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vavandeveresfan · 3 months

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Holy shit, the New York Times is FINALLY interviewing and listening to detransistioners.

The tide is turning.

Opinion by Pamela Paul

As Kids, They Thought They Were Trans. They No Longer Do.

Feb. 2, 2024

Grace Powell was 12 or 13 when she discovered she could be a boy.

Growing up in a relatively conservative community in Grand Rapids, Mich., Powell, like many teenagers, didn’t feel comfortable in her own skin. She was unpopular and frequently bullied. Puberty made everything worse. She suffered from depression and was in and out of therapy.

“I felt so detached from my body, and the way it was developing felt hostile to me,” Powell told me. It was classic gender dysphoria, a feeling of discomfort with your sex.

Reading about transgender people online, Powell believed that the reason she didn’t feel comfortable in her body was that she was in the wrong body. Transitioning seemed like the obvious solution. The narrative she had heard and absorbed was that if you don’t transition, you’ll kill yourself.

At 17, desperate to begin hormone therapy, Powell broke the news to her parents. They sent her to a gender specialist to make sure she was serious. In the fall of her senior year of high school, she started cross-sex hormones. She had a double mastectomy the summer before college, then went off as a transgender man named Grayson to Sarah Lawrence College, where she was paired with a male roommate on a men’s floor. At 5-foot-3, she felt she came across as a very effeminate gay man.

At no point during her medical or surgical transition, Powell says, did anyone ask her about the reasons behind her gender dysphoria or her depression. At no point was she asked about her sexual orientation. And at no point was she asked about any previous trauma, and so neither the therapists nor the doctors ever learned that she’d been sexually abused as a child.

“I wish there had been more open conversations,” Powell, now 23 and detransitioned, told me. “But I was told there is one cure and one thing to do if this is your problem, and this will help you.”

Progressives often portray the heated debate over childhood transgender care as a clash between those who are trying to help growing numbers of children express what they believe their genders to be and conservative politicians who won’t let kids be themselves.

But right-wing demagogues are not the only ones who have inflamed this debate. Transgender activists have pushed their own ideological extremism, especially by pressing for a treatment orthodoxy that has faced increased scrutiny in recent years. Under that model of care, clinicians are expected to affirm a young person’s assertion of gender identity and even provide medical treatment before, or even without, exploring other possible sources of distress.

Many who think there needs to be a more cautious approach — including well-meaning liberal parents, doctors and people who have undergone gender transition and subsequently regretted their procedures — have been attacked as anti-trans and intimidated into silencing their concerns.

And while Donald Trump denounces “left-wing gender insanity” and many trans activists describe any opposition as transphobic, parents in America’s vast ideological middle can find little dispassionate discussion of the genuine risks or trade-offs involved in what proponents call gender-affirming care.

Powell’s story shows how easy it is for young people to get caught up by the pull of ideology in this atmosphere.

“What should be a medical and psychological issue has been morphed into a political one,” Powell lamented during our conversation. “It’s a mess.”

A New and Growing Group of Patients

Many transgender adults are happy with their transitions and, whether they began to transition as adults or adolescents, feel it was life changing, even lifesaving. The small but rapidly growing number of children who express gender dysphoria and who transition at an early age, according to clinicians, is a recent and more controversial phenomenon.

Laura Edwards-Leeper, the founding psychologist of the first pediatric gender clinic in the United States, said that when she started her practice in 2007, most of her patients had longstanding and deep-seated gender dysphoria. Transitioning clearly made sense for almost all of them, and any mental health issues they had were generally resolved through gender transition.

“But that is just not the case anymore,” she told me recently. While she doesn’t regret transitioning the earlier cohort of patients and opposes government bans on transgender medical care, she said, “As far as I can tell, there are no professional organizations who are stepping in to regulate what’s going on.”

Most of her patients now, she said, have no history of childhood gender dysphoria. Others refer to this phenomenon, with some controversy, as rapid onset gender dysphoria, in which adolescents, particularly tween and teenage girls, express gender dysphoria despite never having done so when they were younger. Frequently, they have mental health issues unrelated to gender. While professional associations say there is a lack of quality research on rapid onset gender dysphoria, several researchers have documented the phenomenon, and many health care providers have seen evidence of it in their practices.

“The population has changed drastically,” said Edwards-Leeper, a former head of the Child and Adolescent Committee for the World Professional Association for Transgender Health, the organization responsible for setting gender transition guidelines for medical professionals.

For these young people, she told me, “you have to take time to really assess what’s going on and hear the timeline and get the parents’ perspective in order to create an individualized treatment plan. Many providers are completely missing that step.”

Yet those health care professionals and scientists who do not think clinicians should automatically agree to a young person’s self-diagnosis are often afraid to speak out. A report commissioned by the National Health Service about Britain’s Tavistock gender clinic, which, until it was ordered to be shut down, was the country’s only health center dedicated to gender identity, noted that “primary and secondary care staff have told us that they feel under pressure to adopt an unquestioning affirmative approach and that this is at odds with the standard process of clinical assessment and diagnosis that they have been trained to undertake in all other clinical encounters.”

Of the dozens of students she’s trained as psychologists, Edwards-Leeper said, few still seem to be providing gender-related care. While her students have left the field for various reasons, “some have told me that they didn’t feel they could continue because of the pushback, the accusations of being transphobic, from being pro-assessment and wanting a more thorough process,” she said.

They have good reasons to be wary. Stephanie Winn, a licensed marriage and family therapist in Oregon, was trained in gender-affirming care and treated multiple transgender patients. But in 2020, after coming across detransition videos online, she began to doubt the gender-affirming model. In 2021 she spoke out in favor of approaching gender dysphoria in a more considered way, urging others in the field to pay attention to detransitioners, people who no longer consider themselves transgender after undergoing medical or surgical interventions. She has since been attacked by transgender activists. Some threatened to send complaints to her licensing board saying that she was trying to make trans kids change their minds through conversion therapy.

In April 2022, the Oregon Board of Licensed Professional Counselors and Therapists told Winn that she was under investigation. Her case was ultimately dismissed, but Winn no longer treats minors and practices only online, where many of her patients are worried parents of trans-identifying children.

“I don’t feel safe having a location where people can find me,” she said.

Detransitioners say that only conservative media outlets seem interested in telling their stories, which has left them open to attacks as hapless tools of the right, something that frustrated and dismayed every detransitioner I interviewed. These are people who were once the trans-identified kids that so many organizations say they’re trying to protect — but when they change their minds, they say, they feel abandoned.

Most parents and clinicians are simply trying to do what they think is best for the children involved. But parents with qualms about the current model of care are frustrated by what they see as a lack of options.

Parents told me it was a struggle to balance the desire to compassionately support a child with gender dysphoria while seeking the best psychological and medical care. Many believed their kids were gay or dealing with an array of complicated issues. But all said they felt compelled by gender clinicians, doctors, schools and social pressure to accede to their child’s declared gender identity even if they had serious doubts. They feared it would tear apart their family if they didn’t unquestioningly support social transition and medical treatment. All asked to speak anonymously, so desperate were they to maintain or repair any relationship with their children, some of whom were currently estranged.

Several of those who questioned their child’s self-diagnosis told me it had ruined their relationship. A few parents said simply, “I feel like I’ve lost my daughter.”

One mother described a meeting with 12 other parents in a support group for relatives of trans-identified youth where all of the participants described their children as autistic or otherwise neurodivergent. To all questions, the woman running the meeting replied, “Just let them transition.” The mother left in shock. How would hormones help a child with obsessive-compulsive disorder or depression? she wondered.

Some parents have found refuge in anonymous online support groups. There, people share tips on finding caregivers who will explore the causes of their children’s distress or tend to their overall emotional and developmental health and well-being without automatically acceding to their children’s self-diagnosis.

Many parents of kids who consider themselves trans say their children were introduced to transgender influencers on YouTube or TikTok, a phenomenon intensified for some by the isolation and online cocoon of Covid. Others say their kids learned these ideas in the classroom, as early as elementary school, often in child-friendly ways through curriculums supplied by trans rights organizations, with concepts like the gender unicorn or the Genderbread person.

‘Do You Want a Dead Son or a Live Daughter?’

After Kathleen’s 15-year-old son, whom she described as an obsessive child, abruptly told his parents he was trans, the doctor who was going to assess whether he had A.D.H.D. referred him instead to someone who specialized in both A.D.H.D. and gender. Kathleen, who asked to be identified only by her first name to protect her son’s privacy, assumed that the specialist would do some kind of evaluation or assessment. That was not the case.

The meeting was brief and began on a shocking note. “In front of my son, the therapist said, ‘Do you want a dead son or a live daughter?’” Kathleen recounted.

Parents are routinely warned that to pursue any path outside of agreeing with a child’s self-declared gender identity is to put a gender dysphoric youth at risk for suicide, which feels to many people like emotional blackmail. Proponents of the gender-affirming model have cited studies showing an association between that standard of care and a lower risk of suicide. But those studies were found to have methodological flaws or have been deemed not entirely conclusive. A survey of studies on the psychological effects of cross-sex hormones, published three years ago in The Journal of the Endocrine Society, the professional organization for hormone specialists, found it “could not draw any conclusions about death by suicide.” In a letter to The Wall Street Journal last year, 21 experts from nine countries said that survey was one reason they believed there was “no reliable evidence to suggest that hormonal transition is an effective suicide prevention measure.”

Moreover, the incidence of suicidal thoughts and attempts among gender dysphoric youth is complicated by the high incidence of accompanying conditions, such as autism spectrum disorder. As one systematic overview put it, “Children with gender dysphoria often experience a range of psychiatric comorbidities, with a high prevalence of mood and anxiety disorders, trauma, eating disorders and autism spectrum conditions, suicidality and self-harm.”

But rather than being treated as patients who deserve unbiased professional help, children with gender dysphoria often become political pawns.

Conservative lawmakers are working to ban access to gender care for minors and occasionally for adults as well. On the other side, however, many medical and mental health practitioners feel their hands have been tied by activist pressure and organizational capture. They say that it has become difficult to practice responsible mental health care or medicine for these young people.

Pediatricians, psychologists and other clinicians who dissent from this orthodoxy, believing that it is not based on reliable evidence, feel frustrated by their professional organizations. The American Psychological Association, American Psychiatric Association and the American Academy of Pediatrics have wholeheartedly backed the gender-affirming model.

In 2021, Aaron Kimberly, a 50-year-old trans man and registered nurse, left the clinic in British Columbia where his job focused on the intake and assessment of gender-dysphoric youth. Kimberly received a comprehensive screening when he embarked on his own successful transition at age 33, which resolved the gender dysphoria he experienced from an early age.

But when the gender-affirming model was introduced at his clinic, he was instructed to support the initiation of hormone treatment for incoming patients regardless of whether they had complex mental problems, experiences with trauma or were otherwise “severely unwell,” Kimberly said. When he referred patients for further mental health care rather than immediate hormone treatment, he said he was accused of what they called gatekeeping and had to change jobs.

“I realized something had gone totally off the rails,” Kimberly, who subsequently founded the Gender Dysphoria Alliance and the L.G.B.T. Courage Coalition to advocate better gender care, told me.

Gay men and women often told me they fear that same-sex-attracted kids, especially effeminate boys and tomboy girls who are gender nonconforming, will be transitioned during a normal phase of childhood and before sexual maturation — and that gender ideology can mask and even abet homophobia.

As one detransitioned man, now in a gay relationship, put it, “I was a gay man pumped up to look like a woman and dated a lesbian who was pumped up to look like a man. If that’s not conversion therapy, I don’t know what is.”

“I transitioned because I didn’t want to be gay,” Kasey Emerick, a 23-year-old woman and detransitioner from Pennsylvania, told me. Raised in a conservative Christian church, she said, “I believed homosexuality was a sin.”

When she was 15, Emerick confessed her homosexuality to her mother. Her mother attributed her sexual orientation to trauma — Emerick’s father was convicted of raping and assaulting her repeatedly when she was between the ages of 4 and 7 — but after catching Emerick texting with another girl at age 16, she took away her phone. When Emerick melted down, her mother admitted her to a psychiatric hospital. While there, Emerick told herself, “If I was a boy, none of this would have happened.”

In May 2017, Emerick began searching “gender” online and encountered trans advocacy websites. After realizing she could “pick the other side,” she told her mother, “I’m sick of being called a dyke and not a real girl.” If she were a man, she’d be free to pursue relationships with women.

That September, she and her mother met with a licensed professional counselor for the first of two 90-minute consultations. She told the counselor that she had wished to be a Boy Scout rather than a Girl Scout. She said she didn’t like being gay or a butch lesbian. She also told the counselor that she had suffered from anxiety, depression and suicidal ideation. The clinic recommended testosterone, which was prescribed by a nearby L.G.B.T.Q. health clinic. Shortly thereafter, she was also diagnosed with A.D.H.D. She developed panic attacks. At age 17, she was cleared for a double mastectomy.

“I’m thinking, ‘Oh my God, I’m having my breasts removed. I’m 17. I’m too young for this,’” she recalled. But she went ahead with the operation.

“Transition felt like a way to control something when I couldn’t control anything in my life,” Emerick explained. But after living as a trans man for five years, Emerick realized her mental health symptoms were only getting worse. In the fall of 2022, she came out as a detransitioner on Twitter and was immediately attacked. Transgender influencers told her she was bald and ugly. She received multiple threats.

“I thought my life was over,” she said. “I realized that I had lived a lie for over five years.”

Today Emerick’s voice, permanently altered by testosterone, is that of a man. When she tells people she’s a detransitioner, they ask when she plans to stop taking T and live as a woman. “I’ve been off it for a year,” she replies.

Once, after she recounted her story to a therapist, the therapist tried to reassure her. If it’s any consolation, the therapist remarked, “I would never have guessed that you were once a trans woman.” Emerick replied, “Wait, what sex do you think I am?”

To the trans activist dictum that children know their gender best, it is important to add something all parents know from experience: Children change their minds all the time. One mother told me that after her teenage son desisted — pulled back from a trans identity before any irreversible medical procedures — he explained, “I was just rebelling. I look at it like a subculture, like being goth.”

“The job of children and adolescents is to experiment and explore where they fit into the world, and a big part of that exploration, especially during adolescence, is around their sense of identity,” Sasha Ayad, a licensed professional counselor based in Phoenix, told me. “Children at that age often present with a great deal of certainty and urgency about who they believe they are at the time and things they would like to do in order to enact that sense of identity.”

Ayad, a co-author of “When Kids Say They’re Trans: A Guide for Thoughtful Parents,” advises parents to be wary of the gender affirmation model. “We’ve always known that adolescents are particularly malleable in relationship to their peers and their social context and that exploration is often an attempt to navigate difficulties of that stage, such as puberty, coming to terms with the responsibilities and complications of young adulthood, romance and solidifying their sexual orientation,” she told me. For providing this kind of exploratory approach in her own practice with gender dysphoric youth, Ayad has had her license challenged twice, both times by adults who were not her patients. Both times, the charges were dismissed.

Studies show that around eight in 10 cases of childhood gender dysphoria resolve themselves by puberty and 30 percent of people on hormone therapy discontinue its use within four years, though the effects, including infertility, are often irreversible.

Proponents of early social transition and medical interventions for gender dysphoric youth cite a 2022 study showing that 98 percent of children who took both puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones continued treatment for short periods, and another study that tracked 317 children who socially transitioned between the ages of 3 and 12, which found that 94 percent of them still identified as transgender five years later. But such early interventions may cement children’s self-conceptions without giving them time to think or sexually mature.

‘The Process of Transition Didn’t Make Me Feel Better’

At the end of her freshman year of college, Grace Powell, horrifically depressed, began dissociating, feeling detached from her body and from reality, which had never happened to her before. Ultimately, she said, “the process of transition didn’t make me feel better. It magnified what I found was wrong with myself.”

“I expected it to change everything, but I was just me, with a slightly deeper voice,” she added. “It took me two years to start detransitioning and living as Grace again.”

She tried in vain to find a therapist who would treat her underlying issues, but they kept asking her: How do you want to be seen? Do you want to be nonbinary? Powell wanted to talk about her trauma, not her identity or her gender presentation. She ended up getting online therapy from a former employee of the Tavistock clinic in Britain. This therapist, a woman who has broken from the gender-affirming model, talked Grace through what she sees as her failure to launch and her efforts to reset. The therapist asked questions like: Who is Grace? What do you want from your life? For the first time, Powell felt someone was seeing and helping her as a person, not simply looking to slot her into an identity category.

Many detransitioners say they face ostracism and silencing because of the toxic politics around transgender issues.

“It is extraordinarily frustrating to feel that something I am is inherently political,” Powell told me. “I’ve been accused multiple times that I’m some right-winger who’s making a fake narrative to discredit transgender people, which is just crazy.”

While she believes there are people who benefit from transitioning, “I wish more people would understand that there’s not a one-size-fits-all solution,” she said. “I wish we could have that conversation.”

In a recent study in The Archives of Sexual Behavior, about 40 young detransitioners out of 78 surveyed said they had suffered from rapid onset gender dysphoria. Trans activists have fought hard to suppress any discussion of rapid onset gender dysphoria, despite evidence that the condition is real. In its guide for journalists, the activist organization GLAAD warns the media against using the term, as it is not “a formal condition or diagnosis.” Human Rights Campaign, another activist group, calls it “a right-wing theory.” A group of professional organizations put out a statement urging clinicians to eliminate the term from use.

Nobody knows how many young people desist after social, medical or surgical transitions. Trans activists often cite low regret rates for gender transition, along with low figures for detransition. But those studies, which often rely on self-reported cases to gender clinics, likely understate the actual numbers. None of the seven detransitioners I interviewed, for instance, even considered reporting back to the gender clinics that prescribed them medication they now consider to have been a mistake. Nor did they know any other detransitioners who had done so.

As Americans furiously debate the basis of transgender care, a number of advances in understanding have taken place in Europe, where the early Dutch studies that became the underpinning of gender-affirming care have been broadly questioned and criticized. Unlike some of the current population of gender dysphoric youth, the Dutch study participants had no serious psychological conditions. Those studies were riddled with methodological flaws and weaknesses. There was no evidence that any intervention was lifesaving. There was no long-term follow-up with any of the study’s 55 participants or the 15 who dropped out. A British effort to replicate the study said that it “identified no changes in psychological function” and that more studies were needed.

In countries like Sweden, Norway, France, the Netherlands and Britain — long considered exemplars of gender progress — medical professionals have recognized that early research on medical interventions for childhood gender dysphoria was either faulty or incomplete. Last month, the World Health Organization, in explaining why it is developing “a guideline on the health of trans and gender diverse people,” said it will cover only adults because “the evidence base for children and adolescents is limited and variable regarding the longer-term outcomes of gender-affirming care for children and adolescents.”

But in America, and Canada, the results of those widely criticized Dutch studies are falsely presented to the public as settled science.

Other countries have recently halted or limited the medical and surgical treatment of gender dysphoric youth, pending further study. Britain’s Tavistock clinic was ordered to be shut down next month, after a National Health Service-commissioned investigation found deficiencies in service and “a lack of consensus and open discussion about the nature of gender dysphoria and therefore about the appropriate clinical response.”

Meanwhile, the American medical establishment has hunkered down, stuck in an outdated model of gender affirmation. The American Academy of Pediatrics only recently agreed to conduct more research in response to yearslong efforts by dissenting experts, including Dr. Julia Mason, a self-described “bleeding-heart liberal.”

The larger threat to transgender people comes from Republicans who wish to deny them rights and protections. But the doctrinal rigidity of the progressive wing of the Democratic Party is disappointing, frustrating and counterproductive.

“I was always a liberal Democrat,” one woman whose son desisted after social transition and hormone therapy told me. “Now I feel politically homeless.”

She noted that the Biden administration has “unequivocally” supported gender-affirming care for minors, in cases in which it deems it “medically appropriate and necessary.” Rachel Levine, the assistant secretary for health at the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, told NPR in 2022 that “there is no argument among medical professionals — pediatricians, pediatric endocrinologists, adolescent medicine physicians, adolescent psychiatrists, psychologists, et cetera — about the value and the importance of gender-affirming care.”

Of course, politics should not influence medical practice, whether the issue is birth control, abortion or gender medicine. But unfortunately, politics has gotten in the way of progress. Last year The Economist published a thorough investigation into America’s approach to gender medicine. Zanny Minton Beddoes, the editor, put the issue into political context. “If you look internationally at countries in Europe, the U.K. included, their medical establishments are much more concerned,” Beddoes told Vanity Fair. “But here — in part because this has become wrapped up in the culture wars where you have, you know, crazy extremes from the Republican right — if you want to be an upstanding liberal, you feel like you can’t say anything.”

Some people are trying to open up that dialogue, or at least provide outlets for kids and families to seek a more therapeutic approach to gender dysphoria.

Paul Garcia-Ryan is a psychotherapist in New York who cares for kids and families seeking holistic, exploratory care for gender dysphoria. He is also a detransitioner who from ages 15 to 30 fully believed he was a woman.

Garcia-Ryan is gay, but as a boy, he said, “it was much less threatening to my psyche to think that I was a straight girl born into the wrong body — that I had a medical condition that could be tended to.” When he visited a clinic at 15, the clinician immediately affirmed he was female, and rather than explore the reasons for his mental distress, simply confirmed Garcia-Ryan’s belief that he was not meant to be a man.

Once in college, he began medically transitioning and eventually had surgery on his genitals. Severe medical complications from both the surgery and hormone medication led him to reconsider what he had done, and to detransition. He also reconsidered the basis of gender affirmation, which, as a licensed clinical social worker at a gender clinic, he had been trained in and provided to clients.

“You’re made to believe these slogans,” he said. “Evidence-based, lifesaving care, safe and effective, medically necessary, the science is settled — and none of that is evidence based.”

Garcia-Ryan, 32, is now the board president of Therapy First, an organization that supports therapists who do not agree with the gender affirmation model. He thinks transition can help some people manage the symptoms of gender dysphoria but no longer believes anyone under 25 should socially, medically or surgically transition without exploratory psychotherapy first.

“When a professional affirms a gender identity for a younger person, what they are doing is implementing a psychological intervention that narrows a person’s sense of self and closes off their options for considering what’s possible for them,” Garcia-Ryan told me.

Instead of promoting unproven treatments for children, which surveys show many Americans are uncomfortable with, transgender activists would be more effective if they focused on a shared agenda. Most Americans across the political spectrum can agree on the need for legal protections for transgender adults. They would also probably support additional research on the needs of young people reporting gender dysphoria so that kids could get the best treatment possible.

A shift in this direction would model tolerance and acceptance. It would prioritize compassion over demonization. It would require rising above culture-war politics and returning to reason. It would be the most humane path forward. And it would be the right thing to do.

*~*~*~*~*~*

For those who want tor ead more by those fighting the cancellation forquestioning, read:

Graham Lineham, who's been fighting since the beginning and paid the price, but is not seeing things turn around.

The Glinner Update, Grahan Linehan's Substack.

Kellie-Jay Keen @ThePosieParker, who's been physically attacked for organizing events for women demanding women-only spaces.

REDUXX, Feminst news & opinion.

Gays Against Groomers @againstgrmrs, A nonprofit of gay people and others within the community against the sexualization, indoctrination and medicalization of children under the guise of "LGBTQIA+"

#detransitioners #detransition #gender critical #New York Times #gays #lesbians #trans #trans insanity #long post #article #detrans #transgender #post trans #desisted

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hannieehaee · 5 months

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18+ / mdi

content: loser!chan, virgin!chan, sub!chan, afab reader, smut, dry humping, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, etc.

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

wc: 1943

a/n: upon absolutely no demand whatsoever, loser!chan makes a comeback

masterlist

loser!chan who feels like he's about to cum his pants at the sight before him, laying on your bed and mouth agape as his eyes are unable to remove themselves from your figure.

it was like you wanted to kill him. it was already bad enough that you jumped him every single time he crossed the door to your apartment throughout the entirety of the bio project you'd been working on for the past month (his first ever b, a feat due to his lack of ability to concentrate whenever you were sitting in front of him). now, even after the project was done, you kept seeking him out, always giving him insane pleasure with the barest of touches. it was like you got off at the thought of chan cumming with your most minimal effort.

chan couldn't complain, really. he was absolutely obsessed with you. thoughts of you plagued his mind day and night. he couldnt concentrate at school, always looking forward to any time you'd send him a text along the lines of 'miss u channie :c come see me?' you had him at the palm of your hand, and he loved it so bad.

today, you had pulled a new one on him. the two of you arrived at your room, deciding to settle on a movie (that's right! he moved past study buddy to, uh, whatever it was that your relationship was by now). you put on the movie, excusing yourself to go to your restroom really quick. he didnt think too much of it, simply settling on your bed and eating some of the popcorn you had prepared. he had less of a hard time relaxing around you now. it'd been two months since that first time you'd made him cum in his pants when be came over to your place for the first time. now he was able to hold conversations with you, but was still extremely shy when it came to any sexual encounter with you.

his thoughts were unable to progress past that the moment he heard you clear your throat, signaling your return to your room.

holy shit.

the sight before him was one he had only ever pictured in his most intense wet dreams about you (which happened more often that he was willing to admit). you were wearing objectively the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. it was a cute pink lacy set. it was almost completely see-through and with cute little flowers embroidered onto it. it was adorable, but you werent. you were the sexiest thing he had ever seen. he couldve sworn his dick stood right up just at the sight, already leaking with arousal.

"do you like it, channie?", you purred as you crawled on the bed, not bothering with the mess you created upon pushing off the snacks out of your way.

your eyes carried a lust chan had never seen. he felt like prey, and that excited him like crazy.

"y-you .. fuck ..."

"yeah, channie? tell me," you now sat atop his form, which had been him sitting cross-legged on your bed. his hands immediately went to your hips, making you push yourself even closer to him, "tell me what you think. is it pretty? do i look pretty for you, channie?"

he nodded enthusiastically, "yes. you look so ... fuck, so beautiful ... you're perfect."

"aw, thank you, baby. you're so sweet," you had begun pulling off his clothes the moment you sat on him, somehow managing to even get his pants off despite the awkward position (with his help, of course). letting you undress him was second nature to him by now. his body just moved in place to allow you access to his almost completely bare body.

he felt goosebumps form at the way you softly ran your hands throughout the entirety of his skin.

"channie ..."

"yeah?", his eyes couldnt help but stay glued to yours, wide and waiting for whatever command you had for him. he'd do anything you wanted. you were so good and pretty, all for him. it was the least he could do.

"want you ... want you so bad, channie ..." your hips were lightly grinding against his, probably out of second nature by now.

"y-you can have me. i'll give you anything," his hands were running up and down your body, loving how you leaned against his touch.

"anything?"

"yes."

"can i have you, channie? can i ... can i sit on you? fuck. ive been thinking about it nonstop ... just want you so bad, please, channie. can i?"

oh, god. he wasnt going to make it. you were begging for him? all while he was willing to give you anything you wanted. there was no reason to beg, but it was making him lose his mind. the thought of you finally wrapping around him made him moan out loud, digging his head into your neck as his hips instinctively humped against yours.

"baby ... can i? please, please, i'll do anything."

you wanted him dead. there was no other explanation. he was already crying out against your chest, nodding like crazy as he kissed at your skin. he eventually pulled away to look into your eyes, with his own glassy at the insane lust clouding over him.

"yes ... please .. anything. i'll give you anything, just-"

you interrupted him with a kiss, shoving your tongue in his mouth immediately as you pushed him down to lay on his back.

"oh, channie. ive wanted you for so long, you have no idea. i ... can i have it raw, baby? please! just ... ill let you pull out, i promise. im on birth control too. ill take plan b. i dont care. anything, just please, channie ..." you licked at his moaning mouth throughout your entire plea, knowing how much it clouded his mind when you played with his tongue.

he cried against you, begging for you to do whatever you wanted to him. nothing was off-limits. he wanted your cunt more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. he'd do anything for it at this point. lust had completely taken over his mind, making him moan like crazy at any one of your touches.

you made quick work of your lingerie, throwing it off with no care for its state. you had more pressing matters. it seemed like your brain had also been taken over by lust, even showing it in your desperation in ripping off his boxers. the way you wanted him had him throwing his head back. his glasses were completely foggy by now, not allowing him to see you very well. he went to take them off, only to be stopped by you.

"no! baby, keep them on, please. you look so sexy with your glasses, channie. keep them on? for me?" it was impossible to say no to you when your fingers were pulling at his nipples and your bare pussy was grinding against his length.

"y-yeah ... anything you want ..."

"anything? can i sit on you now, then, channie?", yes! you couldve sat on him the moment he first laid eyes on you at the beginning of the semester and he would've thanked all the gods for allowing him such pleasure.

"p-please ... need to feel y- shit!", you interrupted him by finally lowering yourself onto him.

"oh, channie ... fuck ... feel so ... so full," you sighed from above him, speeding up almost immediately at the pleasure.

he had no time to process the feeling, immediately losing his mind to the feeling. there were no coherent thoughts left in him. all he could do was cry as you rode him. you went crazy above him, practically humping him while you cried his name. he finally opened his eyes back up, falling further into insanity at the view in front of him.

your head was thrown back, with your eyes closed shut. one of your hands was on his chest for balance, while the other played with one of your breasts. the view literally made him salivate, having never been able to picture such an erotic image of you in his head no matter how hard he tried. this would ruin him. he was so addicted to you already, he knew that this would only make him fall even deeper.

"f-feel good, channie? tell me. wanna make y- fuck ... wanna make you feel so good."

"y-yes. fuck ... you- you're so perfect ... w- want ... shit. please ..." he had no idea what he was begging for, he just knew he wanted more.

"fuck me, baby. need to feel you. yeah? just ... your hips, baby, please."

he was delirious, but he was conscious enough to follow your every direction, digging his feet flat on the bed and beginning to thrust upwards, lacking any rhythm whatsoever. but it was enough to have you leaning over his chest and crying his name. it was also enough for chan to lose all control and begin ramming into you like a madman.

there was no control left in either of you, just humping against each other like animals in heat. he wanted to cum so badly, but not as bad as he wanted you to cum around him. the thought of you creaming against his dick made him throw his head back against the bed, eyes rolling back.

"ch- channie ... so fucking good. such a good b- boy for me. sweetest boy, shit. you're perfect, channie. and all mine. go- gonna use you all the time now. want you to give it to me every day. you will, wont you? give me what i want? let me sit on you every day? please ... need more ..." it was like you knew exactly which words to say to push his buttons. he'd give you anything you wanted. there was no need for you to ask.

he was about to blow his load, suddenly remembering you said you'd pull him out, but having his thought interrupted by you reading his mind once more.

"inside, channie. please ... i know- know it's not safe, but please ... im on birth control, its okay, channie, just- fuck! oh, channie! shit!", you began moaning uncontrollably, suddenly freezing above him as your walls tightened against him. you had finally reached your peak, dragging him right along with you.

he had orgasmed with you before, but never like this. he couldve sworn he blacked out for a few seconds, feeling his head go completely blank as he let the pleasure consume him. his voice went as high as ever, expressing the loudest moans he had ever let out. by the end of it, you were both empty shells of yourselves, landing against each other's bodies as you attempted to catch your breaths.

"baby ... are you okay? did you like it, channie?", the first thing you did was check on him. it truly made his heart soar.

"i love you."

shit. he hadnt meant to say that. he didnt even know he was feeling it? he was half-aware his feelings for you went past just attraction, but what he had just felt only confirmed it for him. he wanted you all to himself, except now he might lose you over his lack of control over his words after you got a hold on him.

"you do? channie ...'" you paused, "i love you too," you sealed your confession with a peck, still sitting on his dick, but ignoring all the juices traveling between the two of you.

he felt insane relief, deciding to further wrap his arms around you and pull you directly into his chest.

"'m gonna keep you now? mkay? you're all mine now, channie."

god, was he more than okay with that.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt #svt smut #chan smut #chan fanfic #chan x reader #dino smut #dino fanfic #dino x reader #dino scenarios #dino imagines

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oceantornadoo · 2 months

Note

IDK! HEAR ME OUT THO!!!

Simon, staging the break in and what not so he could push you back into his arms??? INSANE!

Delicious story. Thank you for the food! <3

so originally when i made that last fic (which unexpectedly blew up tysm everyone) i added in the creepy elements almost on accident?? but this and another reply has me thinking...

tw: slight humiliation (but you'll like it)=

simon riley wasn't a bad man. he also wasn't a bad husband. at least that's what he told himself.

when you had presented him with those divorce papers a bit ago (13 months and 4 days, but who was counting), he thought it was a bluff. a joke. he had gone too far in your last argument, and that was your reaction. when he told you he'd go to therapy, you stared at him with a look he'd only see on men in the battlefield. dead all the way through, a walking husk. so he signed them and went to therapy anyways.

the whole time, this whole 13-month break, where you had been 'building a new life' or whatever, he had been planning. internalizing the commentary his therapist would make, and then spitting it back out to you while you moved out of his place. every time you seemed to forget one extra box, and who's to say if he hid a couple in his room? he had a plan.

over time, simon really seemed to have learned so much from therapy. so much about communication. he had become open and welcoming, far from that man who would respond to your complaints with hard stares and a lack of words. so maybe you met for coffee a couple of times and that's how he knew about the cafe by your new place. maybe that's how he tailed you one night after a date, just to make sure this new guy didn't try anything (and not to figure out your unit number). whatever he did, he played a dangerous game by letting you have this illusion of freedom while balancing his presence in your life, just enough to make you want more. after weeks and week of stagnant progress, he needed one extra push. something small, not even a shove.

and if he happened to mention your unit number to a bunch of shady guys that hung out in the alley by your building? happened to brag about your pretty pussy and sweet-smelling panties? maybe mention your habit of not locking the window when you left for work? who's to say. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

and now here you were, back in his arms where you belonged. a little frightened but comforted in the knowledge that he could protect you. the ghost wasn't shed when he took his mask off, but you didn't need to know that.

your body was so used to being in simon's arms you didn't even realize you had been grinding on him for the past ten minutes. his boxers you wore were sticky with arousal as you grinded against his clothed cock in the dark. even in your dream, it was simon underneath you, no one else. "si." you panted, a near-whisper that only a military man could have heard. "dove?" he adjusted your sleeping positions, tossing the covers to give you more room to maneuver against him.

"i know i said that thing about the line not being crossed." he gave you a low chuckle. silly little girl. you had finally realized how much you needed him and he was going to milk you for all you were worth. "and?" you stopped. shit. he needed to seem more responsive. he moved you from his thigh to his boner using one arm, the other one snaking its way under your shirt to stroke your back. you moaned as he massaged the tension from the day's earlier events away, giving you sweet relief. the sweetness of the massage made a hard contrast to the friction in your core as he rubbed you against his hardened cock.

"spit it out, baby." he growled. "can you-fuck." his hand had moved to the back of your neck now, holding it in a tight grip. his hand was so large he could feel the pulse points on either side of your jaw, heart racing. finally. "can you get me off? just this once?" he snorted, moving you up and down against him faster, dragging your sensitive clit over and over. "what's the magic word?" he flipped you both around, pressing his body weight on top of you.

simon turned the light on, wanting to see how needy you were. you were panting, shirt sticky with sweat as your chest moved up and down with exertion. he hiked up your shirt and took off your boxers, exposing your sticky cunt to the cool air. he took a sniff of the fabric, noting your small gasp as if you didn't know how obsessed he was with you already. "magic word." your mouth dropped. guess you weren't getting off that easily. "please, simon." he clucked his tongue at that. "ghost?" he left out a short laugh, arms reaching out to tug his shirt off of you. your nipples were so hard, aching to be pinched and sucked just how you liked them. "not ghost." he reached over to his nightstand, pulling something out of the drawer. he fumbled with his hand for a second, then held yours up to the light as he slipped something on it.

"husband." the words left your mouth in a whoosh, eyes transfixed on your wedding ring that was on your hand. the one you had flung at him after he complained about the divorce papers, the one you said you'd rather die than wear again. and here it was, right back on your finger, sparkling in the lamplight.

simon captured your mouth in a rough kiss, entering you with his ring and middle finger at the same time. "so willing for your husband, hm? all puffy and wet. look at your cunt, darling." you both looked down at your pussy at the same time. it was squelching, your vibrator sessions not holding a candle to what your ex husband could do to you. you were almost embarrassed by how desperate your pussy looked, clit enlarged from its earlier friction. his fingers worked in and out of you, wedding ring covered in slick. you watched as he pressed his thumb to your clit in small circles, a tightening sensation in your lower belly rising to the surface. "simon, si-fuck" he gave your pussy a small slap, pulling his fingers out as you addressed him incorrectly. "husband, please." he entered you again roughly, drawing a low moan from you. he captured your nipple in his mouth, teething it just enough to make you hurt. punishment.

"please please please i'm right ther-" he pressed hard against your clit and sent you careening off the edge into your orgasm, back bowing off the bed. simon gave you small love bites as you recovered, hand still working your cunt to draw out your orgasm.

finally, he removed his fingers and drew back from you, forcing eye contact. he put both in his mouth, moaning at the taste of your arousal mixed with the metal from the wedding band. your jaw was still open, looking at him like you had never seen him before. like the sheep's skin had finally been removed, and now only the wolf remained.

"let's get you to bed, wife."

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon riley wife #fluff #ghost call of duty #ex husband ghost #tornadothoughts #yandere simon riley

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adore-laur · 25 days

Text

DAD HARRY BLURB

— i wrote this in less than two days, so sorry if it’s incohesive

——

With chopsticks delicately perched between his fingertips, Harry distractedly picked at the steaming bowl of spicy chow mein noodles in his hand. The bright glow of the TV screen was the only illumination in the living room, and his tired eyes were glued to some documentary about snow monkeys. Beyond the curtains was a pitch-black sky. The ocean waves outside were calm. A steady noise came from the humidifier. The ambiance was ideal for a good night's sleep, but your hyperactive mind made it a futile endeavor.

In the dead of night, your cheek found a cozy home on Harry's shoulder—it was sturdy, warm, and the collector of your tears. He was the one you leaned on most in the last nine months, when exhaustion and discomfort pounded into your bones. To quell your frustration, he massaged your swollen feet with attentive precision, shaved your legs when you couldn't see anything below your baby bump, adjusted to your hormonal mood swings with empathy, and cooked your favorite meals when getting out of bed felt like a chore. Above all, he made you feel beautiful each time your body changed. And as those changes came quickly and ruthlessly, he let it be known that his attraction to you wasn't fading. Not in the slightest.

In fact, it seemingly grew tenfold the moment you had told Harry you were pregnant. You noticed his gaze lingering on your body more often, with an obsessive hunger darkening his irises. Throughout your pregnancy, he paid special attention to the widening shape of your hips, the heaviness of your breasts, and the blooming swell of your stomach. He had documented the overall progression by taking weekly side-view pictures of your bump. He also wrote down milestones in his journal, like when the baby first kicked and where he had been when he found out the gender.

The obsession went both ways. With your zany hormones, you were more attracted to Harry more than ever. It was borderline insane how often you wanted to jump his bones. He gained some sympathy weight and let his hair grow out. He embraced his stubble, which was a weakness of yours since you first started dating him. Most tempting was how seriously he prepared himself for fatherhood—building the crib with his bare hands, deep cleaning the house to show his appreciation, reading parenting books and asking you to quiz him on the content, and simply doting on you when you weren’t feeling like the best version of yourself. Needless to say, you were insatiable around him, and he gladly entertained your desires with an equal amount of fervency. The flame of romance was never snuffed out.

When the documentary ended, you rubbed your eyes and sighed. Anxiety about knowing the baby could come any minute had made you an insomniac, hence the midnight TV and leftovers session with your husband who was also itching for something to happen. You both were getting a head start on sleep deprivation at least; not that it was something to brag about.

At almost forty-one weeks pregnant, your baby girl was taking her sweet time. The obstetrician had said you would have to be induced if nothing progressed in two days. While holed up in the house, waiting for the first sign of labor, you and Harry had tried everything to try to kickstart the process—walking along the beach, eating spicy food like the chow mein Harry cooked tonight, and even desperate rounds of sex every morning since your due date passed. Nothing worked, causing frustration to build on both ends. The hospital bags were packed and waiting by the front door, and impatience gnawed away at your sanity every time you looked at them.

"Gotta pee," you said, sitting up with a groan. Your lower back ached, one of the many reasons why sleeping was so unachievable.

Harry offered you his hand without a second thought, giving you leverage to get off the couch. The motion left you winded as you slowly waddled to the bathroom just down the hall, blindly touching the walls before reaching the light switch. You flicked it on, your eyes squinting against the harsh ceiling light. In the mirror above the sink, you stared at your reflection. Harry's shirt he lent you when your clothes no longer fit was stretched awkwardly over your stomach. You forewent wearing pants around the house because you simply couldn't be bothered. Altogether, you looked as miserable as you felt. As much as you were terrified to give birth, you just wanted to get it over with so you didn't have to feel so on edge all the time.

After emptying your bladder, you washed your hands and then stretched your back by resting your forearms on the sink and bending forward. Through the achiness, you thought about Harry and how he had politely demanded the baby to come out yesterday, speaking to your bump in a hushed voice like it was a secret conversation between the two of them. Her response was several fluttery kicks to his palm, to which Harry then blew raspberries against the outline of her tiny foot—or maybe fist—to coax her out. It obviously didn't work, but it was fun to watch her move around so actively. It was like she was teasing you both, saying, Not yet, Mom and Dad. It's warm and cozy in here.

You smiled, feeling a rush of happiness at the memory. Harry was going to be such a wonderful first-time dad. He was devoted, patient, and playful in all the right moments. You had no doubt he would slip into the role perfectly. It was evident in the way he treated you, how he treated his mother, and even how he treated strangers on the street. He had so much love to give. Compassion coursed through his veins.

When you straightened your posture, a weird sensation occurred. You felt a peculiar pop, then a trickle of fluid down the insides of your thighs. You stood stock still, your fried brain working extra hard to process the situation, then looked at the floor, seeing a continuous drip of clear fluid pooling on the tiles. You knew what that meant, but you were paralyzed as glorious relief and sheer panic wrestled with your heartstrings. Had you manifested it? Or had time merely lapped you until you got dizzy? It was impossible to comprehend how the months had gone by at warp speed and also excruciatingly slow.

"Harry?" you called out apprehensively, resting your head against the wall.

A few seconds passed before he casually replied, "Yeah?"

You blew out a shaky exhale. "Come here, please."

Silence hung in the air until you heard the creak of the wood floors and the soft padding of his socked feet. You met him halfway in the dark hallway, standing awkwardly while holding your bump. The bathroom light spilled out like a spotlight shining down on you. Surely, he could see "it's time" written all over your face.

"Hi," you whispered, slightly embarrassed about the unusual state you were in. "Um... I'm pretty sure my water just broke."

Harry’s hands reached out like you were a timid animal and he was trying not to spook you. His eyes were wide as they roved over your body, unsure of how to proceed. He eventually stepped closer, then crouched to observe the fluid coating your bare legs.

"Yeah, I think it did," he said hoarsely, his voice quiet with awe. “Those noodles must have done the trick."

A hysteric, breathy laugh bubbled up your throat. "No, I think she's finally ready to meet us."

At those words, Harry's features transformed into barely restrained excitement, with deep dimples appearing beside his gorgeous smile. He cradled your bump and spoke against it, saying, "About time, baby girl. We've been going stir crazy out here."

A tear trailed down your cheek, the emotional reality hitting you with full force. This was it. This was the moment your life began to tilt toward a new purpose.

The pleasant thought was short-lived as a twinge of pain sparked in your lower abdomen. You grunted and pressed against the spot with your palm, a grimace tugging at your lips. Your belly tightened, causing you to grip Harry's shoulders for support.

"Oh, it's really happening," he said, standing and rubbing his forehead in shock. "Okay. All right. Should we..."

"Hospital," you mumbled, pinching your eyes shut.

"Right. Good thinking." Harry broke out of his trance and carefully guided you down the hall. He situated you on the couch before stressfully spinning in a circle, figuring out a plan of action. He hurried over to the two big duffel bags by the door and hefted them over his shoulders with ease. He then reached for the bowl where the car keys were, and you watched him open the front door while unlocking the car and pressing the button to open the garage door. After starting the engine and shoving the bags in the trunk, he came back inside.

"It hurts," you said weakly, groaning while hunched over. It was only going to get worse until the nurses gave you an epidural injection, which was also going to hurt. Hours, maybe even days of physical pain lay ahead, and the prospect made you want to weep.

"I know, sweetheart," Harry said. "Let's put your coat and shoes on, then we can leave."

"Hold on. Just... wait until this contraction passes."

He nodded and sat beside you. "What can I do?" he asked softly, his leg bouncing as he scanned your face.

There was no suppressing your brutal honesty when in the thick of dealing with pain. "Brush your teeth. Your breath smells—ow—like chow mein."

He blinked, then smiled like your complaint completely unaffected him. "Yes, ma'am."

While he obeyed your command, you got up and slid your sandals on. The contraction gradually subsided, but you still felt a heavy pressure near your pelvis. She was wasting no time announcing her arrival.

Harry returned with a sweatshirt and a pair of sneakers on. His hair was tied up, and despite his confident walk toward you, you knew he was nervous based on his fidgety hands and rosy cheeks.

"Let's go," you said, standing by the door.

Harry stared at you with an affectionate gleam in his eyes. "You don't have any pants on, my love."

You glanced down, raising your brows in realization. "Whoops."

He was already on his way to the bedroom, laughing and calling out behind him, "Shorts, leggings, or sweatpants?"

You struggled for an answer since none of those options would fit well enough, hence the going shamelessly pants-less at home during the past month. Eventually, you decided, "My beach skirt, please."

He quickly retrieved your long sarong wrap skirt that was made out of soft, breathable fabric. He helped you into it, adjusting the stretchy waistband over your bump. It looked ridiculous paired with Harry's casual T-shirt on your upper half, but you were comfortable, and that was what mattered most.

"Can I take a picture of you like this?" Harry asked.

You frowned. "Why?"

"Because you look beautifully disheveled right now, and I want to keep this memory forever."

With a scowl, you reluctantly agreed with a grumbled "Fine."

He took out his phone and captured a couple of candid pictures of you leaning against the wall with your hands cupped under your bump. You had no desire to smile or pose.

After shoving his phone back in his pocket, he exhaled and cupped your cheeks. "Ready to have this baby?"

You stared into his eyes, getting lost in their gentleness. "My body is screaming yes, but my mind says absolutely not."

Harry kissed you, a cool blast of mint gracing your lips. "I'm in your corner, okay? I'll be at your beck and call in that hospital room."

"Can you give birth for me?"

He chuckled, smoothing his thumbs under your eyes—you hadn't realized they were damp. "I would in a heartbeat if that were possible."

“You’ll regret saying that,” you replied dryly. “It’s not going to be a pretty sight.”

“We’ll see.” Another contraction ensued, a little more persistent than the last. Harry noticed and cautiously led you through the threshold. "Time to meet our girl,” he whispered, locking the door behind him.

Stepping into the November night, you inhaled the crisp air into your lungs, embracing the transcendent phase of life on the horizon.

——

#harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #dad!harry #dad harry #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur

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cuubism · 5 months

Text

work is driving me fucking insane this week, so here's this silly self-indulgent thing i wrote to distract myself.

the spirit of this post is here as well XD

coffee shop au, meet cute, literally falling for your crush

In retrospect, forgetting to eat for three meals in a row wasn't Dream's best move. Not that he'd done it on purpose. Hence the forgetting. But taking time to cook always felt so wasteful when he was finally making progress on his novel. He could eat later, whenever the hyperfocus burned itself out.

The only thing that eventually got him out of the house was caffeine. He'd run out of both coffee and tea in the dysfunction of this week, and thus was forced to venture out to the cafe a few blocks away from his flat in search of enough energy to keep him awake for a few more hours.

Technically, there was a place that was closer. There was also a grocery store, where he could have bought coffee grounds. But Dream took the excuse to go a bit further, and not for the quality of the coffee.

He and Johanna, on the occasion she could convince Dream to leave the house and attempt to be part of society, had first started coming to this particular coffee shop because Johanna's girlfriend Rachel worked there. But Dream had to admit that what really kept him coming back, including at times when he wasn't being dragged along by Johanna, was another employee entirely.

Hob.

Hob was, in Rachel's words, "a perfectly nice guy but I don't know why you're so obsessed with him." In Johanna's words, Hob was, "quite fit, I can't lie, but I really thought you'd have gone for someone who's a bit more of an arts gremlin like you."

In Dream's words, Hob was perfect. He always had a smile for Dream, and a kind word or compliment, and he had kind eyes, and nice hands, and was terribly handsome. Dream had never been particularly attracted to masculinity before but Hob was proving him wrong over and over. He looked like he was strong enough to pick Dream up, and that did all sorts of exciting things to Dream's insides. Dream may or may not have had an actual dream about Hob holding his hand.

Hob also made terrible coffee. But Dream didn't care. He took whatever coffee Hob made him, whether the grounds were burnt, or it had way too much cream, or was vastly overbrewed, and drank it quite happily, sneaking looks at Hob all the while. Because Hob's coffee might be awful, but he always smiled at Dream as he gave it to him, and sometimes their hands brushed and it sent a thrilling little shock up Dream's arms. And anything Hob made for him felt made with love, he could tell, it was like a homemade birthday cake with uneven frosting and an undercooked part in the middle.

It was possible Dream should care more about the quality of the coffee and less about the symbolism of it.

In any case, he went to the coffee shop, underfed and undercaffeinated, hoping that Hob would be there, even if it meant he would have to down another cup of extremely bad coffee. Hob should be there, he did usually work Tuesday afternoons, not that Dream had memorized his schedule like a stalker or anything.

He stepped inside, the little bell over the door jingling, and found that he was right, Hob was there. A thrill of delight ran through him. Dream did not often feel anything as carefree or joyous as delight, but he was very sleep-deprived, and Hob was there, so there it was. Rachel was also working, and waved to him as he stepped up to the counter. As she and Johanna were both very aware of his embarrassing crush on Hob--much to Dream's chagrin--she didn't come over to take his order, instead leaving him to Hob.

"Hey, it's Dream, right?" said Hob, wiping off his hands on a towel and leaning on the counter, looking at Dream with a smile. He knows my name, Dream thought with a heady rush, then remembered that Hob was obligated to write it on his coffee cup, and that Dream came here often, and it didn't have to mean anything. "Dark roast with almond milk and caramel?"

How Hob could be so diligent about remembering his order and so terrible at making it, Dream didn't know. "That's correct," he said.

Behind Hob, Rachel mouthed keep going, which Dream took to mean that if he wanted to get anywhere he had to attempt to engage Hob in slightly more conversation than his usual coffee-ordering script. This was unfortunately true, particularly since Hob had already nullified half the sentences Dream would usually say by predicting his order.

"You remembered my order," he said, which felt like a reasonably normal response, definitely better than do you want to see if you can pick me up? which would probably be creepy. Rachel gave him a thumbs up.

"Of course. You're quite memorable," said Hob, and winked at him. Was he flirting? Dream would like to think so, but he wasn't usually very good at picking up on that sort of thing. Why would Hob be interested in him anyway? Perhaps he meant that Dream was memorable in a bad way, that he was annoying or weird, or--

Dream still hadn't responded.

"I am not trying to be," he said, and behind Hob, Rachel sighed. It was true, though. In most areas of life Dream preferred to go unnoticed. It was only Hob's attention that made him feel all bubbly inside.

"Task failed successfully," said Hob, "because I can't stop noticing you."

Was Dream... still succeeding at the conversation? That was truly unexpected, that he hadn't already turned Hob off by being utterly unsuitable for human society.

"Is that a good thing?" Dream asked.

"Is it?" asked Hob.

Undoubtedly it was. Dream liked the thought of Hob noticing him. He liked the thought of Hob remembering his name, and his coffee order, and when he came into the cafe, with as much detail as Dream had memorized his schedule. He did not normally like having people's eyes on him but he liked the thought of Hob looking. Of Hob caring about what he saw. It made him feel interesting and worthy, and sort of giddy and lightheaded--

Oh. No. That wasn't Hob's attention. That was the fact that the last meal he'd eaten had been a sleeve of biscuits for breakfast two days ago, and that he'd been on his feet for a long time, or what constituted a long time when one had only had a sleeve of biscuits two days ago to eat. And he hadn't slept, and he'd had quite an exciting few minutes just now, and apparently this all meant that his body had decided it needed to check out for a moment, thanks, goodbye.

Inconvenient timing, Dream thought, as everything went sort of spinny and blurry. He was making such progress! He really thought Hob might even like him, and falling on the ground was not going to help his case.

Inevitable now, though. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Hob's face, expression shifting from amusement to concern, and really, there were worse ways to go out.

He woke up not much later, or at least it felt like little time had passed, to find himself lying down on a couch in what seemed to be the cafe's back office, as best as his overtaxed mind could gather. And Hob was crouched beside him, looking at him worriedly, Rachel leaning over his shoulder, face likewise creased in concern.

Dream wondered how he had gotten to the couch. Had Hob carried him there? It was a pleasant thought, though he wished he could have experienced it in person.

"You know," said Hob, "there are easier ways to get out of talking to me than blacking out." The words were light, but he sounded genuinely stressed out about it.

Dream immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry."

Hob chucked him on the cheek, a light touch that felt fond. "Not what I meant. Are you okay?"

Dream carefully pushed himself up to sitting, Hob watching all the while, hands hovering over him but not touching. Dream sat up. His head didn't spin. "I am okay," he said.

"Probably didn't eat anything today, huh?" said Rachel. She didn't look quite as concerned as Hob did, she was used to Dream's habits. Meanwhile, for all Hob knew, Dream had a brain tumor and would imminently die.

"No," Dream admitted. "I was... occupied."

"Will you be okay here for a sec?" Hob asked, brow scrunching as if he truly thought Dream might just collapse again onto the floor without him. "I'll get you some water. Something to eat, too."

It was worth fainting in a public place, Dream thought, just to have Hob look at him with such care.

When Dream nodded, Hob hurried away to do just that.

Only now his crush was going to be one million times worse, and certainly not reciprocated, not after the scene he'd caused.

Beside him, Rachel was laughing, hiding it behind her hand.

"Is my suffering humorous to you?" Dream asked, but there was no heat in it, he was too busy looking after where Hob had disappeared.

"You should have seen it," she said. "He launched himself over the counter to catch you. Oh my god, I wish you could have witnessed it."

"Surely Hob would aid any customer in distress," Dream sniffed. But something turned over in his stomach, a little flutter of hope.

"Yeah but not literally vault the counter. It was terrific. I was worried he'd break a hip."

"I'm not that old," said Hob, coming back around the corner and crouching beside Dream again, water bottle and what looked like a chocolate muffin clasped in his hands.

Rachel was unrepentant. "You're lucky you didn't wind up on the floor, too."

"You caught me," said Dream, staring into Hob's eyes. He had such pretty eyes. Rich brown, like coffee with a dash of cream.

Dream might still be a bit lightheaded.

"Of course," said Hob, and uncapped the water, handing it to him. Dream took slow sips, realizing as he did that he hadn't drank any water all day. "I'm fond of you, you know. Can't let you hit your head on the floor."

Fond. Dream might faint again.

"Should I take you to hospital or something?" Hob asked, still so concerned it was making that floaty feeling bubble up again in Dream's chest.

"I will be fine here," he said.

"He just fell for you, that's all," said Rachel, and Dream glared at her. She just smiled back. "Swooned and everything."

"I did not swoon," Dream protested.

"You kind of did, actually," said Hob. "I've never seen someone just crumple so dramatically."

"Oh, have you seen many people faint, then?"

"No, but--"

"I'm going to man the till," said Rachel, patting Dream on the arm. "I don't think I want to be in the middle of this. Let me know if you want me to take you home, Dream." She winked at him. "Unless you'd rather Hob do it."

Johanna was never this meddlesome, Dream thought bitterly. She just made fun of him and left it at that.

Then he was alone with Hob, which was both an exciting and anxiety-inducing state of affairs. He clutched his water bottle for balance.

"Um. I got you this," said Hob, and handed him the muffin. "Made them this morning."

Dream was really quite hungry, so despite Hob's poor coffee record, he took a bite of the muffin.

And this was how he learned that Hob was utterly lacking in coffee-making skills because all his talent was in baking.

The chocolate was so rich, it tasted more like cake than a muffin. the chocolate chips melted on his tongue, and he had to force himself not to just immediately take another huge bite. He really was so hungry. Perhaps, now that he knew he could get such things here, he would have a reason to visit the cafe other than just Hob -- and a reason to eat breakfast, too.

"Good?" said Hob, and Dream nodded, licking the melted chocolate from his lips, and he didn't fail to notice Hob watching the movement of his tongue. Perhaps Johanna and Rachel were right, and it wasn't hopeless, even if Dream's best attempt at flirting back was collapsing onto the floor.

He did not know what possessed him then. Perhaps it was the chocolate. Perhaps it was the worry still lingering in Hob's warm eyes, or maybe he had just hit his head and forgotten about it. Either way, he leaned forward in his seat, and kissed Hob on the lips.

His lips were so soft. Just as Dream had dreamt they would be. Hob made a sound of surprise against Dream's mouth, and caught him by the arms so he wouldn't fall out of his chair. Which was a definite possibility, though now the lightheadedness was not caused by a calorie deficit but rather because he was kissing Hob.

Hob who was kissing him back, too. Softening against his mouth, licking the remaining chocolate from Dream's lips. Would Hob hug him, too? If he had already caught him? Dream had fantasized so much about being hugged by Hob.

Only one way to find out. He leaned into Hob's arms, and Hob caught him again, wrapping his arms around Dream's back. He was so warm, and strong. He was wonderful.

"It is a good thing," he said into Hob's shoulder.

"What is?"

"You noticing me."

Hob chuckled. The sound rumbled through Dream's chest. "It's not hard to do. I've been eyeing you for a while, you know. I always hoped you'd talk to me more."

"I am not very good at talking more," said Dream.

"I think I've got that now." Hob pulled back to look at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Falling over is more your style."

"I only faint on occasion," Dream protested, which only seemed to amuse Hob more.

"Well. If talking is a bit tough, maybe we can go for a walk sometime?" He tucked a strand of Dream's hair behind his ear, and Dream shivered. Hob clocked it, too, and let his hand rest on the back of Dream's head, fingers curled in his hair as his gaze flicked to Dream's lips and back up. "Or. Something else?"

Dream thought something else might make him spontaneously combust. That might have to wait a bit, at least until he could cope with Hob looking at him like that without feeling like he was about to explode in a flurry of butterflies.

"A walk, if you will hold my hand," he said, and Hob smiled, and took his hand, and Dream learned that all dreams really could come true at once.

#this is SO silly #hob is literally the most average guy and dream is salivating with lust and completely ferally obsessed with him #it's mutual tho dream is literally a gremlin and hob is like 😍 wow he's beautiful he's like an angel #and then they lived happily ever after #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #sex scene between these two would be funny as fuck i think hob would touch dream once and he would come instantly and maybe also faint

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peachesofteal · 7 months

Note

That nurse au? Devoured it and it lives in my brain rent free. If Simon and Johnny notice the bruises on Nurse do they share looks? Maybe Johnny tries to gently ask about them? I loved this so much.

Anon is referencing this. The way nurse x ghoap has spread through my brain like a flesh eating bacteria is insane. And I can't actually answer this ask because I'm writing it as a fic but I'm happy to give you a little possible snippet/glimpse/ramble down below:

The tablet in your hand chimes, drawing your attention away from the vending machine and to it's far-too-bright-for-this-ungodly-hour screen, to where it displays a status change in red.

268: 38.5 degrees.

Fuck. You abandon your sub par dinner options for nearly sprinting to the room, slowing to a walk to take long, deep breaths before your knuckles are rapping on the glass. Get control of yourself. Simon is too perceptive. He will panic. It could be nothing.

You don't even bother acknowledging your thought process there, the truth that is starting to bleed from your heart, through your body like a disease. The reason why you check on them so often, the reason why you can't stop thinking about them, even when you're off shift. The reason why, when you go home in the morning to go to bed, you drift off thinking about Johnny's sleepy smile, or Simon's voice, humming in your ears.

"Hi." You whisper when you slip inside. He straightens a bit in the armchair, but you're happy to see he's using it as a recliner now, progress from last week when he wouldn't even let himself lean backwards, or fall asleep willingly.

His brow furrows above the black mask.

"Hey, everything alright?" Shit. You're not surprised, you were just in here, after all. Spending too much time sitting in the chair opposite him, next to Johnny, on your break before your patient fell asleep.

"Yeah, I ah... have to draw some blood." You really do not want to wake him up, or alarm Simon, but you also refuse to lie to either of them. You fire off a text to the attending on call, just to advise him of Johnny's temperature and the impending labs that he can expect, before sliding a drawer open as softly as possible and pulling out everything you'll need. You can feel his gaze burning a hole in your scrubs, his ever present scrutiny impossible to escape. Sometimes you think he might be reading your fucking mind.

"He just fell asleep." He protests, and you think, you imagine, that he's frowning behind the mask. You think you almost know what it looks like, strong mouth pulled downwards in consternation, wide jaw gnashed tight.

"I know, but he's running just a bit of a fever." He jolts, and you hold up a hand in caution. "It's not too high, so I'm not super worried, but we'll need to check his white cell count, just in case okay? And then we'll go from there."

"Post op fever is common." He repeats the words you told him last week, after Johnny's second surgery, the one where they went in for the pneumothorax complication, and you nod to reassure him.

"Right. So, just going to do a quick blood draw and get it downstairs so we can find out what's going on." Simon shifts uncomfortably, but nods. You squeeze Johnny's shoulder softly, before swabbing the spot on the inside of his elbow.

He blinks, eyes opening slowly, confused brow smoothing when he looks from his partner, over to you.

"There's our girl." He mumbles softly, and your face heats, eyes widening in surprise before you regulate your reaction. Simon coughs, loudly, and you shake your head with a nervous smile.

"Such a flirt, MacTavish." You tie him fast, fingers a little more clumsy than usual, off balance from hearing him say 'our girl', like you mean something to them. "I just need to get some blood and then I'll leave you in peace." He shrugs, but Simon grabs for his hand and squeezes it.

"Ah come on, Si." He slurs, but reaches to cup Simon's cheek over the mask, rubbing a thumb over the fabric.

"You're runnin’ a fever, Johnny."

"Ach. 's nothing." He brushes it off, but you watch how his eyes are slow to track Simon's movements. You casually glance at the monitor, noting his blood pressure.

"Could be." You assure him. "But can't be too sure, so we're going to check a few labs, alright?" He nods, sleepy, already falling back under, and you pull the needle, taping a small patch of gauze over the puncture in one fell swoop. “Alright. Let me run these down, and I’ll be back up to check on you in a bit.” You turn, stripping your gloves off into the trash.

“We’ll miss ye.” He whispers, and you roll your eyes playfully, even as your stomach clenches.

Simon’s eyes don’t leave you for a single second, not until the door is shut and you’re out of sight.

#nurse x ghoap #idk what we're calling this #peaches asks #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x soap #simon riley #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader

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disneyprincemuke · 6 months

Text

midnights, 9 * mv1

max finds out you'd gone to the club with alexandra, making him wonder if it’s really over when pictures of you and another man leak

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings:

notes: nah when i finish this, i WILL be milking the whole series because this is my only breakup outlet left like damN

(series masterlist)

(prev) // (next)

max could not stop thinking of you all day - all week, in fact. ever since a rumour had started going around that he's moving on with another woman, he could only have imagined what it's like for you to see that.

it sucks because he'd just been doing nelson piquet a favour - bringing kelly into the paddocks for a race under his pass. but nothing more ever went down between them.

he could only think of how your hands go cold at the rumour and heart absolutely shattering. he admits that he thought of sending you a text that night, but cowered away at the fear of your rejection for his explanation. maybe you no longer cared about what he's doing with his life.

he knows that because you unfollowed him on instagram and every other social media platform alike. you have even taken it upon yourself to unfollow his private account, his profile riddled with pictures and memories of the two of you together that he has not had the courage to delete just yet.

the only reason that he is aware of your sudden decision to distance yourself from him after the breakup is when he was confused about the notable lack of you on his timeline. when he checked, you were just another account he is now a stranger to.

he believes it was brought about by the dating rumours. because he used to stalk you all the time.

all. the. time.

"max, mate," daniel's voice makes him lift his head, eyebrows raising as a response. daniel's lips carve into a smile before it quickly disappears without anyone else noticing. "i said do you wanna grab some drinks at the bar? charles is already there."

max hesitates. the urge to be alone in his hotel room is real; curling up in bed while he listened to his mellow playlist while he debates once more if he should reach out. but against his better judgement, he nods with a small smile on his face as he starts to follow behind the older man.

"so, how are you feeling?" daniel asks, turning to him with a polite smile as they walk. "better, hopefully?"

with a halfhearted smile, max shrugs. "a little."

"progress is still progress," daniel reassures him with a pat on his shoulder, "it will still get better from here. you know that."

max nods. but there's still a yearning for you that he can't explain or get over. while he can understand that time is needed apart from you, things are not seemingly going towards his favour, or at least the way he wants it to go.

his chances of getting back together with you are slim. he really wants to, but he cannot bear the thought you having to say goodbye to you a second time.

but if he had the chance to do it all over again with you, he’d try to change the course of time if it meant having you back in his arms.

he tries to get you off his mind by moving on to other topics of conversation. but all he can think about is how you could have been here, arm around his waist as you leaned into his body while giggling over something daniel said to you.

you should have been at parc ferme following every race finish with your arms opened wide, welcoming him in for a wide smile and a tight hug.

but you never are.

and it doesn't help that now he's at the bar, there's charles and alexandra exchanging loud conversation about an event she attended back home.

"oh yeah," alexandra laughs unknowingly as they approach, "she was wild that night! she took body tequila shots from this guy! and we'd just met him that night. it was insane."

daniel pops his head between the couple with a lazy smile on his face. "who took body shots from a random guy they met at the bar?"

alexandra whips her head around, locking eyes with max. she laughs nervously as charles puts his hand over her knee. "just my friend back home."

max looks at her knowingly, taking his seat in the opposite booth. "it's (y/n), isn't it?" he asks, looking at the menu. everyone falls silent as he scans the menu for something to drink, prompting him to look up, slightly annoyed. "else, why wouldn't you elaborate to daniel when he asked?"

"hey," charles says, exchanging a glance with alexandra next to him. he squeezes her hand and sits up, leaning towards max. "what's your problem?"

"nothing," max answers in the calmest tone he can find within himself, "it's just odd that she tried to cover it up when it's so obvious." he turns to daniel. "wasn't it?"

daniel stares at him, visibly gulping and then glancing at the couple that sits across them.

"i didn't know you were already here," alexandra explains, dropping her head low. "i would have stopped way earlier."

"why would you?" max smiles, albeit halfheartedly, then looks down at the menu again. "we've broken up, right? she can do what she wants - i'm not her problem anymore."

"right," alexandra nods, pressing her lips together and sinking into her seat. she gives daniel a small smile before taking a sip of her cocktail. "sorry."

"hey," charles says again, putting both hands on the table. "you fucked up. don't take it out on alex that you're upset (y/n) is no longer with you. weren't you the one who let her walk out?"

max looks up immediately, mouth agape as he tries to process the words that charles just spoke. it's true that max let you walk out, which is what hurt the most. and it's, in fact, unfair that he is being like this.

max just sighs. "you're right." he turns to alexandra. "i'm sorry, alex. i shouldn't have taken it out on you."

alexandra just smiles, nodding understandingly. "it's okay. breakups are hard, max. i shouldn't have been talking about it knowing you'd be here any second, anyway."

"okay," daniel finally speaks, hands held up between the three of them. "let's just have a peaceful dinner, alright? no more breakup talks - this is an enjoyable evening."

they murmur in agreement with a nod. but the tension is the air never lightens up, and neither does the churning in max's stomach which is increasingly getting harder to ignore.

there's something about the phone in max's pocket that's making him itch to check it.

so after they send their orders in, his friends immediately fall into a conversation and he fishes for his phone in his back pocket. there's only one notification.

one that told him he's justified for feeling sick.

don't react

they're just pictures

it's from victoria. he opens the message, received about 10 minutes ago when he left the paddocks with the older alpha tauri driver. he can almost imagine the pictures, even if victoria hadn't taken the liberty to curse him with the pleasure of seeing them.

so he opens instagram.

just as fate would have it, you're at the top of his timeline from some f1 gossip page that he had no idea he followed. in the first one, your face can be barely made out, crouched down as you step out of the backseat of a car with alexandra still in the car. but he recognises the dress - it's one that he got you a couple of years ago, after winning his first race with you as his girlfriend.

the sheer will you've got to be on a night out in a dress that he got you is something he has to give to you. that's absolutely one way to get back at him after the pictures of him and kelly.

something tells him it's about to get worse. and it does, because when he swipes to the next picture, it's you visibly looking intoxicated, he assumes from all the body shots you took. and his heart skips a beat in his chest as his mouth runs dry.

there it is, some guy holding the car door open for you. in the next, he's seen scooching in with you in that backseat.

"are you alright, mate?" charles' voice makes him look up as he drops his phone into his lap.

max takes a deep breath, unable to force a smile to his face. he just nods, swallowing the lump in his throat.

charles' stare on him lingers before he nods hesitantly and resumes the conversation with daniel. max's eyes shift to alexandra, now staring at her phone with parted lips.

she looks up, meeting his eyes with a worried stare.

max just shakes his head before she can say anything. he just leans back into the seat and folds his arms over his chest.

guess it's really over now between you.

taglist: @merchelsea @leclercdream @labelledejourr @laneyspaulding19 @lpab @graciewrote @hollie911 @thatsojasminesworld @mycenterfold @princessria127 @ironmaiden1313 @dl-yum @crlsummer @brekkers-whore @minkyungseokie @honethatty12 @barelytolerabled @vellicora @lokigoeschoki @avg-golden-retriever @lokigoeschoki @cherry-piee @telengraph

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 fanfiction #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke midnights

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itsmealaiah · 2 months

Text

Model body

TW: smut, dirty talk, degrading, profanity, p in v sex, squirting, yelling, breeding kink if you squint really hard, steamy sex

Request: 2016 bill x female reader. BILL IS DOING TGE PHOTOSHOOT FOR BILLY AND HE ASKS READER TO BE THE MODEL (HOPE U KNOW WHAT PICS IM TALKING ABOUT 😩) AS THE PICS GET TAKEN THE TENSION OS INSANE AND AS SOON AS YOOU GET HOME BILL CANT HELP BUT ONLY EAT YN OUT AND ROUGH LOVE MAKING

Rating: 18+, mdni

Word count: 1.1k words

Likes, comments, and reblogs are never required but are very much appreciated

Bill, the photographer, set up his camera on a tripod in the middle of the living room. He gestured for you to stand in front of it, facing the camera. You adjusted your black button-down shirt and smoothed out your black slacks. "Okay," you said, trying to sound confident even though my heart was racing. Bill glanced up at you from behind the viewfinder, his piercing brown eyes boring into yours. He nodded, indicating that you should strike a pose. You tried to smile, but it came out more like a nervous grimace.

As you stood there, feeling the heat of Bill's gaze burning into your skin, your heart raced and your palms began to sweat. You couldn't help but notice the way his hands moved almost gracefully as he adjusted the camera settings, his muscles flexing under his tight black T-shirt. The air between you seemed to crackle with electricity, and the tension was almost unbearable.

With each click of the shutter, you tried to forget the audience that would eventually see these photos, and focus on the moment, on Bill. As the shoot progressed, you began to feel more comfortable in front of the camera, more at ease with Bill's presence. Your poses grew more natural, and you could sense the approval radiating from him.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Bill announced that he had enough shots. You both stepped away from the camera, your hearts pounding in unison. You couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, a mixture of relief and exhilaration. Bill thanked you for being such a great model, and you smiled shyly in response.

As you headed back to your house, driving home together, your mind was racing with thoughts of the photoshoot. You couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and gratification. The entire experience with Bill had been surreal, and you couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to be with him outside of a professional setting. Your cheeks flushed at the thought of it, and your heart raced as you imagined his hands on your body, his lips trailing down your skin.

Once you arrived home, you quickly changed out of your clothes and into something more comfortable. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of nervousness as you thought about how Bill might react to seeing you in your own environment. You heard a knock at the door and, heart pounding, you went to answer it. Bill stood there, looking just as handsome as ever, his eyes raking over your body. "You look even better out of those clothes," he murmured, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

Without another word, he pushed you against the wall and began to kiss you passionately. You moaned into his mouth, your hands tangled in his hair as he ground his hips against yours. It felt so good to be wanted like this, to be desired. You couldn't help but arch your back, pressing yourself even closer to him. As his lips trailed down your neck, he whispered, "I can't wait to taste you."

And with that, he led you to the bedroom, his touch firm yet gentle, his words whispered in your ear like a seductive promise. In the dim light, you could see the hunger in his eyes as he undressed you slowly, revealing your body to his hungry gaze. And when he finally laid you down on the bed, you could feel the anticipation building inside of you, the need for him almost painful.

Bill climbed onto the bed, straddling your hips, and trailed his fingers down your stomach before cupping your sex. You cried out, arching your back into his touch as he expertly found your clit and began to tease it mercilessly. Your hips bucked upward, seeking more contact, more friction. "Please," you whimpered, your fingers digging into the sheets. "Please, Bill."

He chuckled darkly, his voice low and rough. "Please what, sweetheart?" And with that, he finally pressed two fingers inside you, filling you up in a way that made you shudder with pleasure. You moaned loudly, your body tensing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. "You're so wet," he growled, thrusting his fingers deeper. "So fucking wet for me."

His lips trailed down your stomach, kissing and nipping at your skin as he positioned himself behind you. You felt the head of his cock press against your entrance, and then he was pushing inside, filling you up in one long, smooth stroke. "Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in your neck as he began to move, his hips slapping against your ass in a rhythmic cadence.

You arched your back, meeting each of his thrusts with a moan. "Yes, Bill," you gasped. "Don't stop." Your nails dug into his shoulders as he picked up the pace, thrusting deeper and harder, his hips pounding against your back. You could feel the heat building inside of you, the need for release growing more urgent with every passing second.

As your orgasm approached, Bill shifted his hips, his thrusts becoming even deeper and more forceful. His rough hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he took you roughly, claiming your body as his. "I'm going to make you squirt," he growled, his hot breath tickling your ear. "I want to feel you come all over my cock."

And with those words, something inside of you snapped loose. You cried out, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. You arched your back, your inner muscles squeezing around him in a tight grip as your juices spilled out over his thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you. Bill's thrusts became even more frenzied, his grunts of pleasure mingling with your moans.

Finally, as your orgasm began to subside, he slowed his pace, his movements becoming more deliberate and controlled. "You're so fucking incredible," he breathed, his lips trailing down your neck. "I can't get enough of you." With each thrust, he drove deeper, filling you up in a way that made you feel both possessed and utterly desired.

As your senses returned, you became aware of the sticky warmth between your legs and the weight of his body pressing down on yours. You opened your eyes to find him gazing down at you, his eyes dark and intense. "Bill," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the sound of your racing heart. "I need you."

He smiled, his lips curling into a wicked grin. "Oh, I'm not done with you yet," he promised, before plunging deeper once more, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "I could fuck you like this forever, with your model body"

Taglist: @madzandmore

Let me know if you want to be tagged ❤️

#tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel x you #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz fanfic #bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz x reader smut #bill kaulitz x you #itsmealaiah

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cod-dump · 10 months

Note

Gaz creates a group chat called “simp squad” with soap Alejandro and Alex and then immediately dips

SECRET SIMP SOCIETY

SoapGhost, AleRudy, FarAlex

___

They were all confused at first, then they noticed the group chat’s name and sighed. Gaz hadn’t stuck around long enough for any of them to say something to him or ask any questions. So, while the dust was still settling, soap chose to break the ice.

Soap: Soooo wanna see the gift Ghost dropped in my lap yesterday?

A month would pass without Gaz hearing anything from the three about the group chat. Everything was normal between him and them when he interacted with them, so he was curious if they actually started talking about their partners with each other. They definitely seemed to be closer knit recently.

Gaz was given the golden opportunity to sneak a peek into the group chat after finding Soap’s phone unattended in the locker room. Gaz knew his code and just couldn’t pass up the chance, so he grabbed the phone and ran. Gaz went straight to his office and made himself comfortable in his chair before he started snooping.

He found the group chat under a different name, “SSS”. When he opened it the messages were mostly Alex talking about a date he was planning for him and Farah. Gaz cackled, they were talking about their partners! He felt smug, satisfied by this. But while he should’ve backed out of the messages, he was curious about what all they had been talking about.

Gaz scrolls to the top of the messages. It started out with pictures of a stuffed animal Ghost had apparently gotten for Soap and it progressed to more causal messaged between the three. Alejandro was constantly sending pictures of Rudy just existing. Then it came up to the group chat name change.

Alejandro: What does SSS stand for?

Soap: Secret Simp Society

Alex: 🤣

Once Gaz got over the meaning behind the group chat name change that could only have been done by Soap, he continued reading. He was deep by this point, obsessed with what his friends had been up to since the group chat’s creation. So he continued reading. He watched the messages involve from them flaunting their partners, talking about every aspect they loved about them—

Then Alex brought up his, in his words, insane experience he had with Farah. Gaz never turned off and dropped a phone so fast before, eyes widened in horror. He lets Soap’s phone lay on his desk as he sat there, processing what he just read. Things had taken an unexpected turn and he now realized that Soap, Alejandro, and Alex were far more comfortable with each other than what Gaz realized.

Gaz would sit there for a unknown period of time, only snapping out of his daze when Soap would walk in.

“Lost my fucking phone- Whoa, you okay- Is that my fucking phone?”

Gaz just picks up the phone and holds it out for Soap, unable to look him in the eye. Soap snatches the phone from him, Gaz could feel the heat from his glare.

“What the fuck, Kyle!? Were you going through my shit!?”

“Trust me, Johnny, when I say that it will never be happening again.”

Soap blinked before opening his phone, quickly finding the messaging app still open. Soap started cackling, seeing what Gaz was reading.

“Oh my god-“

“I did NOT need to know what goes on in Alex and Farah’s bed.”

”That’s what you get for stealing my phone, ya cunt! Do that shit again and I’ll show you the video I took of me and Ghost last night!”

Gaz cringes and Soap laughs harder before leaving. Gaz remained sitting there, unable to think about anything else other than what Alex had said happened, and unable to chase away the thoughts of what potentially happened in the video Soap just mentioned. Gaz shudders, he definitely learned his lesson…

For now.

#call of duty #cod mwii #modern warfare ii #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #Alex keller #alejandro vargas #alerudy #soapghost #ghostsoap #faralex #fic #fanfic #ask #thanks for the ask <3

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cassieoz · 5 months

Text

Pushing With A View

The sun was streaming through the huge window when Tanya woke and felt down her massive pregnant frame. She was warm under the covers but her body was restless. The gentle ripplings of early labor was turning into something stronger and more powerful. Tanya rubbed her throbbing orb as she tried to sit up. She was slammed back into the sheets with a mega stab of agony. She ran both her hands over her contracting core and panted heavily. The pain was twisting and expanding rapidly. Another sharp pain exploded that travelled all the way to her pounding opening. She thought to herself in sheer panic, "This is it!"

The laboring mother felt feverish as she initatively felt between her legs and pressed her fingers inside her folds. It was damp! Her waters had broken while she slept. She rocked on the sheets for a brief time, playing with her clit. She was enjoying the pleasurable sensations when the next surge exploded. Tanya threw her head and yelled from its violent shock wave. She opened her folds again to felt a massive dome pressing towards her entrance. Her mind was spinning. Her thoughts went insane. "It is time! I need to birth! I need to push!"

Tanya pulled back the quilt with shaking hands to find her quaking belly rocking wildly. The intensity of the present contraction was breathtaking. Her middle was covered in beads of sweat. She gasped and panted frantically as she clutched the fitted sheet underneath her naked form. Tanya breathed faster and faster as the surge increased its savage bombardment. She gripped the cotton material with tight fists. Tanya grew desperate as the surge became unbearably stronger. The pain suddenly erupted in a tremendous peak. The laboring woman bellowed and threw herself against the pillows. She cried again as the need to bear down commenced. She could feel the heaviness in her vaginal cavity as she pushed against it with incredible determination. The head was huge! The need to free it was her only priority now. She squirmed and grunted aggressively as more efforts followed with strong pushing groans.

Tanya struggled to arrange pillows around herself when a brief break was granted to her. She was sweating profusely with cold, clammy hands as Tanya prepared for the next onslaught. The birther didn't have to wait long. The next brutal pang took hold with full ferocity. Tanya went back to work with focus and strength.

The pushing was hard and exhausting! With each incredible effort, the enormous head slammed against her burning lips, spreading her wide and open. The small attic room filled with cries of birth as the progression lead to screams of sheer terror. The torturous contractions came relentlessly. The battle of childbirth was taking over completely. The painful surges raged through her stretching core. Her baby was aggressively trying to escape through her slowly, opening passage.

Tanya grunted loudly before pushing against the gigantic shape of the head. Grunting sounds rapidly companied agonising cries. Tanya frantically moaned and panted as she rose and shoved down on the birthing head with all her physical stamina. The stinging, shooting sensations exploded all through her vaginal cavity as the mega sphere grow wider and wider......

Her hands clutched the sheets with great fear. When the pain grew too much to handle, the preparing mother pressed her long fingers into her aching clit. She rubbed wildly, bringing on orgasmic pressure to power the need to keep birthing her entrapped offspring.

Birthing screams filled the entire upper floor of the estate. Howling cries vibrated off the wooden walls as more of the head became visible between her thighs. Tanya was driven mad with the excruciatingly strong efforts. It was coming! It was so close! It was about to erupt any moment now.

Tanya spread her legs as wide as she could as the worst pain gripped her womb with unimaginable torture. She pushed against it with the loudest shout ever. She roared out at the top of her lungs as the pain repeated. She bore down as her entire body exploded into a million pieces. Orgasmic pressure along with birthing agony forced her open fully. The head erupted forward. She gasped as the rest of the baby kept birthing out of her vagina.

The baby cried between her legs as her son announced his arrival. He was gigantic, healthy and full of energy. Tanya quickly cradled him in the surrounding sheets and blankets. She nursed him agsinst her chest as she slowly regained her composure.

Wow! What an incredibly powerful morning! She smiled weakly as her partner's footsteps followed with the opening of the attic door to discover his morning surprise!!!

#giving birth #labor and delivery #hard birthing

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jtl-fics · 11 months

Text

Fluent Freshman - Part 21

“What made you think taking on a mafia hitman was a good idea?” Andrew asks as he and FF were positioning themselves the best the could for an ambush on Romero.

Since, they APPARENTLY had time to talk.

Romero had gotten the text Andrew had sent him and INSTEAD of coming out right away to progress the whole SCHEME to kidnap and murder Andrew’s Junkie like any sensible goon Romero went to the BAR. Romero went to the Bar to get him and Jackson a round of CELEBRATORY drinks. Romero is still there at the bar waiting to be served by an INCREDIBLY nervous Roland if the number of exclamation marks and puking emojis is to be believed.

What the FUCK is there to celebrate?

These two idiots want to kidnap NEIL and so far the only thing Romero knows (thinks) that they’ve caught are two people that Neil would come for but even in Andrew’s text he’d been clear that he needed help getting ‘The boyfriend and the new friend’ to talk let alone getting them to call ‘The Wesninski Brat’ out. Andrew had hated typing the name in reference to Neil but it was the only thing the two ever referred to him as in their chats.

Is it some insane mental game that Romero thought he and Jackson were going to play on Andrew and Smith? Toasting to their torture so they’d give up Neil? Who knows.

He realizes that FF hasn’t answered him, his eyes focused on the door when Andrew’s thoughts had drifted. A reliable guy, steady in a pinch, and focused like most the others weren’t.

(Andrew does not know that FF is thinking about how one would go about becoming a Mafia Hitman. What is that career path like? Do they show up at job fairs? Do you get a job as a short order cook at a business that acts as a front and see to much but you’re also the only one that knows the secret spaghetti recipe the boss likes so you have to sign yourself to the family? Are you out doing your own freelance crime and someone higher up sees your work one day and literally head hunts you? Is it like in Saw where you survive an ordeal and then-)

“Smith?” Andrew draws FF’s attention away from the door.

“I didn’t think it was a good idea at any point.” FF says and Andrew is surprised by the admission and is more surprised by the twist of FF’s lips into a frown, “I just did what I thought I needed to do.” He adds.

(Andrew does not know that the twist of FF’s lips has more to do with the fact that he is realizing that Romero likely STILL has not washed his hands. Romero hasn’t washed his hands and he is going to hand Jackson a DRINK with those hands. Ugh. Honestly a contract killer AND someone who doesn’t wash his hands? Who RAISED him? What does his grandma think of this? FF hopes she’s disappointed in him.)

“You thought you needed to lure a hitman into an alley?” Andrew asks because the plan is stupid even if so far it has worked out for FF. The fact that Romero hadn’t just come out when he sent Jackson the signal is only due to FF’s good luck and their stupidity.

“I didn’t have a lot of time to think up anything more than the first plan I thought of. I saw him looking at Nicky on the dance floor.” FF says with another twist of his lips as he self-consciously rubbed at his cheek. It’s never fun to have someone who has time to pick apart a plan that you barely had time to form. Andrew can understand the irritation and is glad that FF isn’t lashing out at him for it.

(Andrew does not know that FF is not irritated he is just remembering that he had held up his broken toilet bowl phone to his face to pretend call Captain Neil. He’s contemplating asking if Andrew maybe possibly has a wet wipe? Actually the murder van probably has bleach to clean up evidence, maybe he can just dip his face in there for like a minute.)

“Don’t use a plan where you martyr yourself. I already have to deal with Neil’s bullshit tendencies.” Andrew says instead of thanking him. “You should have just called me.” He says.

FF just holds up his phone, “Dropped into a club toilet. Completely unusable.” He says and yeah that makes sense. FF would have probably just texted Andrew but coming out and seeing a hitman going after Nicky probably made it impossible for the freshman to go get help without drawing all the attention to himself first if he wanted to make sure Nicky stayed safe.

Still.

“You dropped it into a toilet? You haven’t even had anything tonight.” He says because that clumsiness is not something he expects from FF.

“You try taking a pee next to someone on the FBI’s most wanted list and see how dry your palms remain when he’s talking about grabbing one of Captain Neil’s friends to lure him out.” He says with a brow raised.

That’s fair.

He figures that Romero hadn’t even noticed FF standing there. FF was incredibly good at just making himself unnoticeable (to Andrew’s occasional great annoyance and to Kevin’s great desire to study him for Exy related purposes).

“You recognized him?” He asks.

FF’s gaze slides to him, “I looked up a lot about the Foxes after I signed.” FF answers before his gaze slides back to the door. Roland had just texted Andrew that he’s getting Romero’s drinks ready (Two bud lites. Those are the celebratory drinks he waited for?? Embarrassing.) “I really looked up to Captain Neil. So, I read a lot more about him than anyone else.” FF admits but the fact that FF looked up to Neil was not in any way shape or form a secret.

FF was the only one who was ALWAYS paying attention to whatever Neil was saying and never argued with it. Even Andrew tended to just get lost in the sound of Neil’s voice when he’s going over Exy plays and not actually listen to the plan. FF’s eyes were always right on Neil and his actions on the court showed that he had been paying attention and knew what he was doing. Kevin also listened but he tended to fight Neil on the finer details of plays, strategy or anything else. FF was the one who would just nod and do his part in whatever possible play Neil had broken down for them.

FF was also categorically incapable of referring to Neil as anything other than Captain Neil.

Neil had bristled early on at it. He had thought it was a mocking title, something FF was saying to rile him up because that’s what Freshman Foxes did. That’s what Freshman Foxes always do. FF slid into the team without a whisper of rebellion and it hadn’t taken long to realize that FF was using the title with sincerity even if his monotone did not perfectly convey that.

It’d been that sincerity and that ease that had FF be the only option he’d considered when Bee said he should consider expanding his friend pool.

So if FF looked a little deeper into Neil’s past and sees Neil’s part in it as something to respect, something to admire?

Well, he personally thought he always had great taste in people. (He ignores the voice in his head that sounds like Nicky complaining about Kevin still not knowing German despite it being the family language.)

“You sure you don’t want one of my knives or the knife Jackson had?” It was pretty big and Andrew didn’t think it would work well with his general style but maybe FF could use it somehow. He was uneasy that FF was going into this fight unarmed. FF still hadn’t talked about how he’d taken out Jackson when the man had a knife like that.

“Do I look like Crocodile Dundee to you?” FF asks with a raised eyebrow and Andrew has to pause a moment for the movie to load into his brain before he offers an amused quirk of his own lips.

FF is a funny guy.

His phone dings. “He’s on his way.”

***

Aside from thinking about how nice the conversation he was having with his friend Andrew (his friend! His friend Andrew! God how is he going to admit to Gran that Andrew was never planning on stabbing him? She threatened to come over and square off with the ‘mean young man’ bullying him. He’s gotta go grab the makings for a secondary pie to even start to make up for this. Maybe Andrew would prefer a cobbler? He should ask his friend his preferences.) he was thinking about how he really wished they hadn’t had a cut away from Gracie Hart showing all the various forms of self defense she knows in the movie.

He had no idea if he could do a repeat performance of S.I.N.G. with Romero.

It’d be nice to have a few more things in his repertoire because all he has is striking Romero with the heel of his hand in the nose, getting grabbed from behind to throw him over his shoulder (which what if Romero is shorter than him? How will THAT work. Gracie Hart guide my steps!), and of course S.I.N.G.

If he survives this he might write a letter to the writer.

The door opens and honestly FF and Andrew agreed that surprise and speed were going to be their best weapons. The two of them go in for a full body tackle but Romero must just be a higher class goon than Jackson was since he manages to body them away. The door shuts which is mostly what they wanted anyways. Romero can’t go back in and grab someone to use as a shield.

He sees Andrew pull out his knives and now FF realizes that any level of threatening Andrew had done before must have mostly been in jest or just as intimidation. When Andrew wants to stab someone it’s obvious that he’s aiming to stab them.

Romero manages to parry Andrew’s first stab with a move that FF had seen on the ‘how to handle someone coming at you with a knife’ videos. FF sees Romero go in to bash one of the Bud Lite bottles over Andrew’s head so he launches his water bottle at Romero’s hand. The bottle falls and shatters harmlessly on the ground.

He kicks Romero’s other hand since the water bottle bought him time to get close. “You fucking brat!” Romero hisses.

He sees Romero reaching for something at the same time Andrew is going in for the second round of stabbing. Romero dodges out of the way but FF can see what might actually for real be an entire gun concealed in his jacket.

He can see Romero going for it. Sees the same smile on his face he’d seen inside as his hand wraps around the handle.

FF doesn’t think.

FF doesn’t think because if he does he’ll freeze.

So FF acts.

“Gun!” He yells and runs full force tackling Romero as hard as he can but unfortunately he tackles Romero into Andrew.

The three of them grapple on the ground. It’s hard to keep track of what limb is who’s and he’s pretty sure he’s accidentally hit Andrew a few times instead of Romero but he’s also pretty sure that Andrew punched him in the stomach so he thinks they’re equal. Finally FF gets a hand on the gun that Romero had been trying to get the safety off of and he knocks it out of Romero’s hand. “You kids will-“

Romero doesn’t get to say anything else because Andrew manages to land a punch right to his jaw that has Romero go limp under the two of them. They look at one another and Andrew manages to pull the handcuffs they’d purloined out of the Van while they were waiting off of the belt loop they were hooked onto and gets them around Romero’s wrists.

They stare down at the second unconscious man on the FBI’s most wanted list in the alley.

Then they roll off of him and onto their backs. Both of them wheezing from a combination of exertion, adrenaline, and (at least in FF’s case) a fair amount of pain (Christ Andrew packs a PUNCH his stomach is already sensitive. It’s a miracle that punch hadn’t made him puke.)

“That was…so stupid.” Andrew pants.

“Yeah probably.” FF admits.

They lay there for about a minute and FF thinks that maybe someone will need to carry him because his stomach is KILLING HIM with all this.

“Alright let’s-“

Andrew is sitting up and looking at him when he stops talking.

FF doesn’t really know what the issue is but starts to sit up, “Don’t you DARE.” Andrew hisses and FF finds himself being pushed back down to the ground to lay flat. “Don’t move Smith.” He demands and is pulling his phone out of his pocket as he keeps a hand on FF’s shoulder.

FF doesn’t really understand what’s got Andrew so upset all the sudden. “Andrew, what’s-“ he tries to sit up again. Is there a third person and Andrew wants him to keep down? There’s not really cover here they should move towards the dumpster maybe?

“Smith, I told you to not move.” Andrew hisses before whoever he’s calling seems to pick up. “I need police and an ambulance. We’re at Eden’s Twilight in the back alley.” He looks to FF, “What’s your blood type?” He asks.

FF has NO idea.

“I don’t know.” He answers and Andrew makes a disgusted sound. “Andrew, what’s-“

Then he sees it.

He doesn’t quite get how he missed it before now.

“Huh.” He hears himself say.

That’s Andrew’s knife handle sticking out of his stomach.

It appears that Andrew Minyard may have stabbed him in the stomach.

“Well, that’s about what I expected.” He says and lets his head rest against the pavement.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit @lesbian-blackbeard @lesbiansupernatural @silvermasquerade @thepeachfuzz @minniemariex @kazoo-the-demjin

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

#Fluent Freshman AU #He was RIGHT all along.#The Cassandra of Anxiety #He just kind of had no idea that it would be an accident #Vote now on FF's blood type #I will just say this now that this is not going to be a story where FF dies and Andrew's upset #This is me thinking that this is kind of a funny way for this night to end considering everything #If FF had a phone he would absolutely text his gran on the ambulance ride over #FF: SO I WAS BOTH COMPLETELY WRONG AND RIGHT #FF: Andrew wants to be my friend but due to bizarre circumstances he sure did accidentally stab me tonight #FF: BTW do YOU know my bloodtype? Because the nice EMT lady keeps asking me if I'm sure I don't know.#But FF doesn't have a phone so maybe he drifts a lil closer to the afterlife for a comedic reunion with great gran #GG: You're going to be okay. There's no way you'll die in a fight against a man who doesn't wash his hands #FF: I'm scared to check the state of his skin behind his ears.#GG: Exactly #AFTG #AFTG Fic #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #My Fic #Let's see if you all can find all the various lil jokes that I've made knowing that THIS #THIS is how this night was always gonna end for FF #I've gotten a kick out of putting them in #FF - Pt.21

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simpleeindulge · 4 months

Text

It's a Work in Progress

Context: This takes place after a few months of Law setting sail for the first time with Shachi, Bepo, and Penguin. They are a new pirate crew finding their way to the Grand Line. Desperate for funds, Law’s crew resort to kidnapping.

Info: fem/readerxLaw, kidnapping, 1st time meeting, slow-burn romance, multiple parts, cursing, mild threats of violence.

Chapter 1

Ch 2. And You Are…?

Law’s eye visibly twitched at the woman’s words. Of all the things she could have said, she chose to threaten him? Was she that spoiled and stupid?

“I take that you are not a princess.”

“No, I am not.” The woman confirmed sternly and did not offer any other information.

Law internally groaned. From her posture to her eyes and facial expression, he could tell that she was going to make every step of this blasted kidnapping difficult. I should get it over with and throw her into the ocean.

His grey eyes looked her over, taking in her elaborate dress and jewelry.

"But you are a noble."

"Obviously." She quipped. "And you are?"

Her eyes scanned him over exactly as he had done to her, and without tipping her head, she was somehow looking down at him despite being shorter!

"Your captor, that's who, so drop the snobbery. You just went from valuable to basic goods."

"Basic." She repeated with the corner of her lip turned out in amusement.

"That's right," Law smirked back at her. "You're just another noble girl who's full of herself. We could go to any kingdom and find clones of you. The only thing that separates you is how much your family will pay for your return."

The girl then giggled and laughed outright. Penguin and Shachi glanced at each other and then at Law, who was equally perplexed.

She stopped laughing and let out a long sigh.

"You see, that's where you're wrong, Mr. Nobody."

Law's brow twitched. Definitely going to toss her in the ocean. No amount of money is worth her snark!

"My name is Trafalgar Law." He gritted out.

"As I said, a nobody."

Law made to move, but Shachi stepped in quickly.

"Hey now, aren't you a bit cocky for someone being held active by pirates?" He said with a light laugh, though he didn't know why; it must have been the tension between Law and the woman.

She didn't bother looking in Shachi's direction as she spoke in a sweet tone that dripped with condensation.

"Yes, rookie pirates with the most original idea of capturing a princess. Such a basic plan, and your crew couldn't pull it off."

Law growled and looked at Bepo. “Toss her overboard!”

Bepo gaped, and Shachi and Penguin begged Law to rethink his plan. The woman only looked slightly nervous which made him smirk. He was about to repeat his orders when the ship suddenly jolted.

Bepo steadied the woman as she grabbed for him. Before anyone could ask, the ship rocked again, and one of the newest crew members rushed to the doorway.

“Captain! The Royal fleet! They're shooting at us!”

Law looked visibly surprised. Why would a Royal fleet come after them instead of the Navy or Marines over a regular noble? Law then realized his mistake and snapped his head to the woman. He made an assumption before getting more information. A mistake he would have never made before! Damn this woman!

“Who are you?!”

“Lady Y/N Dávila, third cousin to the crown princess, twice removed from her mother’s side.”

She said simply.

The ship rocked again but this time an explosion was heard. Law shouted orders to his men to move the Polar Tang. Law was about to walk past Y/N when he stopped and glared at her.

“I guess I won't be throwing you overboard.”

“Does this mean I became valuable?”

She batted her lashes at Law and he scoffed.

“Hardly.”

He was about to leave the room when he thought of what she had first said.

“What did you mean by, ‘You fucked with the wrong noble family’?”

“Oh, that,” she replied with a laugh. “My father is in charge of the Royal fleet and is…insane.”

Law did not like the way Y/n said that last bit without any arrogance or pride. She even paled a tad at the thought of her father’s mental state.

“You should probably direct your men to do something. Father will probably sink us in an attempt to rescue me. He can get carried away.”

Now she looked nervous and gasped as the ship rocked again, obviously taking another hit. Bepo kept her on her feet once more and Law snapped his attention to him.

“Bepo! Go navigate the ship to a safe location. We need to move and dive before we take any more damage.”

“Yes, Captain!” Bepo cried and immediately left the room.

Y/n watched Bepo leave and then eyed Law carefully. They were alone in the room but she didn't for a second that it increased her chances of escape. She tried to stand straight but the ship rocked once more as it moved while being under attack.

Her hands were still tied before her, so Y/n had to widen her stance under her gown to keep her balance. Her heels didn't help, and she cursed her lady’s maid for not letting her wear the ankle boots. The dress was so long and wide that no one would have noticed.

It felt ridiculous to sway around in a ball gown while trying to put on a brave face. Because she was afraid, terrified. They didn't cover Pirate Abduction 101 in her studies. Discussing pirates as a young unmarried lady wasn't even proper, though they all did it behind their matriarch's back.

The truth was that Y/N had heard of a new rookie pirate named Trafalgar Law. Some nasty rumors surrounded him, and now she was alone in a room with him.

I just had to get plucky with him! Mother always said my rash behavior would get the best of me.

She nervously grinned at the thought, considering that her father might drown her first.

"I wouldn't be so confidant, if I were you."

Y/n glanced up and blinked in surprise. Law was right in front of her. He pushed her, but she made a slight sound as she fell back into an armed chair. Was that chair there before?

Law put his hands on the armrest and leaned in close. His eyes held her captive as she sat with her back pressed. She had to work to breathe and made the mistake of letting her mask of indifference and superiority fall. Like blood in the water, Law smelled her fear and was ready to strike.

"Tell me, if I hand you over right now will your lunatic of a father cease his attack?"

Y/N shook her head. She could hear cannonballs flying and hitting the water around them.

"And if I hulled you on deck and showed you to him?"

Y/N laughed nervously. "That would be like baiting a starving dog. He'll probably aim a shot at you and hope that I survive."

Law growled and slammed his hand down. He knew she wasn't lying because every shot made at the Polar Tang was meant to sink it. An insane but effective tactic. Part of the new repairs made to the ship were already damaged again!

"If I may," Y/n offered carefully. "I might be able to help get us away from my father's bold rescue attempt."

Law stared her down, and Y/n didn't wait for his approval as she explained her plan.

Chapter 3

#trafalgar law #law one piece #law x reader #one piece #trafalgar law x reader #law x y/n #law x you #one piece x reader #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar law one piece #one piece law #one piece fanfiction #op fanfic #law op #one piece slow burn #x reader

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scrollonso · 1 month

Text

walk with me...

(i turned this into an au: masterlist)

this is a very spur of the moment not well thought out au but... JUST LISTEN. (more under the cut & in my pinned)

Lawrence Stroll bought a team on the f1 grid in 2006

Renamed it Racing Point to secure a spot for his 18 year old son (and put him in pink bc hes so cute in pink)

Lance Stroll was born October 29, 1987, he started karting in 1991

Fernando Alonso was born July 29, 1981, started karting in 1984

When Lance made his debut in f1 there was a lot of talk around the paddock about the nepo baby and Strolls choice to have both drivers on the team be rookies. (Stroll and Rosberg)

During the first race of the season Lance got p6 and Nico got p7, both scoring points for the team

After the race Fernando Alonso went to congradulate the rookies, both stunned because the race winner was praising their work

Nico was honored to be congradulated by a world champion

Lance was... well. Maybe he liked the older mans praise more than he should've.

As the season progressed Fernando continued to find reasons to speak to the rookies, even though it was evident he cared more about what the brunette had to say.

After both Racing Point drivers DNF in the 2nd and 3rd races of the season Fernando made sure to try and lessen the pain.

Each time Fernando came to the Racing Point garage, each time he searched the paddock to find #18, each time he spoke it only made the 18 year olds heart grow fonder.

Lance thought the driver was like this to every rookie, so caring and comforting, but that just wasn't the case.

He was known for not going out of his way to do anything like he was doing with the Racing Point drivers.

After Lance got 6th in the 4th race of the season Fernando was the first to congratulate him, as if he hadn't just gotten second.

He noticed at the next race that he didn't go out of his way to congradulate Nico on his 7th place, he just went straight to him to comfort him about yet another DNF.

Before then he hadn't thought too much about Fernandos intentions or why exactly he was talking to him so much.

By this time in the season fans had started to notice how close the two had gotten, seeing how they naturally gravitated towards eachother.

When Fernando won the next race Lance made sure to beat him to it and congratulate the world champion first, loving how it brought a smile to his face.

Fernando didn't smile like that when others congratulated him, didn't smile like that when being asked about his wins, didn't smile like that when Nico said the exact same thing.

Lance felt insane for thinking this way but he couldn't help but feel a little special.

A few races later in America was the first time Fernando wasn't on the podium, the first time they spent the whole time after the race together.

It was nice, being in his presence, he felt like a sunbather in the sun anytime the older man spoke to him, it was silly but it was always his favourite part of the race week.

The next time he wasn't on podium was in Germany, he almost felt bad for feeling this way but he looked forward to the days when Fernando got p4 or lower because it meant they'd spend the whole afternoon together.

It was just like in America, the two of them just standing around going over the week and the last few races until Fernando asked him a question.

"Have you ever kissed someone?"

Lance laughed at the question, unsure where it came from

"Have I kissed anyone?" He asked back, wondering if it was a serious question

"Si, you do know what kissing is, no?"

Lance couldn't help but laugh again, he was 18 not 8, of course he knew what kissing was.

"Have you ever kissed anyone?" Lance asked, knowing for a fact he had, it'd be insane if not, how could someone so stunning not have kissed someone? How could someone with girls around him constantly have not kissed someone and more.

"I asked first, Lancito."

Fernando had called him that almost constantly since the season started yet every time it never failed to make the youngers heart flutter.

"No" He admitted, almost embarrassed "I'm not very good with people" he added, knowing the only people on the grid he could talk to easily were Fernando and Nico

"I could be your first"

(if this doesn't make sense pretend u never saw it)

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rosewould · 1 year

Text

one way; cbg

part i | part ii | part iii

🖱️⤻ pairing; afab!reader x beomgyu 🖱️⤻ word count; 5.4k 🖱️⤻ genre; enemies 2 enemies PLUS, smut, & angst 🖱️⤻ synopsis; beomgyu has come to retrieve his clothing... as if he didn't just do the unthinkable 🖱️⤻ warnings; hate sex, really mean!gyu, slut shaming, dubcon (more than last time, proceed with caution), beomgyu got you good this time, mc is in shambles, unhealthy... relationship?, solo masturbation, cunnilingus, more pain play, biting, hair pulling, post orgasm torture (mc receiving), piv, I think that's all

⌨️⤻ I couldn't just make it "Beomgyu getting his clothes back" that would be too simple!!111!! I like the way this ended so there will be no part three, I like where they are.

Nestled into your dirty hamper are a solid grey cotton t-shirt and loose pair of black sweats. Not unlike some of your own clothes in your closet other than being a touch larger. The articles of clothing get buried deeper and deeper without you even noticing. You wash and dry them before finally discovering them while folding. You set them to the side for the next time you journey to the boys’ dorm.

That day never comes.

“All I ever do is stick my neck out for you, you know? The department heads raise suspicion about how much time you spend with them and I make an excuse. And now I find this out?”

Your manager rants and raves while pacing your apartment. You remain motionless on your couch, staring at nothing, drowning out all her words. You just can’t believe he went through with it.

“Did you at least use a condom?” She asks exasperatedly, clapping in front of your face when you don’t answer. “You’re not that reckless, I hope. You have to know your punishment will be more severe. Certain actions against Beomgyu could be a huge liability but they can do more to you no problem.”

Of course. Of course that’s the case. You curl forward and clutch your head. He was okay throwing himself under the bus because he’d get a slap on the wrist and you’d be royally fucked. Maybe you shouldn’t have let your emotions get the best of you. You embarrassed him and boasted about your “success”. You even rubbed it in on the days to come. You made it your mission to subtly throw jabs at him in the presence of his members. It’s what he put you through for so long, it was only fair. That fucking asshole.

“Well, I can’t help you anymore. You’ll attend a disciplinary meeting to determine where we go from here. I hope you have a future at HYBE.”

Her words echo in your mind in an attempt to make sense of them. After failing you look up at her in shock. “There’s a chance I get kicked out?!” You were a trainee, but a valued one. They sought you out specifically and fought all the other companies trying to snatch you up. You thought maybe your debut would get delayed and you’d definitely get banned from the dorm, just like he wanted. But he fucked you over even further than you thought he had the balls to.

Your manager sighs, the pity in her eyes not easing the dread bubbling in your stomach. You can feel bile climb up your throat then and now as you’re standing outside the conference room. You take a long shuddering breath, deciding to just live with the disorienting fog clouding your brain as you walk in. As the meeting progresses the fog gets more and more treacherous with the news being hinted at.

“This is just temporary until everything is sorted out. I hope you understand.”

They barely let you get a word in, just recounting everything Beomgyu told them and discussing amongst themselves. They automatically believed him.

The fog stuck around. It was a safety measure deployed to keep you from fully processing how dire the situation was. Soon enough you’d have to understand the gravity of the situation. After a week and three days of waiting in limbo with no news, you were forced to face the truth. Trainees rarely come back after a suspension, and if they do, they’d be back by now. Through all the insanity your brain still has room to worry about Soobin. What lies he’s being fed and if he’ll ever speak to you again.

You pull at your hair, sinking to the ground with your eyes clenched shut. You couldn’t even cry or scream. You just grit your teeth as the frustration gets too strong for you to cope with. A knock on the door sends you immediately walking to answer it, intending to hurriedly send the person away.

You pull the door open and immediately your frustration washes away.

“Are you just gonna stare at me?”

You don’t even realize how long you’ve been doing it but you’re not sure what else to do. An alarming level of anger builds inside you until you can feel your chest constrict. You’re so enraged you can’t move or speak, so you just look at him as tears pool and threaten to spill. Tears that had been building up for the past week and three days.

“I’m here for the clothes you stole. I’ve been looking for them and can’t find them.”

“Do you know what you’ve done, Beomgyu?” You ask genuinely. Maybe there’s a chance he only thinks you got banned from the dorm. Perhaps his audacity wasn’t quite as boundless as to possibly get you kicked out and still show up to your apartment over two easily replaceable articles of clothing.

“Relax. You were already famous. You can easily get into another company, maybe even the big three.” He says dismissively as if it’s so obvious and the tears streaming down your cheeks were foolish. It was like a siren was blaring in your ears, piercing your eardrums until there was no other noise as you scream at him. Shouting obscenities in between accusations that he just ruined your life and doesn’t even care. You don’t spare a glance at the neighbors who open their doors to see what the hell was going on.

Beomgyu shoves you into your house and slams the door shut. “Are you fucking crazy?!” He spits with a sharp glare. As if you’re supposed to care about his image after what he did.

“You’re the one making me crazy! You’re provoking me and getting surprised when I react? I’ve been just sitting here in my house losing my mind because I could get the news any day now, and you expect me to have a civil conversation with you?” The veins in your neck bulge as you rush more words out at him.

“Look, I’m just here for my clothes and then I’ll be on my way.” He’s infuriatingly calm, not bothered by bringing you to hysterics once again. Not bothered by your tears or the situation he’s put you in.

“Oh, you want your clothes?” You raise your eyebrows, anger painfully evident in your eyes. You stomp off to your room, finding the neatly folded clothes sitting atop your dresser before searching for a pair of scissors. You step back into your living room with the clothes in one hand and the scissors in the other, making him watch as you cut through the fabric. You hold the scissors open, ignoring the way the other half of the blade digs into your fingers as you stab into his clothing and rip large holes into them.

“What are you doing?!” Beomgyu rushes over and attempts to rip the scissors from your hand before the situation escalates. After a brief struggle you drop the scissors and clothes to the ground and wrap your hands around his throat. You squeeze hard as you look into his eyes, pushing him toward the couch until he falls on top of it. He tries to pry your hands away and you resist as much as you can, feeling tingling in your toes as his face turns redder. “You fucking waste of space.” You mutter as you kneel over him with one leg.

The rage labors your breathing, or maybe it was the pleasure you derived from seeing him suffer. Just as he starts to wheeze he finally pries your hands away and roughly grabs your face. You try to pull at his forearm but he grips your jaw tighter until he’s painfully digging into the bone. “You’re not doing this shit again. Do you actually want to be kicked out?”

“I don’t care anymore.” You whisper through ragged breaths, trying to grab onto him but he restrains your arms behind your back.

“If you want me just say so.” He smirks. You spit on him and his expression immediately sours. “Suit yourself.”

He familiarly grabs both your wrists in one hand while the other unzips his pants. He pulls his hardening cock out through the hole in his boxers and begins pumping it as he stares at you. “I’ll just jerk off until I cum all over you and make you watch.” He groans as he squeezes precum from his tip.

You grunt, trying to free yourself but he just tightens his fist until it starts to hurt. You wince but never dull your glare. The more worked up you get, the more it seems to turn him on. “Little baby is crying because she’s about to get fired.” He pouts, precum rolling from his slit over his knuckles watching you seethe.

“I love seeing you cry. I jerk off and cum over and over imagining you sobbing because of me.” He breathes, slowing the drag of his fist as he drinks you in. Your heaving chest and glare. You look so sexy when he pisses you off. He wonders if he could get you to cry more.

“They told me it’s unlikely they’ll trust you again, you know.”

“Shut up.” You grit, trying to tug your arms apart.

“Because only pathetic whores get into a potential sex scandal before their idol career even starts. Who knows how many dicks you’ll let inside you before you even step foot on stage.” He laughs in your face, belittling your emotions and getting off to them just to add insult to injury. You strain your hand to dig your nails into any of his flesh you can reach. He hisses, before his smile is back in place, taunting you. You dig them deeper until he squeezes your aching wrists again. You let go with a huff as your frustration translates to tears.

“That’s right. Fuck— you’ll make me cum, baby.” He exaggerates his moans in his efforts to taunt you. Feigning a wanton expression as he fucks his fist. All his salacious noises make your core ache but there’s nothing you can do to stimulate it. Real and sexual frustration mixed together is a dangerous combo. You were already starved of social interaction, locking yourself in your house waiting for the news. You were banned from the only place you got it from outside of staff, and now the first interaction you’re getting isn’t satisfying your need in the slightest.

If you couldn’t get a shoulder to cry on, the least you wanted was to get fucked until you couldn’t think. Beomgyu is just wicked enough to know how to torture you.

“Come on. All you have to do is ask for it nicely and I’ll fuck you.” Beomgyu strains, close to cumming. It’s now or never before you’re left with frayed emotions and a mess to clean up. Your stubbornness prevails as you just let out a defeated noise, clenching your eyes shut and squeezing more tears free. Real moans seem to break through as Beomgyu’s hips jerk, pointing his cock at you as he covers you in his cum. He loosens his grip on your wrists and you rip yourself free, shoving him pathetically once he finishes. He stands with a cocky grin, fixing himself before making his exit.

“You can keep the clothes.” He casts a disinterested look back at you and you lose it. Flipping furniture and throwing anything you can carry across the room, just missing him as he shuts your door. You continue your rampage, turning your entire living room upside down as you sob violently. When it subsides you look at the mess and clutch at your hair.

You collapse to the ground, hugging your knees as you cry until you can’t cry anymore.

--🖱️▷

From behind your crusted lids, you watch the sun rise from the large window to the left of you. You don’t get up as it slowly goes higher and higher, indicating how long you’ve stayed there. Your doorknob turns and you still don’t look up. Maybe the burglar will think your house already got ransacked and leave.

“You’re almost making me feel bad.” Beomgyu nudges you with his foot and you sit up. You gawk at him and he just smiles back.

“What are you doing in my house?” He was a lot less welcome than the burglar.

“You left your door unlocked.” He shrugs.

“You’re crossing a dangerous line.” You warn in a low voice, rising to your feet.

“What’re you gonna do? Have sex with me again? Scary.”

“I’m not in the mood. Get out of my house.” You try to push him but he stays rooted in his spot, smiling down at you. He was clearly still high off fucking with you last night. “Fine. You can stay.”

His smile stretches wider before trying to smooth his knuckles down your cheek which you dodge. “Only if you eat me out.”

He snorts, instantly dismissing you. “That’s not happening.”

“Then leave.”

“And if I don’t?” He leans closer to your face and you’re transported to the day that potentially ruined all your hard work in one fell swoop. Your blood pressure rising around him had become customary, along with the urge to mutilate him somehow. You wordlessly pull out your phone, typing in three numbers dramatically until he snatches the phone out of your hand. “Give it back. I’m trying to report the intruder in my home.” He hurls your phone to the floor before regarding you once more.

“You really are dense.” His face is serious suddenly as he closes in on you. “There’s something seriously wrong with you. Soobin dodged a bullet.” There was potent malice in his eyes, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Leave. Now.”

The two of you stare at each other as if you’re trying to kill the other with your eyes alone. He grasps the end of the shirt he sullied before pulling it up and forcing it off your body. He moves to your ratty shorts with streaks of his cum, shoving them down and almost tripping you to get them off.

He kneels on the floor, the only clean circle of space surrounded by the wreckage, keeping his eyes on you. He moves your underwear to the side and starts sucking on your clit. There was nothing left for interpretation for either of you. There was no denying the hatred in both your eyes or the arousal you make each other feel. Your glare falters once he starts to suck harder, your brows slanting upward as you swallow hard. He growls into your cunt, making your legs wobble. You grab a tuft of hair at the top of his head, yanking him closer. He tries to pull away and protest but you shove him back in. “Don’t stop–” Your moans are a little embarrassing but you can’t hold back how desperate you are. Fuck, did you need this bad.

He keeps your legs pried apart just as they start closing around his head. Even when he’s doing what you demanded, he still feels as though he’s getting his way. Every flick and drag of his tongue has you at his will. He pulls away, tugging your fist from his hair and watching the disbelief form on your face.

He looks up at you with his brown eyes blown and hair messy, licking you off his lips before smirking. There was that urge again. To sink to your knees and scratch, slap, kiss– do something to his infuriating face. You clench your teeth and try to push him back but he dodges you, pulling back completely and enjoying your protests.

“Fine I’m calling–” You gasp, hands flying to his hair as he grabs your thighs and runs his tongue between your folds. His tongue catches your hole, threatening to slip in only to run to your clit and back. Your knees buckle, balance getting screwy but Beomgyu holds you steady. He curls his tongue into your heat, repeatedly scooping out your essence that’s gushing for him.

Then he pulls back again and you whimper, two actions that have you deeply disappointed. “What the fuck.” You shout at him. He makes a show of licking his lips. “I bet you would beg for my tongue, wouldn’t you?”

“What?!”

“Do it. Say please and I’ll make you cum.”

You go to deny him but he brushes the tip of his nose against your clit and sends the most violent shiver through your body. You whimper again, unable to deny the clawing need to cum anymore. “Fuck! Fine! Please, Beomgyu make me cum.” You’re too exasperated to put on a pleading tone but it’s enough for him.

He reattaches his mouth with a cocky grin, surveying your needy expressions closely as he sucks and licks your clit. Obscene noises fill the air along with your unrestrained moans. You clutch at him desperately, practically riding his face in your pursuit of release.

Beomgyu lets go of your thighs to free his cock. He pumps as you roll your hips against his face, holding his head steady. Your legs get progressively less reliable until your pussy is throbbing. With a moan of his name you cum on his tongue, stomach caving as his tongue continues to ravish you. His eyes are wild as he carries you through your trembling climax. You tug at his hair but he just hums. Not even that can bring him down as he squeezes and tugs on his hard cock, not intending to stop tonguing you until he’s finished himself. You pull his hair harder but he just grabs your leg with one hand and pushes in closer. Shoving his face deep within your folds, lapping at your sensitive nub and forcing a scream out of you. “Beomgyu! Enough!” You try but he only wiggles his face against you. Your stomach feels completely hollow, squeezing as another orgasm is forced out, gushing against his face until you have nothing else to offer. You suck in a large whoosh of air, holding it in before releasing it with a guttural groan.

With that, Beomgyu moans against your mound and shoots cum out his cock. Some streams reach far enough to hit your bare legs, most just ribbon over his fist. He stands up, completely disheveled and still jerking his cock. He breathes a laugh. “Please, Beomgyu make me cum!”

You roll your eyes at his childishness and shove at him, nearly pushing him over. “Shut up and get out.”

--🖱️▷

“Good morning, hyung.”

“Don’t talk to me.” Soobin responds breezily like it’s normal conversation, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Beomgyu watches Soobin maneuver around the kitchen. He rarely looks him in the eyes unless it’s to drive home an insult.

“I did you a favor.”

“You refuse to listen so I refuse to talk to you.” He finally looks up at him during the last three words before brushing past him.

“Just drop it. She’s been gone for a while now. You got what you wanted.” Yeonjun grumbles as he groggily enters the kitchen.

“I’m not the one who needs to drop it.” Beomgyu responds, a hint of annoyance peeking through his cocky facade.

“Soobin will talk to you on his own time.” He answers simply. Both of them were sat in the living room as if nothing was wrong. As if there wasn’t tension in the dorm now. Beomgyu scoffs.

“You know she’s more worried about her career than you.”

“That’s normal, Beomgyu.” Yeonjun turns on the tv but Beomgyu catches Soobin’s quick expression change. His brows drop, hanging heavy over his eyes as he thinks it over.

“Has she asked about me?” Soobin asks, looking up to reveal the vulnerability glinting in his eyes. Beomgyu finally untenses, moving to pour his own cup of coffee. He sets the cup down and sighs, pressing his hands to the counter before regarding his leader.

“Not even once.”

--🖱️▷

Your brain is desperate to focus on anything else than the lack of news, so you always notice when his footsteps are coming. You stand from your couch and open the door before he can. You expect a quip about how eager you are but are met with desperate lips. He moves inside your house before shutting the door with his foot. He’s frustrated today, you can feel it in the way he kisses you. His jacket is nothing but a disturbance so you push it over his shoulders and he lets it fall to the floor. Each time he pulls away and comes back he’s hungrier than before. There has been a comfortable, quiet acceptance established of what the other needs by now.

Too bad you have to ruin it.

You reach for your phone in your pocket, cracking an eye open to open your camera. You position it to get both of you, deciding to snap a picture when his hands snake up to your neck. A place they’ve seemingly gotten comfortable. You snap another when he bites your lip. Another when he nips and kisses your jaw. Only then does he realize that you’re distracted.

He opens his eyes, following your eye line until he spots the phone. His heart drops and he immediately reaches for it. You back away, quickly snatching the pepper spray from your coffee table and aiming it at him with your finger hovering over the button. A sense of hopelessness washes over him as he stops moving toward you.

“You’re making a huge mistake.” His threat is dulled by the panicked look in his eyes and you resist the primal urges screaming at you. “This is going too far.”

“No, Beomgyu. You went too far when you got me fired.”

“You haven’t been fired yet–”

“You’re right.” You interrupt his dramatics and hold up a picture you took. “Because you’re going to tell them you lied.”

“And if I don’t you’re gonna show them proof that I wasn’t lying? Great plan.” Beomgyu is eased for a moment as more holes form in your plan.

“No. I’m not showing this to them.” You lower the phone and hurriedly send the pictures to a trusted contact, shaky fingers reminding them of the plan right after as you mutter, “Someone else will post the picture publicly when I tell them to.”

“You’re willing to fuck yourself over too?!” Beomgyu erupts, racing toward you and only halting when you lay your finger on the trigger.

“Beommie. You already fucked me. I’m fucked either way.” Your words slowly garner more venom, clenching your mouth shut when you see his resolve crumble. You chuckle bitterly. “You really think I would’ve just let you have your way with me with no consequences after what you did?”

“I didn’t mean for you to get kicked out. I only meant for them to ban you from the dorm.” Beomgyu admits regrettably. Like he was ashamed he wasn’t attempting to ruin your career.

“Well. Guess you really fucked up then. Get it done quick and make it believable for your sake.”

You keep your arm raised as he starts to walk away. He has this look of sarcastic acceptance on his face and you panic for a moment. Did he have something else up his sleeve? Was he going to snitch instead? You would still post the picture anyway, ruin the fantasy for his fangirls and his idol image. You had to do something other than wait in this damn apartment. And he had to understand you weren’t forgetting about the torment he put you through.

--🖱️▷

You heard nothing from Beomgyu for twelve days. Twelve days of radio silence and being cooped up in your apartment. You were borderline stir crazed but you were too scared to do anything. You found yourself holding your breath at times.

He doesn’t show up at your house, but social media is blowing up. “Get well soon Beomgyu” is trending on Twitter. Turns out he’s on a “mental health hiatus”. Either that’s true and he’s chickening out or he’s on a temporary suspension as well. You don’t find out until the next day.

“We would like to apologize and we hope you can forgive us and begin preparing for your debut again.”

Your face lights up and you thank the executive profusely. You stand up and bow to everyone in the room, thanking them through your tears.

Whether or not Beomgyu showed up at your house hadn’t occurred to you nor did you care. You were rarely at home and busy rehearsing day in and day out. You were utterly exhausted, trudging home with sore legs one night when you saw him. He was waiting by your door, looking shocked when he notices you.

“I already know you did your part. You don’t have to come here anymore.” You brush past him and push your keys into your door.

“We’re even now.”

You turn the keys and then the doorknob before stopping to spare him a glance. “I know.”

“You left me with blue balls last time and never made up for it.” He doesn’t even try masking the entitlement in his voice. You shove the door open, tonguing your cheek as you turn to face him.

“I don’t owe you anything and I still haven’t forgiven you.”

“Oh come on.” He rolls his head back dramatically. “Don’t make this difficult. What we have is fun and easy. We don’t have to tiptoe around each other, wondering if we said the wrong thing or whatever. We already know we hate each other.”

You sigh, already agitated mere minutes into the conversation. You enter your house and try to shut him out but he keeps it pried open with his hand. You turn to scowl at him to find he’s scowling back. You tug him in by his shirt and shove the door closed.

“What we have isn’t mutual. It’s not “I hate you, you hate me”. You’re a terrible person and I–” Your rant loses steam as you take a step back and realize that this man is yet again in your home. “I keep subjecting myself to it.” You mutter under your breath regrettably.

Beomgyu huffs a short laugh. “And what does that say about you?”

His words go down like shards of glass. Mostly because he’s right. He was right before, too. You don’t have to guess what’s going on in his head or what any of this means. You could kiss him right now and not have to worry about what it will mean tomorrow, what the next step for you two is. None of this will lead to mailing wedding invitations and discussing how you’ll split your income. It’s certain.

“Doesn’t really matter now does it?” You smirk as he pushes your jacket off and tosses it away. “No. Now let’s get on with this, Soobin’s getting on my fucking nerves again.”

“Wait.” You distance yourself from him. “Is something wrong with Soobin?”

“As if you care.” He cups the back of your neck and crushes your lips together. You hum a pitiful protest, wanting to continue the conversation but he tastes so fucking good. You finally gather the willpower to pull away. “He’s my friend, of course I care.” Your fingers tangle into his hair as he moves to mark up your neck.

“You’re only asking about him now?” He mutters between nipping your neck just a little too hard. He’s amazing at pissing you off. You hiss, getting annoyed by his teeth and his words. “You really think I trust you enough to believe anything you say? You’re probably still turning them against me.”

“Lucky for you,” Beomgyu sinks his teeth into the apex of your shoulder and neck, intending to leave a reminder, “they’re on your side.”

“Huh,” You bite your lip and arch into him. The upper hand, you think. Always feels good.

“Don’t even say anything.” He growls into your neck. Before you could do just that he was pulling you to your kitchen and bending you over the counter. “We never make it to the bedroom.” You chuckle. The glee in your voice was sickening. “What did I say.” He warns.

“Aw, what’re you gonna do? Have sex with me? Scary.” You laugh, gasping in delight when he rips a hole in your leggings. “Not gonna shut up?” He grits, seething at your neverending smugness. You hear him behind you, angrily undoing his jeans and shoving them to his ankles. What you don’t see coming is him shoving you full of his cock in one fierce thrust. You gasp harshly this time, reaching back to push at his legs. “So fucking annoying.”

He thrusts you into the counter, banging your pelvic bone against it repeatedly. You fall forward onto the cool material but get lifted back up when he grabs you by your hair. He holds you at that awkward angle and keeps you there as he hammers into you. “Sh-shit!” You try to push back on him and attempt to regain your upper hand but he never ceases. With his other hand he lashes his palm over your ass, dick aching with each yelp you let out. He keeps going until your flesh feels red hot.

But it doesn’t matter. None of this tantrum of his matters. At the end of the day you still deflected each of his attempts to screw you over. They all failed. “Give it to me Beommie.” You mewl obnoxiously. He keeps spanking you until his own hand starts to hurt and curses under his breath.

God, does it feel good. Hate fucking is one thing, but nothing makes your cunt purr like successfully getting under Beomgyu’s skin. He should’ve never told you that. You squeeze around him teasingly, humming when he groans. You’re distracted from your teasing when he readjusts, aiming right for your g-spot. Your resolve melts and you wish for nothing more than to lie forward, go completely limp. Your back and neck start to ache and you whine.

Beomgyu growls again, egged on by your sniveling. The things he’d do to hear you beg for him to let go of your hair are endless. He wouldn’t do it, of course, but it’s your suffering that matters. You whimper, “Beomgyu,”

“What?” He tugs your head back and you release another sweet noise.

“Right there… that feels good. Don’t stop.” Your voice is so quiet, much different than how you usually are. Not to mention what you said, which took quite a while to register. Beomgyu stops for a moment and you protest, but he needed a moment. He shuffles his feet awkwardly before letting go of your hair. You flop to the counter, welcoming the return of your mobility. He grabs your hips and starts stimulating your sweet spot again. You dissolve into the pleasure and he does too. Without the constant bickering and trying to show each other up you could just… relax.

Your body still aches a bit from the straining and spanking but it’s slowly recovering as your high approaches. Beomgyu moans and leans forward, curling his hands around your wrists as his hips continue to smack against yours. An intricate knot loops in your belly and is pulled tighter and tighter with each genuine sound of pleasure from Beomgyu. He’s actually kinda bearable when he isn’t blabbering a bunch. You rest your cheek against the cool counter as the pleasure practically incapacitates you. Placating all your defenses and strong emotions until you’re a numb blob melting onto the counter. Your debut song is way out of your register and you have practice again in the morning but no one couldn’t tell any of that was the case if they looked at you right now.

All that mattered was the smooth dick easing in and out of you and the tightening knot and his grip tightening around your wrists and his body moving against you and–

“I’m cumming!” You gasp out before pushing your ass against him as a gush of arousal floods around him. He pulls you up abruptly, holding your body against him as he pumps into you for the last few times. He sees the blinding light of the first of many climaxes for the next month or so. He holds you there until his own climax subsides, yours flickering out a while before. Then he lets you go. You were going to be seeing each other a lot, so there was no need to stay after the deed was done. It didn’t need to be complicated.

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