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delulujuls · 3 months

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tinder buddies | ln4

hi! i have no idea how to comment on that. i've got inspiration from the rumors that are now going on twitter and tiktok about lando and his activity in sm and i thought man, i need to write something in this narrative because sexting with him??? scuse me??? but of course all of this is fiction and and i dont have any statement on the rumors about lan, mostly because all of these are rumors and not facts. anyway, pls leave his poor papaya ass alone and enjoy this instead!

summary: when you met your tinder buddy irl and realize how indeed world is small

warnings: masturbation on cam (both male and female), bit of swearing, in general alott of sexual tention

pairing: fem!journalist!reader x lando norris

Y/N thought that she was good at what she was doing. She thought that despite her young age she fit in the world of motorsport really well. Sometimes it even crossed her mind that she was no different from her older colleagues, what's more, sometimes she even thought that she was better than them. However, she admitted this only to herself with complete modesty and behind tightly closed doors.

Apart from the fact that Y/N was a really good journalist whose career was growing at a surprising pace, at the end of the day she was just a twenty-two-year-old girl who, like many other twenty-two-year-old girls in the world, had her smaller and bigger sins.

Y/N breathed heavily as she entered her hotel room. She set her suitcase and bag aside, taking off her shoes and plopping down on the bed. It was well after midnight, her flight was delayed by several hours and she was simply exhausted by the passing day. Even though she was excited about the events that awaited her in a few hours, right now she was just tired. However, she knew perfectly well what would help her relax before going to sleep. Not so much what, but who.

The girl unlocked her phone and easily found the Instagram icon, clicking on it and going straight to the messages. She entered the first conversation and was about to write some prosaic message, but she didn't have time to type out half of the sentence when a new message appeared in the chat.

"u up?"

Y/N smiled to herself. It looked like she could count on a pleasant end to the day.

"I was just about to ask you the same thing"

The reply message appeared a moment later.

"i was waiting for you to be available. i thought the evening would be wasted"

"And yet you see, surprise"

The person on the other end smiled and untied the drawstring on his sweatpants. He quickly wrote his answer with one hand.

"wanna call?"

"I think you know the answer"

She smiled and reached for the switch and turned off the light, pressing the camera icon with her other hand.

Y/N and the boy she had been messaging with for a little over a month knew next to nothing about each other. She had a private account and a few photos, he had a black icon and an empty profile. He only knew her name, she only the first letter of his. They met on Tinder, their profiles there looked quite similar. She has a few photos, more of the body than the face, he has the same, mostly in black and white. They had never seen each other's faces, but they knew each other's bodies inside and out.

Y/N placed her phone on the table and leaned it against the lamp, which she turned on a moment later. The light from it was dim, but it illuminated her body enough. The angle her phone was at only showed her from the neck down. She was perfect at maintaining her privacy.

"New background?"

He asked, seeing that the surroundings behind her were different from those he had seen before. She pulled her sweatshirt over her head, leaving her in only a bra and a thin t-shirt.

"I'm away from home"

"Work?"

"Too many questions"

There was quiet laughter on the other side. He liked her temperament. He liked her curves even more and the sounds she made when, at his command, she pushed her fingers inside her and brought herself to orgasm. Yes, he liked that too.

"Yeah, you're right. Strip."

Y/N pulled the t-shirt over her head and her interlocutor saw a red, lace bra that he never seen on her before. He smiled and ran his hand over his crotch. He felt a chill run through him.

"You look good, baby. Red suits you"

She laughed and pushed her hair behind her shoulders.

"Is this the first time you gonna tell me to keep my bra on?"

"For now, yes. I'd love to look at it for a while" he squeezed his cock and began to lightly massage it through the fabric. "You know what to do, dont'cha?"

Y/N bit her lip and lifted her hands, placing them gently on her shoulders. She slowly moved them down her body and when she found her breasts, she slowly started massaging them in circular motions. She closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly, hearing the sigh that came from her phone. He watched her carefully, following her every move.

"Take it off," he said after a while, "It's pretty, but I think I prefer you without it."

She quickly took off her bra and threw it aside. He smiled at the sight of her breasts. Y/N returned to them, continuing their massage. As she lightly pinched her nipples, she moaned softly. His cock vibrated at the sound that came from his headphones. He smiled.

"Does it feel good, baby?"

"Mhm, yeah" she answered, looking again at her phone "But you're playing unfair again. I have to see you too."

He chuckled and shook his head.

"You don't let me enjoy you"

He replied and put down the phone, quickly pulling his shirt over his head. He fell back on the pillows and turned on the light on his phone. Y/N smiled at the sight of the familiar, slightly tanned and toned torso. Her interlocutor didn't see it, but she smiled even more when he tightened his hand on his cock, which was now clearly visible on the gray material of his trousers.

"Take off the rest of your clothes and lie down"

He ordered. Y/N obediently lay down, taking off her pants and underwear. When the rustle of fabric could be heard on the other side, he easily freed himself from his pants and tight, slightly damp boxers. He spat on his hand and spread the saliva over his cock, feeling it tighten under his touch. Fuck, what he would give if instead of his hand it was this tiny hand that disappeared between the pair of thighs he saw on the screen of his phone.

The girl complied with his command and he saw her middle finger slowly sinking inside her, only to come out after a while covered with her juices.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, "You're so wet, baby."

“I wish you were here and licked me clean.”

Y/N said, rubbing her clit. She felt that she wouldn't need much to reach orgasm.

Her interlocutor smiled under his breath, but she wasn't able to see it.

"I'm afraid that i would make you even more wet."

"Someone has quite an ego here"

"I know my capabilities, baby."

She snorted under her breath and made herself more comfortable, inserting her finger into herself again. First one, quite slowly, and soon she added another one. A long moan filled the hotel room as she began to move them, imagining that it was not her but him who was fucking her. And not with his fingers, but with his wet, hard cock.

"Yeah, just like that, baby. Keep going."

His eyes carefully followed the screen and the activities taking place on it. His hand moved smoothly over his cock, his lips were slightly opened. As he was stroking himself, the glass of his watch on his wrist reflected the light from the phone. He wore it every time they cam together. Y/N didn't know anything about watches, so she didn't know what brand it was or whether it was expensive. They never talked about it, honestly, they basically never had a normal chat. However, he once asked her about the tattoo on her forearm, just below the inner bend of her elbow. He noticed it after the first time they met on camera. When it was all over and they were about to hang up and return to their real lives, he asked about it.

"What does 33 mean?"

He asked when the girl started getting dressed.

"What?"

"Tattoo on your arm"

The girl looked at her forearm and only then did she understand what he was asking about.

"I can't tell you because you'll make fun of me"

Hearing this, he smiled. Not because there was probably some stupid story behind it, but because the girl was concerned about not looking bad in front of him. Even though they absolutely didn't know each other.

"I barely know your name, I don't know why I would make fun of you."

Y/N was silent for a moment, glancing at her tattoo and lightly stroking it with her thumb.

"Do you know Formula 1?"

He smiled and nodded. His reaction, however, was beyond her reach.

"I know a thing or two"

"My favorite driver drives with this number. Well, actually he did, now his number is 1. But for me it will still be associated with 33"

The girl explained. She felt a bit embarrassed to expose herself to him, especially with something like this. However, he did not laugh at her or comment on her confession in any negative way.

"I have a friend who is also involved in motorsport and has the same number. Actually, not anymore, because he also had to change it. But for me it will also be associated only with 33"

Y/N smiled at his words. Sometimes she wondered if they could become friends and get to know each other a little better. But then she decided to come down to earth and remind herself that she had no time for relationships or friendships. Now the most important thing for her is work and career, everything else can wait. After all, no one will satisfy her as much as herself. Right?

"Fuck, I could fill you so good, baby," he moaned, gasping for breath. He felt that he was only seconds away from orgasm "You have no idea how much pleasure I would give you."

The girl's lips were opened, her eyelids were shut tightly. She massaged her clit with her left hand and moved the fingers of her right hand inside her in quick, uneven movements.

"I'm about to- I…oh my god-"

“Yes, baby, thats it" he gasped, speeding up "Cum for me.”

She felt a wave of pleasure wash over her. The moment her back arched, she heard a long "fuck" coming from her phone. He came shortly after her, staining his toned abs with his sperm. He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head back, trying to calm his breathing. There was silence on both sides for a moment, neither of them moving an inch.

After some time, Y/N sat on the bed and reached for a tissue, wiping her hands on it.

"I have to go now. I have a lot of work waiting for me tomorrow."

"Me too. I wanted to let you know that we may not be able to have a call tomorrow."

He answered, also wiping himself.

“It's okay, no big deal,” Y/N replied and took one last look at the muscled, tanned torso visible on her phone screen, “Good night. And good luck with your chores tomorrow.”

“Good night, baby. You too.”

She smiled and reached for her phone, ending the call. Exhausted from the previous day and the evening cam session, she just buried herself in the blanket and shortly after fell asleep. The next day, when her alarm went off, she was full of energy despite several hours of sleep. She couldn't wait for saturday's qualifying and all she was thinking about as she was getting ready was whether she would be able to get good material.

As she put on her red bra, she smiled involuntarily as she remembered last night. She wondered if he had already gotten lost in the whirlwind of his today's duties. Y/N quickly got dressed, gathered her things and, putting her pass around her neck, left the hotel. When she got to the track and was in the paddock, she couldn't think about anything else. Her only thoughts revolved around what was going to happen on the track in a few dozen minutes. However, for a split second she wondered what her tinder buddy actually knew about Formula 1. Maybe they could have something to talk about? Maybe she could even take him to some grand prix?

Her thoughts disappeared when she noticed Lando Norris hanging around the McLaren garage. The girl asked the cameraman to prepare the equipment and she would ask the Brit if he would be willing to have a short conversation. She squeezed the microphone in her hand and without thinking, she approached him, introducing herself and asking if it was possible to record a short conversation.

Hearing her name, his heart did a flip. He knew that name very well.

"Sure, no problem"

He replied with a smile, obviously not revealing himself, and ran his hand through his hair. The glass of the watch strapped to his wrist gleamed in the sunlight. Y/N had seen this watch before. Many times.

The girl smiled back and, hearing his agreement, gave a thumbs up to the cameraman. When she raised her hand, the sleeve of her shirt rolled up, and Lando's eyes involuntarily caught the tattoo on her forearm. A slight 33, just below the bend in the elbow.

He felt a sudden wave of heat wash over him. It's a coincidence, right? It must be.

"How's your mood before qualifying?"

Y/N asked, putting the microphone down and straightening her shirt. As she was arranging her collar, Lando's eyes caught a glimpse of her red bra strap. He smiled to himself and looked down. He wondered how many accidents and coincidences had come together in the universe and resulted in this situation.

"What? Something wrong?"

The girl asked, not knowing what made him react like that.

He shook his head and after a moment looked up again. He looked at the girl carefully. However, she was completely lost and looked at him questioningly.

"Sorry, as you can probably see, my mood is great. I'm positive about today's qualifying."

Y/N tentatively gripped her microphone. When the cameraman approached them, they started recording the footage and she had no time to analyze Lando's strange behavior. In fact, it was possible that this was their first and last conversation ever, so why should she care about it. When they managed to record a short material, Y/N thanked him and wished him successful qualifications. After that everyone went their separate ways.

Immediately after entering the garage, Lando found his phone buried in a pile of his things. He quickly entered his latest conversation on Instagram and, without thinking, decided to send the girl a message. Worst case scenario, he'll just make a fool of himself, which isn't a big deal since they don't know each other at all. At best, he would spend tonight as he had long dreamed of.

"ure even prettier than i thought, baby."

Y/N felt a vibration in her pants pocket and without thinking, she unlocked her phone. She was surprised to see a notification coming from Instagram, and she was even more surprised when she noticed who sent her the message. After reading it, she felt a cold sweat break out on her. However, she decided to think and act soberly.

"How do you know what I look like?"

"turn around"

Lando replied quickly and leaned against the threshold of his garage. The girl clutched her phone in her hands and obeyed his command with her heart beating wildly. Lando smiled at her, holding his still unlocked phone. Y/N felt a lack of saliva in her mouth. It's impossible, it's not really happening.

"Are you sure we're looking at the same person?"

She replied, having difficulty pressing the appropriate keys with her fingers. He was amused by her reaction. This whole situation didn't make sense to him. It was crazy.

"im looking at a pretty neat journalist with a mad bunda who has a tattoo with my friend's racing number. and u?"

Y/N blushed. Fuck. It's him.

"I see that your jumpsuit is a little tight in some places."

Lando snorted under his breath. The girl wasn't lying. The whole situation made quite an impression on him.

Y/N bit her lip and looked up. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't arousing.

"u know exactly why its tight"

"I guess I have to find out in real life. The camera likes to lie."

When she sent the message, she looked up again and their eyes locked. The Brit winked at her and quickly replied, turning on his heel and disappearing into the depths of the garage.

"my driver's room in five minutes. ill be happy to dispel your doubts"

#f1 imagines #f1 one shot #f1 #formula 1 #f1 oneshots #f1 imagine #lando norris #ln4 #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut

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natailiatulls07 · 9 months

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Sleeping Beauty; Yacht

2023 formula one grid & female!driver!reader

Summary - The story behind the Sleeping Beauty yacht post

Warning - Nothing

Sleeping Beauty

"Hey, anyone else need a drink?" Charles asked the drivers sat around the table. He had invited some of the grid to hang out on his yacht during summer break. A few asked for another drink, craving the cold alcohol drink.

Walking into the yachts kitchen, Charles failed to notice the sleeping girl on his couch. Having failed to see Y/n asleep, he continued to make the drinks for the rest of the drivers.

It wasn't long after Charles returned with the drinks that they noticed the youngest absence. "Hey wheres the kiddo?" Carlos piped up, finally noticing the quiet atmosphere. At Carlos' question, the rest of the drivers looked around. Now only noticing that she was gone.

"How much do you want to bet that she is sleep somewhere?" Lando had the cheeky tone ligering in his voice as he turned to Oscar who had a smirk identical to his own.

"Nah she probably off already swimming back to shore. It wasn't long before she would get bored of us" The two laughed as they all got up to find Y/n.

Walking through to the kitchen was when they all fell into a collective laughter. She was laid on the couch clutching her phone in her left hand whilst her pair of sunglasses laid lazily across her eyes.

Their loud laughter and amusement had started to stir Y/n out of her sleep. She looked around confused of the sudden laughter. "Good morning kiddo, were we beginning to get boring?"

Despite her awoken and confused state, she still managed to reply to Pierre in her classic iconic tone. "Yeah I though I would be better in here then with a bunch of weird drivers" Every driver had amused smiles on their faces.

"We thought you swam back to shore" Oscar piped up from his place near the kitchen sink. Gesturing to himself and Lando.

"Yeah well I thought that it was too much effort in my opinion, decided this would better" Rubbing her eyes, she laid her head onto Daniels shoulder once he sat down next to her.

Looking down at his watch, Mick suggested to the rest of the group that they return to shore so that Y/n could retire for the night. Once everyone agreed, Charles started to turn his yacht back to the port where they would depart and retire to their individual home for the night.

"Goodnight Y/n!" Max waved to the young driver as she made her way home, to which he got a weak yet loving wave in return.

charles_leclerc

F1 get together got to boring for her apparently

Tagged: yourusername

Liked by carlossainz55 and 679,467 others

landonorris I won the bet!! Pay up Mr Oscar Piastri 😌

= oscarpiastri Dammit!

= username Them making bets on her sleep is the best thing I've seen all day!!

yourusername In my defence, it was really boring lol

= charles_leclerc Wait sorry don't blame, you went out the night before

danielricciardo Apparently she didn't want to go swimming with us

= maxverstappen1 Apparently so

#charles leclerc #formula one #lando norris #lando norris x reader #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #charles leclerc x reader #formula one x reader #max verstappen x reader #carlos sainz #mick schumacher #oscar piastri #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #carlos sainz x reader #oscar piastri x reader #alex albon #sebastian vettel

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teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 9 months

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tangointhenight

pairing: harry styles x reader (au)

warnings: idiots in love trope, long-distance fwb (sounds weird but it makes sense just give her a read luv), switch!harry and switch!reader, detailed descriptions of female and male masterbation, maladaptive daydreaming during a fanfic, mentions of exhibitionism, edging, one singular ‘daddy’, cum swapping, breeding kink, praise kink and degradation, rope play, spitting, choking, mutual masterbation, overstimulation, use of toys (vibrator mostly), crying after sex (iconic)

word count: 13.3k

synopsis: harry records erotic audios, and y/n is an avid listener

author’s note: hello nasties, here’s another filth fic for ya! this has been a long time in the making, and i am so sorry i have been mia for so long, but i am back for the time being to give you this fic. i have wanted to do something like this for a while now, but it’s been a struggle (lots of blood, sweat, and tears put into this). i’m kinda proud of her to be honest, and i hope you enjoy :)

tags: @victoria-styles

masterlist

—

Y/N finally sinks into her mattress after yet another tiring day. She can hear her roommate on the other side of the wall, chatting with her girlfriend over the phone, blissfully ignorant to the fact that she currently has a hand teasing the band of her sweatpants while the other scrolls aimlessly through her phone.

Exhaustion burns behind her eyes, but there’s a desperate ache in her belly, one that demands satiety. She opens the internet app to find it unchanged from the night before, still lighting up in the profile named tangointhenight. His profile picture is a tantalizing photo of his hand, splayed across his thigh, which are clad in tight, floral printed pants, doing wonders for the very prominent bulge. Pieces of paint linger on his thumbnail, a pretty pale mint color, and his skin, tanned with faint freckles and etches of dark ink, looks tempting in the golden light. At his wrist is a braided twine bracelet with cheap beads that have letters that she can’t make out, which looks old and wilted.

She scrolls down, only lingering for a moment to appreciate the photo one final time.

There are some cute little posts and polls in addition to his erotic audios. The newest one, posted just that afternoon, warns not to listen to this in public with a series of cute little emoticons following. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Tango, that’s what she and other listeners call him, is that he’s a bit of an exhibitionist; his audios tend to lean toward nearly getting caught or even being caught (oftentimes leading to a “helping out” situation). She honestly wasn’t into that sort of thing until he started talking about it, and now, she finds it incredibly sexy, the thrill of the quick high and the fear of being caught in such a vulnerable moment.

She’ll definitely have to give the new audio a listen on one of her morning commute trips to the university; perhaps, she could give it a listen while she waits for her class to start, his deep voice teasing and coaxing her into an aching mess. She hopes that it’ll leave her trembling and throbbing for the rest of the day. She wonders if she’ll be able to make it until night before she has to finish herself off or if she’ll have to sneak off to the restrooms during one of her seven minute breaks, foot propped up on the toilet paper dispenser while she rubs herself to her bitter end.

She scrolls down a bit, passing over audios that vary from pillow talk to a dirty fuck in back alleys, before tapping on the familiar link, purple from use, the description teasingly saying: we’ve been visiting my mum for a week, and I haven’t been able to taste you... I guess we’ll just have to be quiet.

It’s one of the first audios she listened to when she was just discovering this new world of pleasure, so it has a special place in her heart. It’s one of his firsts from nearly a year ago, of fuzzy listening quality and nervous voice, but she finds his ramblings endearing; although, admittedly, she thinks anything he does is cute.

She tucks in her earbuds and presses the play button. Tossing the phone to the side, her eyes flutter closed, visions of white dotting through the darkness as they adjust. There’s a subtle cracking sound that indicates that it has finally loaded, and a fuzzy droning sound filters through the headphones. There’s a fan going in the background; it squeaks and grumbles nearby. A door creaks open, one of those fake sound effects that you can buy, but she appreciates the effort.

“Hey, lovie, feelin’ better?”

His familiar voice floats through her ears. She settles even more into her sheets. His voice is a nice, hot cup of tea at the end of a hard day, a drug that leaves her head foggy and senses dulled. His voice reminds her of sleep: deep, soothing, persistent, yet ever fleeting. She yearns for it, like being able to listen to that one mazing song for the first time again or the feeling of sunshine after the long winter months. His voice is intoxicating, reaching a baritone timbre that she can’t quite put to words.

At first, she wanted to put a face to the man who hummed sweet nothings in her ears, who coaxed her to oblivion for nights on end. Now, she’s at ease with never knowing. It keeps things interesting, and she doesn’t think about it as much anymore.

“If only mum wasn’t home, maybe we could’ve snuck a quick one in the shower,” he says. She smirks, picturing him tucked into his childhood bed, a cozy twin that would be a struggle for the both of them to fit in, and he has his old quilt tucked up to his neck, leaving his bare feet exposed because of how little it is.

There’s a moment of silence, then a cute little laugh.

“I know. You wouldn’t want to sin in her godly home, but she loves you, probably more than me. I don't think she would think any differently of you.”

Another beat of silence, then his voice catches in his throat. Y/N smiles softly as he stutters pitifully, slowly, struggling to find his words.

“N-no, y’know tha's not how I meant it,” he says. “Like, she loves you more than she loves me. Not that I don’t love you as much as she does.” He moves, the rustling of his sheets crackling in her ears. She can hear his hand run over his stubble, nails scratching over short little hairs. She wonders if he usually grows out his facial hair or if he’s the type to keep clean shaven.

“She couldn’t possibly love you more than I do.” The bed creaks as he shifts again. “C’mon, babe, join me. ‘S all nice and warm.”

She herself burrows further into her blankets, knowing full well that she’s probably going to be kicking them off in a few minutes. She turns to her side, blinking her eyes open, trying to immerse herself into the fantasy.

“‘M glad you got time off of work to come here with me. I know you could've been spending time back home, but you came here with me instead.” His voice is closer than before, however whispered. Every accentuated vowel that passes through his lips is like a breath of fresh air, and she hums quietly at the sound.

“I really appreciate it. ‘M glad we got to spend this time together.”

She imagines that he tucks her into his neck, coddling her while his fingers trace over the curves of her face, from the furrow of her brow, down to the apple of her cheeks, before stopping at her lips, lingering only momentarily before his thumb would push just past them.

He chuckles suddenly.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Jus’ lovin’ on my girl.”

His short pecks turn into slow, passionate kisses, deep sighs of relief falling from his lips, and she swears she can almost feel his breath on her skin, nose pressed tight to the pulsepoint in her neck as he sponges his lips over her collarbone, teeth nibbling lightly. She tugs the tee up from where it’s settled at her hips to where the curves of her breasts begin, the material squeezing them tightly to her chest. The sensitive skin aches under the tight pressure. She teases her nipples through her thin bra, feeling the tenderness coax chills down her spine.

“Please,” he whines. “Wanna taste you. You can be quiet. I believe in you, love.”

She could picture him now, chin resting on her stomach, eyes pleading with her. She would flick his head at the patronizing tone before brushing her fingers through his hair. Would he have short tuffs or long tresses that she could run her fingers through after a long day, breaking apart the knots that accumulate throughout the day? Does he have pin straight, dark locks that are cut close to his scalp or sand coloured curls that fall gracefully on his forehead? Perhaps, he has a bit of gray peaking through his hairline to match his wise and weathered voice. She could almost moan at the thought. She has always had a thing for older men.

Tango says something, but she can’t really hear it, his words muffled by her racing heart. She pries her pants down shaky legs, leaving them dangling around her ankle, and her fingers work quickly in massaging her puffy clit, arousal wetting the tender skin. Not one for having much patience, she doesn’t wait for him to finish worshiping her body with his mouth before she is rubbing herself through her panties, feeling the cold wetness on her fingertips. Eyes closed, her head falls back on her pillows, legs tensing when she stops suddenly.

“Pretty thighs,” he mumbles to himself between kisses, and she could almost feel his tender touches on the backs of her thighs, which tremble with anticipation. A wetly placed kiss followed by an appreciative hum signals his final descent to her cunt. The sound of languid licks are nearly enough to make her finish, walls clenching miserably around nothing. Fingers slowing close to a dead stop, barely more than a faint fluttering on her sensitive skin, she attempts to collect herself, but it’s difficult when he moans once again, muffled by his furiously working lips.

“Love your pussy, baby.” She melts at his words, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rack through her body, hips stuttering in time with each flick of her wrist. “So warm and wet and jus’ perfect for me.” His voice, low with need, makes her throb, arousal slipping into her panties.

She’s close already, an unfortunate effect he has on her. Barely five minutes into her alone time, and she can feel the orgasm begin to build, like an unyielding inferno spreading through every nerve. The stress from her day, the exhaustion with the world, everything melts into just one prominent feeling threatening to burst from her pores. She has to force herself to stop before she falls over the edge in order to draw out this experience as much as possible. She nearly cries out when she pulls her hand away altogether, her poor, puffy clit throbbing painfully.

This continues for a while, the undulating waves of a blistering release and the torture of a cut off orgasm, until the air becomes thick, her heaving breaths heating her empty room.

“There’s my good girl,” he says. “Use me, lovie. Want you to choke me with your pretty thighs.”

His voice is more firm this time, and she could only picture his baleful eyes staring up at her, eager to please her and guide her over the edge. It makes her wonder what they look like; she wonders if they’re a soulful, deep chocolate that darken with lust, a pale blue that reminds her of warm afternoons, or a striking hazel that flickers with green hues in the light.

No matter the color, she is sure that they’re undoubtedly pretty.

“Please,” she whispers faintly.

“More? You want more, my greedy girl?” She nods pitifully, feeling the orgasm build quickly in her belly before she stops once again, fingers pressing into her throbbing clit. “You want my fingers?”

Her walls flutter fruitlessly for some sort of release, for some sort of stimulation. He moans out sharply.

“Feel so good, babylove,” he coos. “So warm and wet f’me.”

She wants to slip her fingers inside, to tease and massage that tender spot that she can barely reach until she struggles to breathe. She wants to feel full, but she doesn’t want to take care of the mess, and it surely won’t be comfortable sleeping in wet sheets. The wipes hidden alongside her other secret toys, beneath mounds of socks and crumpled underwear, do little to take care of the arousal that has pooled between her legs.

She fishes around her bedside table, fingers raking through bundles of panties to find her vibrator, a cheap little thing she got in a set when she first moved into her apartment. Unfortunately, she ran through the other ones that were in the set, and this is the only one left.

She nestles the vibrator on her swollen clit and ticks it on to the lowest setting. This stimulation is different than before; a vague rumbling rattles her bones, making her lips tremble, with choked cries teetering on her tongue. Obscene wet sounds fill her ears, and for a moment, she wonders whether they are coming from the audio or from her dripping pussy, and her thighs tighten around her wrist. She could only imagine the sight of his hands splayed over her hips and on her belly, perfectly pastel painted nails pressing into her wet skin. The shifting of her mattress worries her for only a moment, but her shame melts away, and she loses herself in the sound of his heavy, stifled groans, as if he is truly choking on her. The addition of the vibrator only serves to tease her more as she inches toward the end, brutally building in slow, abrupt waves. She struggles to swallow her whimpers.

He spits suddenly, and her hips jut forward at the sound, an erotic display of dominance, but he makes it seem like such a tender act; she could just melt.

“Can you take another?”

A beat of silence and a sharp intake of breath, squelching sounds growing louder.

“No? That’s alright, lovie, just two, then,” he coos. Her toes curl up a little at his words, hips rising from the mattress. On any other night, she would have craved more; she would have wanted him to coax her open with him telling her that she can take just one more and that she’s his good girl. It’s sad to be turned on by a man simply respecting her limits, but her clit throbs pitifully and some arousal slips out into her underwear.

“Gonna come for me, babe?” His words are slurred and wet. “Make me proud.”

Chills rushing down her spine, her body curls into itself, eager for her release. She wants to come so badly; she wants to feel the pleasure for days afterward, to tremble around her hand until she can’t take it anymore, to come until she’s seeing stars. She wants to make him proud, but she knows that she can’t come yet, or else she won’t be able to hear him finish. She doesn’t have another orgasm in her tonight, and she wants to prolong this experience as much as possible, even if that means holding out on her orgasm. The world spins behind her tightly screwed eyes as she slows her ministrations, the vibrator ticking back down to nothing. Her body reacts before she can even consider the loss, her hips bucking against the toy, attempting desperately to find that little bit of stimulation she needs to finally reach euphoria.

His lips smack loudly as he presses simulated kisses to skin, pulling her back from her foggy mind.

“So good f’me, pretty,” he says, words muted by skin. “So good. Hmm, I knew you could be quiet.” His kisses are slow and tired, unlike before when they were rushed and eager. His mattress grumbles as he moves once again, taking his time to, presumably, trail up the length of her trembling body until they’re suffocating in each other's embrace.

He sighs behind closed lips, heavy and wanton, and she can picture him working his hips into the mattress to find some sort of release. She would pull him up until he was right between her aching legs and press her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump at the contact. She would cup his cock through his thin pair of pajamas, teasingly massaging him until he just couldn't take it anymore, caution flying out of his mind as he is overcome by thoughts of her name, her skin, simply her. Trying to form a coherent thought, he would barely be able to hold himself up. She moans quietly at the thought.

“Babylove, we can’t—” He moans, his deep voice splintering. “I don’ know if I’ll be able to control myself.”

She has listened to this audio enough to know what to say to fill the silent gaps to fulfill the ultimate fantasy.

“Please,” she whispers into the dead air, barely audible over her roommate's voice in the next room. “Wanna feel you.” She wishes he was there for her to whisper in his ear, her fingers running up the plain of his back, feeling the heated skin tense at her words. He would quirk an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Y’wanna feel my big cock in y’tummy, pretty baby?”

“Yes,” she whimpers quietly, suddenly very aware of how much she truly wanted to be filled, to have him so impossibly close to her.

“Y’know I can’t say no to you.” She can hear the smile in his voice. She wonders what it looks like, if he beams with an eye-searing grin, his face splitting with happiness, or if he has a shy little smirk, just barely toying on his lips. She likes to think that he has a beautiful smile, filled with warmth and love. She melts a little, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her limbs to the tips of her fingers.

“Get on top.”

She does, eyes still closed as she sits and kneels on her mattress, one hand still between her legs, trying desperately to catch her poor, swollen clit at just the right angle that will leave her thighs quaking, her stomach clenching. Her underwear, which are still stuck around her knees, stretch and snap as her thighs slip and spread further on the sheets.

He moans sharply, and she can feel her hips unconsciously move, as if to pull that sound from him once again. The low vibrations from her little handheld leave her aching for more, nothing more than a faint rumble, but if she flicked it up to the next highest setting, it would surely be heard through the thin walls. Besides, she loves the teasing nearly as much as she hates it, just pushing to the brink before the rush subsides and settles into a quiet lull. Speechless, she gasps for air as yet another jilted orgasm subsides.

She works her hips slowly, careful of the squeaking of her mattress; there are only so many noises that can be passed off as her simply shifting around in her sleep. Her wrist aches at such an awkward angle, but she continues, the burning euphoria just beyond the horizon. He moans, and she nearly follows him, a crest of a cry nearly bursting from her chest but it comes out as a small whimper. She pushes her earbud deeper into her ear, as if to pull him closer.

“Sorry, jus’ feel so good,” he says sheepishly, and she can tell that he’s biting his lip by the faint lisp in his words. It would be torture for the both of them, to be so close but unable to move any faster or harder to finally reach the deepest, most pleasurable part, just barely scratching the itch for intimacy. He whimpers pitifully, and she thinks she might fall apart at the sound, but her stupid vibrator leaves her teetering back and forth between over the edge. She wiggles her hips to try to get a better angle, but with just a hint of stimulation, it’s a torturously slow build up.

“There it is, pretty,” he says, breaths faltering. “That’s the spot. Make yourself feel good, lovie. Use me.” Her legs ache at the awkward angle, trembling with overexertion. She wishes that she could let go of it, leaving it on the mattress with her pussy and thighs holding it in place, so she can grind on it, unhindered by her own body’s exhaustion, eagerly chasing her high. It would also free her hands to tease her breasts again, pulling and pinching at her hardened nipples.

“Love the way you feel, babylove,” he whispers. “Fuck, so wet f’me.” He curses again and again, as if no other words can properly describe the feeling of her, so soft, so warm, so fucking good. She could only picture him in abridged visions, his undoubtedly pretty lips parted with his pretty whimpers sneaking through, his features pinched in pleasure. Her eyes roll back as her orgasm quickly approaches.

“‘M gonna come,” he says suddenly. “Are you close, too?” She whimpers, arousal slips down her swollen lips and into her furiously working fingers, eager to finish alongside him. “Yeah? Y’gonna come with me? Y’gonna come on my cock, pretty?”

She is so close, so unbelievably close, and she struggles to relax her muscles to hold off for just a little longer.

“So fuckin’ good, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he says sharply. His mattress squeaks now, unable to hold back the sharp jolts of his hips, and he lets go of all inhibitions, moaning freely. She could imagine his hand tracing up her belly, cupping her swinging breasts, and he would suckle on her nipples until her fervent hips faltered. He would brush his hands up the curve of her back, digging into the muscles of her shoulders until she fell forward. Faces nestled together, interlocking like pieces of a puzzle, they would breathe each other in, savoring such a close moment of intimacy. It would feel like a lifetime as they waited with bated breath, using each other to get the most pleasure possible.

She comes when he does, holding her breath to keep the moans from slipping, which makes it all the more euphoric, the chance of nearly getting caught at her most vulnerable and the faint lightheadedness making her vision foggy. Her orgasm leaves her legs trembling, slipping away from her still buzzing toy, falling forward into her sheets. She breathes in sharply, barely holding back a pained cry; fat tears of pleasure soak into her blanket as euphoria crashes and beats into her muscles. The heart-racing, earth-shattering, limb-thrashing orgasm makes her chest heave. Just like she wanted, she is left spent on her mattress, the powerful rush still lingering in her trembling body.

She flips onto her back, quickly pulling her bottoms back up onto her hips. In her drunken stupor, her earbuds fell out, and she can vaguely hear Tango’s praises. She picks her phone back up, eyes straining under the bright light, and closes out of the audio.

Her head is light, foggy with the residual high. A dazed smile flickers over her lips, exhaustion settling deep in her bones, finally satiated by her orgasm.

She scrolls through his account once again, this time reading through some of his other posts, like links to playlists and cute stories. Suddenly, the little message icon in the corner looks so appealing, teasing and taunting. Perhaps, she’s feeling a little giddy from her high or maybe it’s from the exhaustion, but she can’t seem to find a reason to not do it.

She sends him a message.

Meanwhile, Harry stares at the blinking cursor petulantly. It taunts him amidst a sea of white, a blank canvas in what should have been a completed midterm paper that’s due in a couple of days. His eyes sink closed, and he starts to drift off, only waking when his hand slips from his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. An old sitcom plays in the background, the canned laughter providing a break in the silence every five seconds. He sighs for the billionth time that evening, struggling to find motivation to even think at this point.

His phone dings, and he happily divulges the distraction, his brows furrowing as he reads a direct message from a user called honeyhi. He’s used to getting comments on his post, with the occasional direct message (which he usually deletes instantly because of poor past experiences), and now, he usually doesn’t think much of them. He isn’t doing it to gain anything from anyone. He just wants to put his thoughts out there, and it’s just an added bonus to get validation from beautiful people.

She doesn’t have a profile picture, not uncommon on that corner of the web, especially since his posts aren’t a lot of people’s taste. He wouldn’t usually indulge in them, deleting them usually instantly, but something compels him to open her message.

Not to be too forward, but I had the best orgasm of my life, listening to your audios. I’ve listened to your audios for a long time, and honestly, listening to you has become the highlight of my evenings ;)

Honey, you have no idea what that means to me.

Truly, his heart swells at her sweet words. It’s nice to get complimented on something you put so much effort into. He bares himself for strangers, expressing such an intimate part of himself for their shared pleasure, and it feels reassuring to get compliments.

I mean it. Also, Tango in the Night is arguably one of Fleetwood Mac’s best albums. Definitely top three.

Most people assume it’s a sex thing.

I wonder why.

He laughs a little at the dry comment.

So, what are the other two in your top three albums?

Pre or post Stevie Nicks?

Post, of course. What kind of question is that?

That was a test. You passed. I think we’ll get along just fine, Tango.

I think so, too, Honey.

—

Y/N rushes past the postman, nearly toppling over when her bag shifts slightly on her arm, her thick binders peek out of the top and dig into her arm. Her hand furiously slaps the elevator button, and she stands impatiently, her dangling keys shaking at her hip. The doors tremble as the weight teeters down to the main floor, far too slowly in her opinion. For a moment, she considers just running up the three flights of stairs to her floor, but that feels a little too eager.

She and Tango have their weekly phone call tonight, and her classes ran long today; that coupled with the stand-still traffic made her more anxious than usual to get home. She always calls first, since her schedule is the most complicated, and she’ll feel absolutely awful if she was late for their call. She feels silly getting worked up over such a small thing, but their friendship progressed beyond the occasional messages in the past month, and she honestly looks forward to their weekly talks. Tango is such a beautiful and humble person, and he is such a stable place of comfort. She knows that he will be understanding and have an independent, secondary perspective on any situation.

He is someone she can rely on for just about anything.

The bell dings above her, and the elevator doors finally part. After barreling inside, she sinks against the railing, glancing at the time, which is still just before her usual calling time. She sighs sharply when the doors begin to close, relief tugging on her shoulders.

However, a hand pushes through the lift’s doors before they can shut, and she bites back an irritated groan; she probably could have made it to her apartment by now if she had ran up the stairs. The man slides in and gives her a grateful nod, accompanied by a small smile. Much to her delight, he presses the ‘close door’ button quickly, and they’re met with no interruptions this time. It’s a quiet ride, despite her nervous feet tapping, and he taps away on his phone,

She admires him out of the corner of her eye, forgetting momentarily about her anxiety. Half of his hair is pulled back in a small bun, exposing the darker locks underneath, and a bandana pushes back the frizzy flyaways that would normally frame his face. The thick strands curl slightly at the ends; there’s one tight coil that she wants to tug on. She could easily become enamored with him, with his pretty green eyes and day-old stubble. His bag has H.E.S embroidered on the bottom corner. A coral colored, gem necklace rests beautifully on his tanned chest, which is mostly covered by a near see-through white top, covered with a baggy, gingham jumper.

After living in the building for two years, they have run into one another on several occasions but have never really spoken. He lives on the second floor, and he goes to the university as well.

When he leaves, after offering another nod and quick smile, she calls Tango. He answers after the second ring.

“Hey, sweets,” he grumbles, not as chipper as his usual self. Her heart sinks a little. He had his midterms last week, and she can only assume that the results are not what he had hoped.

“Oh, no,” she says. “What happened?”

“‘S nothin’,” he insists, but she can hear the irritation in his voice. “‘M jus’ getting myself worked up over nothin’. How was your day?”

Clearly not wanting to talk, he changes the subject, which is something Y/N has grown used to over the past few months. He doesn’t like to vent when he’s too upset because he’s afraid of lashing out and taking his aggression out on her. Thankfully, she has also learned how to distract him. Usually, his annoyance melts away within minutes, and he is his usual, bubbly self again.

“Well, let me tell you, I nearly killed the postman today, and someone nearly hit my car today.”

“What?” He asks incredulously. “Please, elaborate.”

And so, she does.

A couple hours later, Y/N’s in her kitchen, making avocado and tomato toast for the fifth time this week. Her roommate is gone for the weekend, thankfully, which means she can get more stuff done without interruptions (and she can talk to Tango for as long as she wants without getting interrogated about it). His mood had improved significantly after she was able to make him laugh at her own expense (he especially liked the story about how she grabbed her iced coffee too quickly this morning and spilled it all over the barista’s hand).

“I have a question,” he says quickly, as if he wouldn’t have the courage to ask if he held onto it for a moment longer.

“Okay,” she says slowly, almost fearful at the sudden change of tone in his voice.

“Would you be able to listen to something I recorded the other day?” He giggles nervously. “I dunno. I just feel a little,” he makes a little noise, “off about it.”

Stunned, she stares at her phone, the seconds ticking by before her very eyes, and despite the fact that the only reason why they know each other is because she listened to his audios, she’s a little taken aback by the question. Before she knows it, too much time has passed for her to brush off as anything but bewilderment. She stutters.

“I—uh—sure?”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“No, I am.” Stubborn and not willing to back down, she digs herself a deeper hole, despite the odd feeling growing in her stomach. “Yes, I will listen to it for you.”

“Okay, then,” he says breathlessly. “I’ll send it to you.”

Neither know what to say now. Conversation usually came easy to them, so it feels so strange to be stuck in such an uncomfortable silence. Now, she’s gone and ruined everything because of her hesitation. Why did she even hesitate? There’s no reason to be embarrassed. They’re both very open, sexual people, and it’s nothing to get so worked up over. Maybe, it’s the fact that it’s him, and she knows him so well now. Compared to before, when he was just some stranger on the internet, she knows his likes, dislikes; hell, she has even spoken to his cat, and it feels wrong because he is her friend, and that’s not what friends are supposed to do.

“It’s not weird. Is it?” He asks shyly.

“Of course not.” She says it a little too quickly. Admittedly, it feels a little weird, now that she thinks about it. It would be like walking in on your friend having sex. Then again, the only reason why they really know each other is because she listened to his audios (which is basically him jerking off to his dirty thoughts). However, it’s not an aspect they spoke about too often, usually after a couple of drinks. Their friendship, despite how it began, is purely innocent. They were each other’s comfort person; they were there to vent, laugh, and talk with. Neither ever hinted toward anything different, other than the occasional, playful flirting.

“No, I’ll listen to it for you. What are friends for?”

She doesn’t know why her heart is beating so fast.

“Thank you,” he says.

“So,” she says, “do you want me to listen to it now?”

“Eager, are we?” He hums teasingly.

“Shut up,” she scoffs.

“I mean, if you wanted to hear some dirty talk, all you had to do was ask.”

“Please, stop talking.”

“Y’know I’m always down to clown.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

True to her words, she doesn’t wait for him to answer before she ends the call.

Her phone dings a second later with the link along with another cheeky message. The link is to a private web upload platform, and she feels special for a moment. She wonders if she should just listen to it while eating her toast and go about her usual routine, or if she should do what she usually does when listening to his audios. Is that what he would want, though? Would it make him feel uncomfortable? Is it more weird to just listen to him moan in her ear while doing mundane tasks around the house?

Granted, they have had some conversations about sex and the like, but this feels so much more intimate, especially because he knows that she’s going to listen to him jerk off, not to even mention the obscene things that come from his mouth.

What does it mean for their friendship? Perhaps, it’s not even meant to mean anything, just a sincere favor asked between two friends. Maybe, it’s meant to be a step toward something more on his part. Is that even what she wants?

She brushes off that thought quickly, as she has for months, because deep down, she knows it would just end up in disappointment.

Oh, what a mess.

She’s headed on a downward spiral that has no chance of stopping unless it’s hit by a freight train to hell.

She opts to forgetting her toast and slips into her bedroom, falling onto her blankets giddily. She presses play on the audio, her heart racing as it loads, and leaves her phone face down next to her ear, eyes closing to fully immerse herself, trying to ignore her anxiety.

“Hello,” he says slowly, almost shyly, and it feels like one of their late nights again, with him talking through her phone and her cuddled in bed, listening eagerly. “I’ve just gotten home, but I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day. Couldn’t go to sleep before gettin’ it out there, y’know.” He giggles, a pretty little noise she’s heard many times now. He laughs a lot, sometimes at himself, but mostly in response to her. He even laughs at her corny, little puns, which she appreciated.

“And ‘m really hard right now, so that doesn’t help either. I haven’t really been able to come in the past two weeks. Been too busy with… life, I guess. But a friend of mine talked to me about the world of BDSM. She’s a kinky little shit.”

Y/N’s heart lurches, stomach twisting with an unrecognizable feeling, knowing that the certain friend he is talking about is her. She remembers the conversation well, even though she was a little tipsy and very high, mostly because it was also the first time they had actually spoken on the phone, and it began as it normally does, about mundane things that happened that week. Somehow, the conversation shifted to kinks, and she told him that she wouldn’t be opposed to more sinful acts in the bedroom, most of which her previous partners had not indulged.

“I’m pretty vanilla, I guess. I just love to love people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve never really been into that sort of thing, but now, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’ve been kinda into some dark, dom stuff lately,” he admits slowly. “Dark for me, at least, which, again, doesn’t say much.” There’s another laugh, radiant and delicate.

“I dunno why, but I’ve been fantasizing about taking you into our room. A little lackluster, I know, but I’m not into the dark, dingy places, like those sex dungeons they have in the movies, where there’s lots of leather, red lights, music, quite the ambience.” He stops suddenly, and she could imagine his lips pursing to cease his ramblings. She wishes he wouldn’t do that so much; she wishes that he wouldn’t doubt himself and his beautiful way with words. If only he could be as confident in himself as she is in him.

“I just want to lay you down on our bed with our fluffy blankets pushed off to the side. Then, if either of us need to take a moment or stop, we can.” Her heart swells a little at his words. Even though he’s trying to talk about, in his words, “dark, dom stuff”, he is still so sweet and considerate, and she can’t help but soften. He trails off.

Faintly, she can hear him yank his belt from the loops, and it’s, honestly, one of the hottest things she has ever heard; the teasing glimpse of what could come far more erotic than anything any of her other partners could do. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have him in front of her, shirtless with his pants low on his hips; maybe he would be wearing the same floral pants he is in his profile picture, the ones that are unbelievably tight. She would be splayed on the bed, just observing this beauty of a man, waiting patiently for him to come and ravish her.

She’s sure that his tattoos cover more than just his arms, but how many more is a question that haunts her. The thought of a big tattoo on his thigh that she can grind on while he moans about how much of a good girl she is has led to many obscene dreams. She imagines black images carved into his chest, perhaps a trail of floating rose petals from his collar bone to his peck or a hellish looking snake wrapped around his waist. More vividly, she envisions a bold tattoo just beneath his belly button, one that she would scratch at while he violently pounded into her, one that she would kiss and lick before she would take him in her mouth.

Oh, what she would do to be able to feel his skin on hers.

She dips her hand beneath the band of her shorts out of habit, toying with the silky material of her panties. She tries not to think too much about her feelings, fearing it would deepen the ache in her heart.

“Anyway, you’d be on the bed,” he says, his usual slow, stifling voice pulling her deeper into the fantasy, “naked, on your knees with your pretty pussy facing me. You’re all tied up, starting at your wrists and ankles, and there would be a pretty knot down your spine that I can grab while I fuck you from behind.”

Her cunt throbs at the sudden turn. She could only imagine: her face pressed into the pillows, choking on the sheets, her muscles tight, aching beneath the restraints, and her voice raw, sobbing from overstimulation. Exhausted and wanton, she would take anything that he would be willing to give her. He would shove her face into the mattress, mounting her, and he would tug on the rope until it felt like it would permanently embedded in her wet skin, telling her how much of a good little slut she is, taking him so well.

She doesn't know why she’s drawn to rope play; perhaps, it’s all a part of the subtle nuances of the sex, the intimacy of tying the complex binds around your partner and the intricacies of sensory manipulation with such overwhelming stimulation. It’s so much more than just being bound while fucking. There is such a deep reliance on the other person to understand your body, your limits, your needs. It’s about trust and vulnerability. She thinks of it in such a melodic and romantic way; it must have resonated with Tango.

“Or I’d tie your arms to your legs, keeping you spread open for me on your back, with knots around your belly, the lead falling between your tits.” Her eyes flutter closed. While rope play is something that she has always wanted to try but never felt comfortable enough with another person to act on it. He would be different though. She cups her pussy, languidly running her fingers through her wet folds, feeling the arousal slip down her skin before settling on her sheets.

She pinches her clit, and her legs immediately jerk around her arm. Feeling far too sensitive for that type of stimulation, she simply strokes through her lips, focusing her ministrations on the delicate inside, close to her sopping entrance, enjoying the slow build.

“Then, I could hold onto your neck while I fuck you, and I like being able to see your face, to see how good I’m making you feel, to see tears of pleasure run down your pretty face. You could suck on my fingers while I fuck you, deep and hard. D’ya wanna choke on my fingers, pretty?”

She wants absolutely nothing more. She would gladly suck on his fingers if it meant that she could see the look of awe in his eyes, lust darkening his features when she bites teasingly on his nail.

“But if you’re on your knees, I could watch you in the mirror and still see your face. From behind, I can see your pretty, tight pussy take my cock.” He whimpers. “I haven’t decided which I would rather have.”

She can’t decide, either.

Then again, they could always have both.

“Of course, I wouldn’t give you my cock that easily. No, you’re going to be crying for me, begging for me to fuck you, and I dunno if I would fuck you right away or make you beg for it. I think for the first bit, after you’re all tied up for me, I’ll tease you, just barely touching you, pulling on the lead, the ropes tightening around your aching body. I think your tits would look so pretty all tied up f’me, babylove.

“When you’ve finally had enough, crying for me to stuff you full of my cock, I’d let you come, but I’d only use my fingers, never giving you what you really want. Maybe I’ll put a little vibrator on your clit and leave you there, having you come again and again until it hurts. I’d have you keep your panties on, of course. Don’t want you making a mess of the sheets, and then, when I finally give you my cock, I’ll put them in your mouth to keep you quiet, and so you can taste yourself.”

His moans are in the forefront in his sensual song, mixed amongst a symphony of bed and friction sounds. She matches his pace, flicking her wrist in time with the sound of him working his wet cock. She massages the entirety of her pussy, messily rubbing her fingers from the tip of her poor, swollen clit to her throbbing opening.

“Fuck, babylove, you’d be so good f’me, taking my cock so deep in your pussy. Would you cry f’me, pretty? Cry for daddy to fuck you into the mattress.” A rumbling groan finally breaks free, and she is so close to falling apart, her high festering into her muscles, burning through her nerves; her skin feels hot to the touch. She struggles to breathe, but she doesn't yearn for air as much as she does her end. Tears in her eyes, she clutches onto her blanket, tugging it in her mouth to keep from crying too loudly. She sobs, feeling a familiar tightness in her body, just beyond her grasp. Her hand still moves over her pussy, arousal seeping through trembling fingers, but she can’t reach her peak with such light, varied stimulation, her hips buckling.

“My pretty rope bunny,” he mutters. He’s desperate, truly just rambling on and on about anything that comes to mind. “My pretty honey,” he whimpers, almost inaudibly, “honey, honey.”

For a second, she thinks of the times that word has passed through his lips in less sinful situations, a slow, lulling honey when he’s trying to get her attention, sweet and innocent. That’s his special name for her, and she wonders if, possibly, he thinks about her in the same way she does, if he wishes to be with her in such an intimate way, just as she does. She thinks, incredulously, that maybe she isn’t overanalyzing the situation.

His bed squeaks faintly in the background, just barely heard over his withering voice. She can only begin to imagine what he looks like in that moment, legs tense, feet digging into the mattress, his hips thrusting to fuck himself into his fist. The head of his cock would peek through the top of his fist as he coerced his release free. She wishes she could see what he looks like when he comes, when he finally reaches his most euphoric moment. It’s such a primal thing to witness, to see someone liberated of all inhibitions, to observe them completely succumbing to their instincts. It’s such a beautiful thing to see someone acquiesce control and thrive so harmoniously with their body.

“I wanna wrap my belt around your throat.” He swallows thickly. She whines along with him. Perhaps, she’s just fooling herself, but she can swear that she could almost hear the sound of a leather belt squeezing in his fist. A pitiful pool of wetness slips between her ass cheeks.

“My cock hurts just thinking about how you’d sound.” He moans, mimicking the desperate heaves that would undoubtedly slip through her lips as he pulls his belt tightly around her throat. “Then, when you’re bratty, I can just wrap my hand around the belt and make it tighter.

“Please,” he mocks weakly, “please, sir, I’ll be good. But you’re just saying that to get what you want. You’re just a naughty, little slut aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she returns weakly.

“Maybe, I could get you a collar and pull you around with that. Would you like that?” He hums. “Of course, you would. You’re my pretty, little bunny.”

In any other instance, she would feel humiliated to be so aroused at being so weak and submissive to another, but he could convince her to do anything at this point. She’s close, toes curling and muscles tightening, and she waits for his familiar profession that he is also near the edge, but the silence that follows is deafening, a disappointing resolution to an intense narrative. It makes her stop completely, wet hand flipping her phone over to see that, indeed, she had listened to all of the audio. It knocks the air from her lungs when she realizes that that was it. She isn’t going to hear his cute little whimpers as he comes nor his sweet aftercare.

Frustrated from her ruined orgasm, she calls him instantly, and he picks up after the fourth ring this time, as if he knows that she is this needy and frustrated. She doesn’t give him the chance to greet her.

“That couldn’t have been all of it.”

“Well, hello to you, too—”

“I didn’t get to hear you come.”

“Is that what you wanna hear, honey?”

“Well, yeah, I always come with—” She stops before she says something she’ll regret, but by the sound of his laughter, it’s already too late. She wants to hide away in embarrassment.

“It’s only partially finished. I thought I told you that.” She can hear the teasing smirk he surely has plastered on his face, the cheeky bastard. “I just wanted to hear what you thought so far before I finished it. There’s no point in finishing something that I already feel isn’t worth the time.”

“Well, then,” she stutters quickly, “How does it end?”

“How do you think it should end?”

There’s a certainty in his words, as if he has already accepted her as a lover, and she knows that he is giving her the opportunity to initiate the next step. Fear squeezes her chest, and for a second, she worries that she isn’t brave enough to follow through. Every fiber of her being is pleading with her to just take that risk, but another, more rational side of her, is saying it’s better to say a quick I don’t know, and they would move on as normal.

“Where would you come?”

Oh, it feels so filthy to ask that, but it’s so relieving to hear the hum of approval that passes through his lips.

Her heart races, not like before; this is exciting and new and arousing, and it feels wrong. She doesn’t even know what he looks like; hell, she doesn’t even know his real name, and she’s so fucking ready and willing to give herself to him. There’s just so many reasons to not pursue him. She feels ashamed, almost, that she is weak for a man she knows nothing about.

“Hmm, that’s a good question. Where would you like me to come?”

But how can she not get weak when he asks her things like that?

Shivers bloom on her skin in sunflower blossoms. She knows what he wants to hear, and usually, she would tease him, telling him that he didn’t care if he even came or not, but the throbbing between her legs is relentless, and she’s just lust-drunk that she’ll say just about anything to get what she needs. She begins rubbing herself again, focusing solely on her clit this time instead of the entirety of her pussy in the palm of her hand. Breathing out shakily, she answers honestly.

“Everywhere.”

He moans, and she knows that was the right answer.

“Everywhere? Such a greedy girl. You want me to come down your throat? You wanna taste it? Maybe, I’ll have you choke on my cock, fuck y’face until you’re crying.”

After he was done fucking her, she’s sure that he would yank her up either by the rope around her breasts or by the belt around her neck (she can’t decide which yet) and put his cock by her mouth, rubbing himself over her lips and chin, but never quite pushing past the barrier of her lips; no, she would be the one to open her sweet mouth for him, her jaw lax and tongue wet as she takes everything he’d give her.

God, yes, she wants to taste him. She wants him to use her in every possible, degrading way: to use her mouth while she tied up, under his mercy, to fuck her face until she has tears dripping down her cheeks, wetting her heaving chest, to come down her throat until she’s choking on him, but he would pinch her nose and make her taste it until her vision was blurry.

“You’d take it all, babylove. Won’t you?”

He asks so innocently, his deep voice having a soft twinge, but she knows that it’s not optional, not that she would choose otherwise. She would greedily lap at his cum and drink it all, proudly showing off her empty mouth when she’s done. Maybe, he would insist that she keep it in her mouth and pull her into a wet, heated kiss, prying her lips apart so he can taste himself on her tongue.

“I could make a mess on your belly or your tits, and then, I could lick you clean. Or I could mark up your thighs and watch it drip onto the sheets.”

The thought of him marking her with his come is nearly enough for her to reach her peak. A voice in the back of her head chastises her for being so greedy; this is something she has fantasized about since they started talking, and it’s going to be over before it can even begin at this rate. She needs to distract herself, to focus on anything other than the painful throbbing between her legs.

“Or I could come inside you.”

That’s the last thing she needed to hear.

Only because it makes a thick bead of arousal seep into her sheets. It makes her finally give in and sink two fingers inside herself, and fuck, she’s so wet and swollen and pliable. She sobs, truly biting back even louder cries behind gritted teeth. She curses again and again at the feeling coursing through her veins, heat spreading in her belly as her hips frantically move against her ministrations.

“By the sound of that moan, I think that’s definitely preferred. Such a filthy girl. Y’want me to fill your belly? Want me to mark you as mine?”

She just knows that he could fill her to the brim, but he would want to prolong the experience as much as possible, teasing her with his cock and coaxing her to beg for his cum.

She could just imagine the determined look in his eyes, so close to coming, but he would pull out, just barely teasing her trembling entrance with his twitching cock. He wouldn’t move, and when she would beg for him to put it back in and just fuck her until she couldn’t breath, he would say very simply: if y’want my cum so bad, put my cock back inside.

God, his face would be gleaming with this power, satisfied with seeing her so needy for his cum. Shamefully, she would put one of her hands on his hip while the other grasps his cock, pushing on him until he sinks entirely inside her once again, but he still wouldn’t move, simply filling her, the both of them twitching with arousal. He would demand that she make him come if she wants it so bad, as if it's a gift from the heavens.

“Are you touching yourself?” He asks, and only then does she realize that she was drowning in her fantasy; the sudden change makes her stop rubbing herself, her vision hazy. She parts her lips with wet fingers, slipping back down to her entrance, gently prodding inside until that euphoria builds once again.

“Yes,” she admits shamefully. “‘M so fucking wet for you.”

“Dirty little slut,” he says sharply. He has no room to judge, especially since she can hear the all-too-familiar sounds to him jerking his cock, wet sounds of his fist passing over the thick head echoing in her empty room. She is near tears at this point, so needy and high and horny, but she wants to make this last.

“Would you let me come? Please, can I come?”

It’s his turn to moan with approval, and she feels proud. His heavy breathing in time with hers, he seems to be lost in pleasure, voice hitching as he struggles to find words. Her orgasm swells to a near crest once again, but she wants to hear him finish. At this point, she knows what it sounds like, from the frantic ramblings to the guttural moans, and he’s not quite there yet.

“Do you think you deserve to come, honey? You think you’ve been a good girl f’me?”

“Yes, I’m a good girl—fuck—please, please, I need to come.” She stumbles through her words, what little power she held in her withering grasp deflating instantly from his words.

“I dunno, I think you’re a brat who just wants to get off.”

It’s painful how much his words impact her, volatile muscles spasming while she staves of hee end. She whimpers, sinking further in her headspace; she feels a cloud settle in her vision (or perhaps those are tears), overwhelming yet freeing.

“No, I’m your good girl,” she insists.

“I think you’ll have to prove it to me, honey,” he replies slyly. “I don’t think I’ll let you come quickly. I want you to beg for it. Can you do that f’me, babylove? Beg me to come.”

“Fuck, I’m so close,” she says. “Please, please, I need it. Please, let me come.”

“You can do better than that,” he says, voice cracking. Their harmonious sounds of excitement drive both of them closer to their orgasms.

“Oh, god—please, I—fuck—I need it so bad. ‘M so close, please.” She can barely speak coherently. Chills wrack her sore body, waves of throbbing pleasure threatening to break her. She wanted—no, needed—him to finish.

“Come f’me, Honey,” he says. “You’re my good girl, so good f’me. C’mon, babylove, come with me.”

She does. With ears ringing and eyes closing, she comes until her pussy aches. It feels never ending, euphoria consuming every part of her sweat-laden flesh, chilling and fiery, for hours—or perhaps only seconds. She can’t tell.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her vision blurry. Her body trembles with residual aftershocks of her intense orgasm. She lays spread open on her bed, her pussy still too sensitive to close her legs entirely.

“Thank you for letting me come.” In her daze, her limbs fall away limply. All she can do is exist at this moment. She vaguely wonders if he finished with her, the thought of his deep moans fueling another fire. A part of her is disappointed that she wasn't present enough to listen to him, but another part knows that more opportunities will come.

“You’re so welcome, honey,” he says sweetly. “I think we both really needed that today.”

She hums, still recovering from such a powerful end. She slowly regains her breathing.

“I guess I should be thanking you because that’s one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had,” he says. She laughs.

“You flatter me.”

“I’m serious. Nearly gave myself a pearl necklace.”

And just like that, everything continues as normal. Both know that the other is naked and satiated, but neither feels uncomfortable with the fact. If anything, it makes things relieved, open, or comfortable. They’re both giggly in the golden after-glow.

“What does this mean for us, Honey?”

As, yes, the dreaded ‘talk’. Fear immediately spikes in her veins, and she struggles to find her words. Before she can answer, he begins speaking again.

“Look, I really like talking with you, and I don’t want this to make things weird, but I meant what I said earlier. That was probably one of the best orgasms of my life, and I don’t think that I could live without your pretty little moans now that I’ve heard them. Maybe, we can do that again. We don’t have to put a label on it or anything, if you don’t want to.”

Her heart sinks. Is that all that he wants?

“Right, it doesn’t have to be anything serious, just us having some stress relief.” Her words are dry and forced, feeling like bile in her mouth. She grits her teeth. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?

“Hey, uh, it’s late, and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Same time next week?”

She hopes that he doesn’t think that she regrets what they did, and she hopes he doesn’t think too much into her abrupt ending of the call. It’s not a total lie; she does have work early tomorrow morning, but she has had more than a few days where she was running on two hours of sleep and a miracle. She just wants to get off the phone before he hears the contemplation in her voice.

“You think I can wait a week after that? You have too much faith in me.”

“I think you’ll survive, babe,” she says.

“Good night, babylove.”

“Good night.”

She falls asleep quickly after, dreaming of the nameless, faceless man who she bares her soul to.

Later that night, as Harry edits the finally finished audio, he thinks back to Honey and their mutual pleasure, feeling like an absolute idiot for saying that it was nothing serious. He wasn’t expecting her to agree so emphatically, so quickly.

Although, what had he expected? He was the one who suggested it. No matter, he can’t have a relationship right now, especially a long distance one. He would just end up getting hurt, but he likes her too much to stop talking to her completely. He finally took their relationship further even if it won’t lead to anything more.

—

“Are you ready to admit defeat?”

Y/N lets out a breathy laugh, despite her current situation, her hand rubbing leisure circles on her already sensitive clit, which still throbs from her first orgasm of the night. Tango murmurs praise in her humming ears.

She’s not really sure what they are, and she doesn’t want to think about it. It would only complicate things more.

Friends? Definitely.

Well, maybe not definitely, since she doesn’t even know his name, but what other word could she use to define their relationship? What sort of friends would say such filthy things to each other? Why would he call her ‘my honey’ so emphatically if they were ‘just friends’? Too afraid of misinterpreting his intentions and embarrassing herself, she doesn’t mention anything, and he never does either, but it keeps her awake at night, wondering what they could be if she could just put her feelings to words.

This would be the second hour of their phone call, and it only took them ten minutes for the conversation to turn into one of their “stress relieving sessions”. Both of them had a terrible day; she was late for the first day at her new job (they were understanding given the circumstances, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth), and he slept through an exam. She eased him into a submissive headspace quickly, babbling about what a good boy he is and how proud she is of him. Within minutes, he came, and she whispered all the filthy things she wanted to do to him until he was completely spent, his cock milked of all remnants of his seed, twitching and throbbing with empty orgasms.

He easily fell into the dominant headspace after his quick high, and he was adamant that he could make her come more than any of her other partners, even without him truly there. She knows that he can; hell, she has touched herself to his voice more times than she could count, but she likes teasing him, hearing him get all riled up and stubborn.

“Are you gonna come again, honey?”

“Nope,” she breathes, “Not even a little close.”

“You’re obviously lying or not trying,” he says sharply, and a sense of pride swells in her chest at her ability to get a rise out of him without even trying. She smirks.

“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

“I might have to.”

She’s sure he would, too, but it would be in the most pleasurable way possible, with his mouth and fingers and cock stimulating her until she comes so many times she can’t take anymore. Her fingers trace her most intimate area, nails scraping against her quivering core. She sinks two fingers inside, feeling her sopping pussy swallow them easily, adjusting quickly and craving more. She tries to find that sweet, spongy spot inside her, but she can’t seem to reach it.

“Wish it was your fingers,” she mumbles, her movements certain and even, but it’s never enough for her greedy body.

“Yeah, lovie?” He croons, “they’d be so big in your tight little pussy.” She hums, wishing that he was there to stuff her in every way possible.

“Would you wear your rings?”

“For you? Of course.” Her eyes roll back at the thought; his thick fingers could tear her at the seams, and with the added texture of his rings, she would be coming within seconds. Her clit throbs, blood rushing in time with her racing heart, and she massages it harder, wanton and waiting for yet another release. “C’mon, babylove, Come for me. Make me proud,” he coaxes. His words make her fall over that edge once more, thighs shaking and pussy weeping. She’s sure there’s a creamy stain beneath her, seeping into her wet skin.

“Again,” he demands. She thinks she may break. “Keep going, babylove. Where’s that toy you told me about?”

He knows that she won’t be able to come much longer on her own, with the pain overwhelming the pleasure.

“It’s so far away,” she whines.

“Go grab it, love,”

Her legs tremble as she twists around, reaching blindly into her bedside drawer. She can’t close her legs too much without getting overstimulated; her legs ache and twitch. Once the toy is situated just above her clit, she ticks it on. Her body reacts immediately, limbs jolting about, hips ducking away, and her voice catching. Gasping, she almost wants to take the toy away, the stimulation being far too much.

He thinks differently.

“Turn it up higher, lovie,” he says so sweetly. Her chest feels like it could almost collapse into itself. Still dizzy from her orgasm, she’s not sure if she can take it, her body fighting against her. She wants to beg and plead for something, but she doesn’t even know what for. Is it for yet another orgasm that will surely be more powerful that any other? Or is it for the burning at every nerve ending to stop?

“I dunno—”

“You can take it, such a good little bunny for me.”

The vibrator ticks to the next setting, a sharp, persistent sound echoes in her empty room, followed by an even louder shout. She has not control anymore. Thankfully, she’s home alone or else it would be an awkward morning with her roommate listening to her cries of pleasure well into the night. Her hand shakes, but she presses the head of the toy harder to her clit. She lets out a guttural groan, feeling euphoria seep from every pore.

“There it is,” he moans, breathing growing ragged. He’s surely jerking himself off, basking in the pleasure with her, and it makes her arousal burn deeper. She wants to put on a show for him, to egg him on and make him feel as good as he makes her feel.

“There’s my pretty girl. Let me hear you, baby.”

She can barely squeeze out a few breathless whimpers from her chest, hedonistic—no, animalistic—sobs crash through her. Pain and pleasure fight for control, just as her mind and body do.

“Feel good?”

“Yes,” she says weakly. “Feels so good.”

She comes quickly with a silent cry, her lips parted and face scrunched. Saliva slips from her open mouth, and she is unable to wipe it away, lewdly dripping down her chin to her neck before finding it’s place on her dirtied sjeets. The recovery period is quicker this time; it’s either that or her body is becoming numb to anything but pleasure. It feels like it’s never ending with the vibrator still nestled tightly to her puffy cilt. Her lips are surely swollen now too, tender from too many orgasms, yet still sopping with arousal.

“Don’t take it away,” he says, “You got another one in ya. You can do it, lovie.”

His voice is muffled beneath blankets where her phone lies, lost in her ravenous bouts of pleasure, limbs writhing and tossing. Her body aches when she twists to put it back up by her ear to hear him more clearly, muscles tight from her previous orgasms. Legs closing slightly, she whines when the toy presses harder against her clit, hips ducking away from the strong vibrations, eyes fluttering closed. Her phone falls out of her grasp once more, but the light illuminates the dark room, casting a warm glow.

“Please—”

She’s not really sure what she’s begging for; it just slips out, a weak plea. Perhaps, she just wants him to be there instead of on the other end of a phone call, in some faraway place she doesn’t even know. The room would feel so much warmer with him here, her back pressed to his chest, their sweat mingling. Maybe he would wear those pretty lace stockings he showed her a picture of once, the glittery fabric coarse against her skin as he teases his toes along her leg, keeping them spread. His freckled and inked arms wrapped tightly around her middle, paying special attention to her tummy, he would whisper sweet things in her ear and press on the area right below her belly button, telling her of how he wants to grind his pretty cock against her soft middle until she is sticky with his precum, how he can fuck himself that deep inside her. She would feel him for days after.

“I know it hurts, baby, but just one more, then you can go to bed.”

It sounds so nice, the thought of sinking into her pillows for a good night's rest, but an orgasm sounds even better, one leaving her spent and satiated and sleepy.

“Such a good girl f’me.”

As much as she wants to, the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable, she can’t stop; she wants to make him proud, to prove to him that she’s his good girl who can take it. Even though he’s not truly there with her to hold her and make sure she comes, she still wants to do as he says. Her legs tremble, threatening to close.

She squeaks when the vibrator hits a particularly sensitive angle on her clit, and she bites into her pillow to keep from crying out. Her hips work desperately, to reach that high for the last time, just one more, like an addict itching for one more hit. It’s her fourth orgasm within ten minutes, and this might just be her breaking point.

“I dunno if I can.” Her words slur, and she can feel spit dripping down her puckered lips. She suddenly wishes he was there to wipe it away, thumb soft and subtle against her skin, lingering on her puffy lips.

“One more, babylove,” he insists. “Just one more. You’re doing so well.” She bites back a mangled cry, eyes squeezing shut, her thoughts lost in a dark chaos. His voice is the only anchor amidst a dizzying high, coaxing her through her stupor with sweet words.

“My pretty girl, my good fucking girl, taking it so well.” His gravelly voice pulls her from drowning, his words gritty from his clenched jaw. “You’re not hurting too much, are ya?”

His deep voice is soft, lilting with a tender care she needs. She could simply melt, blanketed in the warmth of his rich voice.

“A little,” she admits, a dull ache in her belly when she clenches too tightly. “But it feels so good.”

The vibrations pulse through her body, leaving her voice shaky, and she shifts slightly, hips digging into the mattress. It settles on the underside of her clit, and it’s so close to that one spot, until finally—there, there, there—right there. She groans, low and guttural, drawn out from the depths of her chest, animalistic almost. Her body burns and trembles for a second before yet another strong, unrelenting wave drowns her. Every muscle in her body tenses as the head of the vibrator finds the one tender spot on her clit, catching at just the right angle that leaves her eyes teary, world dizzy. She knows it’ll be painful if she doesn’t pull away, a harsh orgasm building, but she can’t stop, not with him listening to her, waiting for her final bitter end.

She’s doing so good for him, such a good bunny. She trembles in the wake of such a violent euphoria, weak moans slipping in time with her belated breathing. It passes through in waves, the pain, a bittersweet burning welling deep inside her, but a different ache persists, one that leaves her yearning for more, one that makes her dig her feet into the mattress and press herself harder on the toy. Her toes curl, and her back arches, free hand twisting the sheets.

He hums appreciatively.

“My bunny likes it when it hurts. Doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” she sobs, “I want it to hurt.” Hips shuttering away from the relentless vibrator, Y/N feels her final orgasm build, pain lingering around the edges as her muscles twitch.

“Such a dirty little slut.” Her back arches at his filthy words, arousal pooling beneath her. She could feel it wetting her thighs. “Just f’me, right, honey? Just my pretty slut.”

She comes quickly, eyes rolling back as it overwhelms all of her senses. She feels tense yet relaxed. A broken cry breaks from her swollen lips as she shatters, falling apart for the final time. Her muscles quiver, tiny shocks lingering in the aftermath of so many orgasms in such quick succession. Her limbs ache. Her heart races. Her pussy throbs. She knows that this will be all she can take, her body completely spent. She can’t find the energy to keep her eyes open, and they roll back.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, still struggling to find her breath and collect her thoughts, but when she does, a smile breaks her face. She feels everything and nothing all at once, so perfectly numb. She finds herself laughing incredulously because that cocky little bastard was right: he made her come more times than anyone has before. She laughs until tears slip down her warm cheeks.

This is the part where the emotions start to become just as overwhelming as her release. So much sinks in all at once, and she realizes just how alone she is, and she wishes he was here to pull her back down to earth, to hold and to love. She feels deflated. The sexual release is such a rush, but it brings devastating lows. With tears in her eyes, she struggles not to cave into herself.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies, a sob curling in her lungs, forcing its way out in a blubbering mess. Once the first one escapes, the rest follow easily. She can’t seem to stop, heaving cries wracking her already sore body as she clutches onto her pillow. She fists her phone to her ear in an attempt to be closer to him, but that makes the feeling grow worse, settling to a black hole in her stomach, sucking all euphoria from her. Tears soak into her skin and sink into her ear, muffling his comforting words.

“Let it out, babylove,” he says softly. “I know, I know. I know. Sometimes it can just get really overwhelming.” His words are gentle, just as he is, and maybe that’s what makes this even worse. He is everything she wants. He is just so perfect for her in every way, but he is ao far from her reach. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t such a good person. Maybe that would make the yearning go away. She’s quiet, slowly breathing through stuttering sniffles.

“Hey,” he says softly, “Go pee and clean yourself up, babe. Know you don’t like feeling all wet down there. It makes your peach all sticky.”

She nods, knowing full well that he can’t see her, but doesn’t move. She honestly doesn’t think she can.

“Go on,” he murmurs when he doesn’t hear the familiar rustling of her sheets. “‘M right here, honey.”

A few more tears squeeze out of her eyes at his words. It makes her whole demeanor crumble once again; she’s upset because he’s not really there, he’s not there to hold her and kiss her and love her, and that’s not fair. She just wants to have him here to tell her that everything will be alright; she wants him to be there to laugh with, to just be with. He is such a good part of her life, but she just wishes that he could physically be there in the way she dreams.

She cleans up quickly, tossing her spent underwear into her dirty laundry. Just as she had suspected, the remnants of her orgasms stained her thighs.

What’s that ache in her chest?

“Good girl, feel better, lovie?”

She nods and whimpers, unable to calm her trembling lips.

“Good, ‘m right here, babylove. Y’did so good, so proud of you.”

She crawls back to bed moments later, shuddering breaths and swollen eyes being the only remnants of her breakdown. She sniffles and wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, which smells vaguely of her feminine wipes.

“Sorry, if it was too much,” he says.

“No, no need to apologize,” she says quickly to get rid of any lingering guilt he has. It felt amazing, to be tested just beyond her limits, to be pushed to a shattering breaking point, to trust him to know what she can take. “It was nice. I just sorta—” Her voice breaks. “I dunno. Everything just got a little overwhelming. I think I’m better now.”

“What do you need from me, honey?”

She nearly starts crying again at how sweet he is. She almost could imagine that only a few minutes ago he was calling her his dirty little slut and demanding her to come until she could handle it.

“Just talk to me,” she says.

“So, I saw a couple dogs today,” he begins awkwardly. “Well, I was attacked by two little frenchie’s when I was walking to class, and it completely made my day ten-times better. They were so cute with their chubby little legs.”

He rambles on about his week, and it feels nice and familiar.

She’s nearly asleep when he begins talking about his mother. Apparently, she was visiting him last week, which was nice for about a day; then, he began realizing why he moved away in the first place: she is so smothering.

“And my mum is always nagging me to go out and socialize. She was like,” he breathes in, adjusting his tone to a falsetto. “Harry, you’re never gonna be able to find anyone if you don’t…”

He continues as normal, chattering away in his low, sleepy voice. She doesn’t think he even realizes his slip up, words spluttering out of his mouth so quickly that even he probably couldn’t hear it. She smiles as sleep finally overwhelms her.

Harry.

His name is Harry.

—

#also if this is too niche and it flops lets just forget it happened #okay? okay.#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #ellie writes #ellie writes smut #ellie writes filth #gif not mine #credit to owner

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jinnie-ret · 6 months

Note

9th member whos family is extremely unsupportive of their career choices, skz do their best to cheer them up after a loud argument that the boys overhear. their family is rude and downright mean to their 9th member and they cant let them be put down by their family so they remind her that theyre her family. love your writing.

family is complicated

stray kids x ninth member!reader (platonic)

genre: angst, fluff

content warnings: emotionally abusive parents

word count: 1.6k

summary: after your troubling phone call is overhead by all of the boys, they comfort you and reassure you that they are your true family

Thank you sm for your request!! I hope you enjoy this one too :)))

MAIN MASTERLIST

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"Y/Nnie! Lunch is ready," Chan called the maknae into the kitchen, plating up some food for her. Although they lived in different dorms now, Y/N staying with 3RACHA and Hyunjin, and Lee Know and Felix staying with VocalRACHA, they decided to do a whole group meal today.

Everyone was sat waiting at the table, before a sluggish looking Y/N padded into the kitchen, wiping sleep away from her eyes.

"Aw bless her, she looks exhausted," Felix whispered and frowned to Han, who nodded along.

"It's her mum and dad again, don't mention them yeah?" Han quietly replied, offering a light smile to Y/N when she plonked herself down into the chair opposite him.

"Mmm, what's for breakfast?" Y/N blinked her eyes rapidly, where redness could be seen around the lids. After an endless streams of texts from her parents last night, she cried herself to sleep, the boys doing their best to comfort her before she allowed herself to break down.

"It's lunch time, silly," Hyunjin fondly giggled as he ruffled her hair and placed a cup of tea down in front of her. "Here, peppermint tea, I know it's your favourite."

"Thanks Jinnie," Y/N tilted her head upwards and he smiled and scrunched his nose at her in response.

"It's nice having lunch together like this, I feel like we haven't done it in a while," Jeongin commented, twirling some ramen with his chopsticks.

"We had fried chicken at the company like two days ago," Changbin pointed out and laughed.

"Yeah but it's different being sat around the table with a home cooked meal," Lee Know nodded and agreed with Jeongin.

"It's different now, like sometimes I get a facetime and just have Seungmin staring at me whilst he eats like," Han starts laughing, and mimics the face the puppy like member of the group would pull.

"What do you think about eating on your own, Seungmin? Now that we've split into different dorms," Chan asked curiously from one end of the table.

"I love it so much," Seungmin genuinely and joyfully says, causing everyone to break out into laugh, Hyunjin's iconic cackle sticking out amongst them all. Even Y/N, in a tired quiet mood, broke out into a smile.

But that happy mood, was torn in half by the ringtone that blared from Y/N's phone. She picked up her phone and sighed when she saw the contact name, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Are you ok, Y/N?" Minho queried gently from next to her, making his tone more caring and comforting like he always did when he spoke to her. She was similar to Felix in that she had a sensitive heart.

"I'm f-fine, umm, I've got to take this," Y/N scoots out of her chair from the dining table, and walks round the corner from the kitchen into the hallway that followed down to their individual bedrooms.

"I'm worried about her," Jeongin spoke up, a frown tugging on his features, the corners of his mouth pulled downwards.

"I swear if that's her parents-" Changbin gritted his teeth.

"When will you come home and leave that useless job behind you?"

"Mum, why do you always do this to me? I'm doing something that I truly love and you always dismiss it!"

"I don't care about what you enjoy doing. You're not thinking about your family. How could you leave us like this? It's disrespectful. You've betrayed us!"

"I send money to you every month! I support you! I do everything I can, mum!"

"Your everything isn't good enough, Y/N. You're an embarrassment to the whole family."

"Mum don't say that!"

Then there was the sound of the phone call being hung up on, and Y/N quickly dashed past the opening of the hallway to rush into the bathroom.

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do, girl. I thought you may have changed your mind after my wise words last night, but I can see you're still as stupid and ignorant as ever."

"Y/N-" Han stood up to stop her and grab her attention, but she had already slammed the door.

"Have they always been that bad?" Seungmin questioned, appalled at the phone call they all overheard.

In her tired state, Y/N must have put the call on loudspeaker, and not realised that the boys had heard it too.

"I knew they were bad but... hearing her own mother yell at her like that... I thought the texts were bad," Chan sighed and shook his head. His hands rested on the table and he cracked his knuckles together.

"Why, what happened with the texts? Hannie said just to act normal but..." Felix brought up what he had said earlier.

"Yesterday she got some threatening texts from her dad, telling her he'd fly over to Seoul and personally drag her back home, and if she didn't 'comply and obey him' he'd make sure that she'd 'pay for it'," Hyunjin sighed, quoting the exact words he read from Y/N's phone himself.

"That bastard threatened violence?!" Lee Know exclaimed in disbelief, his fist clenched tightly around the edge of the table.

"We should check on her," Jeongin got up as he shook his head, walking round to the bathroom and knocking on the door. "Y/Nnie? Do you want to talk about what happened, love? We all heard," he added onto the end.

"No, it's fine, Innie. I'm ok, please don't come in," Y/N's voice cracked. "I just want some time to myself," she whimpered from the cold bathroom floor, rocking back and forth as she tried to process the words her own mother threw at her once more. Her mind was frantically pulling her in all sorts of different directions, saying 'what if' a thousand times.

"Sweetheart, please talk to us, we're worried about you," Felix's deep voice came from the other side of the door.

"I'm fine," Y/N sniffled, shakily standing up as her head pounded from all of the stress.

"You're not, we can hear it in your voice, Y/Nnie," Lee Know said firmly, a hint of frustration in his voice but only because he cared about her so much.

"Please open the door, Y/N," Jeongin tried again, hand resting against the door.

"She's not going to, mate," Bang Chan sighed, slumping down into the sofa, stretching out his neck and body. "She said she wants to be alone."

But then, the lock to the bathroom door clicked, revealing an exhausted looking Y/N who had tear streams down her face, as well as red eyes and a red nose.

"I don't want to talk about it," Y/N could barely look up at the three members that had been stood outside of the bathroom waiting for her.

"That's fine, just come sit with us, yeah?" Felix grabbed her hand gently.

"Don't shut us out, please," Lee Know ducked his head down to look into her eyes, and the girl nodded, still looking down at her feet. He rested his hand on her lower back as they encouraged her to head through to the lounge.

"Come here," Hyunjin opened his arms immediately as soon as she entered the room and just like that she was glued to his side.

"Y/N, I know you won't want to talk about it, but let us talk to you, ok?" Changbin started, "The way you have been treated by your parents, is by all means, not ok."

"And we want you to know, because we heard what your mum said, you are enough for us," Seungmin added on.

Their kind words caused her to let out a sob, and she heard coos and hushes around her of 'oh, Y/N!'.

"Darling, please don't get upset," Han crouched down in front of Y/N and wiped her tears away, and Hyunjin's arms tightened around her.

"I-it's just, it's-" Y/N couldn't get her words out before another sob ripped from her throat.

"Y/Nnie, breathe, it's ok love, take your time," Chan gently spoke up, causing her to listen to his words and actively take some deep breaths.

"We won't let you feel down ever again from the things they had said or done to you," Lee Know promised.

"We're your family, Y/Nnie," Jeongin cracked a small smile, eyes glistening with tears of his own.

"I wish you had been my family from the start. I feel like I've wasted so much of my life already," Y/N cried out, her hands digging into her legs.

"Oh, if we could have been a group from the start I'm sure we would have. Just think this, you've got us now. I know it's easier said then done, but don't worry about the past. Let's just think about our future, ok?" Changbin said from next to her on the sofa, gently pulling her hands away from her lap to prevent her from causing more harm.

"But what if-" Y/N stuttered and stopped herself from continuing once more.

"There are no what ifs with us, Y/N," Hyunjin rubbed circles into her shoulders.

"Yeah, you're stuck with us now," Han joked, trying to lighten the mood, and it worked.

For a few more moments you revelled in the comfort of being with your members, your family before going on with the rest of your day. And if anyone asked Chan if he blocked your mum and dad's phone numbers, he'd say no, of course. If they were really worried, they had other ways of getting in contact. It wouldn't hurt anyone. Just make your lives easier as a family.

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @backintomykpopphaseagain @sakufilms @hanjiquokkaaa @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky

#skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz fic #skz ninth imagines #skz ninth #skz ninth member imagines #skz ninth member #stray kids ninth #stray kids ninth member #skz 9th member reader #skz 9th member #stray kids 9th member

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zwedexx · 3 months

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Hi I’m the anon that asked for the Barca x injured teen reader. Maybe you could do one where she is at a game and she breaks her wrist but no one else notices it so she keeps playing and after the game she leaves quickly and no one really thinks anything of it. So when she comes to practice the next day after she had taped her wrist they see her take medicine for the pain and they all ask why she took it but the coach calls them to the field before they can get it out of her. And then during practice she avoiding gõing shoulder to shoulder with anyone and anything related to her wrist. And when she tries to leave alexia grabs her wrist tõ stop her and then that obviously is painful for her and then she tries to say it’s just a bruised but they make her take the tape off and it’s clearly broken. So then they all scõld her and then take care of her.

Sorry if any wõrds are misspelled English isn’t my first language Portuguese is:)

Barcelona Femeni x Injured Teen Reader

Summary: request

TW: injury, pain medication

WC: 1,535

A/N: All the Catalan is google translated so sorry if its all wrong.

As you stepped onto the hallowed pitch of Camp Not, the atmosphere was electric with the anticipation of El Clásico. The sun had set behind the iconic stadium, casting a warm embrace on the sea of passionate fans draped in the famous Blaugrana. The buzz of excitement echoed through the air as you felt the weight of the historic rivalry pulsating through your veins.

In the 56’ minute, a breakaway opportunity unfolded before you. The crowd’s roars intensified as you sprinted past defenders. The rhythmic pounding of your heart echoes in your ears. The goal was within reach and there was no defender left.

BANG.

It took you and the crowd that had gone quiet a hot second to grasp what had just happened. Just as you prepared to unleash your shot, Misa had lunged forward with a desperate tackle. The impact was fierce, sending a shockwave through your body as you hit the ground, left arm first. You knew you had done something to your wrist, you could feel an odd sensation but the adrenaline hadn’t allowed the pain to kick in yet.

As you began to rise, a familiar and reassuring hand touched your shoulder. It was Alexia. She had a concern etched on her face. Alexia had taken you under her wing since the moment you joined Barca.

“Estàs bé?" she asked, her voice filled with worry.

(Are you alright)

You nodded yes not wanting to worry her.

“Estàs segura, necessites tractament?” she asked once more, clearly not convinced.

(Are you sure, do you need treatment?)

“I’m fine Alexia, prometo.”

(promise)

Alexia, though still not fully convinced, helped you up from the ground.

While you were down, Misa was sent off with a red card, and Barca was granted a penalty. Although you had anticipated Alexia would be the one to take the shot, she placed the ball on the spot and walked over to you.

“Llança el penal, et mereixes el gol." Alexia whispered to you.

(Take the penalty, you deserve the goal.)

You stepped up to the spot, the taste of adrenaline lingering on your tongue, as the weight of the moment settled on your shoulders. The stadium had seemed to hold its breath, and the intensity of this rivalry hung in its air. The replacement goalkeeper eyed you with a mix of anticipation and defiance as you took your stance.

Time seemed to stretch, and then, with a powerful strike, you sent the ball soaring into the back of the net. The roar of the crowd erupted and your teammates rushed in to celebrate. A surge of endorphins flooded your body, allowing you to completely forget about the painful feeling of your left wrist.

The deafening cheers echoed for a final time around Camp Nou as the the final whistle blew. The elation of the win washed over you, the exhilaration of success mingling with the exhaustion of the 90+ minutes.

However, as the adrenaline began to subside, the sharp pain in your leg wrist amplified. The celebration continued around you, teammates hugging and supporter chanting but the physical toll of the game lingered. Even the throbbing discomfort in your wrist, you soldiered on, smiling through the festivities, each handshake and hug causing you to wince. The pain continued to become more pronounced until you couldn’t take it anymore. You had completely ignored everyone during the group huddle, your only wish was to escape and find something to soothe your pain.

As your teammates continued their celebration, you quietly excused yourself, slipping away from them. The adrenaline that once fuelled your every sprint and kick now transformed into a quiet determination to reach the sanctuary of the changing room.

Sitting in your cubby, you cradled your wrist, wincing ever so slightly as you attempted to examine it. There was already a numbness in your fingers and a dark purple bruise forming around.

You didn’t want to tell the girls, you justified it as you not wanting to rain on their parades, so to speak but you were afraid of their reactions, and how’d they blow it all out of proportion.

With a deep breath, you carefully peeled off your jersey, feeling the residual warmth of the game against your skin. Even as you gingerly worked your way out of the uniform, the pain hadn’t subsided.

The next morning, the broken wrist made its presence known as you got ready for practice. The bruising had gotten worse and you had practically no sensation in your fingers.

You knew you couldn’t skip practice but you weren’t sure how you’d be able to hide your injury and practice with it. You had at least made the right decision to tape it, wrapping the across the palm, and snaking up your forearm. You’d also chosen to take a couple of paracetamols to mask the pain.

As you stepped into the locker room, the intricate tape job on your broken wrist didn’t escape the notice of your teammates. Their eyes flickered towards the your heavily wrapped-up wrist as you rummaged through your bag for medication as the dose you’d taken earlier began to wear off.

A curious silence fell over the room, broken by Mapi’s concerned voice.

“Una mica dur ahir a la nit, eh?” Mapi’s eyes focused on the tape, her expression a mix of worry and curiosity. Irene, Marta and Ingrid exchange glances realizing something wasn’t quite right.

(Bit rough last night huh?)

You dismissed it with a nonchalant shrug, hoping to not bring anymore attention. “Oh, just a knick, nothing major.”

The raised eyebrows and exchanged glances continued as your teammates weren’t convinced. Lucy leaned in, her voice both playful but concerned. “That’s some serious tape artistry. You’re practically a mummy.”

Attempting to defect, you chuckled, “Yeah, just want to be safe. No big deal.”

“Potser hauries de fer que el fisio t'ho revisi, només per estar-ne segur". Irene chimed in.

(Maybe you should have the physio check it out, just to be sure)

"Ignoring injuries doesn't help anyone elskling. We need you in top form for the next match." Ingrid added.

Alexia, who had been quietly observing, narrowed her eyes. She didn’t press the matter but her gaze lingered on your taped wrist.

Jonas saved you from further interrogation. His voice echoed through the locker room, calling everyone to the field. You seized the opportunity to divert attention and escaped.

During practice, you found yourself instinctively avoiding any situation that could potentially jeopardize your wrist. When Lucy threw ball at you, heading for your left side, you skillfully used your other hand to intercept it, earning a few puzzled glances from your teammates, especially Alexia.

In a passing drill, you subtly adjusted your positioning, ensuring that your injured wrist wouldn't bear the brunt of any unexpected tackles or collisions. The awareness of your own vulnerability cast a shadow over the otherwise routine exercises, and Alexia's concerned gaze intensified as she observed your every move.

Later, during a scrimmage, a teammate passed the ball to you with a bit too much force. You managed to control it with your good hand, but the wince didn't escape Alexia's watchful eyes. The unease among your teammates grew, their suspicions fueled by your efforts to shield the injured wrist.

As practice wrapped up, you made a discreet attempt to slip away hoping to avoid any direct confrontation about your wrist. Alexia, not done with questioning you, reached out and gently grabbed your injured wrist to stop you from leaving. The sharp intake of breath, small shout of pain and the involuntary flinch betrayed you.

"Què està passant? Has estat evitant el teu canell durant tota la pràctica. Deixa'm fer-li una ullada" Alexia asks with a strong authority.

(What happened? You've been avoiding your wrist the entire practice. Let me take a look at it.)

Still desperately trying to downplay the severity, you attempt a reassuring smile, “it’s just a bruise, really. Like I said, no big deal. Prometo.”

(Promise)

But Alexia was less than unconvinced.

“Deixa de mentir-me. Treu la cinta i ensenya'm el teu canell.” she demanded

(Stop lying to me. Take off the tape and show me your wrist.)

Reluctantly, not seeing a way out of it now, you began unwrapping the carefully layered tape. As the layers peeled away, it became ever more glaringly evident that it was far more than just a cruise. The visible swelling, discolouration and the cautious way you handled your wrist spoke volumes. Alexia’s expression softened immediately.

“Està trencada.” She stated with a gentle but stern certainty, her hand resting on your now exposed wrist. Alexia’s initial concern transformed into a mixture of disappointment and frustration as the reality of your broken wrist became undeniable.

(It's broken.)

“Per què no m'ho vas dir?” She questioned, her tone carrying a mix of hurt and anger. The weight of her disappointment was palpable, and it hit you harder than you’d expected.

(Why didn't you tell me?)

Caught in the crossfire of emotions, you couldn’t find the words to explain. The attempt to protect you teammates from worry had backfired, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. As Alexia’s frustration lingered, you gelt a torrent of emotions overwhelming you. The facade you had maintained crumbled, and you broke down.

Alexia, not intending to hurt you with her words immediately softened. She pulled you into a tight embrace, making sure you wrist was in a safe place.

"Anem a arreglar-te el canell. D'acord?” She guided you to the medical staff, her presence a silent reassurance amid your mental turmoil. The anger was replaced by a quiet understanding and her arms wrapped around your shoulders, offering comfort.

(Let's get your wrist fixed. Ok?)

#woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #women's football #women's soccer #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #mapi leon #mapi león #ingrid engen #irene paredes #aitana bonmati #lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze imagine

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cherryredstars · 6 months

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Hi cherry! I love your fics sm and idk if you’re taking requests right now but i got one for ya.

So Miguel with a spiderperson!afab!reader that takes a while to cum. Like he could be eating them out for over an hour and it takes him a minute to realise that they didn’t orgasm at all.

Like he gets concerned thinking that he’s not making them feel good but they reassure him that the only place they feel “pleasure” is just from clit stimulation and (sometimes) if their g-spot is touched in the right way iykwim.

If you don’t feel comfortable w/ this request then skip but thank you and have a nice day! 😊🫶

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x afab!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Oral Sex, Clit Stimulation, Fingering

Summary: All it takes is a little patience

A/N: Taking long to finish is so real and valid guys

Word Count: 885 (Not Edited)

Your suit gathers at your knees, a pile of iconic red and blue that hides your identity from the rest of the world.

Miguel is still covered in his, the mask disappearing to show his face. He doesn’t need it anyways. His face is obscured between your thighs, tongue lashing at your seeping hole. Your arousal coats your inner thighs, gloved hands spreading them wide. He’s been at it for an hour, his mind foggy from how sweet you taste. His lower face glistens with your juices, and you whimper when his nose knocks against your clit. It feels so, so good, but you can’t help the small frustrated puff that leaves your nose as you shift in discomfort on the bed.

Miguel instantly looks up at your shifting, eyebrows furrowed as he pulls away. He licks his lips, collecting what he can so it doesn’t go to waste. His thumb rubs soothing circles to your skin, relaxing your body the best he can. Despite the rush of arousal that leaks from you, he can’t help but note none of it was cum. He’s been at this for hours, yet you still haven’t gotten your release. He admits it wounds his pride the slightest bit. Sure it’s been a while since he’s gotten the privilege to please such a pretty girl, but he doesn’t think he’s that out of practice.

“What is it, amor? Want me to try something else. ¿No es bueno?”

A flush of shame quickly rushes to your face at his words. You’re quick to reassure him, telling him to ignore you and just take his pleasure (just like you’ve told every man before). A deep well of his own dissatisfaction swarms in Miguel’s stomach. He wants to make this good for you. If you aren’t enjoying it, what’s the point? Softly, he asks you what’s wrong, trying to coax the answer out of you with quiet words and soothing hands. You bite your lips as nervousness coats your body, you squirm and ever so quietly whisper, “I have a hard time cumming.”

If it weren’t for his enhanced hearing, he wouldn’t have caught your words. His face lifts in realization, his hands continuing to make circles that relax your body. He’s the kindest soul when he asks what usually works, what makes it better for you. When you answer with clit stimulation and the occasional brushing of your g-spot, Miguel instantly gets to work. A sharp gasp leaves your lips as he attacks your clit, sucking it hard into his mouth.

Your hands travel down to his hair, tangling and ruining the gelled locks. Your hips buck upwards, pushing his face closer into you in the same movement. You throw your head back when his teeth slightly graze your neglected bud, a strangled moan revealing your pleasure. Small vibrations shock your clit as he hums in pleasure, licking and sucking where you need it most happily. Clothed fingers poke at your entrance, the material catching the silky liquid. He pushes them in slowly, groaning at the way you try to push your hips more into his fingers. When he has them wrapped to the knuckle, he curls them slightly to hit that gummy spot.

Your eyes meet the back of your head as he stimulates you, that long awaited orgasm rising to the surface. You moan out his name, and he feels the pornagraphic noise go straight to his stiffened cock. In response, he sucks harder on your clit. His tongue finds new strength as he flicks at your hardened bud, his fingers constantly pressing into the perfect spot inside of you. He mumbles something into your skin, the words shaking against your clit. But they’re completely lost on you as your back arches, your grip on his hair tightening as you feel something in you break.

You let out something close to a scream as you finally release, white masking your vision. Miguel still works on you, his fingers getting coated in your cum as he continues to hit your g-spot, his mouth closing around your bud for a long suck. When your orgasm dies down, you have to push his head away from your bud, the overstimulation making your body shake. He pulls away and leaves open mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. His fingers slowly leave you and make their way into his mouth. Sweetness explodes onto his tongue and he breathes in slowly as he takes it in. Perfect. You taste fucking perfect.

His eyes trail to your face, a fucked out expression still covering it. He chuckles low, his hands falling to your waist to massage the skin. You smile goofily up at him as your hands fall to cover his. He kisses up your body, pressing a soft kiss to your jawbone before burying his face into the crook of your neck. The smell of you makes him purr, his nose pumping your skin gently. Both of you bask in the lingering sensations of pleasure, each other’s body warmth providing comfort. After a while, Miguel gets up, mumbling something along the lines of a bath before disappearing into the bathroom. You lay in bed as the water starts running, a satisfied feeling running through you.

Guess all it takes is a little patience.

He’s so soft and attentive.

#cherry's requests🍒#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara #miguel spiderman #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 smut

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crienselt · 2 months

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So a few days ago I saw someone (elsewhere) questioning Zutara fans’ excitement about the scarf scene. It wasn't a mean comment, more general curiosity. And well, I didn't have time to get my thoughts out then. But they haven't gone away, so I'm getting them out here:

Here’s what everyone need to understand about Zutara shippers. We were baited baaaad during the initial run of the show–from the magazines to the shorts to the trailers and how they were cut. And Zuko and Katara’s relationship on the show certainly underwent a lot of development and featured objectively emotional–if not overtly romantic–moments between the two. We were well fed, and we had reason to hope. Right up to the end, we had reason to hope.

The shipping wars were the shipping wars, of course, with all the usual tensions; there are always going to be overzealous fans of each (and any) pairing willing to get toxic. Generally, I think Kataang fans were always jealous of Zutara’s popularity and Zutara fans, post finale, were jealous of Kataang’s, well, canon status. But really it operated much the same as any other large fandom’s shipping wars.

And then came Bryke and the panel where they showed and mocked Zutara fan art, some of which had been created by teens if not straight up children. Then came their, “Come on, kids! It was never going to work. Zutara is just dark and intriguing.”* And the pièce de résistance, their telling Zutara shippers (specifically girls/women) that they were doomed to have failed romantic relationships. Like, what? The thing with the art was arguably cruel, and the rest of it was oh, so condescending. Just all around not well done.

The after effect was that Zutara went from being simply a fanon pairing to a wrong pairing. The ATLA fandom at large became a far more hostile place for Zutara fans, who were now more commonly deemed delusional and viewed as lesser fans. The vitriol only got worse when the show came to Netfilx and the next wave of antis rolled up with their co-opting of legitimate socio-political terms to paint Zutara not just as wrong but morally corrupt if not evil. It’s all very puritanical.**

So Zutara fans need to be reminded that we weren’t delusional, and we aren’t alone. It’s why it means so much to know that Dante Basco and Mae Whitman shipped their characters. And that so many other VAs came out as Zutara supporters too: Jack De Sena, Michaela Jill Murphy, Grey DeLisle, Janet Varney--even the cabbage man. For it to be revealed that it was discussed in the writers room; that the writers fought over it; that it WAS a canon possibility. (And that writers Joshua Hamilton and John O’Bryan are perfectly comfortable admitting their preference for Zutara.) To know that the Elizabeth Welch Ehasz described Zuko and Katara as an “Avatar-style Mr. and Mrs. Smith,” in the script for The Southern Raiders, and used the phrase “Zutara-feuling synchronicity and cooperation” to describe their action sequences. To see Giancarlo Volpe, a Kataanger, admit Zutara might been the better pairing in retrospect and choose a quiet scene between them (to see their “chemistry”) as what he’d most look forward to in the live action adaptation. It’s why we cling to the artwork done by Korean animation director. We aren’t delusional. We aren’t alone.

But try telling that to the general fandom, right? Most are ignorant of a lot of this, particularly Hamilton and O’Bryan’s revelations re: the writers room. A lot of Zutara fans don't even seem to know. But being baited by Netflix on their official accounts? Oh, people see that. And we are reminded in a big way that we aren't delusional and we aren't alone. And everyone else has to remember it too.

So, of course, we're having fun clowning over the scarf scene. And I think most Zutara fans know we are clowning. I don't think most expect to get canon Zutara in live action because of one little scene or the fact that their Netflix icons are facing each other. (I headcanon that that was totally the doing of Zutara shipper on staff, though, lol. Because there are a lot of us, and we are everywhere.)

And this is okay. Zutara has been doing just fine as a fanon ship. Meanwhile, NATLA might actually do Kataang justice. It always worked better as a future ship. (Really all the pairings do. But I especially don't ever need to see another 12 year old kissing let alone making out, in animation or live action, ever again.) There's a reason Padme and Anakin don't get together in Phantom Menace, after all. Also, there's always the chance they could give us Dante's or Mae's headcanon of them basically suppressing their feelings and choosing duty over love/right person-wrong time. And the odds of getting some more moments to clown over are high enough.

Anyway, TLDR: Zutara has been made to feel like an out-of-nowhere crack ship and the live action crumbs remind us that it is not. And this is at least partially why we are enjoying it. (Because, also, it's just fun!)

*Side tangent: I’ve never gotten this dark and intriguing comment. Even during Season 1, the height of the capture fic era, Zutara was always a ship fundamentally about hope, predicated on Zuko's redemption. (Back in the day, there were also plenty of antis arguing that there was no way Zuko would ever be one of the gaang.) And they say “intriguing” like it’s a bad thing? Are we not supposed to be interested in the relationships of their characters???

**There have been some very good think pieces written lately on late stage capitalism and consumption as morality. Worth googling.

#Zutara #atla #natla

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fortunekookie07 · 14 days

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Mc disappears on a mission/snowcrest (Days, weeks, author's choice) I want pain, anguish But a happy ending, with a reunion (the only requirement, life is sad enough 😭)

This is the prompt requested, and I got this idea.

Looking for my Heart

The mission seems simple enough, you thought as you read through the file that Jenna had sent. After you had gone to Snowcrest last year with Zayne and temporarily teamed up with the Deepspace Hunters stationed there she had decided to add more diversity to the training. This included rounds in Snowcrest.

This time it was your turn, you were excited to see Dr. Noah and Pie again. It had been almost six months since your last trip. Getting out of Linkon for the first time in awhile was just the refreshing change you wanted.

Zayne had agreed to take you to the train station so you could meet up with your temporary team, but for some reason he was late. This was highly unusual, Zayne was almost never late. He prided himself on his perfect manners.

You decide to take your luggage downstairs anyways. Surely Zayne was on the way or maybe even pulling up to the complex now. Upon seeing the quiet parking lot devoid of his car a pout forms on your lips. You grab your phone and scroll through the texts you'd exchanged and check to make sure you'd told him the correct time and date. There it was, Wednesday morning 9:30, along with his affirmation and yet no Zayne. You decide that this is not ok and immediately tap the phone icon to call him.

Straight to voice-mail, a frown furrows your eyebrows and your lips purse out in frustration. You call again, once more, twice more. You almost lose count at the number of straight to voice mail calls you send. So you type him a text in anger.

I know you don't want me to go to Snowcrest but this is my job after all. If you didn't want to take me you shouldn't have agreed in the first place. Trying to make me miss the train is really petty. You hit send without a second thought and immediately call for a taxi. Minutes later one is pulling into the parking lot and finally you are off.

After getting to the station and finally securing your tickets and luggage your phone rings. Zayne's name and picture flash across the screen. In anger you shut your phone off and stuff it deep into your bag.

You walk down a few cars before finding a seat. Across from you is a family. A little girl is giggling as her father is making funny faces and the mother is quietly laughing as well. A smile crosses your face and then unwanted thoughts pop into your head.

For a moment you see yourself and Zayne in that exact situation. Though he'd probably never actually admit it, Zayne would do anything you asked no matter how silly. To him you'd hung the moon and scattered the stars. A small smile came to your face and you violently shook your head back in forth, uncaring that your hair whipped your cheeks as you did so.

"No I'm angry, we're mad at Zayne. Be mad at Zayne"! You chant softly to yourself before slapping both cheeks. Having successfully for the moment chased away the daydream you sit back in your seat as the train begins to move and look out at the scenery flashing by. Slowly changing from city to mountains.

Two hours later the heaters in the cars came on as the temperature outside had dropped. It was snowing lightly according to the weather report. Your about to get your jacket on when an alert sound on your Hunter's Watch. You look down and see that a there is a Metaflux warning on the screen and the scanner is red.

Immediately your heart starts hammering in your chest as a cold sweat rolls down your back. This is exactly the readings you saw on your first day Hunting.

"Look out"! You scream just before everything goes white and you hear a high pitched screech and then nothing.

**********************************************************

She was standing off to the side holding Dr. Zayne's phone. Finally it was her turn to watch for important calls or messages and inform him of them. Finally she would be able to get closer to him. Oh how she had dreamed of this day! Luck was finally dealing her the winning hand.

At least that was the cloud nine Mia was currently occupying until the phone actually started soflt vibrating. A quick glance at the screen sent her stomach straight to the pits of ultimate fury. How did this stupid girl have Zayne's number? She was always around him. It made her blood absolutely boil staring down at her stupid smiling face and name on the screen. "Humph"! She scoffed sending the call straight to voicemail. Oh how it delighted her to reject that snake's call.

Well that was until the phone started vibrating again almost immediately. She's calling again?!?! Mia thought wanting to throw the device into and inferno.

I've been in his department for two years and she already has his number?? How dare she deceive my Zayne! She sent the call to voice-mail again. This went on several more times and she was almost giddy at having rejected the call five times. A wide smile made its way onto her face as a text message popped in then. Zayne would never allow anyone to talk to him like that. She was riding this wave for the next hour before finally the surgery was done.

Mia quickly deleted the records of the call and then looked up as Dr. Zayne set down his instruments and gave his final orders. He was handing the last of the surgery duties over to his team. They quickly got to work stitching the patient back up. Dr. Zayne walked over to her and her heart skipped a beat as she watched another nurse help remove his scrubs and gear before finally standing in front of her.

He looks so tired, she thought silently handing over his phone. He accepted it and a deep frown immediately hung over his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Damn, I'm late". He said quietly.

"Is something wrong Dr. Zayne". Mia asked gazing at his face. Mock concern on it. Zayne only looked at her before leaving the room. Mia was confused, while it was true they didn't have much contact, he'd never outright ignored her before. She shrugged it off as tiredness. It had been a six hour surgery after all.

Mia left the surgical wing and went back to the nurses station to write down the report she knew would be expected by the end of the day. However forty-five minutes later she was being summoned to Zayne's office. He had directly written an email and sent it to her. This had never happened before. Mia had attended dozens of surgeries with Zayne before, but never had an email come to her straight from him.

She was so elated that she didn't even notice the looks she was getting as she practically skipped to his office. Word of her misdeeds had traveled around the entire cardiac ward and then some, but Mia hadn't noticed. Too busy floating in the clouds to see the disapproving stares and mock sympathy she was getting.

She stopped only once at the last bathroom before turning to his office to check her hair and makeup. She quickly undid the ponytail her hair had been thrown in before and finger combed the strands before relying it neatly. Adjusting her bangs to fall just right across her forehead and removing all traces of smudged eyeliner. Perfect! She thought glancing once more before leaving.

Standing in front of his office door she cleared her throat and raised her hand to knock, but another hand beat her to it. She turned a withering look on her face but nearly recoiled in shock. Standing to her right was the president of the hospital along with his secretary and another Doctor she couldn't remember the name of.

"Come in". Zayne's deep voice sounded from the other side. The president quickly pushed the door open and strode inside. His secretary looked at her. A woman in her mid thirties with square framed glasses a high ponytail with side swept bangs and piercing golden eyes. She looked like an eagle that had just found her next pray. Mia suddenly felt small, all her early excitement and high dwindling rapidly to nothing.

She walked into the room like a timid mouse searching for the cat she just knew was watching her. "Y-you wanted to see me Dr. Zayne"? His green and gold eyes looked at her. Expression flat, devoid of all emotion and even life. Her body started to trembled as she played with the hem of her uniform shirt.

"Did I receive any calls earlier this morning"? He asked her out right not beating around the bush. "N-no sir, your phone did not ring". She was sweating nervously. Why was she being asked this in front of the president. She wanted the floor to swallow her.

"Is that so". He said and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees with that single sentance. He wordlessly turned his computer monitor around to show what he was looking at and Mia felt her stomach sink to the floor as she stared at a frozen image of herself holding Zayne's phone. It was clear as day.

"Are you unaware that in addition to their being an observation deck above my operating room there are also cameras all over the place? Are you sure this is the route you wish to take"? He asked as her pressed play on the video. You could clearly see her holding the phone and looking down at the screen when the device lit up. The name couldn't be read from the distance but the picture of you was unmistakable.

Mia lost all composure as she ditched her cover. "Why does she get to have your number and hang around you all the time like some cheap skank? It makes me sick the way she's always coming to the hospital like she owns the place. She doesn't even deserve to breathe the same air as you. She doesn't deserve to breathe at all"! Mia shouted chest heaving from her words and anger. "Who does she even think she is? She's isn't good enough for you"! She went on. There was no coming back from this, Mia had tossed all caution to the wind and she was going down with her sinking ship.

"Are you so self absorbed that you don't even know who my patients are"? Zayne asked, his voice was cold enough to give Mia frostbite as she practically froze. Horror dawning on her as realization started to sink in. "Not that it is any of your business in the first place. She has an extremely rare heart condition and requires weekly checkups to make sure no changes occur. She has my number because I gave it to her....".

Just then the door burst open and several people came in panicked. "Dr. Zayne you need to see this now"! The male shouted grabbing the remote and turning the TV on to the news in a flurry.

"..Minutes ago on the mountain there was an explosion believed to have been cause by metaflux, at the time the train bound for Snowcrest was at the heart of it. As of yet we are unable to get reports of the accident. As you can see drones are trying to get closer bit having no visual luck. The smoke has completely enveloped the accident. We are able to confirm that the train was blasted off the tracks as you can see here". The reported said as a still image filled the screen.

You could clearly see where the tracks ended brokenly and the huge gouge that had been taken as well as the black smoke. All eyes in the room turned to Zayne who had stood abruptly from his chair with such force that it had been knocked over. He scrambled for his phone furiously before tapping and immediately calling someone. The phone went straight to voicemail. Over and over again to no avail, finally he dropped the phone and hung his head brokenly.

He looked up sharply and sent her a withering glare, "The president will deal with you. I need to go". He said directing the last part to the president.

No one said a word as Dr. Zayne left the hospital and drove straight to the train station. He tried calling Dr. Noah, but to no avail. Emergency lines overruled all other communication.

Zayne felt like all his sanity was about to slip away, you were missing and you took his heart with you when you vanished.

*******************************************************

That had been eight days ago, every news outlet was following the story as the very world held its breath. Four rescue attempts had been made with no results. The explosion had stired up all the Wanderers and the area was thick with danger. Rescue workers couldn't fend off the Wanderers and there just weren't enough Deepspace Hunters that could destroy them, protect the rescuers, and look for survivors. All hope seemed to be lost.

As morning dawned on the ninth day something changed, the areas that had previously been inaccessible were suddenly clear. The Wanderer sightings in the first zones had dropped to zero. Even the metaflux readings were bottoming out. Like the forests surrounding the area was reclaiming itself.

Zayne finally ditched the watch the Association had put on him and headed into the wilderness. You the only thing on his mind. He was coming for you no matter what.

*******************************************************

Pain, that was the most prominent feeling you had first as you tried to open your eyes and move. They didn't want to cooperate. Something shuffled near you and then you realized something was holding your hand. At first you were afraid, unable to open your eyes and unable to move. Panic started to set in and with it dizziness. Even though you were already lying down the ground beneath you was spinning. Like a merry-go-round turned on to fast.

Then there was a quiet shushing. "It's alright, please calm down. Your injuries are serious and we have no way to treat them. We barely managed to stop the bleeding. Your eyes have been covered because there were deep cuts on your forehead. In addition your right leg and arm are badly broken. I don't know the extent of all your injuries so please don't move. If it hadn't been for your warning no one but you would have survived. My wife and daughter are alive thanks to you. Please let us help you". A male voice said softly near your ear. A hand brushed your hair back and then there was gentle pressure on your left hand.

A smaller hand had gripped it holding softly. "We managed to put up some shelter, it's been snowing non stop since the accident and the area is not safe. Your watch alerts us to dangers so we're staying hidden. You're a Hunter aren't you"? Those time a female voice was speaking softly. Memories slowly came back, you remembered the family you saw on the train and tears came to your eyes. That family had survived and not only that, protected you at your most vulnerable moments.

With all the strength you had left to muster you squeezed the small hand still holding yours before passing out again. Thankfully in unconsciousness there was no pain and there was also Zayne.

How you missed his cool demeanor and often icy personality. You missed staring into his deep hazel eyes and getting lost in them. You missed him holding you and waking up to him. In your dreams Zayne had already found you and was gently tending all your injuries while hiding how much it pained him to see you in this state.

The next time you woke up all was quiet around you. Carefully you pulled the layers of cloth off your eyes and peered into the dim light. It stung a bit after so much darkness. Huddled around you was a man, woman, and small child. They looked worse for the wear and tou noted cuts, burns, scrapes, and the like on them. Seems they had been extraordinarily lucky to escape with such minor injuries. You took note of the extent of your own injuries for the first time. Breathing hurt if you sucked in air too deeply, seems you can add ribs to the list of broken. Not to mention the burning paid in your side. That was heavily bound with cloth. That must be the bleeding that was hard to stop.

You tried to lift your head but that just sent oy straight back to the world of dreams. All your energy spent on just moving cloth from your eyes and feeling out wounds.

*******************************************************

Zayne was still unsure of the man walking beside him. He sort of knew about your upstairs neighbor and frequent Hunting partner but had never actually met Xavier before. He was quiet hardly speaking and seemed to be emotionless. Taking down every Wanderer that approached.

He hardly even needed Zayne's help, in fact he was pretty sure the man required zero help at all. It was quite a surprise when Xavier had agreed to Zayne's coming along in the first place. He knew there was more that Xavier knew than he would ever let slip. This guy held more secrets than a diary.

When Zayne had told him he was going to find you with ir without his help Xavier relented and off you were. Easily slipping past barriers and blockads headed for the accident zone.

Suddenly Xavier stopped his sled dogs and walked through the trees. In front the train tracks appeared and so did the spot where a huge hole was. Spanning at least thirty feet wide and probably ten feet deep at its center, it was no surprise the train had been blasted off the tracks. One of the cars lay on its top. Windows busted and scorch marks all over the metal. The fire on this one had burned a long time. The smell of burnt wooden, metal, and coal still lingered in the air. The bursting of snow looked odd on the scene. Any tracks that may have been on the snow were long since gone. Dusted over with more snow.

"Not here". Xavier said quietly leading away from the car and walking further away from the train into the woods. The air was dead silent, no animals had been seen in days. Having run away, or too terrified to come out of hiding.

Zayne felt his heart freezing over with the bitter cold. He would not admit the chances of your survival of the explosion until the evidence was thrust right before his eyes.

The hospital had forced him into a personal leave two days after the explosion. He was walking around in a daze, because quite literally his heart was missing. He got angry everytime he thought about what one of the nurses had done. Rejecting your calls like that several times. Her job was terminated that day. The president would not have such a malicious person on staff at Akso hospital. If word got out that patients were treated like that because a nurse thought she was entitled to whatever she wanted their stellar reputation would plummet.

A crunching noise started coming from a few feet in front of them. Xavier dashed forward towards thr sound.

In a makeshift clearing a man was walking their way. He looked beat up and tired as he froze at the sight of them before smiling in joy. It looked like he had been crying.

"Oh thank god"! He cried coming to them in relief. "We need help, the young woman that is with us is hurt real bad. I don't know if she's going to make it. I can't treat her injuries. Zayne felt his blood freeze as a sickening feeling came over him. "Show us". He said and the man immediately turned are hurried back the way he'd come. For the first time Zayne realized there was a tent strung from blankets and branches.

The man pushed the heavy blanket aside and went in. Zayne paused for a moment before he and Xavier followed. As soon as Zayne got a look at who was lying on the ground it felt like his soul left him.

There you were, his heart so battered and hurt he could barely breathe. For the first time Zayne wished he didn't have any medical training ir knowledge. He could easily see every injury and the signs of the ones the untrained eye could not.

A fever had set in and you were shivering despite the blankets on you and the two people huddled near you trying to keep you warm.

"Move aside", Zayne said with a calm he didn't feel. He took his backpack off and immediately searched for the pain medication and bandages. He gave you a shot to dull the pain your broken bones would definitely be giving you. He removed the cloth wrapped around your stomach and examined the injury. He could tell they had tried their best to care for you but lacking any supplies at all it had been a struggle. Signs of infection were already setting in. The jagged cut to your side was deep and would require antibiotics and stitching. Neither of which he had now. He just tried his best to clean the wounds with the basic supplies he had and moves on.

At some point during his treatment, you woke up. Eyes hazy and unfocused. "Zayne can't you find me already"? The fever had made you delirious. "Hurry and come find me Zayne. I can't hold out much longer". He stoked your head and mumbled. I'm looking for you, I'll find you soon. "M'kay". You say before slipping back into a feverish sleep. "We need to get her out of here now". Zayne says to Xavier carefully turning you onto your back and the carefully picking you up.

Your face scrunches in pain and whimpers escape your lips but you do not wake. The pain meds are doing their job, for the most part.

*******************************************************

After what seems like a year later you're waking up. You tense as you realize that you no longer have anyone around you. The little girl is gone and so are the mom and dad.

It takes you almost three minutes to notice that you are lying in a bed now and not on a covered ground with several blankets. Only when you realize that do you also hear the sounds of machines. You blearily open your eyes and see the white walls and the large curtained window on your left.

Zayne is also there, asleep in a chair that just screams uncomfortable. There is a chart in his lap and you realize it's yours. You are glad that you can't read what is written from your angle. You try to turn onto your side and one of the machines starts beeping angrily at you.

Zayne snaps awake instantly and reaches over to press a button. He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. He must be exhausted. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a whisper. Your mouth is so dry.

Your voice is only a whisper. Instead you try to move your hand. This manages to catch his attention. He is immediately checking you over. Doctor mode has been activated.

"Are you in pain? How is your head"? He fires off questions rapidly. Unable to answer them you point to the water on the table. His gaze follows your finger and he grabs the glass holding the straw for you to sip. "Slowly, not too fast". He gently chides.

"Zayne, you found me". You say not answering any of the questions. "Of course I did". He says matter of factly sitting down and staring at you again. "I know you are too resilient to go down without a fight. You're tougher than that".

You smile softly gazing at him. "I need my heart". He gently takes your hand staring at the ring on your finger. He won't say it but you have certainly put his heart through a beating.

"When can I leave the hospital". You ask and he just sighs. "You're just going to have to stay put for awhile. You're in for a long recovery. The extent of your injuries were no small matter.

"Dr. Zayne I'd like you to return my finacee to me now". You say in a joking manner squeezing his hand.

A long sigh is drawn out from him before he says "just what am I going to do with you"? He leans over and kisses your forehead, both eyelids and then finally your lips.

"I hope you know a person can't live without their heart. Don't make mine disappear again. " You smile, feeling warm with his words.

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace zayne x reader #halseyhatter #fic prompt #love and deepspace

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hsrrington · 9 months

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se vcs soubessem o quanto ta me doendo ter perdido o tumblr antigo e todos os icons que ja tinha postado... mas tudo bem, bola pra frente! esse eh o ultimo post que consegui recuperar e agora so faltam as headers, que vou repostando aos poucos :))

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dollfacefantasy · 26 days

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Beginning to Slip

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

summary: after watching one of the scream movies, you have some fun with toji and a ghostface mask

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, cnc, size kink, knife play, face slapping, degradation, dacryphilia, mentions of murder and death and ghostface stuff

word count: 3k

a/n: um i had to repost cause if issues with tags. but yes i did write one like this for leon a few months ago but idgaf 🤪 i hope everyone enjoys <3

It had started normal enough. A regular night shared between you and your boyfriend, watching movies in bed as you often would do when you both had the spare time and lack of energy for anything else. After scrolling through the tv for a while, you came across one of the new Scream movies.

“Ooh, I haven’t seen this one yet. Wanna watch with me?” you’d asked him casually, sparing a little glance in his direction.

Toji looked at the screen, scanning the description with mild interest. He shrugged. He’d never shared your affinity for horror, never really saw the appeal of slasher movies, but if it put you in a good mood, why would he say no?

You pressed play and tossed the remote to the side. Your head rests on his chest, splitting your hearing between the actors talking and the steady beat of his heat. He absentmindedly strokes your head. You’re quiet for the first couple scenes. That is until you hear the iconic voice crackling through the opening girl’s phone.

“Why does the killer voice get less hot every movie?” you ask.

A simple, innocuous question. One you had posed to other people when you had watched the film before this one. But to Toji, it isn’t just a passing remark. He raises an eyebrow and looks down at you.

“Hot?”

A smile grows on your lips as you meet his eyes. “Yeah, hot,” you laugh.

“Isn’t it supposed to be scary?” he teases.

“Yeah… but that’s what makes it hot,” you respond, your smile widening, “The voice, the knife, the stuff he says. I don’t know. It’s just kinda…” You squirm a bit, trying to communicate your desires through motions rather than figure out the proper wording.

“Kinda what?” he continues affectionately mocking, “You got a thing for masks too? Want me to rough you up a bit?”

You laugh a little more. “Maybe I do.”

His eyes widen with slight curiosity, but he plays it off in the moment, making a joke of how he didn’t know you were into that kind of thing. But the comment stayed with him. It replayed in his head even after the credits rolled and you fell asleep in his arms. It was still with him the next morning when he woke up.

Toji was by no means innocent. He was familiar with all this kinda stuff. He understood the appeal. That wasn’t what had his mind lingering on the idea as he showered and got ready for the day. He just never expected you, his girlfriend who’d always been so gentle, to want to get rough.

He wasn’t against the concept though. Not at all. Visions of you flooded his mind. You completely ruined beneath him, face wet with tears and drool, hips bruised from his fingers. He was so not against it he had to jerk off in the shower. Thanks to his overactive imagination though, it didn’t take too long. As soon as he got out and dried off, he ordered one of those masks.

He felt silly in the days after, painfully aware of how eager he was for it to arrive. When it finally arrived, he knew it was worth it though. He pulled it out of the bag, letting the black cloth fall into place. The ghoulish face stared back at him as if it knew what it was about to be used for.

That very night he intended to use it. He waited till the evening when you were sprawled across the couch relaxing. Then he snuck off to the bedroom and got dressed up. Donned in his normal black shirt with gray pants, he peered into the eyes of his reflection as he pulled the mask over his head. It sat flawlessly, the fabric pooling around his neck perfectly.

The last item he needs sits inside a drawer on his side of the bed. The knife. He’d had this part handled long before he knew you’d be into it. He takes out his favorite one, the one he knows will look prettiest pressed against your flesh. As he watches it glimmer in the dim light of the bedroom, he knows he’s ready to go.

He struts into the living room, pausing several feet away from you and allowing you to just take it in. He feels a pulse within the confines of his jeans as your eyes sparkle. You sit up slowly, looking him up and down.

“Toji?” you ask, “What… what are you doing?”

“You said you had a thing for masks and knives, yeah? Well I know you got a thing for me too,” he says as he begins to approach you.

He sees how your pupils lock onto the reflective blade. Holding the handle, he points it at you. The flat of the cool metal rests beneath your chin. He applies pressure and directs you to look up at him.

“Do you wanna try this out?” he breathes.

Timidly, you nod.

“I wanna hear you say it,” he says.

“I wanna try it out,” you answer.

“You want me to be rough?”

Another nod.

“How rough?”

“As much as you want,” you say so quietly it sounds close to a whisper.

He stares down at you for a moment, thinking over your answers. His thoughts smash into a mental wall when he hears your next sentence.

“Want you to make me cry,” you say. You’re looking up at him with doe eyes too. How could he resist this offer?

After a few moments of contemplation, he swipes the blade away from your jaw. “Should I give you a head start?” he asks simply.

A chill fizzles down your spine. He didn’t even need a voice mod. He already had the voice of an apex predator. You shake your head at his question, causing him to smile beneath the mask.

“Make the first move then, bunny,” he says.

As quick as you can, you scramble off the couch, ducking under his large arm. He chuckles while making a grab for you. You nearly trip but manage to make it to your feet and bolt down the hallway.

He spins around and follows, hot on your tail. He doesn’t have to run, his long legs carry him fast enough with a simple stride. The thrill of adrenaline pumps from your heart and out through your veins. You dash around different pieces of furniture, trying to prevent the heavy footsteps behind you from getting too close.

You come to a crossroads when the path ahead splits between another hall and the staircase. Without a second thought, you sprint up the stairs in the direction of the bedroom. It was pure instinct, but you know this game is about to reach the main part when you see his body fill the doorway. His chest rises and falls with his breaths. You can feel his eyes on you even if you can’t see them. Like a gazelle caged in with a tiger, you know there’s only one way this will end.

“Up the stairs instead of out the front door,” he tuts with a shake of his head, “An amateur mistake. One that dumb little girls like you always make.”

He stalks closer to you, and in-turn, you back away. Your steps continue until your back bumps the wall. He’s closing in, nearly close enough to pin you to the wall. As a last ditch effort, you dart to your left in the direction of the bed. In your mind, you were going to hop over the mattress and manage to speed past him back out the door.

You don’t get that far because he grabs one wrist and then the next and slams you face down on the bed. With your arms pinned to your back, all you can do is wriggle to try and find a way to slip out. He puts a stop to your squirming quickly though, jerking your wrists upwards and causing you to yelp in discomfort.

“Calm down, angel face. I’m not gonna hurt ya. Not until I have my fun at least,” he purrs.

He runs the tip of the blade along your skin peeking out from where your shirt had risen. There’s not enough pressure to draw blood, only leave you with a sting of anticipation. A shaky sigh leaves you, but you're careful not to move and send the knife piercing through your flesh.

“That’s better,” he hums before pulling the knife away and placing it to the side.

He releases your wrists as well, planning on removing your top next. You don’t make it that simple though. Your arms stretch forward and claw at the blankets to try and drag yourself to the other side of the mattress.

It takes him no effort to wrangle you back into position. His frame is so much larger than yours, it’s like he’s covering every inch of you. Anywhere you try to move, he’s already there. His fingers wrap around your limbs and encapsulate them completely.

He wrestles you still and whips you around onto your back. One of his hands comes up to your throat and sharply jerks your head, bouncing it off the cushioned surface below you.

“That’s a fight you won’t win, little brat,” he breathes as the eyes of the ghostface mask watch your figure.

You resign to be still for a few moments, only minorly fidgeting as he peels your shirt off you. He takes his time. Each second another inch of your body is exposed to him. He drinks in the revelation of your form. He’s so focused, so calculated with his movements that he doesn’t see your arm swinging at him until it collides with the side of the mask, almost knocking it loose.

To him, it was absolutely nothing. He doesn’t even falter. It registers in his mind in the same way a kitten batting its paw would. He stares down at you with a wild grin on his face underneath the white plastic.

His hand leaves your throat and grips your jaw, straightening you out before landing a firm slap on your cheek. He almost breaks and lets out a laugh at the way your hips jump from the contact. He gives you one more on the same cheek before lowering himself closer to you. You feel the cool smoothness of the knife dragging up your stomach and between your breasts as he speaks.

“Count yourself lucky it’s only my hand I’m using,” he taunts before using his free hand to tap your face once more.

The combination of the hits with the low thrum of his voice had you dizzy. Your head feels foggy in the best way as your heart beats faster and your chest rises and falls quicker with your increased breaths. The knife trails along your collarbone. You can feel a light scratch as he presses slightly harder than before. Still not enough to have you spilling crimson, but the right amount to have your panties sticking to your cunt from arousal.

“You gonna be good for me now, or do I need to give you a better reason to be?” he asks, voice right next to your ear. Your blood was running hot as you could hear him breathing under the mask, feel him hard and pressed against your thigh.

“I’ll be good,” you agree. Your voice comes out soft and hazy. He smirks at the state you're in from just a few smacks.

He backs off, rising to his feet again at the side of the bed. He tugs his own shirt over his head and tosses it to the side before dropping his pants. You can nearly feel your eyes dilate as they take in his appearance. No matter how many times you saw it, it never got old. Each ridge and dip in his muscular abdomen and chest looked so familiar but thrillingly new. His cock was a whole other story. The sight of it hanging between his legs had you drooling in more ways than one.

Reaching forward, he yanks you closer to his body by your hips and then tugs your pants off. The forming pile of clothing on the floor grows as he discards them there.

You’re now splayed out on the bed, left only in your panties. He can see the slick that’s soaked the middle of them. Slowly, he grabs the knife again and brings it between your legs. You whimper as you feel the edge of the blade slide up against your clothed center. Your jaw drops and your legs tremble. You stay perfectly still, your eyes trained on the veins on his forearm as he maneuvers the weapon.

“You’d look beautiful covered in red, babydoll,” he

It glides up the thin cloth between your legs and over your pelvis. The tip catches on the elastic waistband. You bite your lip. Your pulse becomes audible to you as the fabric lifts from your body, hooked on the shiny metal.

“Toji,” you whimper. You see the mask tilt up a bit as he glances at your face, but he says nothing. Until the garment snaps, tearing on the sharp point as the pull becomes too taut.

“You’d be the prettiest one yet,” he murmurs, “All marked up. No mistake about who you belong to.”

His fingers come up to the split in your underwear. He rips it in half like it’s nothing, drawing a gasp from you. The shreds of fabric hang from your legs, and he doesn’t bother removing it any further. Enough of you is accessible for his purposes.

Cupping his hands behind your knees, he pushes your legs up beside your stomach. He can’t get enough of how your pussy glistens and drips for him. He drags two fingers through your folds before gripping his cock and stroking it a few times. He lines up at your entrance and looks down at you for a moment.

“You ready for me, doll?” he asks.

But before you can answer, he shoves himself all the way inside, filling you completely with one stroke. The motion tears a loud cry from your lungs while a cruel laugh comes from him. You try to muffle it by covering your mouth, your own palm flying to your lips. He rips it away though and pins it back on the mattress as he starts thrusting.

“Don’t try to keep that shit from me. The sounds might be the best part,” he grunts, “I’d bet you’d sound the same if I was slicing you up instead of just fucking you stupid.”

Your eyes roll back as another moan springs free. Constant whimpers come next, intermingling with the creak of the bed. He’s not giving you time to adjust like normal, he’s getting right into it, hard and fast.

His skin slaps against yours, and you grip at his biceps, nails digging into the skin. His head tilts back as he sighs at the small stings. One set of fingers dig into your leg with a bruising hold while the other hand returns to your throat. He holds it, using it for leverage to continue drilling into you with no mercy.

It’s ruthless. You’re left gasping for air as your body bobs with the force of his movements. Your walls tighten up and release, struggling to accept the size of him still. Only the cusps of words can breach your lips. Nothing coherent makes it through.

Tears prick at your eyes as everything else in the world fades to the background. Your lashes flutter as you try to keep them in. They finally spill as his hand connects with your cheek again in a small tap.

“I asked you a question,” he growls into your ear.

“What?” you whimper as warm beads roll from the corners of your eyes, down your temples.

The sight of your glossy eyes looking up at him is almost enough to push him over the edge but he refrains and keeps slamming into your wanting hole.

“I asked if you were crying yet, but I think you have that answered,” he says.

“Oh,” you whine simply.

Your cries become more audible while your lips remain permanently parted, an endless cycle of mewls and whimpers seeping out between sobs.

You’re trembling and sucking him in more than before. His head has dropped to the crook of your neck as his breaths have morphed into harsh puffs. You’re both close and each of you knows this.

Your shaky hand rises to the back of his head, pushing the mask up over his head and letting his smooth black locks fall free. The mask falls off him onto the bed as he brings his head up to look into your eyes.

“Wanna see you when you finish me off,” you choke out.

He grins when hears that and presses his sweaty forehead to yours. “Any last words?” he asks.

One final shake of your head, and you explode from him. You scream as the pleasure courses through you. He locks his digits around you and presses his face harder against yours. The only time it was ok for your sounds to be hushed was when it was caused by his lips on yours.

He keeps fucking you hard and fast, only cumming himself as the overstimulation begins to set in for you. His cum floods your insides as he groans into your mouth. His body continues to roll rhythmically through the whole thing.

When he is done, he practically passes out on top of you. You push on him a little bit but not too hard. Being pinned beneath him was far from the worst thing in the world. He doesn’t move though. You’re kinda shocked he even pulls out with how unresponsive he was to you at the moment. You only know he’s still conscious from the tender way he holds your waist and the kisses he’s lavishing on your neck where his fingers had once been.

You decide this position is as good as any and lazily grab the tv remote which laid in its usual spot next to your pillow. With a few clicks of a button, you’ve got the first Scream turned on. You wrap your arms around Toji and nuzzle his head in return, content to drift off tangled together to the sounds of Drew Barrymore being slaughtered.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro imagine #toji fushiguro smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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