warning/notes: dubcon, public & risky, fingering, pussy spanking, dirty talk, touch of angst??? this is smut with actual plot, which is kinda unusual for this acc, but i hope you enjoy it anyway <3 english isn't my native language, not proofread.
"scott, stop… someone's gonna see us! and what if there are cameras here?!" you hiss, looking around nervously, but scott couldn't care less about your worries.
"where, under the table? relax," he says lazily, slipping his fingers under your skirt - he goes in from the top, over the waistband, not from below, because that would be awkward for him, and besides, it's less obvious this way that his hand is hidden between your legs. your face flushes red, but that only spurs scott on. his fingers slide under your panties and his palm covers your pussy possessively. "there we go."
you desperately squeeze your thighs together. you're sitting in the farthest corner of the university library, where there's usually no one around because the lighting is terrible - the light from the windows doesn't reach here - and it's kind of a blind spot, but you're not convinced the cameras scattered all over the university aren't working, no matter how much scott always insists they're not every time he tries to corner you somewhere. "it's your own fault, baby, you in that uniform drives me crazy," he tells you every time, but all the previous times you had enough strength to fight him off, and now, without causing a scene, it seems impossible, and scott seems more determined than usual.
"scott, please, not here," you quietly plead, trying as discreetly as possible to grab his broad wrist and pull his hand away, but instead he just spanks your pussy - the slap sounds deafeningly loud to you, and you glance around in fear, but no one's even noticed. amid the rustle of pages, the endless clatter of keyboards, heavy sighs, and quiet conversations, the slap against your vulva was just another sound, utterly insignificant.
"you're so pretty when you get shy," scott presses his nose to your temple. his left hand rests on the table and he's even mimicking some kind of activity, just doodling in his notebook while his right hand is busy with the real task - he's persistently rubbing your clit, getting you worked up first, so your natural slick starts to flow. "where's your thrill, baby? you're a cheerleader."
you let out a ragged breath. you're against what's happening, but scott isn't just some asshole who harasses you around the clock - you're in love with him. you're always together, but never really together. it's always "hey, wanna hang at my place?" and never "let's go on a date?", but he can be sweet to you: he drapes his bomber jacket over your shoulders when he sees you shivering after practice, knows your favorite chocolate, winks at you after football games, talks to his friends in the hallway while holding you, his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, twirling strands of your hair around his finger.
you're desperately waiting for him to finally define your relationship, because you hook up regularly, but this waiting only leads to scott trying to fuck you anywhere and everywhere.
his two fingers gather the wetness between your slippery folds and thrust into you abruptly. you let out the quietest moan and bite your lips, your nails dig deeper into his wrist, leaving little crescent marks, but the sting only spurs scott on. pressing the base of his palm against your mound, he starts teasingly sliding his fingers in and out of your tight cunt - your inner walls stretch lazily under the pressure, clenching around him.
"scott…" you whisper again, trying to appeal to his conscience, but it's no use - he has no intention of stopping. hooking the leg of your chair with his sneaker, he drags you even closer to him, so your chairs are pressed together, your thigh flush against his. the sound catches the attention of a couple of students sitting not far from you, and you freeze, your heart pounding like crazy, thinking this is it- the end of everything, that you're about to get caught but no, they barely register that something's off.
scott, sprawled lazily in his chair, keeps fucking you with his fingers, curling them inside you, and when you jerk, scratching his wrist, not knowing how to endure the pleasure, he presses the base of his palm harder against your lower belly. you squeeze your eyes shut. shame and pleasure walk hand in hand, and you don't know which one is winning right now, but you know you just have to endure it, just endure…
"you're so wet, i knew you'd like this. and i like it when you feel good," scott whispers in your ear. his lips brush against your temple, he kisses you, and he takes your other hand - he pries your fingers loose from the pen you're clutching and places your palm over his hard-on, which is very noticeable through the fabric of his jeans. the thought that he might make you jerk him off right now makes you sick, and as if sensing your fear, scott tenderly nuzzles your temple, "but we'll take care of me later. right now, it's about you."
when he lets go of your hand, you quickly return it to the table. the wet squelching sounds under the table seem too loud to you, like firecrackers going off right next to your ears, and you sit there, pale or maybe red, with your chest heaving heavily, and scott savors every second of it. the thrill. isn't that the whole point of life? he loves seeing you resisting the pleasure he's giving you, making short thrusts with his long fingers, not even pulling all the way out anymore - he keeps curling his fingers over and over, stimulating that sensitive spot near the entrance of your vagina, and every shaky breath you take sounds like the sweetest song.
"scott…" you hiss quietly, "please…"
he interprets your words as "please make me cum," and he's more than happy to help you with that. he pulls his fingers out of your pussy with a wet sound and starts massaging your clit. he knows exactly how much pressure and intensity you need to get off, so when he senses your orgasm approaching, he slides his fingers back inside to feel the way your muscles will clench around them.
you throw your head back and squeeze your eyes shut, biting into your lips so hard it hurts - you feel like you're about to break the skin - your fingers cling to scott's hand and the edge of the wooden table so tightly your knuckles turn white, as your orgasm washes away the last remnants of your pride and whatever hope you had that scott takes you seriously.
when the throbbing between your legs subsides, scott pulls his fingers out, coated in your clear, sticky slick, he gently spanks your sensitive pussy once more, and withdraws his hand. your fingers finally loosen their grip around his wrist, now littered with marks from your nails. he brings his fingers to his lips and demonstratively licks them clean before wiping them on his jeans - right over his bulge. you don't even watch, just try to catch your breath.
"you're the sweetest dessert as always, baby. everything's fine, relax," scott's voice sounds above your ear, almost like a wild cat purring, but you feel sick. he gently strokes your hair, carefully pressing on the back of your head so you straighten up.
you straighten up and in one motion toss your notebooks and pens into your bag, not even caring if anything gets crumpled. scott frowns slightly.
"i forgot, i was supposed to see the coach before she leaves, yeah, we're getting a new training routine and i need to go over some changes…" you mumble distractedly, standing up from your chair.
"i'll walk you," scott says, but you hastily put your hands up, stopping him from getting up. "…or, well, i can wait for you here?"
"no, no, don't. you can go do your own thing if you're not planning on doing homework. we won't be able to hang out today anyway, so… see ya?" it sounds more like a question, and scott doesn't like it, but before he can say anything, you bolt out of the library, constantly touching your skirt and glancing back to make sure there are no wet spots on it.
you didn't actually need to see the coach, of course. but you couldn't stay with scott either. you feel tears clogging your throat before you've even left the library, but you hold back the urge until you reach your car. locked inside, you let yourself burst into tears.
humiliation? shame? not understanding why he treats you like this? you don't know what exactly is upsetting you. you sob convulsively, pulling out wet and dry wipes from the glove compartment with trembling hands to clean yourself up - you're all sticky, your juices have soaked through your cotton panties and left damp trails on the insides of your thighs. you have to take them off and put on a clean pair - you always keep a spare pair in the car, in case your period unexpectedly starts.
does scott do this with other girls? or more precisely, are there other girls he sleeps with besides you, because you don't know about them, but that doesn't mean they don't exist? and what does this say about you? is this your fault because you let him do it- or is it his fault because he wanted to fingerfuck you in the library in the first place, showing zero respect for you?
either way, from that day on, you ghost scott as best you can.
you don't reply to his messages right away like you used to, only after a dozen of them, making excuses that you fell asleep, were in the shower, or that your phone was charging or on silent and you just didn't hear. he asks "is everything okay?" and you text back "yes," because you don't know how to say "no," since it's your fault, right? you made up the idea that you two would be a couple. you made up the idea that he respects you. you made up the idea that he's not an animal like most guys, and in the end, you didn't come up with a way to stop this from happening, so, yes, everything's great! at university, you avoid him by any means necessary. you ask the other cheerleaders to tell you if scott is waiting for you near the locker room before or after practice, because he really does wait - he has no fucking clue what happened to you or what he did wrong- and he doesn't want to hurt you, so he doesn't know if he should stalk you after every lecture, every practice, wait for you at the parking lot, or if you need space? your friends don't tell him anything, because you beg them to just ignore him, and all of this only frustrates scott even more.
he genuinely doesn't understand why you're pulling away from him. in his head, you're together. you're already a couple. didn't you hit it off right away? you're funny and smart and so beautiful, and you never ask for anything - he thinks you know you're together. it doesn't need to be stated. and from his perspective, the way you're avoiding him and giving him dry replies to his texts confuses him. what did he do wrong? why won't you tell him what he did wrong? is there someone else? what the fuck did he do?
"barringer! take a breather, son!" the coach yells when scott knocks down his teammate yet again, miscalculating his strength. where else is he supposed to channel his anger and aggression if not on the field?
he doesn't argue. angrily tossing his helmet aside, he heads for a water bottle, but through the fence separating the field, he spots you walking alone, and without asking the coach's permission, he runs out.
"barringer! hey!" the coach yells after him, but none of that matters because scott can finally talk to you. the urge to just touch you, to hear your voice, pulses in his head, blinds him to everything else, and he grabs you by the shoulder, stopping you.
"scott?" you flinch in fright, as if you've seen a ghost. all sweaty, flushed, scott stands before you, still gripping your shoulder with his big clammy hand. the warmth of your skin and the scent of your perfume floods his entire being, and the tension that's been sitting inside him all these weeks slowly starts to dissolve.
"i wanna talk. what happened? you're avoiding me. i need to know why," breathing heavily, scott doesn't ask but demands, though his eyes look like those of a cornered puppy.
"nothing," you mumble, "really, scott, nothing. i'm running late, i… we'll definitely talk later, okay? i promise!" you lie, because you could never tell scott that it hurt you that he sees you as a piece of meat, and scott could never explain to you that his physical desire for you is no less than his emotional one - he just didn't know how to express it.
