#I just don’t know how to write that without making it bad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aliidarling · 2 days

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using you

RICK GRIMES X fem!reader

nsfw content — scroll if uncomfortable!!

summary: rick takes his anger out on you after lori's death because he's a self projecting loser and wants u really bad

warnings: p in v, no foreplay, rough sex, pussy slapping, age gap, degradation, mean rick, fingering, anal threats LOL, self projecting rick, old lonely rick, sweetish rick at the end ig

btw thank u everyone for sending me ideas for male manipulator rick pt.2 :) I'm definitely gonna take these into thought and write sum

i wrote this in three sittings like a week apart so some parts might not match up...

nsfw content below!!

Rick hadn’t come up from the basement of the prison in almost two days. No one had seen him, leading everyone to question if he was even alive anymore.

The death of Lori had impacted him. The atmosphere was tense, and not many words had been spoken. No one wanted to go down to comfort Rick, not wanting to get snapped at. Angry Rick was something else.

Hershel was the one who recommended you to go down and talk to Rick. At first, you were against it, because why? Carl was his son, Glenn was the first one he met out of everyone, and Daryl was like his brother. There was no reason why you should. You were just one of the younger girls in the group.

“Because he has a soft spot for you, sweetheart.” Hershel says gently, sighing and rubbing his temple. Your brows furrow as you think about his words.

“What? No— Rick hates me,” You scoff.

Every time you had tried to talk to the man he’d order you around and be cold to you, never letting you breathe without getting a stupid scolding. It was walking on eggshells around him.

“No, no.” He chuckles, brushing his hands through his thin white hair. He sits up. “He cares about you in his own little way, okay? You’re the only one here he wouldn’t hurt. Not that he’d hurt anyone else— but…” He groans. “You know what I mean.”

You frown at him, picking at your hair. You reluctantly stand up, tossing your jacket on top of your shirt. “If I don’t come back in an hour, you know what happened.” You grumble dramatically.

He rolls his eyes and waves you off, giving you a little grateful smile.

A few minutes later, you were walking down the staircase into the boiler room, a frown painted onto your expression. You could hear angry muttering and the sound of metal clattering.

Just on your way here you had heard him yelling, you didn’t know at who. It worried you, was he already going crazy? Or was someone else down here with him?

As you walk inside the small, dark room, a messy-looking Rick comes into view. His hair was messy, his curls damp with sweat as he grumbled angrily to himself, leaning against a table.

He quickly turns at the sounds of your footsteps, hands on his hips as he narrows his eyes at your figure. What the hell were you doing here? Did no one get the message that he wanted to be left alone?

“What.” He huffs firmly, his body language cold and distant. He was always mean to you, but this just felt different, like he was a ticking time bomb. It made you shudder as you nervously picked at your hair, stepping closer.

“You’ve been down here for a while, Rick. Everyone’s getting worried.” You said softly, looking up at the older man through your lashes. It felt weird to be so nice and caring to him, he had just lost his wife— you felt bad. Horrible, even.

And a part of you made your guilt ten times stronger knowing you were still attracted to him throughout this whole mess. Even though he had pushed you away so many times, called you names, and ordered you around like a child, you felt connected to him. Like you wanted more than a simple friendship.

But the fact he was mourning his wife's death and all you could think was how good he looked with his shirt half-buttoned and his curls messy? God, you were a horrible person.

A dry chuckle leaves him, the sound echoing in the room, making you shiver. His demeaning attitude towards you has you shrinking, wanting the walls around you to swallow you whole as long as that meant you didn’t have to be alone in a room with him.

“So worried they call you down here out of everyone else?” He scoffs.

Ouch.

“I’m just trying to be here for you, you don’t have to be such a jackass.” You sneered at him.

Once the words left your mouth, you felt kinda bad. He was struggling with his wife’s death, and here you were being rude to him.

A small sigh left you as you stepped forward, hesitantly placing your palm on his bicep, trying to give him a little bit of comfort. It was the least you could do, right? You had managed to screw up your entire friendship with this man, but maybe you could turn it around starting… now?

As he feels your touch on his bicep, he turns to you quickly in response— almost as a reflex— and presses you against the table aggressively. A yelp leaves you as you find yourself being cornered by the large man, looking up at him in shock.

Never mind, jeez.

“You wanna be here for me?” He growled, his hand going to hold your throat, not squeezing but keeping it there as a warning not to cross him.

You give him a shaky nod, not knowing what to say or do that wouldn’t cause his temper to blow. It already blew.. But you knew what he was capable of, and you were scared of getting on his bad side more than you already were.

“Use your words.”

“Yeah, I wanna help you.” You press your lips together nervously, giving him a hesitant nod.

His eyes darken, looking you up and down and weighing the options. He hums lowly, his hands slowly wrapping around your waist, his fingertips pressing into your skin through your shirt.

“Huh.” He can’t help but smile at you, but not a sweet one. A mocking grin. You shuddered.

“How about you start off by bending over that desk then? Since you wanna be good for me so badly.” He laughs darkly, flipping you around smoothly and kicking the back of your knee.

You stumble slightly and find yourself bending over the edge of the desk, a huff leaving you as you flinch in surprise. Instinctively, you try and straighten yourself but he keeps one of his hands pressed on your lower back.

“What are you doing? You know this isn’t what I meant—“ You say breathlessly, not having the power to fight back for some odd reason. The position had you tingling between your legs, your stomach in knots and your mouth dry.

You felt ashamed to be so into this. He was coping in an extremely unhealthy manner— but could you even stop him if you tried? Did you want to?

He ignores your words and grasps the back of your jacket, pulling it off and leaving you in your spaghetti-strapped tank top. It was hot in the prison, could you blame yourself for dressing in thinner clothing?

“Always dressed like a fuckin’ slut, begging for attention from me. Think I don’t notice? Hmm? How you’re always nagging me and trying your damnest to spend time with me?” His words leave him harshly as he leans over to push your hair over your shoulder, leaving your back empty for him without any distractions.

“Don’t say that.” You mutter softly, eyes fluttering as you feel his breath brush over your skin. Goosebumps appeared on your smooth skin, lips pressing together to conceal the heavy exhale you wanted to release.

“Why? Because you know I’m right?” He chuckles dryly. His hands rub over your back, grabbing the end of your top and pulling it up to bunch over your chest. Your heart skips a beat and you try to pull away, but he only pulls you closer, pressing his crotch firmly against your butt. He sighs in relief at the friction, grinding subtly.

The next few minutes are him just grinding against you from behind, muttering a mean ‘shut up’ whenever you’d let out a noise. This was for him. He didn’t care about you— didn’t care that he was leaving you needy and aching, all he wanted was to relieve himself.

“Take your pants off.” He grumbles, leaning back just a few inches to unbuckle his belt. He smoothly pulls it out of his jean loops, and then unzips his fly and pulls his jeans down. He’s fast and aggressive, and soon enough his hard cock is pressing against his lower tummy, his tip red and throbbing.

You blink in surprise, but you try and process his words quickly. Okay. He wants your pants off. This was for him to feel better, just take your damn pants off, dumbass. Don’t make his day worse.

Shakily, you pull your pants down to your ankles, your butt in front of him with your panties hugging your curvy hips. He stares down at you, eyes narrowing at the sight of the damp spot on your panties.

“Slut.” He kicks your legs open with his foot before landing a harsh slap against your pussy, making you cry out. Your brows furrow as you try to suppress your noises as he keeps going at it, his rough palm delivers harsh strikes to your sensitive area.

“O-Ow— Rick!” You whine, wiggling your butt as the slaps have you growing more and more wet. This was so embarrassing!

“Had I known you like gettin’ that pussy slapped I would have done it a lot sooner, sweetie.” He coos mockingly, a low snicker leaving his throat. He parts his hand from your panties. His large fingers grasp into your panties and pull them to the side, nudging your legs further apart and aligning himself with you.

“Take a deep breath, baby.” He huffs before thrusting himself inside you with one stroke, burying himself to the hilt. Your body tenses immediately, eyes watering at the large stretch your insides felt at the intrusion.

You immediately let out a shaky cry, clawing at the table for something to hold onto as you try and adjust to the feeling. His girth was thick, ripping you apart. The lack of foreplay and prep had you wincing.

“Awww, did I hurt ya’? Poor thing, little hole must burn sooo much.” His words sounded so mean, his dark eyes gazing down at your figure. He scanned each inch of your body. Your arch, your hips, waist, your hair— it all looked so good. He wanted to ruin you.

You struggle to speak as you feel him sit nice and snug inside you, your sight going blurry. You whimper like a pathetic puppy into the desk, the cold steel making you cringe and squirm. If he was gonna force himself in your pussy, couldn’t he of at least done it somewhere more comfy?

“S-Screw you,” You groan lowly, your eyes already rolling back. And he hasn’t even started to move yet.

“Mhmm, s’okay sweet girl, I’ll get there.” He hushed you gently. Your doughy flesh is so soft to his rough palms, making him smile as he grips your waist a little tighter. He uses your waist to hold you down as he starts to slowly pull out, leaving just the tip before slamming himself back inside. Not even a rag in your mouth could stop the moan that leaves you, your body wincing in a mix of pain and pleasure.

The next few minutes are messy and full of whimpering and shushing, your body quivering as he keeps thrusting into your hole like there’s no tomorrow. You were just a stress relief for him at the moment— a pretty face with a tight cunt he could fuck for hours.

Yeah, he was mean to you even before he decided to fuck you in this boiler room, but that was only because he didn’t know how to handle his emotions around you! You were a sweet young girl with a cute face and a good rack of tits, always trying to talk to him when he had a wife and a son, could he even interact with you without getting scolded by Lori?

He let out a shaky grunt as he slams his hips into you over and over again, watching your perfect ass jiggle at the force he put into you. Your noises were perfect, he had spent probably hours imagining how you’d sound with him inside you. He couldn’t count the amount of times he had imagined you while he was in bed with Lori. He was a horrible husband, but he blamed you for it. You were the reason of his lack of loyalty, so he may as well punish you for it. You were pretty much asking for it the second you came downstairs with that pretty face.

“Fuck, fuck,” He groans, bending over to press his chest flush against your back and pressing himself against you. He wanted you to feel every damn inch of him, feel how deep he was inside your dumb little pussy and how he made you feel.

“You feel that? Huh? Feel how fuckin’ deep I am inside that needy pussy? Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart, must feel so good, right?” He shushes your cries as he manages to push his cock deeper, his fat head brushing against your sweet spot that has you clenching down.

“Mhm, feels so good.” You sniffle. He giggled lowly at how pathetic you sounded, almost feeling the urge to comfort you for a second.

He’s wanted this for so long. Half the reason why he was spiraling after Lori’s death was because of the agonizing guilt he felt for still fantasizing about you when he had a whole newborn waiting for him. But now he had you, and he was not gonna let you go, and even if you begged and cried— he had already sunk his claws(cock) deep inside you.

His hand reaches to the front of your neck to grasp it and pull you tighter against him, giving your neck a little squeeze. He hums in approval at how your body tightens around him, his hips picking up speed.

“Good, good, jus’ like that, good girl,” He mumbled, squeezing his hand around your neck just a tiny bit more, loving the expression that fell over your face. A few more long minutes of him inflicting a fast and rough pace that expresses his self-projecting hatred towards you pass, the both of you out of breath and sweating.

“Can I cum? Please?” You whisper shakily, a soft moan coming from you as his thrusts continue. Your lips quiver and struggle to choke out words as you feel him repeatedly slam into your g-spot, eyes watering from the pleasure and your legs going wobbly.

“Oh, oh please, Rick—!” A loud moan escapes your throat before you have time to hold it back. You had been stripped down to a cheap whore bent over a table, but you didn’t care, it felt so good.

He answers your question by squeezing your throat, reaching forward to rub your clit. You clenching down on him has him groaning and almost stuttering with his thrusts, brows furrowing as he starts to get a little sloppy with his rhythm.

Without wasting any time, you feel yourself cumming hard around his cock and spasming, crying out at the force. A few more tears slip as you whimper onto the table, shaky hands grasping at anything to hold onto it.

A crooked grin paints his face as he gazes down at your shaky figure, slowly pulling out and watching his cum drip out of your leaky hole.

He hums and gently picks you up and sits you down on top of the desk, parting your thighs open and pressing the cum back inside you. Your eyes widen slightly in shock as his large finger shoves itself back inside you, making you cry out at the sensitivity you felt.

“R-Rick,” You attempt to plead before he rudely shushes you, crumbling apart as he fingers you open brutally. More tears stream as he watches with an amused glint, taking in the sight of you crying as he shoves his fingers inside your pussy violently.

“You can take it, shush, be a good girl.” He mumbles, sliding them in and out smoothly without any stop, his other hand going to rub at your spent clit. He almost felt bad for you, but then he remembered you were the little brat making him think like an unloyal husband— and he resumed with his torture.

Once he has you coming apart on his fingers again, he slides them out of you and whistles meanly, smirking at his slick-covered fingers. He maintains eye contact with you as he brings them up to your mouth, tapping them against your lips.

“Please don’t.” You whine, trembling in embarrassment. Could this get any more humiliating?!

“Shut up and be a good fuck toy.” He grunts. You shrivel and slowly part your lips, taking his wet fingers and sucking gently, your eyes fluttering shut as you didn’t want to look him in the eye while doing this.

After cleaning his fingers, he parts from you and gives you a once over, scowling.

“You’re not too bad when you’re not being an annoying fuck, y’know. Maybe you should bend over for me more often.” He sniggers, pulling his jeans back up and buckling his belt back on. He tidies up his appearance and gives you a side-eye.

“I’m so telling Hershel.” You grumble, struggling to pull your pants back on with limping legs. He rolls his eyes and aggressively tugs them back on for you. You flinch at the force and almost stumble onto your ass but you eventually have your clothes back on you because of his help. You give him an awkward smile, and he just glares at you in return.

“…I guess you could say I did help you, right?” You grin sheepishly, before gasping softly as he pulls you in for a kiss. He mutters a small “Shut up,” against your lips before interlocking his with yours, his hands wrapping around your waist and pressing your body flush against his.

He parts slowly from you, a small saliva trail showing before dissolving mid-air. He stares down at you, before nudging you in the direction of the exit.

“Don’t tell anyone about this, kay? You tell a soul and I’ll shove it in your butt next time, brat.” He scoffs, turning away and gazing back at the wall like the depressed old man he is.

You can’t help but smile as you walk away.

Next time, huh?

You were a little delusional, but why the hell not?

#Spotify #rick grimes #rick grimes imagine #rick grimes smut #rick grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #the walking dead smut

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everscorner · 2 days

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Something In The Way You Move | The Redemption

Author’s note: I struggled writing this next instalment, and there was a lot of chopping and changing, so apologies for the late update. There’s one final part after this, and the plan is to have it out by mid-May. In terms of their apartment, this is how I pictured it but feel free to switch it up. This is only for fictional purposes only, but please don’t copy my work without my permission. Enjoy 🤎

Warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive/implied smut, bad language, couple reconciling, side chick confrontation, some relationship issues, minors DNI (let me know if I missed anything)

famous!Reader x Jude Bellingham Word count: 8k words

///

‘So, Bestie,’ Winnie starts, ‘what’s the plan? And how are we going to pull this off?’

That’s a good question: how will you break the big news to Jude? It’s been five torturous days since the positive pregnancy test and you’re yet to tell him about it. The timing just hasn’t been right, and the next bit’ll sound silly, but you’ve kept this from him because you don’t want to take the attention from him.

His first season at Real Madrid has exceeded all your wildest expectations, and you just wanted him to celebrate it all without detracting from it with the baby news.

Girlfriend of the Year, right?

‘To be honest, Wins, I haven’t thought about it.’

You’re standing in the kitchen waiting for the water in the kettle to boil and Winnie’s in the living room, her limbs stretched out on the sectional as she mindlessly browses through one of the coffee table books.

Your best friend’s in town for work, and earlier today, she actually filmed a couple of scenes with you for the show, and that’s when you told her about the pregnancy.

Off camera, of course. However, looking back at the moment, you regret not filming it.

Between filming your scenes, you quietly pulled Winnie to the side and showed her the sonogram you now carry around in your bag, and her reaction was exactly what you expected it to be and more. There was squealing, excited jumping, and there were lots and lots of tears shed between the two of you.

‘Okay, well, when do you plan to tell him?’

Tonight. You think enough time has passed and yesterday, you went to your first doctor’s appointment and confirmed that you were indeed pregnant, but despite your excitement, you kept the news from Jude because you wanted the announcement to be well thought out—special.

Also, there has been so much distance between you, you’re hoping that the baby news could be the catalyst to bring you two together because you kinda miss being close to him.

‘I’ll be honest with you, Y/N/N, that doesn’t give us much time to plan it.’

Winnie makes a good point, but you’re not looking for perfection, all that matters is that he knows.

‘Well,’ the kettle boils and you walk over to where it sits on the counter to grab it, ‘it depends on what we decide on.’

You start pouring the boiling liquid into the cups.

‘My only request is that we incorporate the sonogram.’

‘Wouldn’t it be cute if we could find a pair of infant football boots?’

It’s kinda cheesy—very cheesy, actually—but you like the idea. A lot.

‘Yeah, that’s a good idea. We’re getting somewhere with this.’

It’s almost hard to believe that you’re standing here, plotting out a way to tell Jude that you’re expecting.

If someone had come up to you the night you first met him and told you that in two years, you’d be standing in the kitchen of your shared apartment in Madrid, planning a pregnancy reveal, you would’ve called them a liar.

Excuse your French, but. . . ‘Holy fuck, Wins, I’m pregnant.’

It’s like it’s hitting you for the first time.

Winnie laughs, amused by your sudden realisation. ‘I can’t explain it, right? But it feels like a teen pregnancy.’

There’s no need for her to explain it further ‘cause you know exactly what she means. When you first saw the positive pregnancy test—you know, after your initial shock—you first panicked about how your family would react to the news.

You had to take a moment to stop and remind yourself that even though you’re still so young, you’re more than capable of raising this child.

With Jude’s assistance, of course.

‘Do you want to record it?’

‘Record what?’

You take the steaming mugs from the island and make your way over to the living room, where you place them onto the coffee table.

‘The moment you tell him. Not for Netflix,’ she clarifies, ‘but you know, home videos or whatever.’

Yeah, you’re definitely keeping this one in the family. Maybe if the show gets renewed for a second season. . . but you’re jumping the gun.

‘I want to, but’ you look around the ostentatiously decorated main living space ‘where can we put the camera? I don’t want him to see it.’

‘We’ll figure it out.’

Winnie’s composure is just what you need right now. You can always count on her to be calm in stressful situations.

‘Is your camera charged?’

You’ll have to check. It’s been some time since you last used it. Part of your job is that you’re a part time YouTuber, it’s something you dabble in because you like filming and editing. . . all that jazz, but lately, your channel has taken the backseat.

Why vlog this period of your life when they can catch it on Netflix when the show comes out?

‘Come,’ Winnie shifts to make space for you on the couch.

You take your seat next to her and by the time you settle, she’s already got her phone out, with her Pinterest open.

‘What’s that for?’

‘Well, something’s got to inspire us.’

Duh. It must be the pregnancy fog.

‘Don’t worry,’ she assures. ‘We’ve got this.’

And got this you do. A half hour and two cold teas later, there’s a plan, but this plan requires you to leave the house.

Booooo!

You’re not too keen on the impromptu outing, but there are baby football boots to be bought, and at least you’ll have Winnie there with you.

‘Well, that was easy.’

You beg to differ, but whatever.

Winnie locks her phone and sets it on the couch, ‘When’s The Boy coming home?’

You’re not sure when it started, but Winnie now refers to Jude as “The Boy” which you find to be endearing.

Probably late. He’s out with Toby and Noah, and he mentioned something about his other teammates joining them, but you weren’t really paying attention.

‘I’m not sure.’

And it’s not something you wish to discuss further because the thought fills you with dread. It’s been days since your discovery but given the circumstances, there has been no time to sit down and talk about Coralie.

The result of that is that whenever he goes out—and he’s been going out plenty to celebrate his victorious season—you can’t help but feel anxious that he might cheat on you again.

Surely this is no way to live.

‘But it doesn’t matter, does it?’ you rise off of the couch and start for the bedroom.

Naturally, Winnie’s trailing after you and you just know that this conversation is far from over. She’s persistent.

‘It doesn’t, but I think you should ask him.’

She makes it sound so simple. And you guess it is simple, he is your boyfriend after all, it’s your privilege to call or text him whenever and wherever.

‘We don’t want any surprises.’

You don’t, but if he does walk into something he’s not supposed to walk into, that’s all on him.

‘I don’t think it’s necessary, really.’

Inside the walk-in closet, you start stripping out of your house sweats to change into something appropriate. Once upon a time, you could leave your house in your house clothes without the fear of being pasted on the MailOnline and labelled “dowdy” and “unkempt”.

But that was a long time ago.

‘Oooh, what’s this?’

Winnie finds herself distracted by the Chloé box that’s sitting on the closet island.

‘Oh, yeah, that’s a PR box they sent me on Monday,’ you state matter-of-factly.

She opens it and gasps when she sees what’s inside the large box.

‘What the. . .’

‘It’s crazy, right?’

She turns to you in utter disbelief. ‘They gifted these to you?’

You hum.

She grunts and confesses, ‘I’m so jealous of you right now.’

Twelve full sized perfumes, all gifted to you by the brand.

You tell her to take a bottle, and of course, she’s over the moon. And it earns you the title of World’s Best Best Friend.

‘Well, I still think you should text him,’ she states as she tests the different scents.

And here you thought she had forgotten about that.

‘Just so we have an idea.’

You don’t really want to send the text, but you don’t want to raise any alarms with your friend. Lately, things between you and Jude have been far from perfect, but you’d prefer to keep your relationship problems from the world—even if it’s Winnie and she’s your best friend.

‘Yeah, alright.’

Your phone’s in the living room, so you have to leave the closet to grab it, and when you come back, Winnie’s discovered your new Chanel handbag—a gift from Jude.

‘He bought this for you?’

‘Yeah,’ but you’re not trying to make a big deal of it.

Jude bought the bag for you about a month ago. At the time, it seemed so random—his urge to buy such an expensive gift on a whim—, but after seeing those text messages, you know it was the guilt that made him do it.

‘Lucky bitch.’

‘I’ve been telling you to bag yourself a baller,’ you tease as you take your seat on one of the ottomans.

You: Hey, when are you coming back tonight?

You read over the text to make sure you’re not coming off as desperate. . . a nag. But whatever, the text needs to be sent, and the way he interprets it is up to him.

He doesn’t immediately respond, but you don’t expect him to. He never does when he’s out.

You take a final look in the mirror. You look so good, it’s almost hard to believe that the look was put together in ten minutes. And you’d take a picture to post on your story, but there’s no time for that now.

‘You ready, Wins?’

She smiles, ‘Ready.’

‘Alright then, let’s go.’

///

When he did finally respond to your text, Jude said that he’d try to be home by midnight, which gave you more than enough time to prepare for the reveal.

For her visit, Winnie will be staying at the apartment with you, but she’s gone out because she’s not pregnant and she’s actually got a life. However, she did help you set everything up for the reveal, which you appreciated because she came with all the good ideas.

Like she suggested that you do it in your closet as opposed to the kitchen, where you had initially planned to do it, because the lighting and acoustics were better.

And now it’s a little past eleven o’clock and you’re rewatching an old episode of your favourite series. Earlier in the night—after Winnie left—you filmed a night time routine vlog for your TikTok, which you should be working on editing, but can’t be bothered about.

Waiting for Jude to come home has reduced you to a ball of anxiety, and despite your eyelids getting heavier and heavier with each passing minute, you simply can’t make yourself fall asleep. However, one thing’s certain, no pregnancy reveal will be done tonight.

Damn him, and damn your feelings for him.

You can’t believe he’s once again ditched you for his friends this week. It’s disrespectful at this point, but the worst part?

You keep allowing him to get away with it.

But what can you do, leave him? As if that’s an option for you. The love you feel for him runs so deep, you can’t bring yourself to imagine a life without him in it, especially with the baby coming. So apologies to all the feminists of the world, but your love for this man surpasses all reasoning.

Your phone dings with a notification and you quickly grab it, hoping to find a text from him—you’ll take an incoherent drunken text at this point, anything—but instead it’s Winnie asking if he’s home yet.

Fuck.

You: Not yet, but soon :)

You hope.

She’ll never confront you about it, but you think that Winnie suspects that things aren’t good between you and Jude. The lack of calls and texts throughout the day was a dead giveaway. The two of you can’t get enough of each other, and even when you’re apart, you’re constantly updating each other one way or another so the silence was deafening.

But whatever, right?

People across the world experience relationship problems every day. You’re not the first couple to experience this, and you’re certainly not the last. You just wish that your relationship problems weren’t because he stepped out on you.

‘Babe?’

And now your mind’s playing tricks on you, because you swear you can hear him–

‘Y/N?’

Oh shit, he’s home!

You quickly reach for your phone to check the time: 11:26.

Fuck!

In the last text you sent him almost an hour ago now, you gave him strict instructions to text you before he left the club.

Guess he didn’t catch that text.

‘Baby?’ he calls for you again, but his voice sounds distant, so you figure you have enough time to do what it is that you have to do.

But you’ve got to move fast, so you clamber off of the bed, and scurry to your closet. You head straight to the camera, which you’ve carefully propped on your Louis Vuitton jewellery box, and switch it on to start recording.

This probably isn’t the best of angles, but so long as it captures his reaction, hopefully with his face in the frame.

‘Baaaaybeeee?’

His voice sounds closer now.

‘In the closet, babe,’ you finally call back, then internally brace yourself for what’s to follow.

With Jude, the plan was always to get married and have children, but the when was never discussed in detail.

‘Why are you hiding in here?’

Some of that anxiety leaves your body at the sight of him. He’s beaming at you, so visibly happy to see you.

‘Hiya.’

This man has seen you in all kinds of vulnerable situations, why are you so shy all of a sudden?

As he closes the distance between you, you notice that his eyes are kinda red and glossy, the only sign of his intoxication. When he reaches you, his smile widens—if that’s even possible—and he leans forward to connect your foreheads.

‘Hi, gorgeous.’

He smells of mint with the faint scent of alcohol, and a smell you can only describe as Jude on a night out.

With your eyes shut, you deeply inhale the comforting scent, happy to have him back home.

‘Hey, why are you hiding in here?’ he asks again, his words running into each other, the second sign.

‘Uh, ‘cause.’

You weren’t anticipating that question, and you don’t know how to answer it.

‘“‘Cause?”’ he chuckles.

You hum.

‘Come here,’ he envelops you in his large and strong arms, practically suffocating you but you can’t bring yourself to tell him to release you because you’ve missed his affection and the intimacy.

You fear you’re starting to sound like a broken record.

‘How was it?’

‘How was what?’

‘The club?’

‘Fine.’

And that’s all he’s willing to offer.

‘I thought you said Winnie was staying over?’

She is, she’s just gone to a party with the new guy she’s seeing.

‘And you didn’t join her?’

‘No.’

You give him a half-baked explanation for why you didn’t, but all you’re thinking is how this isn’t going the way you hoped for it to go. This isn’t what the other significant others did in the videos you watched earlier.

But how do you save it?

‘Why are you asking about her?’

‘Just curious, I guess.’

‘Alright then,’ you fist his jacket in your hand. ‘It’s good to have you back home.’

He likes that, you know that because his heart rate picks up. Things are still a bit awkward between you, but that’s to be expected since you haven’t been talking much.

With your arms around his neck, you press onto your toes and crane your neck to peck him on the lips. ‘And actually, babe, there’s something I want to show you.’

Jude tenses up at that, but it’s so subtle, if you weren’t in his arms, you would’ve missed it.

‘You do?’

And like magic, he’s sobered up. Only a bit though.

‘Don’t worry,’ you assure him, amused. ‘It’s nothing bad.’

Your assurance does nothing to ease his wound up body.

‘Jude, relax. . . please.’

Still tense. Whatever, you won’t dwell on his anxiety.

With a final peck to his lips, you step away from him and direct his attention to the island, where the football booties you went out to buy earlier are placed next to a toddler Real Madrid jersey, a positive pregnancy test—you took another one a couple of hours ago—and the sonogram.

‘Surprise,’ you say softly.

You want to sound excited, but it just comes out dejected.

You watch as he takes it in, your heart hammering against your chest. Unfortunately for you, you only have a view of his side profile but even from this angle, you can see that his usually expressive face is perfectly still. You can’t read him, and it feels like an eternity before he turns to face you.

‘Is this for real?’

You nod, the lump that has found a home in your throat making it hard to speak. Your vision’s also blurred, courtesy of the tears that have pooled in your eyes.

‘It is?’

The first tear falls.

‘Oh, baby.’

Jude lifts you into his arms and squeezes all the air from your lungs.

Man, he’s so strong.

Then he sort of holds you like that for a long time, and the next thing you know, your neck is damp.

‘Babe, are you. . are you crying?’

He denies it, but you can feel the damp spot grow with each passing second you’re in his arms. Oh goodness, he is.

‘I think you are.’

‘Shut up,’ he mutters, his voice muffled.

You giggle when he tickles you.

His reaction’s quite the relief and it feels like a ginormous load has been lifted off your shoulders. In terms of his reaction, you weren’t sure what to expect, but this is the best reaction possible, and as he holds you, all the lingering resentment about his past transgressions are forgotten.

Eventually, he sets you down to reveal his red rimmed eyes and similarly hued nose.

‘How far along are you?’

Seven weeks and three days today, according to your doctor. When Dr Hernandez told you, you couldn’t believe you were so far along and didn’t notice.

‘That’s what, almost two months?’

In defence of you though, between your work and Jude’s chaotic football schedule, you’ve been out of touch with your body.

‘Did you know?’

‘I suspected it.’ You tell him about the morning after that night when you noticed that your period was late. ‘I wanted to tell you, but I wanted to take the test first.’

‘And why didn’t you tell me after?’

‘I wanted the doctor to confirm it.’

You’ve grown so tired of standing, so you sit on the carpeted floor of the closet, and Jude joins you, pushing the ottoman to one side so that he can lean against the island.

‘I called Dr Morena who referred me to Dr Hernandez.’

He scowls, ‘Who’s that?’

‘My obstetrician.’

The scowl deepens.

You sigh, ‘The doctor who’ll care for me during the pregnancy.’

‘Oh.’ With his legs spread and stretched out before him, he pulls you into him and sets you between them. ‘And you said that Dr Morena referred you to this. . .’

‘Obstetrician.’

‘Yeah, that.’

You hum in agreement as you rest your back against his torso.

Dr Morena is your family GP.

There’s a silent beat then he asks, ‘So he knew before me?’

‘Winnie too,’ you turn your head so that you’re partially facing him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Winnie knew before me?’

The offence is evident in his voice.

‘I had to tell her,’ you defend, but this isn’t where you want to steer the conversation. ‘She helped me set this all up.’

He grunts.

‘Are you mad at me?’

‘Kinda.’

Well, now you feel bad.

‘I’m sorry,’ you sit up and turn to face him, maintaining eye contact as you explain, ‘Had I known it would’ve offended you, I wouldn’t have done it.’

But she was so integral in all of this, a part of you’s glad you did. . .

‘Oh, come on, Jude.’

He’s pouting, your big baby.

‘Cheer up, will you?’ you straddle him, cupping his face to gently stroke his cheek with your thumb. ‘I’m really sorry.’

It’s about another minute of silence and avoided eye contact, and you’re about to give up and on the verge of tears when:

‘Babe, I’m only messing with you.’

A quiet beat, then there’s relief, followed by loud laughter.

‘That wasn’t funny,’ you grouse, slapping him lightly on his chest. ‘I almost cried, you know.’

‘Come here,’ he pulls you into him.

The traces of alcohol still linger in his speech, but he’s significantly sobered up since he got home ten minutes ago.

‘I can’t believe you’re pregnant.’

And you can’t remember the last time Jude was this excited about something outside of football. His reaction almost makes you wish you had waited to share the news with him on his birthday, but that wouldn’t have worked because he’ll be in Germany then with the national team for the Euros.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘How the pill doesn’t work a hundred percent,’ you pull away.

But then again, with all the jet setting you’ve been doing, you probably weren’t taking it at the same time every day.

With a flash of his signature smile, he concurs.

‘My knees are starting to hurt,’ you announce as you move off of his lap and back to your previous spot between his legs.

Jude places a hand over your stomach, and with your hands over his larger ones, you move them lower to the pelvic area.

‘There.’

He chuckles. ‘You know, I always dreamed of being a young dad.’

You didn’t know this about him.

‘Not at twenty-one,’ he continues, ‘but you know, in my twenties.’

It’s comforting to know that this baby fits into his life plan.

‘How about you?’

‘I don’t know,’ you admit after a moment of consideration.

You’re still wrapping your head around the turn your life’s taken. The WAG thing kinda blindsided you, the fame too. The craziest part of this all is that you’ve made a career of it, built an entire brand.

‘But I’m not mad at this plot twist.’

‘Our kid’s a plot twist?’ he chuckles.

You nod. ‘Clearly we weren’t paying attention in sex education.’

He kisses the top of your head.

‘Dr Hernandez said that the baby’s about the size of a blueberry,’ you tell him.

It’s such a random fact, but you feel compelled to share it with him.

‘That’s really tiny.’

‘Right?’

Jude keeps rubbing over the area, and you have an inkling he’ll make a habit of this.

Some minutes pass, and then you remember that the camera’s still going, so you excuse yourself from Jude.

‘Where’re you going?’

His grip is firm around your waist.

‘I’m going to get the camera.’

He looks confused, but he releases you. On bended knees, you shuffle over to the other end of the island to quickly grab it, but you don’t stop the recording. When you get back to Jude, you find him in a daze, silently staring at the sonogram in his hand.

‘She’s so tiny,’ he comments when you sit at your previous spot, facing him.

‘She?’

Talk about wanting to be a girl dad.

‘You think the baby’s a girl?’

He looks up to find a camera in his face. ‘What, you think it’s a boy?’

You shrug, you haven’t actually given it much thought. ‘Well, do you think you can handle a mini me?’

He makes a face.

‘Ah, take it back,’ you giggle.

He takes the camera and turns the lens to you. ‘Well, now I’m asking you. Y/N, do you think Baby Bellingham’s a girl or a boy?’

You pause to think about it. A mini you or a mini Jude, how difficult. ‘Well, I’m going the opposite, I think Baby Bellinghamʼs a boy.’

You snuggle into him, ear pressed against his chest, camera still in your face, but you’re both in the frame. One fact people don’t know about your boyfriend is that he’s a master vlogger, and he’s actually recorded many segments for your vlogs that will never see the light of day because when it comes to Jude, you’re a shameless gatekeeper.

‘I want to shower before bed,’ he proclaims once the recording has stopped. ‘Join me?’

You’ve already taken your shower, but you figure a second one wouldn’t hurt. Jude takes your hand and leads you out of the closet and into the bathroom, where you strip out of your clothes.

‘Is it my imagination, or are your boobs getting bigger?’

Huh?

You look down at your exposed breasts, ‘Are you joking?’

‘No, I’m not,’ with a hand on each shoulder, he turns you towards the mirror. ‘Look.’

You’re looking at them, but they still look the same to you, but he’s adamant. Then, in a move you deem perverted—in a good way, of course—, he cups them in his hands.

‘What are you doing?’ At this point, you can’t contain your laughter.

‘How are you not seeing this?’

He must’ve drank more than you realise, because what the fuck is this?

‘Are you high?’

His face twists with disapproval, ‘No, why?’

‘The boobs,’ you turn to him, ‘what’s with the sudden fascination with them?’

‘I like your boobs, you know this.’

You do. And you like his butt.

‘Come,’ you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull him into the shower. ‘I think you’re tired.’

And horny.

You turn the faucet to run the water.

As you’d imagine, not much showering is done.

‘Careful not to wet your hair,’ you warn him, but it’s too late.

‘I don’t care,’ he says flippantly as he takes your face between his hands and leans over to kiss you.

This is not what you came here to do.

You’re both covered in suds.

‘Jude, I need to rinse my body.’

‘Later,’ he mutters against your lips.

‘Jude!’ you squeal.

He’s such a Silly Billy when he wants to be.

You gasp into his passionate kiss when you suddenly feel the cold shower wall against your back. In a swift and slick movement, Jude trails kisses across your left shoulder and you tilt your head to one side to give him better access to your neck.

A soft moan escapes your parted lips as he sucks on the sensitive skin.

‘Jude. . .’

You want to tell him to stop, but the hand on his naked lower back pulls him into to you.

He hums into the kiss as his hand moves up your body to cup your boob, ‘Tonight, you’ve made me the happiest man alive.’

His vulnerability catches you off guard, how can you not give into him. . .

///

For breakfast this morning, you’re making honey butter toast using a recipe you found on the internet. It’s your first time making it and you’re not entirely sure what you’re doing here, but Jude saw it on Pinterest the other week and begged you to make it, so that’s what he’ll have for breakfast.

It’s a simple enough recipe, but knowing you and your iffy cooking skills, this could either be a major success or an epic fail—nothing in the middle. If it does fail though, you’ve got the regular bacon and egg fry-up on standby.

But only positive thoughts in this kitchen.

You’ve got your favourite morning playlist going softly in the background, and today’s what you consider the perfect Saturday morning. The sun is fully out, and the expansive windows of the apartment allow for the natural light to pour into the space and warms it.

You put the toast into the oven and set the timer.

At the end of the summer, your lease for this apartment will be up, but the likelihood of you extending it has significantly shrunk with the latest development in your life. The song goes, “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Y/N with a baby carriage,” but you’ve skipped parts, so some things need to be shifted around.

That means that the house hunting that you’ve been putting off needs to start. . . now, really.

This is where Coralie comes in handy, but you’re not talking to her. She actually reached out to you Sunday morning to apologise for your awkward encounter at the restaurant that night. Her text read:

Coralie: Last night, I overstepped and I’m really sorry and embarrassed by my actions. Please forgive me.

You’re yet to respond to the text, but you don’t plan to anytime soon because you don’t accept her stupid apology. As far as you’re concerned, she’s an insignificant homewrecker. She is two-faced and vindictive and incredibly cruel for subjecting you to such humiliation.

She laughed with you, acted like a friend when she was fucking your man behind your back for six months.

‘Bitch,’ you mumble as you load the dishes into the wash.

But she’s not worth the time, emotions, nor the energy. So with a deep breath, you bop thoughts of her out of your mind, and move on with your day.

Easy.

A half hour later, breakfast is ready to be served. You’ve gone all out with this meal, and it would be an absolute shame to not take a picture to post onto your IG story. Very quickly, you snap a picture to post later, and take the food to your sleeping boyfriend before the ice-cream starts to melt.

He’s still fast asleep, but he’s since shifted sleeping positions, and he’s hugging your pillow.

How cute?

When he wakes up, you expect him to be hungover and grouchy from all his boozing, and you just know he’ll play it up for attention. If there’s one thing you know about your boyfriend it’s that he dies for attention, and he simply cannot resist being babied.

‘Wakey wakey sleepyhead.’

You place the heavy tray onto the bedside table, on the other side of it to avoid it getting bumped by mistake, and attempt to wake him again.

Still, nothing.

‘Jude,’ you mount him, peppering a million tiny kisses against the side of his pretty face. Even in his slumber, he looks perfect. ‘Come on, you got your eight hours, it’s time to wake up.’

He grunts, then sends you away.

‘But I got food,’ you object with feigned sadness.

But he doesnʼt budge.

Alright, sweet coaxing out the window. ‘Babe, I made honey butter toast and the ice-cream’s rapidly melting. Wake up.’

There’s another silent beat and then, ‘What the hell is that?’

Of course he doesn’t remember what it is.

‘Honey butter toast,’ you repeat, as if it’ll somehow miraculously make him know what it is. ‘That bread you saw on Pinterest and begged me to make.’

He’s still clueless, but at least you’ve got his attention. Finally, with a long groan, he sits up, moving cautiously to not send you tumbling to the floor.

‘What time is it?’

‘Ten.’

He cusses softly as he rubs his face. ‘I’m supposed to meet with my parents at eleven.’

You didn’t know that.

But it’s clearly nothing pressing because he doesn’t seem fazed by the fact that he’s running late. He yawns, rubs his eyes and face some more, then turns to you—sitting comfortably on his lap—and smiles. ‘Good morning.’

You mirror his expression. ‘Morning. You hungry?’

‘Starving. What’s for breakfast?’

‘Here,’ you slide off his lap to take the tray and hand it to him. ‘It’s my first time making it, so be nice.’

He assesses the tray of food you’ve placed before him, then looks back up at you. ‘Nine out of ten for the presentation.’

Your brows furrow, ‘Why not ten?’

‘Some of the ice-cream has melted and it looks a bit sloppy.’

‘Yeah, and who’s fault is that?’

He lets out a hearty laugh, but you’re not amused by this judge.

You climb back onto the bed, your eyes fixed on Jude as he puts the first forkful of the honey butter toast, with a little bit of the vanilla ice-cream and salted caramel sauce, into his mouth.

He chews, then he moans, his eyes widen, more chewing, and then finally, he swallows.

This is a good reaction.

‘You like it?’

‘I love it,’ he cuts another piece of the toast. ‘Ten out of ten for the taste. Did you make the ice-cream and caramel sauce yourself?’

‘Alright, Paul Hollywood.’ You grab the extra fork you had on the tray and dig in—curious about the taste—and are met with protests from Jude. ‘I just want a little taste.’

‘Get your own.’

Your bottom lip juts out, it’s your turn to pout. ‘Yeah, but I’m pregnant.’

With a heavy sigh, he proclaims, ‘And so it starts.’

You can’t help but laugh at his solemn tone.

The two of you remain in bed, even after he’s finished having his breakfast, because his outing with his parents has now been postponed to two o’clock. If it were any other day, you’d join them, but you promised to accompany Winnie to the art gallery and you don’t think you can get out of it.

Turning into your side, Jude questions, ‘Why does she have to go to the art gallery?’

Because she’s in her art girl era, inspired by her latest fling, an up-and-coming visual artist from Portugal. His name’s Baltasar, and they met at Coachella a couple months back, and lately, he’s all she ever talks about. You think she’s in love.

‘A visual artist?’

‘Yep.’

‘So he’s broke?’

‘Hey, don’t be mean,’ you chide.

He doesn’t care though, he thinks it’s funny.

‘You’re such an asshole, d’you know that?’

‘Babe, I’m just kidding.’

Yeah, right.

‘Well, she really likes him so if she mentions it to you, keep the bad jokes to yourself.’

‘Noted,’ his mouth connects with your cheek.

The conversation smoothly transitions from Winnie’s new boyfriend to Jobe, who’s relentlessly trying to convince his older brother to take a short trip to Ibiza before he has to report for international duty. You think it’s a great idea, a final hoorah before it gets serious again.

‘Will you come with?’

‘Ibiza sober? Count me out.’

‘I’ll drink for the both of us.’

‘Uh, definitely not,’ your fingers glide up and down his naked back. ‘And I think Jobe wants this to be a boy’s trip. No girlfriends.’

‘But you’re not my girlfriend.’

Huh? ‘I’m not?’

‘You recently got upgraded to baby mum.’

He’s an idiot. Who even laughs at their own jokes this much? Either way, you’re not going to Ibiza with them. It’s another half hour of mindless chatter before you ask,

‘What time is it?’

‘Early.’

‘Jude, I’m being serious,’ you reach blindly for your phone and find it on the other end of the bed. ‘I need to start getting ready.’

‘Can’t you postpone it for another day?’

‘Winnie leaves tomorrow night.’

But he’s not budging, and so you have to use all of your might to shove him off of you.

Your strength leaves him shook. ‘Where’d that come from?’

‘It’s all those training sessions you’re paying for.’

He swells with pride—men.

‘Will you join me?’

Jude perks up.

‘But we’re only showering, nothing else.’

And he’s dejected.

‘I’ll just sit on the side and watch.’

That’s fine by you.

He follows you into the bathroom, and you think you hear him mumble something about you making it worth his while.

///

What your gallery date conveniently forgot to mention was that Baltasar would be joining your gallery excursion. Had you known he’d be here, you would’ve asked Jude to tag along so it could be a double date or something.

Jude: How’s it going? 🖼️

You’re miserable here, and you’re pretty sure you’re third wheeling. And look, you want to be supportive of your best friend, right? But it’s so hard to be when the guy she’s seeing’s the textbook definition of an asshole.

You’re one pretentious comment away from faking morning sickness to get out of this.

You: I’m having the worst time

You: The art is great, but he’s so smug 🙄

And he’s rude, so rude, and he’s determined to talk over you.

Jude: The artist? 🎨🧑‍🎨

You: Yeah, I don’t think he likes me :/

And you’d actually be doing him a favour by leaving, you’d be doing you both the favour because at this point, you feel like you’re intruding and you’re starting to feel awkward.

Jude: Well fuck him

His text makes you chortle.

At least Winnie’s making an effort to include you. Every now and again, she’ll ask for your opinion on certain pieces, but in the end, you just can’t do it.

You can’t be here anymore.

‘Hey,’ you lightly tap Winnie’s shoulder.

She turns to regard you, ‘Hey, what’s up?’

‘Can I talk to you for a second?’

‘Sure.’

She excuses herself from Baltasar, who’s really displeased with your intrusion, and you find a quiet corner.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yeah, everything’s fine, the art’s great, but I’m not feeling too hot.’

‘Oh no,’ her brows knit in concern, ‘is it morning sickness?’

She’s buying it, good.

‘I think I’m going to head home, you know, to lie down for a couple hours.’

‘Yeah, alright,’ she takes your hand in hers and lightly squeezes it.

‘But how will you get back to the apartment?’

You are her ride home after all.

‘I was planning on spending the rest of the afternoon with Baltasar,’ she looks over her shoulder at him and when she looks back at you, she’s blushing, ‘but what about you? Are you fine to drive in your condition?’

‘It’s just a little nausea, I promise I’ll be fine.’

It takes a minute to convince her, but you don’t relent, and in the end, you manage to convince her.

‘Now go,’ you nudge her towards her waiting love interest. ‘Have fun with your boyfriend–’

‘Uh, he’s not my boyfriend,’ she quickly interjects, her voice dropping to a scolding whisper.

You smile knowingly, sure he isn’t.

‘What makes you say he’s my boyfriend? Did he say something to you?’

‘No, but I saw the way you were looking at him,’ you shrug, ‘the way he was looking at you.’

Winnie’s uncharacteristically shy all of a sudden.

‘I’ve clearly misread the situation,’ you start backing away from her. ‘But we’ll talk more about it later, okay?’

‘Promise to text me when you get home.’

‘I pinky promise to call you when I get home,’ you blow her a kiss.

You wave goodbye to Baltsar, who seems pleased to see you go, and then you’re out of there.

It’s a short drive home from the gallery, and you’re glad to be back home, but you wish Jude was here with you.

You: I miss you.

As soon as the message’s sent, you regret sending it. But you can always blame pregnancy for making you so clingy.

You fall back onto the bed with a long exhale. What to do with your time? You could watch a movie or you could go the self-care route.

The other day, a skincare brand sent you a few collagen face masks you’ve been dying to try. It’s one of those that melts into your skin. And since you’re on that path, you can also soak in the tub ‘cause you haven’t done that in a while. And if you’re really up to it, maybe you can do your nails.

But first:

You: Got home safe. Have fun with your friend ;) can’t wait to hear about it later x

Jude misses you too. He’s also still with his parents but should be home before dinner.

You: Did you tell them about… 🫄

Jude: No. I thought we’d do it together.

That’s a good plan.

You: Great idea. I’ll see you later, I love you x

Jude: I love you more 😘

Dinner time’s a while away, so you’ve got plenty of time to have your self-care afternoon.

The tub is halfway full, the bubbles foaming, the steam and aroma engulfing the space when your phone notifies you that someone’s at the door.

Your body’s sheathed by a robe, but you still feel indecent as you make your way to the door.

The doorbell goes off a second time just before you reach the door, and when you open it, the last person you expect to find standing on the other side of it is Coralie.

Yes, Coralie’s at your door and she looks like. . . Well, she looks like shit.

‘Y/N,’ she forces her lips into a tight smile. ‘Hi.’

The shock has you frozen for a moment, but you’re quick to recover. ‘Jude’s not home.’

You’re curt because you want her out of your sight and you’ve left the water running in the bathroom.

‘I know he isn’t.’

She does?

‘I’m not here to see Jude, I’m actually here to see you.’

Of course she’s here to see you.

‘Why?’

‘‘Cause there’s so much we need to talk about, woman to woman.’

“Woman to woman”, what a joke? And it takes everything in you to stop your eyes from rolling. What the fuck does that even mean?

‘Can’t we schedule this for another time? I’m kinda in a rush.’

‘It won’t take long, I promise.’

Hell, she can’t take a hint, can she?

‘Can I come in?’

‘We can’t talk about whatever it is here?’ you tighten your grip around the door handle to stop your hand from shaking. ‘I mean, you said it yourself, it won’t take long.’

‘Yeah, but it’s weird doing it at the door, so can I come in?’

‘You’re in no position to call the shots.’

‘Please,’ she sounds desperate. ‘I just need ten minutes of your time, then I promise I’ll go.’

The more you look at her, the worse she looks. Honestly, she looks like she’s been to hell and back, and if you didn’t hate her so much, you’d feel sympathy.

‘Ten minutes, then you have to leave.’

‘That’s all I ask, thank you.’

And so despite your better judgement, you step to one side to allow her into the apartment. As you shut the door, you offer her a drink.

‘I’ll have a water, thank you.’

‘We’ve got water in the fridge.’ You walk towards your bedroom to shut off the running water, ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’

On the short trek, you dig your phone from your robe pocket.

You: Coralie’s here she says she wants to talk but i’m uneasy

You shut the faucet. You quickly change out of your robe into the first clothing items you stumble upon, which are the sweats Jude was wearing earlier. They’re loosely fitting, but they’re comforting because they smell like him.

Coralie’s in the living room, bottle of water in hand, and she’s focused on something out the window.

‘Sorry I took so long.’

Your sudden intrusion snaps her out of her reverie, ‘It’s fine.’

Her eyes are fixed on you as you move around the space to take your seat on the sectional, feet tucked beneath your bum.

This is so awkward.

‘So,’ you start, breaking the ice, ‘you said you wanted to talk?’

You heard Jude out, so it’s only fair that you hear Coralie’s side of the story.

‘Right,’ she clears her throat. ‘I assume you know about our. . .’

‘Affair?’

She winces at your choice of words.

‘Yeah, I do.’

‘And he told you everything?’

‘That you got drunk last December and hooked up? That you’ve been hooking up behind my back for the last six months?’

She sits perfectly still, but her trembling lower lip betrays her.

‘That you were sending inappropriate texts, pictures, and videos. . .’ you continue, pleased to see her squirm in her seat. ‘Am I missing anything else?’

It’s only been, what? Five days since you last saw her, but in the short time span, she’s aged a decade. Coralie’s never disclosed her age, but you’ve always placed her in her late-twenties, maybe early-thirties, but today she looks well into her forties.

‘How did you find out?’

‘I saw the drunk text you sent him, what did it say again?’ you pause for dramatic effect. ‘Right, “I’m drunk and I miss you. Call me.”’

She’s fidgeting with the bottle in her hand, her head bowing in shame. ‘Y/N, I’m really sorry.’

‘What are you apologising for?’

‘All of it.’ She looks up at you, ‘I’m sorry that you found out the way you did.’

You hear her, but you’re not ready to accept her apology. Especially because she’s cutting into your self-care time with this crap.

‘Who made the first move?’

‘Jude did.’

Your heart aches at the revelation, it’s like someone has driven a sharp knife into it.

‘He was upset at you, he didn’t say why but he was really cut up about a fight you had,’ she proceeds. ‘And if it wasn’t me, it would’ve been someone else.’

You think you might throw up.

‘But he was drunk, we both were, and. . .’ her voice trails.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the room because really, what else is there to say?

‘Do you love him?’

‘Does it matter?’

It doesn’t matter, but you want to know. Let’s say it’s curiosity.

‘He’s hard not to love.’

That’s true.

‘But am I in love with him? No.’

Some of the tension in your shoulders eases.

‘And he doesn’t love me either,’ and she almost sounds sad when she says that. ‘It was only ever sex between us, nothing more.’

But the texts. . . what did they mean?

‘Nothing,’ she insists. ‘Call it harmless flirtation.’

‘Harmless?’

She flushes, ‘You know what I mean.’

So you now know that he was mad at you, they were both drunk, they fucked and you think Coralie regrets it, but you’re not sure.

‘Who pursued it?’

‘What?’

‘Your. . . thing, the affair,’ it irks you to say it.

‘Oh, Y/N, I don’t think you–’

‘Was it Jude?’

‘He loves you.’

‘I know he loves me.’

Coralie’s quiet which furthers your frustration at her.

‘Did he pursue the affair?’

‘Why does it matter? It doesn’t change anything because in the end, he chose you.’ It’s like it pains her to say it. ‘He’ll always choose you.’

You nod.

After another long and awkward silence, she professes, ‘You know, I felt awful deceiving you because you really are such a good person.’

‘Don’t start with that crap.’

‘No, I mean it. You’re a good person, and we were friends–’

‘We were never friends,’ you interrupt. ‘You were never my friend.’

You tolerated her, there’s a difference.

‘I know you’re upset with me, and trust me, I get it, but come on,’ she persists. ‘We were friendly with each other.’

‘You sleep with all your friends’ boyfriends?’

That shuts her up.

‘Look, Coralie, I appreciate the apology,’ you pull your phone from the sweatpants pocket to check the time and discover eight missed calls from Jude. ‘But you said you’d be here for ten minutes, and you’ve exceeded that time.’

‘I know, and I’m really sorry about that, but there’s one last thing I want to tell you.’

Your stomach twists with dread—she better not tell you that she’s pregnant. The cheating you can move past, but a child you can’t recover from.

‘You’re pregnant?’

‘What?’ She looks offended that you’d even ask her that question. ‘No, I’m not pregnant.’

You sigh in relief.

She’s not pregnant, but she did lose her job. She received the call this morning to let her know that her services were no longer required by the club. She’s certain Jude had something to do with it, so she’s here to plead with you to talk sense into him.

‘And I meant what I said, I really am sorry for the inconvenience that I’ve caused in your life, but Y/N, I really need this job,’ she concludes.

‘How are you so sure he had something to do with it?’

She shoots you an incredulous look as if to say, ‘Really?’

‘And if he did have something to do with it, what makes you think he’d listen to anything I have to say?’

‘Because you told him to end our arrangement and he did.’

‘But you said it yourself, you mean nothing to him.’

She flinches again.

‘I mean, I can try to talk to him, but I can’t promise you anything.’

‘Thank you,’ she smiles. ‘That’s all I ask.’

‘Well, like I said, I have somewhere to be so–’

You don’t get to finish the sentence, ‘cause you’re cut off by a panicked Jude who storms into the apartment, followed by an equally panicked Mark.

‘Babe?’

Thank the heavens he’s here.

///

You wake up in the middle of the night to find Jude’s side of the bed empty. At first you think he’s in the bathroom, but when five minutes pass and he’s not back, the panic sets in. You grab your phone off of the bedside table to check the time: 2:38.

Where the hell is he?

You sit up and search the dark room for traces of him, but there’s nothing—only his phone on the bedside table.

It’s been hours since your confrontation with Coralie, but you’re yet to process it all. You’re still in shock at the fact that she rocked up at your door the way she did, but you’d be lying if you said the conversation wasn’t cathartic.

‘Jude?’

You push the covers away and climb off of the bed. After you locate your house shoes, you set out to find him.

His phone is here, so he shouldn’t be far.

‘Jude?’

As you make your trek down the short passage, you hear soft chatter coming from the TV room. When you turn the corner, you find Jude sitting on the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him, feet resting on the coffee table.

A smile takes over your face at the sight of him.

‘Hey, you,’ he greets you as you crawl into his lap.

‘Hi,’ you tuck your face in the crook of his neck and inhale his scent. ‘What are you watching?’

‘Pulp Fiction.’

Of course he is.

‘Why’re you up?’

You trace patterns on his t-shirt clad chest. ‘I woke up and you weren’t in bed. I panicked.’

He tightens his arms around you, ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ you sit up. ‘This pregnancy has me acting weird.’

‘Yeah, blame it on the pregnancy,’ he teases.

‘Shut up,’ you shift to straddle him. ‘Why are you sitting here alone?’

His hands settle on your waist, ‘I didn’t want to wake you.’

There’s still so much to discuss in terms of Coralie and her claims, but tonight just isn’t the time for that.

‘Do you think we’ll ever be okay again?’

‘Yeah,’ he takes your mouth into a deep kiss.

‘Come to bed with me,’ you whisper against his lips, moaning when he slips a hand between you, teasing his fingers through your slick folds.

‘I don’t think we’ll make it to bed.’

///

Tagged:

@luv4bellingham

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham scenario #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x you #Jude Bellingham one shot #Jude Bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fanfiction #Jude Bellingham scenarios

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gold-rhine · 1 day

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Honestly I don’t get why hoyoverse decided to make Yae bully like all of the characters. Like with Ei it’s fine since it’s an (presumably) immortal character trolling of even more so immortal disaster friend but she like basically force-femmes Gorou which is weird, creepy, and not at all funny, normally Thoma’s line about her isn’t too bad in a vacuum but with how she treats Gorou it’s kinda not good. Of course there’s how she treated Scaramouche when he was basically just born. I didn’t actually know the Sara bit but that’s another strike against her.

It only really works when the character either a. Doesn’t realize they’re being messed with ala Itto or b. She’s battling wits with someone ala Kokomi.

They could’ve made her a tricksy girlboss without making her an utter dick

gorou force-femme thing is obv kink bait, so i dont even hold it against her. its marketing. its less about gorou and more for the subs self-insert to imagine her doing it to them, like lisa mommy bait with electrocution punishment on the side. i dont think its like, well done, but its playful and wink wink nudge nudge enough that like, whatever man.

everything else is kinda yeah. no one is getting off on that, thats just on her. and i don't think its wrong to write cruel petty characters, but the narrative doesn't really address it bc we need to keep her likable bc marketing again.

itd be much more interesting if we actually got into all toxic implication of being possessive ei's pet who immediately tries to remove anyone who can take raiden's attention, to the point of preferring raiden sitting isolated in a room for 500 years and country going into civil war, but yae is raiden's one and only friend and sooooo special

#rhine talks

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gh0vtzb1og · 19 hours

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I NEED some step-cest with graves like stepdad graves and stepdaughter reader where her mom is gone for like a day out or whatever and grave is just watching football with a beer in hand and forces her to watch with him and then starts groping her etc PLEASE

You can be my baby. STEP DAD GRAVES AU/ FEM!READER X GRAVES

18+ reader (I realized I should probably make it clear I do not write minors x adults)

Notes; groping, stepcest, begging

Graves was leaned back in his recliner, manspreading his legs. The blonde let out a grunt as he watched football (not the British version.) his eye twitching every time something went bad. Even though this is how he was gonna spend his night without his wife. She was out of town for some work thing. Graves didn’t bother to figure it out, it didn’t concern him, not like she prodded at his work life.

You skip out into the living room, an anxious look on your face as you stood before your step dad. “Can I go out with some friends, please?” You pouted, seeing his expression go from annoyed to a bit angry. “No. Your mother left town for a day so we’re gonna spend time together. Why don’t you go out with friends when your mom’s here.” His hand snaked around your waist, resting at the top of your Jean shorts. He pulled you closer to him; the look of disgust filling your face.

“What the fuck Philip.” You snap, trying to push away from him as he grabs at your hips. A pleased grunt leaving him as he heard his name, “no no no. You ain’t calling me that. Your gonna call me daddy like a good girl hm?” He grumbled into your ear, watching your hands tremble with annoyance.

“I’m not calling you daddy for fucks-“ you were interrupted with a spank to your rear. A loud yelp of pain leaving you as your step dad rubbed the spot his slap had kissed. “What were you saying? Princess?” He said in a low tone, watching as your face grew more and more embarrassed. You’d have to say it, at this rate he would make you.

“Nothing daddy,” you whisper out into the warm air of the living room, graves hands go back to massaging your ass as he makes you sit on his lap, you tried to rest on a spot that wouldn’t touch his cock, graves leaned into you, letting you rest against his body as he touched you. You felt empty, as a man who promised to protect you to your mouth grabbed and tugged on your skin, soft cries of pain and regret leaving your mouth.

“Please stop,, I don’t want this.” You murmur into his skin, listening for a response, toy didn’t want this. You didn’t want him touching you, especially not like this. This is how he should be touching your mother, not you.

“I know, I know you don’t want this but it’s not all about you. Is it? Hm? I don’t think it is.” He grumbled, a spank meeting your flesh once more as you let out a weak cry. Trying to bite your lip and not give him the satisfaction he craved, if you did that it would just encourage his bad behavior, you didn’t want this.

You felt disgusting, your step dad pulling down your shorts, throwing them onto the floor nearby the chair he was sat on, graves ran his fingers over your clit. This was the start of a long disgusting night, something you’d dread whenever your mom went out of town. Pleading to her to take you with her or not leave.

#cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #gh0vtzb1ogz #call of duty smut #graves cod #graves call of duty #philip graves x you #philip graves x reader #graves smut #graves x reader #phillip graves #cod smut #cod mwii #tw stepcest

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fariesoiree · 3 days

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Heyy babes it's me againn

I was wondering if you'd consider writing a smutty drabble about hobie with a reader who has a praise kink? 👀

Much love from yours truly, ☄️

welcome back! always love the interactions c: of cawrse you can! idk how long this is but i think it qualifies as a fic soooo . . . hate the ending but it was getting tooooo long c: ageless and minors dni i will block you, black fem reader, she/her prns

hobie first notices the way you sort of . . . cower when he compliments you a few weeks ago. maybe cowers isn’t the best word — more like shy away. sure, you’ll always smile and accept it all with grace but there’s always something about it. if he looks at you hard enough, your brown eyes looks a little different than usual. it brings about a curiosity in him that he’s never had before.

it’s a question that dwells in the back of his mind and only resurfaces now, when you’re both created comfortable indents on hobie’s gray couch, one that he’s gotten secondhand and restored himself. he holds a wine glass in his hand, filled with cheap, store bought wine. he doesn’t care too much for the taste or expensive experience and you feel fortunate that you are able to pick out the bottle this week.

on the tv, just large enough to cover the stand, plays another episode of too hot to handle. each time another bad episode of trashy reality television comes to an end and netflix auto plays another — your account because hobie would never — you just let it continue playing, transfixed on the forced drama.

“you think you could last on a show like that?” hobie asks, taking a sip from the round glass. the wine is more sweet than bitter and leaves a subtle alcoholic aftertaste on his tongue. he would prefer something a little stronger but the point is not to get drunk. instead it’s to enjoy each other’s presence. “like, on an island with a bunch of hot guys that you can’t fuck but you want to, so bad.”

you glance at him from the corner of your eye expecting to meet his gaze, only to find the side of his face. even from this direction, the angles of his jaw is still just as sharp and reflects his true beauty in a way that used to intimidate you in the earlier days of your relationships. “well, can i fuck the girls?”

hobie’s tongue clicks against the ridged roof of his mouth with a hushed tut! he rolls his eyes but the corners of his lips twitch upwards. you’re such a smartass. “obviously not. don’t act daft.” in between his words, he pauses to scowl at the private interviews from the contestants.

“then no. plus, i only want you. if i ended up on that show after meeting you, i’d just be bored, i think. what would i even do?”

a chuckle rumbles in his chest, spreading in thick warmth that crawls its way out his throat. his head lulls in your direction and the hand, attached to the hand wrapped around your shoulder, rubs across your bare skin, left uncovered under the white shortsleeved loose, cherry patterned top. it’s long enough to be perfectly comfortable when you’re curled up into his side, hanging around your arms without constricting your movement when the fabric gets bunched and stick beneath you.

“jeez, bug. aren’t you proper perfect. always treatin’ me so well.” when he looks down at you, there’s that look again, along with the sheepish smile that slowly creeps along your face. he doesn’t know how to describe it, but it’s there and it makes him curious. you’ve never been too shy with him, not anymore at least. yet, here you are, losing your train of thought every time he sweet talks you. “why do you do that?”

this time, instead of continuing to sit there with that distracted look on your face, you squint at him. his question confuses you enough to turn your head, having to tilt your head up to eye him comfortably. “do what?” you rest the base of the wine glass on your knees, propped up and pressed into your chest. the sock-covered soles of your feet are stable on the couch.

“that thing. every time i say something nice to you, you start acting weird.” hobie explained. he mirrors your expression, confused that you’re confused. how could you not know? you’re consistently doing it, each and every time without fail.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘bie.” you say with a small shake of your head. the shiny fabric of your silk bonnet catches the sunlight and reflect it back out of the skylight over your head.

hobie’s houseboat is quaint, a little small, and depends heavily on the natural lighting. several windows are littered around the walls and occasionally left open to allow the cool breeze, rolling over the water, inside the room. the kitchen and the living room are only a few steps away, so much so that hobie doesn’t necessarily need a table in the kitchen. instead, he opts for bar stools at the counter that keeps the space from feeling stuffy.

the small, gray sectional is covered in a throw blanket and a few pillows, all varying in color and material — courtesy of you. the brown, coffee table in front of you has its own decor on it. decals from different shows hobie watches, figurines of characters he’s a fan of, a couple plants too that thrive in such sunny conditions.

a little ways down the hall is the bathroom, which is more open concept than your standard way of living. the sink is left unguarded and open to the houseboat residents while the shower and toilet are surrounded by three walls and a door, all designed to mimic the texture and appearance of wood.

farther down from that is the only bedroom in the boat, the one that you frequent for midday naps when you’re seeking the comfort of your partner. the little space is does have is narrow and only enough to fit a full sized bed, stacked on top a bed frame that allows for pullout drawers beneath, optimizing the storage. there’s a window next to the bed with blinds that stay pulled up during the day so you can ogle at the soft waves the push and pull of gravity brings about.

he’s gotten his walls decorated with posters of bands, memorabilia, and other random clutter hobie’s collected over the years. it’s never truly tidy here but it’s comfortable, it’s cozy to be somewhere that feels lived in without regrets.

“you don’t know what i’m talkin’ about?” hobie reiterates with a curl of his lips. he’s got his thick, dark eyebrows furrowed together, knitting and inching together on his forehead akin to caterpillars. sometimes, he’ll rest with his head on your lap and flinch under the cold tweezers when you pluck astray hairs out of their follicles.

you shake your head again and lean further into the warmth of his side. “mm-mm,” you hum and take a sip of the stella rose, pink and swirling in the rounded walls of your glass. you can still feel his skeptical eyes focused on the top of your covered head. before he can press you anymore, you cut him off, lifting your finger to point at the screen. “she’s actually an idiot. he’s been flirting around with two other girls but she’s still trying to get with him. that’s so stupid.”

he wants to side eye you, listening to that voice in his head coming up with what feels like rational assumptions but he doesn’t, because you’ve already moved on. instead, he just shrugs and drops it entirely — for now. “maybe she’s into that. a girl cuck.”

nighttime comes peacefully. the horizon darkens as the sun dips out of visibility. you made dinner, seasoned asparagus with steaming mashed potatoes and herb-crusted chicken; hobie washed the dishes from that night and after going through the motions of getting ready for bed, you both ended up in bed and under the soft sheets, wrapped in each others arms. you’re especially grateful that the boat remains well-vented and the air is cool on the water when you’re pressed into hobie’s bare chest. his skin is always so warm to the touch, so much so that it makes you hot with prolonged contact. in the summer, you can only cuddle for a few minutes before rolling away and throwing the sheets off to cool down.

you got your phone shoved into his face, playing yet another cat video. you smile at the orange feline on your screen, running around its living room in glee. “it’s so cute. i want one so bad.”

“yeah? think you’d be better off with a rock. can’t even take care of yourself.”

you can feel him smirk into your shoulder. one of his long arms goes to trap your body before you can turn and swat at him for his antics. he knows you and how you’d probably flick his forehead for talking about you in such manner.

“what — fucking — ever. get off of me.” you mumble, writhing in his strong hold forcing you into the mattress. he’s left you with enough room to turn your head. it’s a desperate attempt but you try anyway, straining your neck towards his skin to clamp your teeth down. each time, he angles just out of your reach and scoffs.

“feral ass animal. say please and i’ll let you go.”

“hobie!” you more or less whine, lifting your legs and pushing it against is. your futile kicks do nothing but tangle your legs in his until he’s got them squeezed and trapped. you’ve officially lost and there’s nothing you can do.

hobie couldn’t be more pleased with himself and distributes more of his weight onto your back. he grins, white teeth gleaming in the yellow lighting from the lamp on the shelves above your head, set on dim and creating a cozy mood to relax in. “say it. say it or we’ll sit here all night.”

you purse, pout, and wiggle even more. your phone has been discarded and forgotten about, lost somewhere in the bed between your struggling for power. it takes a few minutes to fall still and the air fills with harsh breaths from the both of you. hobie’s giggles are mixed in with snorts and you can’t help but smile at his delight.

“fine! whatever. please let me go.” you’re more upset that you have to admit defeat than the playful battle you’ve gotten yourself in.

it’s almost immediate, the way hobie retracts his grip and removes himself from you entirely, except for the sole arm lazing over your waist, lightweight and without purpose. “atta’ girl. you’re such a good listener.”

he expect some snarky remark to leave your lips, glossy and slathered in aquaphor but nothing. you don’t do anything at all. you only lay there, hands feeling around for your phone. you don’t even turn around to smack his shoulder. you do nothing at all and it confuses him.

hobie sits up, propping his head into the palm of his hand. from here, he gets a wide view of the expression you’re trying so diligently to hide. he can see the soft, timid smile on your face. you’re too busy digging around for your phone to notice his peaked interest. by the time you’re wrapped your fingers around the now warm glass of your phone, hobie’s fingers have done the same but with your chin and tugging it in his direction. “you’re doin’ it again,” he muses.

you’re forced to roll onto your back in his new position and clutch the phone against your chest. you feel a bit like prey, stationed underneath hobie and being accused of something you aren’t even sure about. “what?” your attention flickers between both of your eyes. you’re trying to get an gauge on the situation and turn even further to him.

hobie, much like you earlier, says nothing. his brain whirs with thoughts that rush through a million miles a second. he’s back to jumping to conclusions, working through the possibilities on his own. there’s only a few theories that he can come up with but they all sound silly. all except one. “you like it, don’t you?”

“what?” you repeat, even more lost than before. you’re rapidly falling behind his train of thought and squint your eyes at him. “you have to give me more than that, hobes. i don’t understand right now.”

he repositions himself, sitting up in totality. he doesn’t hold onto you anymore and instead moves to the space in front of you, space that he created by pushing your legs apart until you’re straddling his waist. he’s got a leg hanging off the side of the bed and dangling. the other is folded into him. “are you acting dumb or are you deadass?”

the sudden change in his demeanor has you spooked, even more so because you’re left in the dark. “are you mad at me? did i do something?” you push yourself up until you’re just a few breaths away. your heart races and you’re already wondering how to make up for your wrongdoings.

with the lighting, the room is still pretty dark. you can’t see too well that far apart but when you’re up close and personal with hobie, every detail in his face is on display and perfectly meshing together.

“you like when i talk nice to you. it’s obvious, darlin’. you start acting weird every time. ever since a few weeks ago.” his accusation is based on a few things he’s noticed as the days passed.

“well, yeah.” you sound like he’s the one pretending to be dumb, getting so worked up because you’re appreciative of his kindness. “of course i do . . .? what’s your point?”

hobie shakes his head. his own night cap glints with the occasional red glow. by now, he’s got his hands on your waist making temporary indents into your skin. “no. no, not like that. i’m talking about you like it. like, real bad. like, i bet i could get your panties wet from it, alone.”

your mouth falls open in a shocked o shape. it catches you completely off guard that he’s so suddenly brought up your infatuation with his sweet talk in such a suggestive manner. “huh?” is all you can manage because worst of all, you know he’s right because you have been hoping you’ve been discrete about it this entire time. “shut up?!”

“you didn’t say no.” he looks arrogant now, thumbing the elastic band of your cheeky-cut underwear, made from a gray cotton material and hemmed with a cream lace trim. the little bow on the front is sewn in and perfected with perma-stitches. hobie pulls it back and retracts his thumb. every time it snaps back into place, his grin widens. “i mean, if you wanna experiment, we can. y’know i never mind it, gorgeous.”

it’s suffocating. this whole thing is suffocating and you feel like you’re going to die in the best way possible. this so called “experiment” was not supposed to go this far. it was only supposed to be for a little bit, a half hour max and then you’d both go to sleep with the new knowledge to expand upon at another time. this was particularly important because you had to wake up early tomorrow and hobie knows this. it’s your fault; you shouldn’t have believed him. he looked too excited to worship you in praises and got so carried away that you’ve gotten your chest pushed into the bed. the arch of your back is so deep, you’re pushing your ass so high in the air and against hobie’s thighs.

hobie’s experiment is going so well for him. he’s gotten his chest against your back and his lips right next to your ear. his goal, done successfully, is to make his words as clear as possible so they process in your brain and send another wave of desire racking through every nerve of your body. a hand of his swipes along your clit, curling around the front of your body. his arm is getting somewhat squished underneath you but he couldn’t give fuck all about it. he’s too busy focusing on your wanton moans as you lose yourself, throwing your ass back fervently.

you got your head planted firmly into the bed and hobie hates it. he despises the muffled tone he’s given no choice but to hear; he puts up with it only because he’s having so much fun, too much fun. leaned down so close the the shell of your ear, he’s able to speak so alluringly, never mind the gravely tone his voice had taken on under the strain of casting his pleasure to the back of his mind. “my good — shit, god you’re so perfect — good fuckin’ girl.”

your response is nothing but open-mouthed whines into the sheets, leaving behind a damp trace of the shape of your lips in your wake. your legs quiver and would have otherwise been plopped onto the bed but you’re held up, what little strength you can muster through your forearms and hobie’s snacked around your waist working together keeping you where he’s got you.

you roll your head in his direction and cup his cheek. you look needy, basking in the warm lighting and drowning out the croaking frogs hidden in the shrubbery surrounding the lake. your fingers dig into his cheek to pull him closer and attach your lips to his, rewarding him with wet and sloppy kiss. both of your saliva mix as your tongues swirl against each other.

each particularly deep thrust paired with the smooth words of encouragement constantly flowing from hobie sends another watery gush of arousal from your cunt. it leaks down the sides of your thighs and becomes slathered on hobie’s.

he can’t help but laugh when your attempts to kiss him fall weak and you’re moaning against him. “hobie,” you whisper with a flutter of your eyelashes. they brush across his cheek and hide the burning desire in the brown rim of your eyes behind your eyelids.

a shudder runs down your back, all in preparation for your ultimate undoing. your head droops back into the bed and you clutch the sheets between your fingers. it’s all balled up and pulled into wrinkles.

he wants to reassure you but he can’t; hobie isn’t any better. he’s just as needy as you are, just as dizzy and on the brink of ascending. it’s just something that comes with being buried in your fluttering cunt. “perfect fuckin’ pussy. soo wet f’me, huh.” he says it more like a statement than a question. he doesn’t have to ask because he knows. it’s not like there’s anyone else that can get you to unravel like this, get you so soft beneath them, get your cunt dripping in slick.

there’s a moment when all movement stills and the feeling, the orgasm ebbing away brings a certain discontent that makes you mewl in hopes that the sound would active some carnal sense in his brain. it doesn’t. the only thing that happens is hobie shifting behind you, lifting his torso until he’s looking down at you. his hands grip at your waist, thumbs pressed into the curved dimples in your back. he likes to think they’ve gotten deeper from the amount of times he’s planted them here. “you want it?”

if you were in your right mind, perhaps the eagerness at which your head rise and falls with a nod. “yes, yes please. please, hobie. i want it.” by now, your bonnet had slipped off and tumbled onto the floor, leaving your hair exposed to the elements. you’re fortune to have twisted it a few days ago because even with the hairs beginning to frizz and coil into knots, most of it remains maintainable.

you can feel his rather large palms massaging your skin. it jiggles in waves whenever his hand cracks down hot and heavy. with enough time, you’re sure he could leave behind a dull shade of red. “do it yourself then, treacle. go ahead. take your dick.” he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, brushing your hair off your shoulders until he’s able to get a good, firm grip. he’s able to lift your head this way, pulling you out of your trance so you’d really and truly hear him.

you can feel your breath hitch and is stolen away. your limbs move for you, reaching out and taking a hold of the headboard. the other hand is firm on the bed, as firm as you can get it. you’re panting by the time you’ve gotten yourself here but you know it’s the right decision because hobie’s fingers trail down the column of your spine.

your tongue goes to spread across your now chapped lips. you can feel each ridge created from your once hydrated lips, stolen from the kisses and rubbing against the sheets. with your newfound hold, you sniff, grit your teeth, and throw yourself back against him.

hobie does nothing else but lightly hold your waist and eye each ripple of your round cheeks when they slam against his groan. he wants to throw his head back but then he’d miss his front row seat to your show, in all your glory. “l - look at you. mmm, fuck! looks so — . . . so good.”

you’re so mouthy, now but it’s all warbling and blabber, nonstop and nonsensical in tandem with every stroke you subject yourself to. it’s unexpected that this is what the night ultimately led to. after watching tv, eating dinner, and bickering with the love of your life, he finishes it off by filling your pretty little head with praises.

“look at how you fit around me. y’so good.” hobie peels apart the round globes of your ass. he’s able to get a clear view of his cock, long and skinny, sinking in between the folds of your cunt. it all glistens with arousal, coating the base of his shaft in a thin, milky liquid. he can’t help but lower his head towards your body and stick out his tongue. a droplet of his spit rolls down his tongue. it adds to the wet mixture of your sex and gets lost in all the precum.

he’s going to kill you, you’re certain. his cock is going to crawl its way up your esophagus and murder you. there’s no way it won’t with how full you feel, your cunt and your brain. still, even with how overwhelmed you feel, there’s no chance you will ever stop. if anything, it’s reinforcement to keep going, to hold the headboard harder, to launch your body back farther. the praise is going straight to your head and he knows it. hell, you know it. to die like this would be an honor and somewhere, in the deep, depths of your brain, you’re hoping it never ends.

#⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 . . . 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 . . . ☄️ 𝜗𝜚⋆#hobie x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie brown #x black fem reader #x black reader #astv hobie #x reader #hobie x reader #hobie x y/n

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kisseobie · 1 day

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make up make out session with shota after he ignores you while playing a video game!

shota makes me dizzy, thank u for sending something in for him!!

i can see this as a frequent occurrence tbh, we all know soul loves his alone time where he can game to his heart’s content after a long day of practice. you, however, just want to spend some time with your boyfriend today, but anything you do to try and get his attention is waved off by him. you understand that he wants to relax, but you don’t understand why you have to be removed from that equation, especially when you both know that there are.. more creative ways for him to let loose whilst giving you the attention you crave. you even considered sucking him off underneath his gaming table at a certain point, but dismissed that option because dammit you want to be the center of all of his attention, not partially!

after you’ve realized he’s not gonna let up on gaming anytime soon, if his short replies weren’t any indication of that, you retreat back to your bed, opting to scroll through your socials until he’s done. despite your determination to get over the way he’s been ignoring you since he got home, you can’t help but crave his embrace, and it’s pitiful how bored you get of scrolling within minutes. shota however, is still very preoccupied with his game, and without thinking, you get up from bed, walk over to his console, and unplug the main wire, resulting in the screen going pitch black. you’re about to make a snarky remark about how he can’t ignore you now, but you realize that your boyfriend looks incredibly pissed off, with his hands in the air as he stares at you in shock and annoyance.

as you can imagine, your sudden actions result in an argument between the pair of you, to which you finally decide to fess up and tell him that you miss him, and you wish he would include you in his plans rather than ignoring you all day. this seems to click in soul’s mind and he realizes that yes, he has been ignoring you and yes, he should apologize. although the argument wasn’t that serious, he still feels really bad and decides to guide you to your shared bed, apologizing several times before leaning in for a kiss. you smile into his lips as you’ve finally won him over, apologizing for cutting his game short before wrapping your arms around his neck to go in for another kiss.

by the end of the night, your covered in your boyfriend’s cum, a big smile painted on your face as you realize that yes, you’ll always be more important than shota’s silly games :p

a/n: now i wanna write a scenario where you give gamer shota head under his desk…

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @t3ssamoodboard @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @vivienne-sim @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @sosaverse @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror @watamotee33 @dreamer1299 @jixnnsie @wonootnoot @yukx-x047 @cysier @fishsquishh

#kpop writers #p1h #p1harmony #p1harmony x reader #piwon #p1harmony drabbles #p1h smut #p1harmony smut #p1harmony hard hours #haku shota #soul x reader

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hazshit-hotel-hater · 3 days

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What gets me with Vel is that we see she has a good rapport with her coworkers/friends. She may sometimes roll her eyes at the other two and their antics and of course when her direct business gets interrupted she gets frustrated, but we mostly see her on good grounds with the rest of the Vees. They respect her when it comes to serious business and in that last scene of the season they all look to be very much on the same page and in it together, smiling about their future... yet fanon (if it isn't infantalizing her as you've pointed out) is constantly projecting "angry black woman" stereotypes onto her.

It's gross and in my opinion clearly racially motivated that they see her as nothing more than a "bitchy" woman of color. While the fanon I've seen also has separate gross issues with Vox and Val they are at least allowed some nuance on occasion, but I just don't ever see that with Vel, she's just an angry woman rendered to the background in their eyes stripped completely of her professionalism, intellect, and cunning. She's one of my faves and it sucks so bad to see.

Hi. :) I wrote 5 paragraphs in response to this question and Tumblr so graciously decided to delete fucking all of it. :)

The Hazbin Hotel fandom has a serious racism problem and not enough people are talking about it. Aside from the infantilization of Velvette, other BIPOC characters are put into stupid stereotypes or treated like children because either Vivzie can’t handle writing competently or the fandom doesn’t know how to behave themselves. This is especially apparent for the women, but—and this is probably the only time I will talk about him in this way—Valentino is also suffering from this shitass issue.

Firstly about Velvette, just like how this said, Velvette used to be treated like a child in canon (now fanon) and is being portrayed as only a sassy angry black woman by the fandom. This is disgusting! I don’t think I need to say that! For some reason (misogyny) the Hazbin fandom just has this thing where they take a POC person or a woman—usually both—and decide to treat them like a child. Best examples being Niffty and Velvette being portrayed as Angel & Husk’s and Vox & Valentino’s children. Niffty is 22 and Velvette is in her 30’s. And of course they are both POC. I know there’s going to be someone accusing me of just whining about racism or being like “not everything is about race” but shut the fuck up because I’m busy talking.

I think the best scene to depict Velvette’s character—even though she hardly has any scenes. It shows that she will and can respect her colleagues but for other people, you either need to give her something she wants or her respect needs to be earned. She literally sings a whole song about it.

For other characters like Niffty I have a post for her in the works so I won’t spill it all here, but I can’t in good faith talk about the racism problem without mentioning Valentino. The fact Vivzie has made her worst character into the basic tall hot hispanic/latino man with the hot spanish accent stereotype. Honestly this sort of stereotype doesn’t bother me much, there’s a few villain characters I like with it like Alejandro from TDI, but Vivzie making this a big aggressive and dangerous POC person abusing a sad little white guy just grosses me out. It’s not like the situation would be any better if Angel wasn’t white, but it really does just leave that extra sour taste in my mouth.

Also I don’t need to explain why 90% of the POC cast being fucking grey or purple or blue is bad right.

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krazyyyyyy · 2 days

Text

A True Friend Hyugo x Reader

While skipping class, a certain someone joins you

Words: 819

You rested your back against the trunk of an oak tree, your eyes tiredly reading the text of a novel your English professor had recently assigned to you, given your continuous procrastination throughout the week and your avoidance of reading the book. The paper you were supposed to write about the book was due tomorrow morning, and you hadn’t even started it or finished the book itself. That’s how you ended up out here, skipping class in the open fields behind your school, attempting to finish the book before the school day ended. You’d probably have to pull an all-nighter to write the paper, but that was a problem for later on.

You felt at ease where you sat, the soft bark of the oak tree against your back, the cool shade providing a respite from the sun's heat. While a subtle breeze, carrying the scent of grass and earth flowed freely around you. The chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves in the wind were the only sounds you heard as you continued reading.

As you focused on the book, a faint sound caught your attention. It was the sound of soft, barely audible footsteps as they drew closer to you.

Suddenly, a cheerful voice rang out from right next to you.

“Whatcha reading?”

A smile appears on your face at the familiar voice of your friend, Hyugo. “Jane Eyre. I guess it’s about an orphan girl struggling in life. It’s actually not that bad.” You reply without looking away from your book.

He smiled as he curiously looked over your shoulder to examine the book's contents.

He then laughed “Since when do you skip class to read?”

You let out a sigh. “Since today… I have to finish this book and then write a paper about it, all by tomorrow morning, or else I can kiss my A in English goodbye.” You glance at the boy curiously, “What are you doing out here anyway, Hyugo?”

Hyugo kept his usual smile as he sat on the grass next to you, leaning back onto the tree with his hands resting behind his head. “I didn’t feel like going to my history class. It’s so boring (Y/N)!” He pouts.

You laugh, shaking your head in amusement, “You never feel like going to class. How in the world are you still in the student council?”

He shrugs, smiling, “I guess I'm just that amazing.” You suppose he wasn't totally wrong, but you wouldn’t tell him that; Hyugo always managed to be at the top of the class, regardless of whether he showed up to class or not. Knowing his secretive nature, you’d probably never figure out how he does it.

You roll your eyes, turning your attention back to your book. The two of you sit in comfortable silence—that is, until Hyugo decides to speak again a couple of moments later.

“(Y/N)?”

“Hm?”

“You think you’ll ever make it to the Higher Class?”

Instantly, the book before you didn’t seem as interesting anymore. Everyone at your school dreamed of being a part of the Higher Class, but only very few actually succeeded in making it in. Even if you’re born rich, it's not always guaranteed you’ll make it, especially when everyone makes mistakes…

You close the book, setting it down beside you. “I hope so. It would take a huge burden off my family’s shoulders…I don’t think I can afford to fail.” You let your head fall against the tree in exasperation, looking to the sky in an attempt to ignore the aching in your chest. Knowing you were your family's last hope broke you in ways you never thought possible.

A sudden weight and softness on your shoulder snap you out of your daze. You look over to see Hyugo resting his head on your shoulder with his eyes closed. “(Y/N), If you ever need anything…and I mean anything, let me know. I’ll be there…Always.” He mumbles into your shoulder.

“Thank you, Hyugo,” You whisper, keeping your emotions in check. “But I have to do this myself.” You had to endure this burden alone, regardless of the support you were offered. You made a promise to your father, and you intended to keep it.

Hyugo sighs. “I know, but it’s good to remember that there are people who…” He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “... really care about you.”

You smile, resting your head on his. “You worry too much.”.

He chuckles. “If I don’t, who will?” He then yawns, nestling his head comfortably on your shoulder. It doesn’t take long before he’s fast asleep and quietly snoring.

Although tempted to finish your book, you can’t help but give in to the temptation of sleep as your eyes grow weary. Nuzzling into the softness of Hyugo’s hair, you fall asleep without a single worry on your mind for the first time in a long time.

#tkatb vn #the kid at the back #tkatb hyugo #hyugo sugimoto #hyugo x reader #fluff #angst

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kakuchari · 3 days

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ARIIIII may i request a nanami blurb (nsfw or sfw i'll leave that up to you :3) based on the song killshot by magdalena bay please? <3

-> hit me with your killshot, baby. (x) | 2,276 words. afab!reader (no pronouns used but female anatomy included), slight yandere obsession if u squint, alcohol consumption, fingering, cunnilingus, implied penetrative + protected sex, nanami calls reader “sweet thing”, “darling”, higuruma cameo. nanami might be a lil ooc but bear with me here.

a/n: oh salem, this was DELICIOUS to write. what a banger of a song too omg i gotta listen to them more!! i took a more obsessive!nanami approach, i feel like he'd get off on how easy some people are to fall in love with him, but not necessarily in a bad way. it's almost like a confirmation that he's good, he's not rotten like the rest of the men he works with; he's respectful so he deserves rewards in a way??? anyway i'm not sure what happened but here we are LMAO

The speakeasy was quiet this evening.

You sip on a lovely gin and tonic, mixed together just right as your eyes drag across the people dotted around the space. Your business shirt has been unbuttoned slightly, enough to tease as your drink steadily makes you feel warmer and fuzzier. Your heels are long gone, tucked away in your bag as you opt for chunky boots, which tend to be much comfier after a few drinks.

It was a cozy atmosphere; one of your favorite places to go after work to unwind without having to worry about seeing those you know. Which, unfortunately, has happened before and almost turned you off from coming back completely.

But you couldn’t.

Mainly due to the man you’re staring at now, half-hoping he can’t feel your burning gaze.

He’s stunning, and he’s been coming for the past few weeks now. Always on a Tuesday, for some reason, but you ignored the choice of weekday and instead decided to have your gaze wander across his features. His blue office shirt is unbuttoned at the top, just enough that light blonde hairs poke out of the revealed opening. His suspenders are tight against his chest, brown, connecting to his tan slacks. Shiny office shoes adorn his feet as he leans back, crossing his foot over his knee as he takes a sip from his own drink (something dark) and fixates on the book in front of him.

He’s beautiful. Tempting. Like forbidden fruit, except he doesn’t seem to be married.

Even better.

The one thing you do pick up on is how incredibly tired he looks. He normally comes in with another man, this one’s palette almost inverse from your muse’s; dark suit, white shirt, dark hair, but the same bags underneath his eyes and tired facial expressions. They don’t typically speak to each other that much, due to how quiet the rest of the venue is, and choose to read together instead.

However, today, his companion is not here. He has come alone.

One of your fingers, complete with a perfectly manicured black nail, rubs against the edge of your glass as you watch him. He wears glasses, the golden rims catching the lowlight every once in a while as his eyes scan across the words in front of him. He hasn’t noticed you staring; he never has, which is somewhat of a shock to you. Whenever someone is staring at you, it feels like there’s fire alight on the back of your neck. He’s either completely oblivious, or he knows and he doesn’t seem to care.

Something about that makes your thighs clench together. The song in the background, playing gently against the velvet walls, does nothing for your growing yearning for the man.

Something chronic, bit demonic I been on the late shift All alone, staring at my phone

Sin and tonic Stupid promise Something like a death wish All alone, stare into my soul

You’ve never been one for one-night stands, but for him, there is a chance you’d make an exception.

You down the drink, drawing on the courage of the gin as you stand, making your way over to him. You identify his book, first; ironically, it’s one of your favorites, and a smile tugs at your lips as you approach. He looks up in surprise, before his expression smoothens into something close to neutrality. “Well, well, the voyeur finally decides to encounter their muse, eh?” he says, and his voice washes over your ears like silk. It’s gorgeous, with a low pitch and a rasp that makes the ache in your stomach only strengthen.

You take a seat, smiling and blushing to yourself that you’ve been discovered. “I was wondering how long it would take you to notice,” you admit, and he smiles back, folding a worn bookmark into the page he's reading and shutting the book, placing it on the table before turning to you, taking another sip of his own drink. It’s whiskey, made neat; you can tell from the smell across the table.

You sit awkwardly for a moment, listening to the crackling of the fire behind you, before he breaks the silence, his smooth voice taking up space once again.

“Come here often?”

You can’t help but chuckle. “More than I will admit,” you respond, “but it’s nice here. Gives me a chance to slow down after work, and the drinks are lovely.”

He nods, agreeing. “Yes, it’s a good place. Higuruma and I come here often after work; he also enjoys unwinding in a quieter atmosphere.”

Higuruma. That must be his companion. “What do you both do?” you ask, your elbow appearing on the table as the side of your head rests on your open hand. He leans forward then, fully facing the table, and sighs. “He’s a lawyer. Ironic, since he’s just finalized his own divorce as well. I stick to the salary business. It’s boring, but it’s something. Pays the bills at the end of the day.”

You hum. “If I may be honest, you don’t look as if you’re happy there at all.”

He laughs at that, a jovial laugh that isn’t obnoxiously loud; it’s just enough to be between the two of you. “Yes, well, dealing with finance is never an enjoyable activity, but I’ve been in it long enough now where I can find my own pleasures. Especially outside of work when I can look at such a pretty lady, if I do say so myself.”

The blush that appears on your cheeks is bright red, you can feel it as you look down bashfully. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now,” you hear him say as he reaches across the table, lightly touching your chin and raising your face to look back at him. There’s a softness in his gaze, one that you’re not used to. The touch is gentle as well, and you’re praying that he can’t feel the spark you felt as soon as his fingertips touched your skin.

Instead, you opt for teasing him.

“That was a bit forward, wasn’t it?”

He pales, moving his hand away. “Oh, God, sorry, I just—”

You grab his hand, a smile on your lips again as you hold it between your own, rolling your eyes. “Kidding. Promise,” you reassure him as his face relaxes again in relief, “I’d have said something much faster if you crossed a line, don’t worry. Although to me, it seems you don’t enjoy doing that very often. Salarymen are always so by the book.”

He nods, rolling his eyes as well. “I try not to be. Hence me attempting to read books more,” he gestures to the book on the table, “and being here. It’s not as public as many people have dragged me to, but it’s intimate enough where it feels nice to unwind.” He takes another swig of his whiskey, his cheeks dusted a light pink from the alcohol.

You both chat about other things, such as the books you’re reading, what you do for your job, your favorite drinks and what speakeasies and intimate bars you’ve both been to. Before you know it, it’s dark outside, and you’re fumbling for your bag and your keys, cursing at how long you’ve stayed. “I know it’s Friday,” you say, standing, “but I always like to be home a little early. That way I can pour a glass of wine after being here and relax even more.”

He’s standing up with you almost mechanically, tucking his book into a briefcase you didn’t notice before. There’s a flash of black-and-white print inside of the case, but you don’t get a good look before he shuts it and locks it, smiling at you and offering his hand.

“Well, I can’t allow for a stunning woman such as yourself to walk home alone, yes?”

You’re tempted to say no. You know for a fact this is a decision you’re either going to regret or enjoy, but at the point you are at with knowing him better than some of your own coworkers who you’ve worked beside for years, your better judgment is shelved for an impulse decision.

You take his hand.

“Well, well, Kento, I will take you up on the offer. What a kind gesture to someone who's been staring at you for weeks. How do you know I don’t have terrible intentions?” you ask him as he walks with you to the door, hand in hand. He looks back at you with a smile, crinkling the edges of his eyes.

“I’m quite good at reading people.”

“Need you, Kento.”

The plea comes out as a whine, the blonde man’s head between your thighs as he laps at your center. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, and you feel your obsession roaring in your ears as he smirks against you. “How do you need me, darling?” he whispers, and your hips buck into his face, forcing him to return to sucking on your sensitive clit.

“Anywhere. Everywhere. Forever.” It’s all coming out as senseless babbles, your hands deep in his hair, tugging on the strands and scratching at his scalp as his strong hands hold your legs apart, your thighs twitching against his grip. He doesn’t stop what he’s doing; he doesn’t seem to mind your comments, either, even if they do seem a little intense at the moment. It seems he either knows his effect on you, or he enjoys hearing about it.

The latter makes you wetter just thinking about it.

You’d had him walk you home, sharing a glass of wine on your couch as you discussed your favorite pieces of literature, the books strewn across the floor in the flurry of motion instigated by Kento himself. “Please do not take this the wrong way,” he had whispered, before placing the wine glass on the coffee table, “but I cannot stand staring at your lips and doing nothing about them.”

You’d kissed him then, whiskey and wine and a calming feeling flooding your veins as your lips moved against him, his large hands cupping your face so gently as if he didn’t want to harm you. But little did he know, that was what you craved; you wanted him to devour you, to make you think of nothing but him. If you were hung up on him for the rest of your life, you would be satisfied.

Come and get that honeySweeter than I ever knewTell me that you love meLove me till my lips turn blue

“K-Kento—”

He leans back, his fingers having been added to the mix, squelching as he scissors you open so deliciously well that your back is arching. His thumb, locked onto your clit, keeps it under a steady rhythm as you cry out. Every brush against the sensitive area is tightening that coil in your stomach, your whole body trembling beneath him. You can feel it, the climax roaring into you like a shockwave. “Gonna c—”

He leans over you then, his lips centimeters away from your ear, and growls.

“Cum for me, sweet thing. Cum all over my fingers, I know you can do it.”

The explosion of emotions that comes out of you, the noises, everything feels like a dam bursting as your soaking pussy twitches and drools all over his fingers, dripping onto the couch as you cum harder than you ever have before. The whole world seems to fall away except for Kento’s face, a haloed silhouette, like an angel coming to deliver you from everything that’s harmed you.

He looks down and grins, as if he’s proud of his handiwork, and as he looks back at you, you cannot help but watch him as you ride out your high.

I love you falls from your lips, but he doesn’t bat an eye. He doesn’t even flinch; in fact, his motions only get more aggressive as he fucks you into overstimulation, tears pricking at your eyes and breaking your lashline, sliding down your cheeks.

“Say it again.”

“W-What?” it comes out choked as you shudder underneath him, his fingers only continuing their movements.

“Say it again.”

“I love you?”

“Say it more confidently. Come on, sweet thing.” He sounds exasperated, and in your vulnerable state, all you want to do is please him. Make him want to stay with you, make him live inside of your bones.

“I love you. I will love you forever if you’ll let me, I—”

“Fuck, that’s good,” he whispers as he finally relents, removing his fingers from your center. He doesn’t wipe them on his slacks, however…instead, he chooses to prod at your lips, his other hand brushing away your tears. You obey within a beat, sucking on your own juices underneath him, watching his pupils dilate. His gaze is dark; it’s like his own obsession with you is forming, a mutual delusion you both can share.

His hand removes itself from your mouth, before his belt clinks and you hear the zipper of his pants echo around the room, clearing the post-climax daze and fluff that had been stuffed in your head. You clench as you feel the head of his fat cock brush against your abused opening, and he leans down close to you, his broad, bare chest flush with your own.

“God, you’re everything,” he whispers as he slides in, and your mind goes blank.

If I fall in every time Wicked love will leave me blind Yeah, I knew it I been through it

Oh god Can you make my heart stop? Hit me with your kill shot, baby I mean it, so serious

divider credit: @/benkeibear

networks: @thehoneypotserver @enchantedforest-network

disclaimer: DO NOT copy or repost my works for any reason. translations are acceptable, but please ask for permission first!

#📩 ari's got mail!#kentophilia #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #spicy #hooo boy this song was SO delicious to listen to. and research about as well. i love a good obsessive love #📝 ari's autographs

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