between the tip of the big man's fingers, you sink your hips down his much bigger dick, eyes widening at the newfound sensation.

"SHIT— oh, mm!" his tip hit your g spot, causing your entire body to tremble a little. the action makes jungkook laugh cockily, his lips forming into a mocking pout.

"gonna cum already? my dick only had to get in? you're that needy?" he slaps your cheeks lightly. you give him nothing but a small enticing glare. jungkook groans and taps your hips as a signal for you to get moving.

your knees buried deep into the bed sheets, you steady yourself before guiding your hips up and down slowly. honestly, it hurt. your walls were so mushy and tight, firmly gripping the base of his cock.

"ah, loosen up, angel. if not, you'll make me cum just from that tightness—shiii."

you try to loosen up your pussy hole, relaxing your entire body but ugh, you just can't do it. with a whine, you continue thrusting yourself downwards on his cock. jungkook adjust himself to you fully— your pussy felt soooo full. so fucking stuffed. his tip reached your womb. you didn't even know having him this deep could be possible. it hurt so bad, yet it felt so good. jungkook's hand reaches behind your back to grab the flesh of your ass and mold it into his liking, slapping and pulling on the flesh.

by now you've learnt how to sit on his dick fully inside. and now, you're doing to fuck it.

"h-haaa—" a breathy moan surpasses through as you begin riding his dick, your walls tightly squeezing in his fat base. your moves were slow and careful, careful trying not to hurt yourself too much. it already hurt so bad, no—burnt. your pussy felt as if it was burning, overwhelmed by the size of his dick. you squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly remembering why you've never tried fully taking him in. cause your cunt was too small! and fuck! does it hurt!

still, you try, brushing away the second thoughts. the skin slapping noises grew louder each thrust as you let his cock hit deeper and deeper areas. jungkook was in pure ecstasy. the most attractive woman he's ever seen (he would never never reveal that to you) is riding his dick. he loved every second of it.

his hands cup your tits through the sheer fabric of your skimpy lingerie, thumbing your nipples hard. he could feel your nipples grow harder, he just could. which drove him crazy. jungkook's thumbs swipe on your nipples, swirling the bud around too. the bridge of his nose brush against your collarbone as he leans his face closer to your neck, whispering sweet nothings.

"i fucking love watching you struggle like this." you grip onto his wrist tightly, twisting it around with your nails digging deep into his skin and probably creating scars. thankfully for your wet slick, it progressively got easier for you to slide up and down.

"take this off. mm, now." his fingers toyed with the straps of your skimpy ass top, tugging on the fragile material and pulling on it. you groan, hurriedly taking off the annoying ass top and throwing it away to let it land on wherever.

you breasts were fully bare for him, big and juicy, nipples hard as fuck. you were such an eye candy. he loved—liked everything about you. so fucking hot. he could go insane.

your jaw falls open, shoulder pushed back and chest popped out as you rode his dick. such a pornographc sight. your tits bounced along with each of your jumps. puffy clit rubbing against his pelvis with each thrust of your hips, his dark pubic brushing against your clit, creating some sort of friction as well. fuuuck.

jungkook caresses your hips, fingertips also dancing across your asscheeks, bringing you a relaxing feeling amidst the heavy workout you're putting yourself through. you slam yourself onto his dick, pussy quite literally splitting into two. you've never fucked someone this hard. this is so crazy, you're actually taking him— you gasp, letting yourself feel out his dick fully.

fuckfuckfuck you could feel his dick tightly smuggled inside your chubby cunt, feeling out the tight clasp of your walls as you literally squeezed him shut. shit, you're scared he wouldn't be able to pull out even. you're squeezing him that tightly. you hold onto his broad shoulders, long manicured nails digging into the skin, probably—most probably leaving marks. you inhale in the musky scent he always has once he gets back from work. you loooveeee it.

"please, i—literally—like, fawwkkkk jungkook!" jungkook hisses, hands messily searching for the discarded dirty panties on the side of the bed. he finally finds them and brings them upto his nose to take a long sniff out of it. a looongg nasty sniff. "you're so dirty, daddy."

his eyes drift from the dirty material to yours in a second. he quickly dropped it off and snakes his arms from under your thighs to hoist you up the bed. you squeel in surprise, arms immediately wrapping around his neck for stability. jungkook looks at you from below, big doe eyes glistening at you as you stared back. you giggle a little once you feel his hand slap your asscheek and grab it again.

jungkook leans forward to envelope your lips in a sweet kiss. you sigh in content, kissing him back passionately as your tongues swirled on eachother. you both were eating out eachothers face so good. moving your heads rhythmically in sync while your nails scratched his back real good. you exchanged saliva, head tilting to various sides as you shared a sloppy messy kiss. so fucking hot.

"mmh, put it in...", you try to reach behind your back and grab his dick but jungkook beats you to it, swatting your hand away. he grips his cock, squeezing the red tip with a hiss. "inside me, daddy." his mind feels fuzzy as he slides his dick inside you again. this time, it enters pretty easy, much easier than before. well, since you're well lubricated and all. you both moan in sync, shoulders dramatically falling down as he fills you up again. you hug his muscular body, gliding up and down his dick once again. second time feels much better than last. shiiiit.

"you're so big. i—" you sigh deeply, whole cunt swallowing his fat dick. "hm, it slips in so easily now." you grunt into his neck, trying to adjust yourself. "yeah, cause you're slippery as shit."

"c'mon, sweetheart." he pats your back as you start over, again. you begin riding his dick once more, this time gripping onto the head of the bed and his head. "you know you're doing so good, yeah? never been more proud of you." you could feel the bone of his nose poke your neck as he inhales your sweaty scent in. jungkook presses tiny kisses all over your neck, down to your collarbone. little kisses all over your collarbone. little hickeys forming all over your collarbone ૮꒰ ⊃ ⸝⸝ ⊂ ꒱ྀིა

yeah you know what, maybe you overestimated yourself. fuck does this hurt. did your pussy get smaller or what. you were squeezing him so tight. so fucking tight.

"koo— haaarrd... 'm struggling." you grunt into his neck.

"lemme take over, then."

"wha—no. i'm fucking you." you refuse his offer quite literally right away.

"you're barely holding on. can't even keep my dick inside without moving around. hm?" he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, squeezing your cheeks together mockingly. he treated you as if you were a feeble little being who couldn't even complete the simplest task.

nothing simple about this dick.

he made sure his dick was perfectly tucked inside, ready to absolutely break you apart on it.

your pussy suddenly starts pulsating, clenching around his dick repeatedly. jungkook lets out a gruff moan, palm slapping against your waist.

"stop fucking clenching. you gonna cum, yeah? is that what this is?"

"mmmhm, i don't want to cum." you break into a whine into his shoulder. "'s okay, just let it out on me, yeah?" he sneaks his arm in between you guys and sticks his thumb out on your very swollen clit. you flinch once he starts rubbing your clit, and in no time, you cream his dick.

"fuck, no, i—i don't want to cum yet." you punch his arm and bite his shoulder, agitated that he just had to make you cum. "i wanted to make you cum first. fuck you." "too bad. i barely even moved."

"are you making fun of me?"

"maybe."

you tug on his hair and bite his arm as revenge.

"i haven't cum yet. did you forget?" he pulls on your hair.

"you know that i wanted to ride you." you huff,

"and you did."

"barely." you roll your eyes, snuggling closer into him, face nuzzled into his neck.

"yeah, my bad my dick's too big."

"you're so over the head."

"okay, but we both know i'm right."

"my vagina is burning."

jungkook pinches the top of your ass and flips you over so that you'd be laying on your back. the sudden movement catches you off guard as you yelp in surprise.

"ow! that hurt."

jungkook doesn't respond to you, but slowly, carefully, pulls his dick out of you. he's still rock hard. you're not surprised.

"you said you wanted to make me feel good, yeah?" he caresses the side of your face, moving away each and every hair sticking to your face. gentle kisses all over your face, cheek, nose, eyes—he suddenly stops, the eye contact between you two breaking the moment he looks away. your breath hitch, there's a tingling feeling all over your body, it felt like the tip of a feather gracing over your face.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Mhm.”

Jungkook squeezes the fat of your belly with a soft kiss on top and suddenly—he was so sly with it too—enters his dick inside your cunt again. “AH!”, you yelp out due to the sudden waves of pain and pleasure sent right from your swollen fucking pussy.

“Come on, girl, take it. I know you can—haah.”

He plunges his dick deep in you with a hard thrust and immediately going at it. He didn’t stop. No he did not. Jungkook rutted into your wet cunt like an animal in heat, desperate to hear the high pitch moans coming out of your swollen lips.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, back arched and gasps left your lips repeatedly. It hurt so bad. Your pussy was fucking burning. It hurt so bad that it felt so good. He’s never done this before. He’s never probably been inside you fully. You swore to the heavens above that your cunt was already torn apart. There was no way.

“Jungkook—mmhphhhhhhhhhttttt!!! It hurts so much! Stop, ah, fuck!”

You raise your legs up, slinking them around his toned sweaty fucking torso. Jungkook grabbed a handful of your meaty thighs, using the fat for support to cling onto you more.

“Please! Stopstopstopstop it hurts so much!”

You didn’t actually want him to stop. You would’ve used to the safe word if so, you and him both knew that very well.

Jungkook grunts in annoyance with a slap on your ass to shut you up.

“Shut up and take my fucking dick. You wanted this. Finish what you’ve started. Take my fucking dick like you said you would!”

He was so big.

“You’re a big girl made for taking big fucking cocks like mine, yeah?”

Without a warning, his palms slap against both your asscheeks before hoisting your entire body up into his arms. Jungkook had you on top of his thighs, carrying your entire weight on his arms as he thrusted from below. His thrusts were so harsh and aggressive with the intention of only wrecking your pussy apart. You were bounced on his cock like a ragdoll. He used you for his pleasure, letting his cock mold the insides of your pussy to the perfect shape that'll fit him always.

"I'm not letting this pussy go now. Hah", he rocks your body upwards again, letting you fall onto his. you cling onto his body for dear life, arms wrapped around his neck, breasts bouncing in front of his face. you could feel his balls slap against your ass repeatedly. they were wet, slimey and sticky. he spread the stickyness on his balls everywhere, constantly reminding you of the fact that he was deep inside you now. like, finally.

"da-ddy! i can't believe you're fucking me like t-this."

you close your eyes tight, your nails gripping onto jungkook's scalp as you let out a scream.

"please, oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD! i'm g'na- HAAH!"

jungkook recognizes the familiar high pitched sound you make, hand sneakily rubbing your puffy clit again. and as a cherry on top, he spreads your ass cheeks apart and sneaks his thumb in between to penetrate your neglected tight little hole. he rubs your hole and inserts the tip of his finger in, repeating the process after. You were so tight down there, considering the fact that you were still an ass virgin. He always said he was gonna take your ass sometime, but you always said no. This was your first time. Fuck.

The finger in your ass caught you off guard as you let out a shriek, your asshole immediately tightening at the sensation.

“Jung…hah. My ass—hhnmpht!”

He shushes you up with a kiss and got into work, rubbing your swollen little clit with his right hand and finger your tight asshole with his left hand, all while his cock absolutely ruined you from below.

“Stop! Too much! Too much! Too much!”

You slobber all over his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably as your entire body shiver and crumble against him. You didn’t have to tell Jungkook once, he knew you were just about to cum.

“Cum, baby. Let go. You’ve done amazing.” He fastens his pace on your clit, giving you just enough simulation.

“Ah! I’m g’na pee! FuckfuckfuckfuckSTOP!!”

You let out one more loud cry before aggressively trembly. Your pussy is so used and swollen and your ass hurts so much. Fuck. It didn’t take that long till your pussy starts squirting angrily. Your eyes widen, back arching as you let your pussy take full control of your body.

Jungkook pulls out of you for a brief moment to let you squirt wherever. His hand never left your clit though, continuing to rub at an increased speed. Your pussy convulses aggressively, squirting on everything and everywhere. The sheets behind you were fully drenched with your squirt and so was his dick, that was right under you.

“I’m sorry I’m making a mess all over your bed,” you cry into his shoulder, completely overwhelmed with everything that’s happening.

You’re still squirting. You don’t know if you’re actually squirting or just straight up pissing yourself on him. This was so embarrassing. Your face was so red. This is so humiliating fuckfuckfuck.

“I’m so”—you choke,“—embarrassed. Ahh, I’ve ruined everything.” You cry out, covering your face with your hands. Jungkook understood that this was an intense moment for you. You’ve squirted before, but never this hard. He soothes you by bringing you into his embrace, tracing patterns on your back to help you calm down.

You choke on your tears again. You were crying so much. You’ve never cried this much during sex before. As concerned he was for you, he was starting to admit he liked that sight. He liked it when you were crying out for him.

You let out the last bit of squirt on his cock, drenching him fully. Jungkook’s cock twitches, it’s angry head starting to let out spurts of cum.

Fuck, he couldn’t believe it. He was cumming. He was cumming so hard from just watching you orgasm. He was getting off to your orgasm.

“Fuck. Shit. Oh my god”, Jungkook groans. He throws his head backwards, letting his cum spurt out as you squeezed his balls. There was a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead as his face changed into various expressions as he emptied his balls into your mouth.

You made sure to put your mouth on it and let his cum fall right onto your tongue, just how he liked it. And you also made sure to swallow it all, just how he liked it.

You were still getting off of your high as well, body still crumbled against his.

“It’s okay, babygirl”, Jungkook coos into your ear and soothingly rubs your pussy slowly with your palm till you calm down.

“It stings”, you whine.

“Hmm, I know, baby. Take a deep breath.”

You obey him, taking a deep breath as he wiped off your tears. You sniffle. Your pussy was still throbbing and hole gaping. Fuck. You’re gonna stay stretched like this for a while. He ripped you apart.

“My gorgeous girl. You did so well.” He presses a kiss to your temple. “I can’t believe I fucking came to you squirting”, he chuckles.

“I wanted you to cum in my pussy.” You whine, spreading your pussy lips apart once again.

“I know. But this is more than enough. You know I get off to your orgasms.” He swats your hand away.

“Let her rest.” Jungkook leans down to press a kiss to your swollen worn out pussy.

You cry out, scooting closer to him.

Jungkook then picked you up, took you to the bathroom, made you pee, and brought you back to bed after changing the sheets.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

What?

#jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #bts #bts jk #bts smut #jungkook smut #smut #jungkook x you #x yn #jungkook fluff #jungkook au #jeon jungkook #fiction

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yazmarina · 5 months ago

Text

walk me through it

for the love circuit series

—you're used to being flirted with in front of the camera. but something about franco is really doing you in.

franco colapinto (f1) x fem!reporter reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex (no condom, yes birth control), guided masturbation, lewd photography, lots of flirting, franco is shameless (naturally), some Spanish sentences and phrases

a/n: will resume hit play for a bit after this one! enjoy franco girlies mwa

Your job was simple enough. Well, for today, at least.

Stand in the media pen, gather statements, and piece together a couple of stories later that evening for publishing first thing tomorrow morning. All in a day's work, like all the other days before.

You've grown immune to the charms of rich, adrenaline-seeking men. Didn't take you too long, the illusion breaking as soon as any one of them opened their mouths. Some you tolerate more than others, but some you'd rather steer clear of completely.

This isn't to say that you've brushed all of them off. You might have agreed to a date here and there but nothing ever stuck, the nature of your jobs a bit too similar and all too different at the same time. You've given up on the prospect that you'll somehow end up with one of the many Formula 1 drivers you've interviewed and spoken to. And you've spoken to a lot. You've had this gig since you were shipped off fresh from uni and one too many 'What happened there?'s and 'Tell me about qualifying's can put a damper on the romantic side of things.

But someone new's in town. Well, er, new in the paddock. And you'd be lying if you said you weren't even a little bit excited.

He's charming, that much you can already tell. He walks into the media pen like he's done it thousands of times before and you have to actively suppress a smile as he walks over. Confidence is always a plus. For the interview, of course.

"Hola, Franco. Antes que nada, enhorabuena," you greet warmly, extending your arm over the barrier to place the microphone nearer to him. Hi, Franco. First of all, congratulations.

Franc's eyebrows shoot up, a wolfish grin settling on his face. "Oh. I thought this was an English interview?"

You smile back. "It is, but I know my way around Spanish, as well."

"Ah," Franco nods. "Gracias, _______."

"You know my name?" You ask, momentarily forgetting that you're being taped and recorded. You clear your throat, ignoring the quiet snicker from your cameraman.

"Yeah, I've seen you around and watched some of your other interviews," Franco confirms, a hand settling on his hip as he leans against the barrier, closer to you.

You can smell his perfume from where you stand.

"Thank you, I've heard and seen a lot about you as well," you respond, trying to return to your original train of thought.

"Which is why I want to ask you how it feels on your first day as a Formula 1 driver," you quickly follow. "Have you done anything special to prepare for this weekend? Other than the obvious, of course."

Another easy smile spreads across Franco's lips. "I've definitely added to my training and done some new things to prepare. I haven't done a full F1 weekend before so everything will be new."

"We definitely don't have reporters like you in the lower Formulas," he adds.

You feel a violent blush rip up through your neck all the way to your cheeks. As if the Monza heat wasn't enough.

"Well, I'm glad you could meet me here," you manage to get out.

The thing is, Franco isn't even the most attractive driver you've met. He's definitely up there, but not the most.

That's a discussion you have with yourself semi-weekly: ranking the drivers in terms of attractiveness, factoring in personalities and general attitudes towards the people around them, specifically the media.

Look, people love to shit on the media and press, calling journalism all sorts of derogatory words, but you're just here to do your job, like anyone else. And it gets pretty fucking hard when your boss is ringing your phone every five minutes demanding four stories by tomorrow and drivers are sassing you out as if you asked them if they've murdered their whole family.

So, naturally, the way they treat you determines a big chunk of how you think your day is going to pan out.

And right now, Franco seems to be lifting your spirits just fine.

"What are your goals for this weekend? Are points on the horizon for you at your first F1 race?" You continue, trying not to stare at the way Franco starts to rub at the back of his neck, bashful all of a sudden.

"We'll try," Franco begins. He plants both his hands on the barrier and leans even closer. You have to physically take a step back.

You gulp. Franco smiles.

"Anything is possible this weekend."

"You broke the internet last night."

You scoff, sending your cameraman a vicious side-eye. It's crowded in the paddock today, everyone wanting to get a glimpse of the new rookie, it seems. Such is the eagerness for this young driver that even that 30-second clip of your interview with him blew right up in your face. Your inboxes at capacity, your own voice speaking back to you with every other swipe on your TikTok.

It's not all bad, though. A tweet with one of your Instagram photos attached to it captioned 'TE ENTIENDO MUCHO FRANCO ES MUY LINDA PERIODISTA' did weasel out a chuckle from you.

Your cameraman shrugs, gesturing with a jerk of his head in front of you.

"There he is. I'm sure he knows all about it."

You look over to where he's pointing and lo and behold, Franco is right there, chatting with a few Williams team members, his race suit hanging undone around his waist. He turns to you even before you can fully register that it's him you're looking at.

But your training kicks in even faster. A megawatt smile appears on your lips and you wave enthusiastically at Franco.

"Hi."

"_______," Franco says, face lighting up at the sight of you. Your name seems to fall even more effortlessly off his lips.

You reach over and pull him into a half-hug with one arm, but both his arms wind around you and you have no choice but to squeeze back.

"You saw?" Franco asks, a gleam in his eye as he pulls away. His hand remains casually on the small of your back.

"Saw what?" You know what it is he's asking but you'd like to hear it from him.

"We went viral, no?" Franco says with a laugh, reaching further around you and squeezing your waist. You lean into his touch, heart jumping as his fingers graze just underneath your cropped top.

"That's all because of you," you reason, pointing an accusatory finger at Franco. "I bet you say that to all the other reporters."

The Williams team members standing nearby burst out laughing and even your cameraman affords a snicker. A deep blush spreads across Franco's face as he rubs your side reassuringly.

"No, no, I don't. Just you," Franco admits with another lighthearted laugh.

"Sure," you say with exaggerated skepticism. You pull away from his touch, catching his hand before he slips it fully off of you.

"I'll talk to you later," you say. And it's fully intentional, the words you choose to say. I'll talk to you later. Not 'I'll catch you later' or 'I'll see you later'.

I will talk to you later.

Franco understands, giving your hand a squeeze.

Later that day, you pray that no one catches you grinning behind your hand as Franco takes the chequered flag at qualifying.

P11.

Almost there.

"Hi. Come in."

Franco beams at you from across the threshold, stepping into your room with slow, measured steps.

"Great qualifying," you compliment, eyes traveling down Franco's body, noting the way his team kit hugs his frame just right, his hands shoved into his pockets, exposing just his arms, veins and all.

Your eyes snap back up to his face when you hear the door shut in place.

"Q2 on your debut. Not bad," you go on, taking a step back. Franco takes one toward you.

"You're just repeating what you said at the media pen earlier," Franco points out. He reaches out and gently circles an arm around your waist.

Always straight to the point.

Like this morning.

You tried not to make it so obvious when you ran into Franco earlier, but all you could think about was The Message.

You were doing your cursory social media checks a few minutes after you had woken up, still snug in your bed and unwilling to get up just yet. A message in your Instagram inbox caught your attention, sitting at the very top of your 'verified followers' tab.

Franco Colapinto: hola, hermosa 😉

It took a minute for your motor functions to return, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you pored over what to reply. You settled on a nonchalant greeting, asking if Franco needed anything.

You realized rather belatedly that this was looking a little familiar. You wished he wouldn't say the dreaded answer, the more-than-predictable response that every man liked to use.

Franco Colapinto: you, maybe?

You groaned into your pillow, not because you were repulsed by his answer, but because you liked it. If you were easy, then so was he.

You: i finish work at 9 pm tonight...? 👀

It's 9 PM now. Franco's in the room and your hand is running up his chest.

Easy.

"It's such an honor," Franco teases, backing you up further into the room. His hands feel heavy on your waist and your heart hammers against your chest.

"I get to work with people like you now," Franco continues, stopping right in front of the bed.

The kiss comes as a shock more so because of how good Franco kisses. One of his hands is now cradling the back of your head, keeping you in place while he licks into your mouth, groaning with every pucker of your lips.

You pull away for barely a second to get both of your tops off before you dive back in, seemingly too desperate and too starved for each other's mouths. Franco's hands are everywhere; they run down your arms, paw at your waist, tugging at the belt loops of your jeans.

You giggle as he pulls you even closer, your bare chests pressed against each other. Franco pulls back and peers down at you, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. You let it fall, already guiding one of his hands to your tits.

"Couldn't stop staring at them?" You ask, your voice rising with an innocent lilt.

Franco kneads at the mound beneath his hand, eliciting a moan from you. He grins.

"I wanted you to notice," Franco admits simply, kissing you again.

"Perv," you mumble against his lips. Franco laughs, already undoing his trousers.

You wiggle your own way out of your jeans, letting Franco get the shortest of glimpses at your baby pink underwear before you discard them off to the side.

"Mierda, you're so sexy," Franco compliments as you crawl backward onto the bed, laying back and letting your hair splay out beneath you.

Franco pounces on you like a man starved, bare atop your own naked body, his arms caging you in.

"Big moves from somebody so new," you whisper, carding your fingers through Franco's soft locks.

"I like to make a statement," Franco says with a shrug. He glances up momentarily, something piquing his interest off to the side.

"Is that your camera?"

You crane your neck to see where he's looking and sure enough, your personal DSLR is right there on the bedside drawer. You look back at Franco, an eyebrow raised.

"You wanna use it?" You ask, not expecting him to actually say yes. But a mischievous grin settles on Franco's face and you feel your heart skip several beats.

"Knock yourself out," you say.

Franco reaches for the camera and fiddles with it for a few seconds. His eyes scan over your body and you suddenly feel the urge to hide away with how hard he's looking.

"May I?" Franco asks, brandishing the camera. Your mouth falls open as you realize what he's asking.

"You can keep them for yourself. For your eyes only," Franco hurriedly adds, planting his knees firmly on either side of you.

You stare up at him, a million thoughts running through your mind.

"Just...touch yourself."

You gasp, stunned at his proposal. Franco watches through the LCD monitor, glancing up at you through his lashes. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth, and as if on instinct, your hand inches down slowly between your legs.

"You're in front of cameras all the time," Franco reminds with a smirk. "This should be easy for you."

You suppress a whimper at his words, your fingertips swiping through your slick folds. You're already soaked and you start to wonder if it started even before Franco got here.

The shutter clicks and the lens whirs, sharp against the soft breaths you're letting out. Franco is concentrated, snapping photo after photo as you rub yourself closer to release. But it's not enough. You need more.

"Franco...," you implore, peering up with bright, begging eyes.

"Slowly, mi amor," Franco coos. "Just where you like it. Right there."

Click.

"Harder now, but still slow. Yes? Feels good?"

You whine, eyes fluttering shut as your pleasure picks up again. Several clicks. You're panting now, the tendrils of release wrapping themselves around you.

"Faster, yes, like that," Franco eggs on. Your fingers speed up against your sensitive clit and a litany of Franco's name spills from your lips. Before you know it, he's putting the camera away. You reach for him, gripping the back of his neck as he smashes his lips into yours.

Franco bites down on your lip and you cry out, your orgasm washing over you like a tide. You arch against Franco, feeling his own stiffness heavy on your thigh.

You blink, Franco's face coming into focus, barely an inch from yours. He watches you closely, pupils blown wide and plump lips even redder. You hook your legs around his waist, letting him know that you're not done yet.

Franco is quick to pick up, smiling as lines himself up with you. The groan that escapes him is nothing short of delicious as he pushes himself in. You gasp along, the stretch a welcome sensation.

Franco wastes no time and pounds right into you, catching you by surprise. You let your head fall back against the mattress, a long, drawn-out whine erupting from deep within your chest as Franco licks a stripe up your neck.

Your whole body quakes with how hard he's thrusting into you but you're clearly enjoying it if your wanton moans are anything to go by. Franco meets your eyes and you pull him down, wanting nothing more than to drown in those lips of his.

It's feral and it's unrestrained, spurred on by the knowledge that this is more than unprofessional in your line of work. Not illegal by any means, but risky enough to warrant warnings from your coworkers. Never sleep with a driver unless you're committed.

Oh, well.

Franco groans loudly in your ear, movements losing their rhythm as he speeds up. You're clinging to him as if he'd disappear if you let go, your own belly tightening once more with that familiar feeling.

Franco. Franco. Franco.

He kisses you just as he finishes. Passionate, eager, heady. You feel him inside you, a different kind of elation filling you as you release all over him.

Franco pulls away to allow yourselves to breathe. He pulls out, rolling over to your side. You hug your folded knees to your chest, too lazy to get up and find something to deal with the mess.

"No hagas eso. Eso es demasiado doméstico," Franco jokes, moving closer and planting a kiss to your shoulder. Don't do that. That's too domestic.

"Relájate, estoy usando anticonceptiva," you reassure with a lighthearted roll of your eyes. Relax, I'm on birth control.

Franco hums, laying an arm over you. He pulls you close and you face him, reaching up to brush away some of his unruly hair.

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Happy that you're a Formula 1 driver?" You ask, grinning.

Franco chuckles. "Very."

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #f2 x reader #f2 fanfic #f2 smut #fc43 #franco colapinto x reader

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lovebugism · 6 months ago

Text

✶ ┄ LOVE AND MERCY !

summary: you're more stubborn than the apocalypse. eric is the personification of a sad, wet dog. your world's collide when the world as you know it ends. (6.3k)

pairing: eric (a quiet place day one) / f!reader

contents: strangers to friends to lovers, a couple of losers in love, apocalyptic setting, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of grief and anxiety, brief mentions of injuries, and smut 18+

You wake up that morning in a bed that is not yours, in a room that does not belong to you, in an abandoned cabin you turned into a safe house three weeks ago.

Everything around you is foreign. Including the world outside these rotted walls, which turned entirely on its head in a blink. A blink that somehow turned into three months gone.

The only thing familiar to you now is the stranger lying in the bed beside you — on the right side that he has wordlessly claimed as his own. Before Eric was a guy you shared beds with, he was a guy you found in the rain. A boy with big, wet, puppy dog eyes who followed you like a stray after the world fell.

That was all he was to you for a month straight. A burden. Deadweight. An ever-anxious being that had nearly gotten you killed more times than you could count. You never saw him any differently until you almost died — a certain death involving you, an old beartrap, several aliens with uber-sensitive hearing, and a stupid boy who was too dumb to leave you behind.

“I can’t leave you,” Eric blubbered through tears, whimpering in faint whispers so the blind monsters wouldn’t hear. “I won’t.”

“Then you won’t make it at all, you idiot,” you spat through gritted teeth, eyes wide and stern and glittering. You wouldn’t let yourself cry, not even with your leg all but torn to shreds, but Eric’s sudden stubbornness scared you. Why now? Of all times? you thought to yourself, Why does he have to be so stubborn now?

“I wouldn’t want to,” Eric promised, bloodied hands trembling where they gripped your arms. “I wouldn’t want to make it without you.”

That was a month or so ago, but you carry the horrors of that day still.

In the vivid nightmares that rattle your bones. In the marred skin of your ankle, hidden beneath bandages, slowly healing with each passing day. And in the strange boy with puppy dog eyes who still hasn’t left your side.

Let me check your leg, Eric scribbles on a notepad.

His handwriting is slanted and small and hardly legible — fitting for a man whose mind is always racing faster than he can keep up.

The marker is fading slowly, too, dying from excessive use because the majority of your conversations are spoken through written words on a page. You’ve gone through a notebook or three already.

You snatch the notepad from his grip to write a response of your own. Eric peels the tattered blanket from your body to survey the gauze around your ankle. He peeks beneath the bandage, and his chest pinches at the sight — not because of his sensitive stomach, but because of the harsh reminder of the day he almost lost you.

The paper swishes faintly when you turn the notebook back to him. Okay, Dr. Eric :P, you’ve written in sloppy cursive. The boy grins at the mischievous look in your eyes.

“That’s Doctor Eric Esquire to you,” he corrects in a whisper that makes his accent sound more posh than usual. He smooths the gauze back into place with a gentle hand and says, “You’re healing fine, I think. I’ll have to go out and scavenge for more bandages soon, but these should last for another…”

The sounds of your rapid scribbling fill the quiet cabin. Eric trails off in wait, wide eyes darting from the marker in your hand to the pinched look of concentration on your face.

He sees a strange sort of giddiness sparking in your otherwise serious features that makes him fearful. Intrigued, yes, but still distantly fearful. All your ideas tend to get him into trouble.

The notebook turns to him again. His stomach does a backflip.

Wanna go on an adventure?

“This is… Not what I was expecting,” Eric muses beneath the sounds of a rushing waterfall.

His words echo slightly in the expanse of the dank cave. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice in full volume, deep and accented and smooth. His pretty whispering annoyed you to no end back when he was just a stranger with exactly zero survival instincts. Now, you never want him to stop talking.

“Well, that’s why it’s an adventure,” you lilt, wiping water from your brow with the neck of your t-shirt.

Your clothes stick to you in places where the waterfall had splashed you on your way underneath it. The still air of the cave, strangely cool compared to the humid air outside of it, makes you fight back a shiver.

Eric eyes you from a distance, features swirled in a quiet concern. It’s impossible to relish in this little ounce of peace when you have the kind of mind he does — the kind of mind that’s always anxious and always filled with thoughts of you.

He cares so much for you, far more than he planned to, that it’s made him chronically fearful. He’s grown to realize, since he met you, that the two words are rather synonymous. You can’t have love without fear — and what is there to be fearful for, if not for the ones you love?

“Your bandages really shouldn’t be getting wet, you know?”

You scoff and limp further into the damp hollow. The quiet sound of your steps reverberates within the stone walls, along with the subtle scuffing of your bad foot. “You said I was healing okay, remember?” you huff and drop the basket in your elbow onto the cobblestone.

“I said you were healing fine,” Eric chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s a difference.”

“Not really,” you shrug with a scrunched nose, flashing him a fleeting glance over your shoulder. You turn away again and wince at the distant ache in your ankle when you crouch.

Sometimes the scars hurt like they’re still fresh, still weeping scarlet and throbbing like a new wound. Eric’s not a doctor, but he tells you that it’ll probably be that way forever. “Phantom pains, I think they call it,” he says in a posh accent that makes him sound more official than he really is. You’re inclined to believe him, anyway.

The boy watches as you sort through the wicker basket you stole — or borrowed, as you claim, “’cause it’s not like the owner’s coming back for it anytime soon.” It’s full of stuff you wouldn’t let him see, like it was some kind of big secret.

He grimaces when you squat, putting unnecessary weight on a barely healing leg. He knows it hurts, even when you pretend it doesn’t — especially when you pretend it doesn’t. His chest pinches like the ache is his own. Like sympathy pains or something. He worries so much for you that you’ve given him fucking sympathy pains.

“We shouldn’t have left,” Eric agonizes, wiping a pair of anxious hands down his face. He swipes his fingers through his hair and finds the chestnut curls now partially damp. “I shouldn’t have let you leave. I mean, what if we have to run, huh? What if we have to—”

“We won’t,” you groan as you stand to full height again. You hold an old quilt in one arm and gesture wildly with the other. “That’s what the waterfall is for. They can’t hear us under here. Nothing’s coming.”

He knows you’re right, but it doesn’t worry him any less.

“How’d you even know this was out here?”

You falter for a moment. A mere blink of a second. But Eric catches it immediately because there isn’t anything about you he doesn’t instantly notice. He’s rarely ever seen you, his silver-tongued girl, so ambivalent. And something about it frightens him.

“I was… on a walk one day… while you were out scavenging—” you answer slowly, shrugging like it isn’t a big deal at all, though you immediately follow it with, “—Don’t get angry.”

Eric’s pink mouth falls softly agape, opening and closing like a fish’s might, while he tries to find the words to say. To shout. To scream.

“Y-You... You— You left without me?” he stammers, voice booming.

The words ring across the expanse of the shallow cave, bouncing off the damp stone walls. It’s the loudest he’s heard himself talk since the world ended, and the notion startles him. Like a dog just learning how to bark.

Eric’s breath hitches in his throat as his dark eyes widen in fear. He waits instinctively for the screeching of far-off monsters and their booming footsteps — prepares for an adrenaline rush that’ll give his weak arms the strength to carry both of you to safety.

It never comes.

The sounds of the waterfall shield you from the war raging outside of it.

When the panic passes, the anger resumes.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” Eric agonizes, quieter now, though the corner of his lip twitches with withheld anger.

You keep your back to the boy and lay out the contents of the wicker basket. A floral quilt to cushion the stone flooring, two bottles of wine to share between you, several bags of stale chips, and one MP3 player that’s somehow stronger than the end of the world. You pay Eric no mind as he continues to rant behind you.

“What if you’d gotten killed? What if— What if you got lost and I couldn’t find you—?!”

“Don’t shout!” you gripe despite your own booming voice.

“Why not?” Eric questions with a cynical laugh. “I thought nothing could hear us under here?”

You spin back around to face him, grimacing slightly when your healing wounds start to burn. You tilt your chin in a look of defiance, though your eyes sparkle faintly in the dim natural light — something mischievous and strangely shy.

“I don’t want you to shout because I put a lot of effort into this,” you answer in a steady voice, lips quirking in a distant smile. “And we can’t enjoy it if you’re gonna be grumpy the entire time.”

Eric blinks at you for several long moments, brown eyes wide like an owl. Only then does he notice what you’d set up for him in the brief minutes he’d been blinded by his anger. A picnic of sorts — fashioned with a moth-eaten quilt, dusty wine bottles, and snacks you’d scavenged and seemingly stashed like a squirrel. It’s about as fancy as you can get in an apocalypse.

His mouth opens and closes again, this time in a quiet sort of shock. “Wh… What?”

“Well, you kinda spent your entire birthday taking care of me, so… I figured we were past due for a celebration.”

Eric’s brows pinch together. A furrow of deep thought settles between them.

He realizes he hadn’t thought twice about his birthday till now. Hadn’t thought twice about turning another year older, just like he hadn’t thought twice about needing to be repaid for taking care of you. He did both things without thinking. He can’t control his urge to dote on you like he can’t control the existential dread of getting older.

“How’d you know it was my birthday?”

“‘Cause you told me once,” you shrug. “And I keep track of the days in my calendar, so—”

“So, you’re saying that… That you did all this...” the man laughs, gesturing to the cave and the waterfall and the wine. “For me?”

A similar-sounding laugh sputters from your own mouth ‘cause you do it all for him. From going on stupid picnics to fighting monsters from another planet. Everything you’ve done up until this point, you realize now, you’ve done for Eric. You keep on living despite the unfavorable odds for Eric.

“Of course I did. It’s not that big of a deal,” you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest to shield your bleeding heart. “I mean, you kinda saved my life. The least I can do is take you on a stupid fucking picnic.”

When you turn around again to ease yourself onto the blanket, Eric tries to make out the words to thank you. Not just for what you’ve done here, but for what you’ve done all the days since he found you. Because you’ve saved his life too, more times than he could count, actually — ‘cause that’s just what you do. You save each other and don’t think twice about it because that’s what you do when you care for someone.

He forgot all about birthdays and picnics and what it meant to be alive before he found you. And now that you’re here, you spend every single day reminding him of everything the end of the world begs him to forget.

“I’m— I’m sorry… I’m sorry for shouting at you,” Eric stammers in a sheepish murmur, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“I know,” you nod, smiling as you pat the spare spot beside you. “Now stop being weird and come sit down.”

The wine is warm, the chips are stale, and the quilt just barely cushions the hard ground beneath you — but everything’s still somehow perfect. Your MP3 player is almost as old as you are and cracked down the middle, but the music plays just perfectly from its headphones, anyway.

Maybe it’s perfect ‘cause it’s not perfect.

Or maybe it’s perfect because you’re here.

You sit side-by-side on the handmade blanket, legs crossed and knees brushing, as you share an earbud between you. Conversation ebbs and flows between snacking. Music fills the silence.

I was sittin’ in a crummy movie with my hands on my chin,

All the violence that occurs, seems like we never win...

Eric tips his head back to down the rest of the cheesy crumbs in the package he holds in a pale fist. His scruffy cheeks jut like a chipmunk as he chews through the mouthful. “I missed this, you know?” he mumbles.

You set the wine bottle beside you after taking a lengthy sip, licking the bitter-sweet grape from your lips. “What?” you wonder aloud. “The wine? The Cheetos? The music?”

The boy goes quiet as he ponders the question. He figures he was talking about you, mostly — this sort of connection between humans, this sort of comfort, this sort of normalcy. The music answers your question in his silence.

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

He nods anyway. “All of the above, actually…”

“You know what I miss?” you wonder beneath the rustling of the Scooby Snacks you dig your hand into. You chuck a cartoon bone into your mouth and find the graham-cracker components have gone soft with time. “I miss driving down backroads… going way faster than what’s probably allowed… with the windows down and the radio all the way up…”

Eric watches the far-off look in your eyes as you stare, unblinking, at the waterfall ahead of you. Clear water rushes from the mountain and falls hard onto the cobbles and the still water below. Rogue drops splatter inside the shallow cave, occasionally splashing you with fat droplets.

The running waterfall cast fleeting shadows over your face, littered now with faint scars. Your features are much softer than he’s used to in the natural light.

“I miss college parties,” he confesses, wiping his palms on his knees.

You wash the dry graham cracker out with another sip of wine and try not to laugh as you swallow it down.

“Why’s that funny?” Eric wonders through his own chuckle, only partially offended.

“I don’t know… I guess I just didn’t take you for a partier.”

“I wasn’t really…” he concedes with a shy shrug, gaze averted and cheeks pink. “But I was a really big fan of karaoke.”

“Well, that makes a lot more sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” Eric humors with a scrunched nose.

You tilt your head back to laugh — a pretty, airy sound that echoes within the cobbled walls, only partially drowned out beneath the rushing waterfall. You shift closer toward him when you’re upright again, probably without realizing, but Eric notices. He can’t help but notice everything you do. And he can’t help but lean instinctively closer to you, too.

He can smell the natural scent of you beneath the various surrounding ones — of freshwater, pine, and whatever cologne was spritzed on your shirt before you found it. He can smell the sweet wine on your breath, too, and he quickly realizes that you’re close enough to kiss. If only he weren’t so chicken shit.

The proximity makes his cheeks flush, though you’re not nearly as fazed by it.

“I forgot what that felt like…” you muse in a quiet voice of disbelief.

Eric smiles so hard his eyes squint. “What?”

“I don’t know… just, like, happiness? I guess?” you laugh. “I used to think that was impossible before now.”

“Yeah… Me too.”

The conversation lulls for a moment. The music playing in your ears takes over:

—I was standing at a bar and watching all the people there…

All the loneliness in this world, well, it’s just not fair…

You cage your smile between your teeth in a feeble attempt to conceal how wide it’s grown. Your eyes are wide and sparkling, likely from the wine, as they flit between both of his darker ones. Eric exhales a breathy chuckle in response, all giddy and nervous for a reason he can’t name (probably from the wine, too, if he had to guess).

He feels himself leaning in to kiss you before he realizes it. He only catches himself when you pull unknowingly away, reaching again for the glass bottle at your side. His heart drops to his swirling stomach as his cheeks flare a deep pink.

“I’m glad you followed me like a creep for a week straight, you know that?” you confess with a teasing squint in your eyes as you bring the lip of the bottle to your mouth.

Eric scoffs at the memory, which feels like yesterday and ancient history all at once.

He was by himself when the world first fell — a stranger in a strange country, and the loneliest he’d ever been in his life. And, perhaps, the most scared, too.

Then, all of a sudden, he sees this girl rush out of an alleyway and into a monster-infested street to save a dog from an otherwise unavoidable death. Eric watched from a distance as you returned the scared pup to its owners — a very young couple cowering behind a car, not that much older than you.

You pointed them in the direction of a military base setting up camps for civilians then went the opposite way. Away from guaranteed protection. Like the safest hands were your own.

Eric made the quick decision to follow you as you went. He figured if you were brave enough to save some dog that wasn’t yours, and stare death directly in the face while you did it, then you could do just about anything.

He didn’t know, then, that he was making the best decision he’d ever made in his life.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t pummel me in the face for following you like a creep.”

“I should’ve,” you quip. “But I liked your company too much, I guess…”

“Liked?” the boy parrots, laughing loudly at the turn of phrase. “Is this your way of saying you’re finally tired of me?”

You roll your eyes and hide your smirk behind the neck of the wine bottle. “Do you think I would’ve done all this shit if I wasn’t the least bit fond of you, Eric?”

The question is rhetorical, but you expect a lighthearted quip from the British boy anyway. Your words seem to settle something heavy on him, though. It’s the very first time you’ve admitted out loud, without a shred of sarcasm, how much you really care for him.

Eric forgets to say anything at all. The cave fills with a loud silence. The steady drumming of the waterfall and the whisper of rustling trees. Strangely peaceful for the end of the world.

“Wanna know something wild?” he asks you after a few long moments. His accent makes the words sound heavy on his tongue. Your brows raise to egg him on, and he continues, stumbling over himself in the process. “I’m… I’m not happy the world ended, but… I am— I am glad that it brought me you.”

Your breath catches. It’s the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you, you think. Way deeper than any measly ‘I love you.’ And how are you meant to respond to that? To his confession that the end of the world was worth finding you? There’s no string of words in the English language that could possibly compare to that.

Eric waits for your response with bated breath. He hopes for an affirmation of your similar affection, of course, but a rejection would be better than nothing at all. He blinks at you with hopeful chocolate eyes, then flinches away when you laugh.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, giggling, as you reach suddenly for his face.

You cradle his scruffy jaw between warm and gently calloused hands, pulling him into you with an admirable effortlessness. You kiss him like it’s natural to you — like he was never just a stranger — like you’ve spent entire lifetimes kissing him.

You take the breath from his lungs with little effort. Eric tips his head back and sighs when you swipe your tongue along his chapped bottom lip. The exhaled breath fans across your cupid’s bow, and you smile against his mouth as you clamor gracelessly into his lap — straddling his lean hips and pressing your beating heart to his.

The earbuds fall carelessly to the ground, and the fading song plays muffedly from beside you:

—Love and mercy, that’s what you need tonight…

So love and mercy, to you and your friends tonight…

Your mouths click when they part, a subtle sound beneath the drumming waterfall behind you. Your eyes are heavy and lidding as they fall to Eric’s kissed mouth — now a rosier shade, gently swollen, and shining with your spit. A stamp of ownership, almost, that makes your chest swell with pride.

Eric looks up at you with big, wet eyes as his hands fidget on either side of your waist. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages,” he confesses in a low murmur.

A small smile quirks faintly at the edges of your mouth. “Could you maybe say something that’s not super cliché?” you tease.

“How about… I really, really want to kiss you again?” Eric offers in a honeyed tone that makes his accent heavier. He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “And that I… I wanna make you feel good?”

You cage your bottom lip between your teeth to hide your smile. Your fingertips are calloused and cold as they toy with the curls at the nape of his neck — tiny chestnut strands coiled in perfect ringlets. Eric fights back a shiver.

“Then I’d say that…” you begin with a mischievous lilt to your voice, wild eyes flitting from his pink lips to his watery eyes. “I’ve been waiting for that for ages.”

You part from him then, taking the warmth of your body with you as you sit on your knees across from him. The rugged ground is hardly cushioned by the thin quilt. You can vaguely feel small rocks digging into your skin, but your need for him is much louder.

You cross your arms in front of yourself to swipe your t-shirt over your head. You toss the discarded fabric carelessly beside you, then work at the buttons of your jeans — also borrowed, and just a half-size too big for you.

Eric watches with his heart in his throat. It’s the most naked you’ve ever been in front of him before. The sight of your bare skin, covered now only in the sports bra you’ve had since the world ended, makes his head swim. It takes him a moment too long to realize he should be undressing, too, and he rushes to catch up.

The two of you undress yourselves in relative silence. The sight is hardly as sexy as you’d expect — full of fumbling limbs far too eager to be graceful. Eric’s shirt gets stuck on his chin. Your jeans get caught at your ankle. The tense lull between you ebbs into a symphony of entwining giggles.

With your clothes scattered in abandoned piles, you lay back against the blanket. Eric settles on top of you with a strange sort of effortlessness — like it’s muscle memory to him, even though neither of you has done this for a long, long while — much less with each other.

The weight of his body is warm and heavy over yours. You slide your hands under his arms and curl them over his freckled shoulders, digging your nails softly into his pale skin to pull him further into you.

You watch with heavily lidded eyes as Eric brings his hand to his mouth. He slides his pointer and middle finger between his lips, wetting the pads of them with his tongue. You exhale a deep breath when the limbs come out again, glittering in the low light.

He studies your features with a dark and unwavering stare as he slips his fingers between the lips of your pussy — tracing the velvety lips for a moment before easing them slowly inside. Your eyes flutter shut at the foreign feeling. Eric smiles to himself, wrist flexing, as he explores your silky cunt with his fingers.

“Please fuck me,” you sigh when his palm bumps your swollen clit. Your head tips back as your hips buck upward, all but melting under his touch. “Please.”

It takes Eric a moment or more to formulate a response. You’ve never been so subservient like this before, so needy for him. This must be the eighth wonder of the world, he thinks to himself, as he continues to work you open with unworthy hands.

“Have to get you ready for me first,” he tells you, voice and low gritty, as he exhales a breathy chuckle that fans across your jaw. “Don’t wanna break you, honey.”

You manage a scoff in response. “Well, that’s very presumptuous of you— oh…”

Eric crooks his fingers until the tips of them brush a spongy depth inside you. Your mouth falls agape at the feeling, so foreignly full beneath him. His spit-slick lips curl into a lazy smirk. “That shut you up, didn’t it?”

You would’ve spit a snide remark back at him if his thumb hadn’t pressed so mercilessly to your delicate clit then. The words dissolve like dust on your tongue and escape only as a breathy moan.

Eric continues his relentless pursuit with nothing but two of his fingers. Relentless, you think,because he’s hardly trying to make you cum now. You’re not sure if he’s just oblivious to how good he’s making you feel, or if he’s pushing you to the edge and jerking you back on purpose. It’s agony either way.

He only stops when his pointer and middle finger start to prune, the pads of them softly wrinkled from your honey. He wipes them off on the quilt like a total barbarian. You would’ve said something about that, too, if you weren’t still trying to catch your breath.

Eric rises to his knees. His bare chest, dusted with sparse hair over the sternum, rises and falls with uneven pants. His cock hangs heavy between his spread thighs — half-hard, glowing red, and leaking faintly at the tip. His wide hands are softer than your own as they smooth up and down the length of your thighs. His thumbs rub soothingly over the supple insides of them — with a touch almost as gentle as the melted chocolate gaze he looks at you with.

“Are you alright?” he wonders, all quiet and suddenly shy, like you aren’t all but dripping for him now.

“You’re so annoying,” you gripe with a scoffed-out laugh, rolling your eyes because you’re certain he’s teasing you. Your stomach sinks when the genuine glimmer in his eyes doesn’t waver. You squirm beneath him and his unyielding gaze. “I’m okay, Eric,” you murmur sheepishly, never easily serious.

He nods to himself and swallows hard, still visibly unsure. It makes you wonder if he’s second-guessing. “Stop staring and kiss me, you asshole,” you grouse with a forced laugh, tightening your grip on his shoulders.

Eric’s mouth quirks in an absentminded smile. “Just let me look at you for a second…” he whispers, squeezing the outsides of your thighs with warm hands.

“We don’t have to whisper anymore, dummy,” you tease in a hushed tone of your own.

His grin widens until his eyes wrinkle at the edges and his tongue pokes softly through his teeth. He laughs despite himself and grips his heavy cock in his fist. “You’re so mean, you know that?” he asks, folding your knee back with his free hand. You’re not sure if he’s expecting a real response, but he slips into you before you can give him one.

He fucks into you slow — bitterly, painfully, and agonizingly slow — forcing you to feel every inch of him. His cock is of average length, but girthy enough to stretch you open. You’re suddenly grateful he thought to use his fingers on you despite your impatience, but the two of them alone hardly equate to how thick he is.

Both of you inhale sharply when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, neither exactly used to the feeling. Eric allows you a moment or more to adjust before sliding out again. You exhale softly together in entwining moans that get lost beneath the sounds of a raging waterfall.

Eric thrusts into you again with gritted teeth, trying not to whimper too loudly when your pussy clenches around him. He bends at the waist to hide his face in your neck and exhales all his pathetic moans there.

He keeps one hand clenched into a fist on the blanket to prop up his weight; his other slides beneath your head to cushion your skull from the hard ground. You grip the boy by his flexing biceps, digging your nails into the skin every time he thrusts into you. Jaw clenched, nose scrunched, eyes squinted — you take his cock without complaint despite the very loud feeling that it’s all too much for you.

Eric is everywhere, and the notion alone overwhelms you. He’s in you, on top of you, all over you. Like the air you breathe. You need him just the same. Not because he’s your friend but because you’re scared you might seriously die without him.

It’s dramatic at best. At worst, it’s the exact opposite feeling you should have for anyone in the apocalypse, where death is essentially promised for both of you.

Tears prick your eyes at the thought, though you’d rather blame them on Eric’s merciless thrusts. They’re sloppy and unmeasured as he struggles to find a rhythm. He’s similarly overwhelmed by the pleasure. You can tell by the way his body trembles over yours, and the way he buries loud moans into your pulsepoint. You can feel the vibrations of each moan in your veins.

The way you’re pinned beneath him cages your clit between your bodies. Every time Eric’s lean hips thrust upward and back again, the coarse thatch of hair above his cock brushes your sensitive button. You couldn’t free yourself from it if you tried. You’re not sure if you even want to.

“This is good for you, right?” Eric wonders through heavy pants, voice wavering under the weight of his pleasure. “Please tell me this is good for you.”

Any other time, you would’ve laughed at him, but now you only nod. Rapidly and with your jaw clenched tight. Just as pathetic as he is.

“’S good,” you promise through gritted teeth as the coil in the pit of your stomach starts to tighten. “It’s so good, Eric. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

The affirmation makes him moan. Loudly. Enough for you to be momentarily grateful for the cover of the rumbling waterfall. Eric buckles down over you and strengthens his rapid, irregularly timed thrusts with a feeble cry.

Your own whine rumbles in your throat, falling from your mouth like honey. Your warm skin, now slick with a layer of sweat, begins to buzz. The need for release builds like a dam within you — somewhere deep, right where the tip of Eric’s cock fucks into you.

Your thighs start to tremble on either side of his waist. Your hips begin to buck despite yourself. You can’t be sure if you’re running from the pleasure now, or chasing it entirely.

“You gotta cum, baby,” Eric tells you through a pitiful whine, face still tucked into your neck. He licks his lips and starts to babble: “I can’t— I’m too close— I need you to cum before I do, baby— Need you to cum right now— Fuck.”

“Is your idea of dirty talk always this pathetic?” you would’ve joked if you weren’t already cumming for him.

Your mouth falls agape in a silent moan as your head tips back into his palm. Your back arches as you reach the height of your pleasure, pussy fluttering through every wave of it.

Eric fucks you the entire way through your orgasm — despite your nails biting crescent shapes into his shoulders, despite your velvety cunt tightening around him, despite the very overwhelming feeling that he might burst entirely.

Only when your body goes lax does he pull out of you.

The empty feeling makes you whimper. Your weeping pussy clenches around nothing while Eric jerks himself off. You can’t see him, but you can feel his wrist moving in rapid motions between your legs.

A groan rumbles deep in his throat as he tenses on top of you. His still body goes rigid. Something warm and wet spits on your inner thigh a second later — a heavy load of his pearly white cum, which he gives you three of before he’s milked himself dry.

Eric collapses on top of you when he’s officially spent. He forgets to hold up his weight, and you deliberately decide not to remind him. You let the man soak in the waves of his pleasure while you strain to reach the wicker basket at your side — struggling for a moment to find the handful of napkins at the very bottom, then using them to wipe up the mess on your thigh.

“Ah, shit,” Eric curses when he notices (his mess or his weight, you can’t quite tell). He sniffles and rolls off of you. “Sorry…”

Your head whips in his direction. You find his face all flushed, glowing red along the apples of his cheeks and the very tip of his nose. His eyes are big and wet, too, glassy like he might cry.

Buzzing with concern, you rise to your knees, watching intently as Eric reaches for your discarded pile of clothes. You set them aside when he passes them to you and hold his face in your hands instead. His stubble scratches at your delicate palms. Your wide eyes sparkle with concern as they dart over his teary features.

“Hey… Hey, what happened?” you agonize. “Are you okay?”

Eric laughs at himself, then sniffles again as he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Yeah… So much for not being cliché, right?” he jokes.

“What happened?” you repeat, giggling this time at his crooked smile.

“Nothing,” he assures, shrugging his freckled shoulders. “I just… I’m just really happy, I guess…”

Your tight chest deflates with a sigh of relief as you nod in response. “Yeah… I am, too.”

Eric’s grin widens at your confession. His cheeks speckle a rosy color, like he’s pleasantly surprised by the response — as if his softening cock isn’t still sparkling with a mixture of your cum.

You meet his smile with a scowl, rolling your eyes as you shove playfully at his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that,” you grumble and turn away from him, reaching for your clothes.

Your body looms over him as you stand, putting very little weight on your scarred leg. You bend at the waist to tug your underwear up your thighs.

Eric shoves his boxers on with a cheeky grin. “I’m really glad I found you, you know that, right? Even though you’re mean to me all the time?”

You scoff and drag your sports bra over your torso, yanking it at the hem to pull it over your breasts. “I’m happy you found me, too, stalker,” you respond in a monotone that would otherwise suggest the opposite. But Eric catches you smiling when you reach beside him for your shirt and knows you really mean it.

“You love me,” he insists playfully, right before stealing a kiss from you.

His lips only manage to brush the corner of your mouth in his haste, but he grins wide about it anyway. Your face screws like you weren’t begging him to fuck you ten minutes ago, as you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand.

“You’re disgusting…” he hears you mumbling as you turn away, tugging your shirt over your head.

But he knows what you really mean.

#published by bug #eric a quiet place day one x reader #eric a quiet place day one #eric a quiet place x reader #eric a quiet place x you #eric x reader #eric x you #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #eric aqpdo #eric aqpdo x reader #a quiet place day one #misc oneshots

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writersdrug · 5 months ago

Note

OOOH bartender Simon when one of the regulars starts making comments about reader at the bar

Yes

Slight nsfw, someone makes derogatory marks about reader

Simon didn't understand why the man chose to be a regular at his bar. He never spoke much to the lad, Mitch, other than the occasional grunt and "'nother round?" Still, the bloke had been coming to his pub every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night like it was his religion - it very well might've been - spilling his guts over neat whiskey about his failing marriage, his estranged children, and his shitty job. Simon was surprised he managed to keep one, with how much he was drinking on a Sunday night.

"Don't ever get a wife, Simon." Mitch says, fidgeting his empty whiskey glass in his fingers. He'd already come in with a sour expression and droopy eyes - Simon wondered what the topic would be for tonight, but as usual, it steered towards his divorce waiting to happen.

"Already got one." He says, jerking his head to the liquor shelf. "Woodford."

Mitch laughs, letting Ghost take his empty glass and dunk it in the wash basin. "You got anyone waitin' for you after work?"

Ghost clicks his tongue, wiping the condensation off the bar top. "Rather not talk about my personal life 'ere."

"Bah - you need something young n' fresh." Mitch sighs, tapping his fingers against the wood. "Guy like you can't have something too committed, or else your work ethic will suffer."

Ghost grunts as his response. He reminds himself that Mitch was a customer, like everyone else, and he only has to tolerate his yapping for tonight - until next Friday.

Mitch turns his head to look at you, and Simon follows with his eyes: you're standing at a table, bantering with the couple seated there as you take their orders. Hair pulled back into that weird claw clip thingy Simon likes so much, posture relaxed as you leaned on one hip, a soft smile on your face as the couple takes their time placing their orders. He remembers how unfamiliar you were with it all in the beginning, and now it looks like you've been working here for the past ten years. Like you belong in his pub.

"How's she handling the job?" Mitch asks.

Simon shrugs. "Seems t' be managing just fine. Gets away with more shit than I should be allowin' 'er."

Mitch chuckles, looking back at you. "They always do when they look that good." He comments, making Ghost pause. "Price knew what he was doin' hiring her."

He feels his muscles tense subconsciously. "I hired 'er."

Mitch looks back at him, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "Simon, you ol' dog..." he begins, leaning his forearms onto the bartop. "Gotta keep the customers comin' somehow, eh?"

Ghost blinks. "I don't follow." He does; but he's giving Mitch a chance to redeem himself after his insinuation.

"C'mon, was it her face? What she wore to the interview? Did Johhny-boy see her and beg you to hire her?" He leans in towards Simon, who obliges and meets him halfway, just to hear what else the prick will say, so he knows how much damage he can justify.

"I'm telling you - the only reason she probably took the job was, well.." he raises and eyebrow.

Simon waits. "Hmm?"

"You know - three big guys like you lot - not to mention that old brewmaster assistant, Garrick, I know he frequents here... well, any desperate thing like her would be throwing themselves at the opportunity."

He's livid. "Wha' opportunity?"

"Gettin hit from all sides, if you catch my drift."

Ghost nods slowly, biting the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood. He wants to punch a hole through Mitch's chest, but two patrons roughhoused in one week would make Price get on his case. He turns to the bar and grabs a whiskey glass.

"Aww, don't be like that..." Mitch says when he senses Ghost's anger. "I'm sorry. Listen - if you don't want to show her a good time, me and my buddy will. I'll leave my number and you'll give it to her for me?"

"Drink this, sober up, and go home Mitch." Ghost says, slapping the glass of clear liquid in front of the man. Mitch eyes him with a huff as he returns to washing the glasses in the bar sink.

"Fuckin' loser..." he mumbles, grabbing the glass and downing a large gulp - he immediately sputters, the drink spilling all over his front as he coughs and hacks violently. The entire floor looks over at the commotion, you included, standing by the POS and watching with a furrowed brow.

"Fuck- was that goddamn Everclear?!" He rasps.

"I think it's time y' head out, Mitch." Ghost says, leaning both of his hands against the bar. "Call your wife and kids. Stop comin' 'ere every week." He then leans in close, right in front of Mitch's face. "Cuz if I see you back at my bar again, I'm draggin' you out the back myself."

His eyes crinkle with a smile as he claps Mitch on the arm, making him jump from the impact. He quickly gets up off his seat and stumbles towards the front door, sparing one last bitter glance between you and Ghost, before he angrily shoves his way out.

Ghost sighs, putting the Everclear back on the shelf; you walk over right on cue. "What was that about? He ok?"

Simon shrugs, closing Mitch's tab on his POS and assigning an auto-gratuity. "Dunno. Maybe my advice finally got t' the bastard."

#ghost #bartender ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riely #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #cod #call of duty #ghost cod #cod x reader

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bi-writes · 6 months ago

Note

i'm a big fan of your writing! can i ask what made simon want to mail order a bride in the first place? thanks <3

mail-order bride

he's tired of staring across his dinner table and seeing nothing but empty space.

it isn't something he had thought about in the before. he's spent a long time shifting between different cots, collecting sand from faraway places and counting the bodies he dropped with tally marks against his boots.

there's a picture he keeps tucked into his vest, but he won't take it out. it sits heavy there, an invisible wall between himself and the outside world, a reality that he chooses not to believe. if he doesn't look at them, he won't think of them, and if he doesn't think of them, maybe he can pretend they were never even real.

they all have something outside of here. his sergeants are too pretty and too outgoing to stick around; they're social butterflies, and simon has seen the shuffle of pictures of some pretty girl that gaz can't stop staring at, and soap never shuts up--whenever they have a signal, he's somehow got a phone call with his cousin's stepfather's little sister, or it's his second cousin's brother-in-law's birthday, and he's got to wish him well since he missed his art exhibition last month.

even price has a pale circular shadow that is stained onto his ring finger.

it's not his fault, is it? it's not his fault he was dealt the worst fucking hand. it wasn't his fault he was born already two feet into the grave; it couldn't have been his fault that he can only get a good night's sleep when there's screaming in one ear or the rattle of a battlefield over his head.

it isn't his fault. it isn't his fault. it isn't his fault.

the cigarettes taste bland today. they're old, stale, and he can taste the bitterness already, but he lights it anyways, flicking ash into the ground, scrunching his nose until he gets used to the bite of it.

there's a shadow at his side, and he turns to snap at them, assuming it's johnny and his incessant nagging, but he holds his tongue when he realizes it's his captain.

he's got a warm cigar in one hand, and he leans against the concrete wall beside him, sighing deep, the kind of pensive weight that only a captain can bear.

price looks tired. he needs to go home.

"boys invited y'out, didn't they?" price asks, and simon chuckles lowly.

"'m olready 'ome," simon murmurs. "'n i can get piss drunk oll on my own 'ere."

price shrugs.

"ya haven't taken leave since you joined my team, simon," he says low. "can't have that. you know it."

simon shrugs.

"can try and make me go," simon tells him. "but y'know i won't leave."

"i'm not asking, simon," price says firmly. "'m telling."

"doesn't matter," simon takes a long drag of the cigarette, holding it in for a second too long before letting it out slow. "got nowhere ta go."

his captain is not blind. simon's on a one-way road, and the end of it stops at the end of someone else's gun. men like simon, the ones who have nothing to lose, they're dangerous. they clear rooms outnumbered thirty to one because no one thinks they can. they hit targets from thousands of yards away because it's the only place that never changes. they kill and sleep peacefully because the blood of a stranger is far cleaner than that of someone they know, of someone they love.

they'll never leave because war is familiar. they don't want to go home because home isn't something they know. they're nomads, taking with them only what they can carry, because the rest is baggage and an emotional weight that they aren't strong enough to carry.

but it doesn't mean men like simon don't want. it doesn't mean they don't wish for more. it doesn't mean they don't think about using their teeth for something other than baring them to show their dominance, their aggression, their insecurity.

simon's a protector. the way he shoves his men behind him says so. the steadiness of his voice over comms when the op goes to shit. the ease of his hand when he ties a tourniquet. the split second that simon never wastes, the way he uses his body as armor and the look he gives his men when they're scared. simon's died twice before, and the look in his eyes tells them that this isn't it, that this isn't death, because he'd fucking know--he'd recognize it if he saw it.

simon's unrelenting. his past, his trauma, it's tried to beat him into a shape that will bend and snap, but its obvious simon is not made of lead--fuck, he's an entire block of unmovable steel. he does not give when compressed, he does not crack when the strength of him is tested. simon's fought too hard to live to let a gun terrify him, he's endured too much torture to flinch when someone sinks a blade into his chest.

but he knows, simon knows, that there is something missing. he fought hard to live, but for what? he's endured, but what the fuck is there when he lays his head down at night?

simon's a lover. he tries so hard to convince himself that he's always been this way--alone, drifting, lost, but it's a lie. simon knows what it's like to want. he knows what it's like to look into a crowd and hope you see a familiar face. he understands wanting to pull that string taut, but he also understands what it can do to you. what it can take from you.

he understands what you can never get back.

he thinks this is a bad idea. he crumples the note paper in his hand that had the address scribbled onto it, tearing it, staring up at the house in front of him. it's quaint, a lovely little house in the outskirts of london, with a red chimney and overturned planters in the yard. there's a weathered wooden door, a porch step that needs fixing, and when he kicks open the door, he grimaces seeing a carpet that need's replacing.

"the fuck am i doin' 'ere?" he whispers to himself, sliding his mask off, running a hand over his face. his heart is pounding, but he's not sure why, but he catches his reflection in the window. what looks back at him terrifies him--he can't do this.

he makes his way back outside, rummaging through his pockets for a cigarette. he takes a seat on the steps, lighting it, and as he takes his first frantic drag, he sees the torn pages of the note still on the ground. he picks up one end of it, running his thumb over the crumpled paper there, smudging the pencil scribble there.

she needs you

it's written in price's ugly handwriting, letters all tilted to the side and barely legible, but he still can read what price didn't write--and you need her.

but simon doesn't need anyone. he barely needs himself, barely can take care of himself. this won't help him--he can't help anyone, he isn't the kind that can be this kind of thing for anyone. he's stayed in the service because at least this way, he can die with honor, he can prove them all wrong, he can at least be remembered for what he could do and not by what was done to him.

his touch is ice. his heart is buried too deep under his ribs; no one has seen it since he could finally register a memory. his face, the skin he wears--he's not a pretty man, he's a forgettable one. he isn't gentle, he isn't capable of it. he can't forgive. he's so quick to anger, likes to snap his teeth, and he cannot be the kind of thing that they all expect him to be.

he does not love himself. he will not love himself. so he cannot love another.

there is a certain kind of satisfaction he feels when he fixes the porch step. once abandoned, once a nuisance, and now it functions as intended. he feels the same kind of thing when he rips up the stained carpet, and he feels it again when he watches the seeds of the thyme leaves grow as they rest in a pot above the sink.

things once forgotten serve a purpose. with effort, they can be used again. they don't have to be replaced, they can be open anew, they can live again and breathe deeper and see through the lens of a different perspective.

when you climb the porch steps the first time, he thinks about the board that doesn't wobble any longer. when the door shuts behind you for the first time and you take off your boots, he thinks about the new carpet that warms your toes now.

and when you lay next to him for the first time, under the covers of the bed he's made, he reaches over and slips a few fingers around your wrist, thumbing at the base of it and swallowing hard when he feels the pulse of your heartbeat. it beats, warm and steady, to a beat familiar, one he knows. his heart has not been hiding under thick bone and the tar of his own blood.

it's here now. under your skin. and now it's home.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #order up

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yanderenightmare · 7 months ago

Text

TW: yandere, domestic violence, abuse, suicidal ideations, suicide attempts, accidental murder, death

gn reader

You should have never fallen in love with someone so brash, but you like seeing the good in people much to the abuse of your own. Still, rough around the edges as he was, you’d never thought he’d become such a monster.

The first time he slapped you, you were so shocked you’d ended up the one who apologized—all the way convinced you must have deserved it. And ever since then, you’ve only accumulated more bruises in areas you can’t explain.

You’re in the bathroom now. The door’s locked, but you don’t think it’ll keep him out for long.

“Open the door, babe—I didn’t mean it.”

You don’t even know if he has himself convinced of that or if he’s just saying it to soothe you. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that your wrist and rib are broken. You’re so terrified you think you might end up dying from the fear alone, sitting in the bathtub just waiting for the inevitable.

You don’t have a phone—it was taken when an old boyfriend had texted. You’d share his from then on, he said—better that way so he can keep track of you. It’s strange, but somehow, you believed it was rather romantic.

You were going to leave this time. It would be so simple. He was at work, and you’d just leave everything and walk right out the door. But there was an incident at the office which made him come home early only to catch you red-handed heading out the door you know you’re not supposed to open without him.

You’d been so panicked you’d tried running—but there was really no chance. His arms caught you hard, and the floor he threw you back on met you even harder—hence the snapped bones.

Still, you’d managed to scramble to the bathroom with just enough time to lock it behind you.

And now you were left all out of options.

“Open the door, we’ll talk. Maybe I misunderstood.” His voice had calmed down now. He’d been at it for a while—he sounded more airy, teetering on frantic, and it only served to scare you even more. “I know it can get pretty cramped in ‘ere all alone. Maybe you were just getting some fresh air, is all?” He left the question a couple of seconds worth of breath before sending his fist into the door. “Come on, answer me!”

You were sobbing. He might actually kill you this time. God knows you’ve thought he would other times with both his hands wrapped tight around your throat, stringing you up, making you lose voice for days.

You thought about it—the razor blades in the drawer. It seemed like the only option left. Better you than him, right? He’d make it painful. Or worse, he might not go through with it at all, and you’d be stuck living with him forever.

That really did seem worse than death, you thought, sitting on the floor while holding the shiny metal piece to your wrist. Which way was best to cut again? Right. It’ll be quick, and then it’ll be over.

You don’t even hear the door breaking down before he’s on you. You don’t even realize you’ve cut before you see the red. You don’t even know whose blood it is before he gags on it—before it splutters from his mouth upon your face and the slice on his neck splits upon and gushes out like a waterfall all over your clothes.

He drops to the floor with a heavy thud a moment later.

The blood is so warm you don’t even understand how he’s dead.

You even think about stopping the bleeding for a moment, but then it suddenly settles. And then along, shortly after, the understanding that you’d killed him.

The razor hits the bloody tiles with no sound—it’s all so thick it splats before sinking, disappearing slowly. You swallow once, but you’re throat is all but dry. Even the tears had stopped in the shock.

You spot the phone on the floor, having slid from his pocket—moments away from drowning in the blood that seems to just continue seeping and spreading forever. Something within you grabs it before it can.

“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

“Hi! Uhm… I’ve just killed my boyfriend.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Dabi, Hawks, Enji, Aizawa ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ DS – Akaza, Inosuke, Sanemi

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

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woso-dreamzzz · 30 days ago

Text

Second Time's The Charm XI

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Summary: An old face watches a match

She wasn't as young as she once was.

Teaching hadn't originally been her first choice as a job but after finishing school and spending a few years bored senseless as a receptionist, at age twenty-five, she'd made the change to teaching children in their first year of school.

Now, twenty-five years later, she was getting older and her students seemed to be just as wild and excitable as they always had been.

This school trip hadn't exactly been planned by the school, not fully anyway but a generous donation from who knows where had her and a few other teachers taking a three classes of wiggling and excited five year olds to a home match for the Barcelona women's team.

"Let's get to our seats now," She says, trying to get everyone in her class seated and happy but it's like trying to fight a group of wet cats - a losing battle.

"Miss, he pushed me!"

"Miss, I want to sit with my friends!"

"Miss, I can't find my bracelet!"

"Miss, my Mami gave me spending money!"

"Miss!"

She sighs to herself, rattling off instructions in a way that only a practiced teacher could.

"Lucas, stop pushing people. We use our nice hands with people. Isabella, you can sit next to your friends if there's space. Ana, your bracelet got put into your bag. Pedro, spending money can be used at half time. Now, everyone needs to sit down or else they won't start the match!"

It takes a little while to get all the kids settled and she briefly thinks about how this would be a hell of a lot easier if the school had more people who could chaperone.

It's a fleeting thought because she knows she can't do anything about it now but still, it would be nice.

Nice like it is now to watch one of her old students walk out as one of the most well known footballers not only in Spain but the world as well.

Alexia Putellas, the captain of Barcelona, leads her team out - head held high and back straight. A far cry from the little girl that used to slump in her seat in class and cry when someone took her ball at breaktime.

There weren't many students that she remembered so well - a handful that have ended up in politics, one that somehow ended up at the UN and one whose arrest made national news.

But Alexia was one of the good ones, helpful and polite most of the time.

She can remember though, with startlingly clarity the second day of classes.

It had been her second day as a teacher ever and she'd been supervising the playground at lunch when Alexia had appeared and dragged her off.

She'd dragged her all the way to the slide where you'd been waiting.

"You have to marry us, Miss," Alexia had said, eyes wide and incredibly earnest," We want to get married."

"Er..."

"You have to, miss," You'd joined in," Because we're in love and my Papa always said that people in love get married."

She'd been speechless then but still done as you and Alexia said, a little charmed by those two little girls begging to be married under the slide.

Alexia was easy to follow now, her exploits known throughout the country on and off the pitch. You'd faded though and your old teacher wasn't quite sure where you'd ended up.

Likely something successful and important.

Even as a little girl, you'd had a good work ethic. Work before play, always, was something you'd abided by.

She could see you as something important now. Your parents were doctors, she's pretty sure, so maybe you followed in their footsteps.

It would suit you, she thinks as she watches Alexia slam the ball into the net for a third time today.

Barcelona wins.

But that's entirely to be expected.

What isn't expected though, is for the staff from the team to invite the classes down onto the pitch to meet the players.

"Carlos, don't run! Mia, don't yell over someone! Lucas, again! Stop pushing people! Everyone will get a turn!"

"Some things never change then."

She turns with a smile. "Alexia."

"Hi, Miss."

"You don't have to call me that anymore."

Alexia's brow wrinkles. "What else would I call you? You've always been my teacher."

"You're an adult now, Alexia. You don't have to call me that anymore if you don't want to."

"But I do. Is that alright?"

"That's okay. So long as you want to."

Alexia beams, the same big smile she had as a five year old when she would come to the desk with a picture she drew of herself in the Barcelona kit.

It's still strange to see that exact image in real life.

"I'd like to introduce you to one of my daughters. This is Maya."

"She's beautiful."

"Mi Amor is just changing our other daughter. They'll be out in a minute."

"It's nice to see that you're doing so well. A good job. A nice family."

"We have dogs too! And my wife's old cat! She built me a house, you know? My wife, that is. Not her cat."

It's nice to see that Alexia's word vomit from her childhood hadn't changed much either. She was so stoic and quiet most of the time but any topic that drew her interest could be (and would be) talked about for hours at a time.

"That's nice to hear, Alexia."

"And we bought a villa in Greece for our next holiday! And I bought her this nice matching bracelet and necklace set! But! You can't tell her because it's going to be a surprise!"

"A special occasion?"

Alexia looks affronted at the idea. "I don't need a special occasion to show my wife how much I love her! Just my love!" She turns, glancing over her shoulder and her whole face lights up. "Oh! Amor, you're back! Look, Miss Rivera is here!"

Miss Rivera looks over to the tunnel where you have emerged from, a babbling baby on your hip and a rock of a ring on your hand.

"Oh, hi, Miss!"

She sighs. "I told Alexia that you two don't need to call me that anymore."

You frown. "But you've always been our teacher. What else would we call you?"

"Miss, this is our new baby Elena." Alexia puffs out her chest proudly. "My wife gave birth to her. Doesn't she look good for giving birth a few months ago?"

You slap her on the shoulder before pressing a kiss to where you just slapped. "Don't listen to her, Miss. She'll take any excuse to talk about it."

Alexia nods solemnly. "It was very scary because there were complications but she's doing so well now. Both Elena and my wife. Right, Amor? She's a doctor, you know. Very successful."

Again, Alexia seems to preen like a peacock as if you being so successful and so smart brought her such pride.

"You've both been very successful," Miss Rivera says," I'm so proud. A long way from that marriage under the slide, huh?"

You grin, intertwining your fingers with Alexia's.

"But still married."

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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yourlocalsmutwriter · 1 month ago

Note

Okay - I see your Sex accidents and raise you “sex sent me to the ER” featuring formula 1 drivers !

Anon, I love your brain. I had to endure so much of the terrible editing choices of the show for these drables, but worth it.

Nsfw under the cut, namely mentions of : penis and genital injuries, riding, fingering, handjobs, overall accidents during intercourse, I mean it's sex sent me to the er

Charles Leclerc - It was your first time attending the Monza GP and the atmosphere was electric. As a Tifosi, there was a surge of something in the air. And you could see everything unfold from the comfort of Charles' garage. Your boyfriend's performance was crucial, the track being filled with fans, their cheers practically making the ground shake under you. Saturday ended with a P4 in qualifying. Because of your location, there was no way that you could leave the hotel, aside from going to the track. You'd usually stay in Charles' motorhome, yet this time, you were on strict no sex orders from Maranello. You were mortified that all his bosses were that superstitious about his race. Truth was, Charles could pull through and show everyone a phenomenal drive. Now it was up to the engineers and strategist to help him make the right call. Lap 40 rolls around and Oscar's lead gets taken from him as he pits. Now the crowd favourite leads. The camera pans to you, there's a serene shot of you looking like the Maddona. Your eyes are razor sharp on the screen, filled with anxiety? Hope? Love? Pride. No one's sure. But there's so much want in them. The pit wall buzzes around you. Next few laps go in a blur, quite literally. By lap 50, you're counting down along with everyone. The fans, they're cheering for him now. Louder and louder, ear drum splitting. You're not necessarily a pious person, yet you pray. It doesn't take a lip reader to distinguish the pleas that fall from your mouth. 3 laps now. 2. 1. And the chequered flag is being waved. David Croft tells everyone that Charles Leclerc has won the Italian Grand Prix. You scream, along with your beloved, whose shouts of Si reach your ears. Tifosi and Ferrari team surround you from all sides. You let Charles enjoy his moment. Right now, he wasn't yours, he was theirs, king of Monza. Your time would come too. When he winks to you from the top step of the podium, you make a decision. Tonight, he would feel like a winner.

Charles' celebrations end with you, in the penthouse suite you had been upgraded to after his victory. Your boyfriend and you feel like newlyweds. There's even a cheesy Madonna song playing in the background. Like a prayer, well prayers is exactly what you will need after tonight, you think. The two of you are both naked, basically after the first kiss. Truth be told, you were always like hormonal virgins around each other. Insatiable. So you were straddling your winner on the soft plush bed. Reaching in for the box of condoms the hotel somehow snuck in there. Tifosi, you think. They wouldn't want your Charles to suddenly pull a Sebastian Vettel. Ignoring for a moment the weirdness,of it all, you reach for your boyfriend's dick.

You roll the condom on, and straddle Charles.

"You just sit back and relax." You tell him, after all winners get their prizes. You underestimate his size. Usually you love the slow stretch that he gives you, allowing you to get used to his girth. But now it's just too much, too big. You can barely get past the tip. And usually your boyfriend is nothing but patient. In fact, he's no stranger to cockwarming you, taking his pleasure in watching you squirm and beg against him. But tonight he's impatient. Maybe it's the delayed adrenaline from the race. Maybe it's the champagne that was like ambrosia for his throat. But tonight Charles Leclerc wants to be ridden like never before. So he thrusts up, bouncing you a little, bullying his cock into your pussy. And by your pleas for more, he does it again, this time more aggressively. His hips against yours, the way you're squeezing against him, it's too much. He can't bust in just a few minutes though, he is no two pump chump. So he pulls out almost completely and changes his angle. With a pop sound, he's in excruciating pain and his boner is gone. You roll away from him, frantically putting on your clothes as he's saying variants of "it hurts, it's broken and hospital now.".

You sprint to the reception and ask them to call an ambulance. You're not ashamed to use your boyfriend's celebrity status as you ask them to hurry. You don't care that this is straight from a sex sent me to the ER episode. You then take your fucked out and fucked up partner downstairs to wait. You're a wreck, crying, a little bit amused but overall terrified. How does one explain a dick injury? Would that affect his driving? Would Ferrari have to pull out their reserve because Charles wanted to ride you faster. This in combination with your nonexistent Italian was not a good match. The doctors give your boyfriend some anesthesia in the ambulance so he's out cold. You can't really explain to them what happened so you're banished to the waiting room. And there you find 3 out of the 4 guys dressed as Ferrari priests. They explain that the last one got alcohol poisoning and that's why they're here. Seeing you fine and recognizing you as Charles' WAG they immediately put two and two together. All you can say about their hero is "it's fractured, he was in so much pain, I don't know how he is now." They stay with you, offering to help with the language barrier. Somehow the staff agrees and all of you are in the room as your boyfriend's sleeping soundly, a bunch of machines hooked to him. One of the guy's starts talking to the doctor and the other two are praying? For Charles. With no other option, you join them. You know what they say about Italy. The two religions are catholicism and Ferrari.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Daniel Ricciardo - Danny wasn't the type of person who boasts. Flashing his money around just wasn't his style. But what he loved to do was a good celebration of success. That's why you were in a western themed bar in New York, freezing in a cowgirl outfit in December. His friends were there, encouraging you to take a shot to warm up, sweetheart. And he was the life of the surprise party.

He had enough on his plate planning the pop-up, so someone from the Shopify team organized this. What they failed to consider was just how much of an entertainer your boyfriend is. The bar was open all night, and Daniel, bless his soul, felt bad for the workers. So it was onto the two of you to get the place into a shape close to what you found it before the opening crew was there.

Daniel somehow managed to sniff out the hidden Redbulls, and you got to work. Sticky floors were mopped, a dishwasher was loaded, and overall, it was looking okay. You were by the mechanical bull, scrubbing the contraption down. Allegedly, someone was letting out suspicious noises while riding it last night, and that was a visual you weren't trying to think about. Apparently, you were the only one because the sight of you bent over was affecting your partner.

"Wanna go for a spin on it? Have some fun after I roped you in this whole cleaning thing?" Your partner asks, coming up behind you. You agree, and he's hoisting you up, hands lingering on your thighs just a little longer than necessary. He gets behind you, the bull wobbling a little under the collective weight. Daniel doesn't care. Instead, he's kissing your neck, saying

"Sorry, I got too caught up in this. I know you probably wanted to leave and go to bed. Promise I'll make it up to you. How are you, having a headache?" You're a bit surprised at his sudden question, half expecting for him to make you get off and pop a Tylenol. But even as you say yes, he just replies with

"Luckily for you, I know a great cure." and sneaks a hand towards your leotard, moving it to the side.

"I mean, really darling, this outfit, I don't know how I was behaving all night. When all I wanted was to take you to the bathroom and make you suck me off. Have you sitting on your knees so prettily as people wonder where we disappeared off to." His fingers go from rubbing your clit slowly and teasingly, to picking up speed with every sentence. He doesn't miss how wet you're getting, how you're biting your lip to stifle your moans. He continued.

"Thank God you didn't wanna ride this earlier, because I don't think I could've resisted you. Had to bend you over right between the horns and fuck you right in front of all our friends. Make them see how well you take what I give you, how you'd hump me and beg for more.". Daniel then slips two fingers inside of you, enjoying how you're already riding them. So why not give you both a bit of a faster ride?

His shoe presses the button for the mechanical bull and the machine whirls to life. But as soon as it starts, he feels a zap right where his fingers are, fucking you. You double over in pain as he scrambles to turn the thing off. He succeeds and immediately calls an ambulance, asking for help. He just prays that his boner's gone before the paramedics arrive.

At least that happens, but the people know who he is. Nothing could compare to hearing "I'm a big fan of yours." from a girl as she was between your legs, examining your vagina. Worst of all was your boyfriend signing the bottom of a piece of paper saying "electrical burns to the pelvic region and genital area.". Danny's rings and bracelets were metal, in combination with your wetness, it was a great electrical conductor. That's how you ended up shocked.

"I'm sorry, honey. For the hurt and the embarrassment." He says, guilty that he remained unscathed and you were in pain.

"You're paying the hospital bill, Ricciardo." is all you can say through your painkiller haze.

"Shocker." He says and laughs his trademark laugh as you tell him there's no way in hell he's rubbing the prescribed ointment on you now or ever.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Lewis Hamilton - your relationship with 7 time world champion Lewis Hamilton wasn't exactly something either of you were boasting about. Which led to you two sneaking around like teenagers. Climbing through a ground floor window, however, proves to be a bit more of a handful than expected. Lewis rolled onto your soft carpet with a thud. He was scratched by the bushes outside, deep red hashes lining his tattooed arms. Despite chastising you about not wanting to just lie and go out to a little discreet hotel, he's under you in a minute. You love being on top of him, thighs wrapped around him, in control. You're needy, grinding against him while you're both still clothed. You run your nails against his arms, just like he loves. But you forgot about his injuries. Lewis Hamilton is apparently very sensitive to pain and, despite his own opinion, has the same reflexes he had 10 years ago. He fucking flinches and literally throws you off him. Your body hits the headboard, ironically head first. Your saliva has a metallic taste and you can see fear on Lewis' face. Your front teeth are gone.

"Thuck you, get me to the ER." You say.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Fratboy! Lando Norris - Sports marketing students like you were passionate about certain things. For most, it was football, basketball, or other endeavors of the sort. For you, it was Formula 1. That's why you were standing in the corner of the sports bar, head to toe in Redbull merch. Even your makeup matched the team colors, with little hearts painted on your cheeks. And next to you was frat rat Lando Norris. Your mortal enemy. An insufferable man whose terrible taste in women was overshadowed by his terrible taste in F1 drivers. He was a McLaren supporter. The Brit constantly liked to brag that he used to kart and was still streaming with Max Fewtrell , who wasn't even the best Max on the grid. Truth was that when you each heard that the other one was a Max fan, you were ecstatic. May have led to a drink makeout session. But as soon as he asked for his jagerbombs to be mixed with Monster, you realized your mistake. So from then on, you loved fighting about whose team was better. The Max squared title war was in full bloom. And apparently, Lando thought that painting himself orange would help his friend.

"Tangerine suits you." You say as the studio's in session. You're not particularly excited about what the commentators have to say, so you try to undermine Lando.

"It's papaya, and you know it." He replies.

"I know a lot of things. Like that after Brazil you can not say anything." You counter, talking about Verstappen’s phenomenal drive in the rain. But Lando wasn't letting up.

"And who won the sprint yesterday?"

"Rightfully, Oscar Piastri." Papaya rules was one of his sore spots. But actual second drivers were yours. So he asks

"And how many times did random cars out qualify Checo? I mean, really, a Sauber?”

Maybe it's the free shots. Maybe it's the bar getting fuller and fuller, forcing you to get physically closer to Lando. Maybe it's the fact that he's wearing a papaya crop top, and you can see that the body paint is indeed on the majority of his body. But as the red flag stops the race, the two of you are in a bathroom, testing the endurance of the sink countertop. Lando's lips are on your neck, and your hands are between his legs. You don't care that he's already stained your shirt, after all, Dutch orange also worked. But there was no way in hell you were letting him near your pussy. Hell no to that UTI, thank you very much. So you're subjected to his dirty talk as you keep stroking him. You slide your thumb over the head and it comes out sticky and orange?

"Lando, what the fuck, did you eat cheetos and jerk off before this or what?". He's freaking out as you show him more of the orange precum and you have to play the Dutch national anthem to get him soft enough to actually go to the campus doctor. You're scared that you're gonna be patient zero of a new STD called the “Norris” until they clear him. Turns out that for him to get into CHI DELTA whatever he was, they had to paddle his bare ass. And drunk college boys were not really known for their accuracy, so he took some hits to the balls too. Which then caused his sperms to mix with the body paint. He'd be clear in a month, but no sex or masturbation before that.

"See you on winter break, Lando. In 4 weeks. Speaking of 4, guess who's getting their 4th.." you can't finish your sentence because he hurls a hospital pillow at your head.

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