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buckyalpine · 7 months

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LMAOO OKAY IMAGINE 40s!BUCKY (like tfa stark expo version) MAGICALLY TELEPORTING TO MODERN DAY, and Sharon’s bitch ass is hanging all over him, flirting hardcore, and is absolutely thrilled bc he’s actually giving her some attention. BUT THEN HE SEES THE READER AND IS LIKE “oh wow who is THAT” and leaves her alone to go woo the gorgeous dame. I can picture her face getting all red and embarrassed and upset. And Sam and Nat and Tony are in the background giggling.

GOD I LOOOVEEE THISSSS 40's heart has my heart cause this blushing soldier would be such a perfect mix of devilishly handsome and adorably shy.

"Shit" Tony huffed watching his time portal experiment start up and fail for the fourth time in a row while Bruce continued to medal with the dials, resetting the machine once more. "Why does it keep doing that"

"Give it a secondary power source, there's not enough juice with the first one"

Tony nodded, rummaging through a pile of knick knacks on his desk, grabbing a vial and adding it to the generator.

"Alright, set the timer to 19:00 hours and 40 in the past. Let's see if we can just travel to yesterday first before messing with going back years" He snorted, as Bruce punched in the time before hitting the start up button. The machine started to rumble before growing hot, the dials and buttons spinning and clicking on its own, parts starting to pop off.

"Oh shit!" Tony ducked under the table, shielding himself from getting knocked out as the portal grew more powerful, a force filed growing, knocking down things around the lab.

"What the hell did you use as a power source?!" Bruce yelled over the high pitched whizz the machine started to make, blinding light filling the room before disappearing, leaving a cloud of smoke in its place.

"I don't know, I just grabbed something that look like it'd fit" Toy shrugged between coughs as the smoke dissipated, squinting when he realized the platform wasn't empty.

Someone was standing there.

"What the hell..."

Blinking with bright blue eyes was a young soldier, dressed in a fresh, clean and pressed uniform, looking like a lost puppy while Tony and Bruce blinked in both confusion and amusement.

"Banner what the hell did you do with the timer?!"

"You're vial set everything into over drive, it must've recalibrated to 1940 instead of a couple of hours ago!" Bruce threw his hands up while the younger version of Bucky stared at the lab with child like wonder, his eyes twinkling as if it were Christmas day.

"Holy shit..." He breathed out seeing the vast technology, his mind still reeling over what was happening. One minute, he was on his way to see Steve and take some girls dancing and next thing he knew, he was sucked through a loop.

"Dear God-alright, uh-Barnes?" Tony waved the soldier over, mentally debating on what to tell him.

"Mr. Stark? It's-it's an honor, sir" Bucky shook Tony's hand before standing tall before him with his back straight, ever the bright eyed Sargent. Tony scratched his head before letting him take a seat, figuring honesty was the best police.

"Sargent. This may take a while"

Bucky understood bits and pieces of what Tony explained to him while getting a tour of the compound, the common room being the last place for him to check out. The team alternated between greeting and secretly cooing over the adorable young Bucky while also simultaneously laughing at Tony. At the very least, the billionaire was lucky the actual Bucky was away on a mission with you and Steve; there was only so much he could handle in a day. The soldier decided to hang back in the living room with the others, happily chatting away with Sam and Nat.

Then there was Sharon

"Hey Soldier" She winked, giving him a smirk causing the young Bucky to blush, throwing her a flirty smile right back.

"Nice to meet ya' doll" Bucky drawled out making her giggle, his lip catching between his teeth when she flipped her hair back.

"Aren't you sweet" She whispered, her heart beating a little faster when he moved towards her, his sweet baby blues gazing down at her intently. She'd tried a million times to get Bucky's attention before and he didn't look at her twice. She wasn't about to lose her chance with the new one.

"Look whose talking" Bucky chuckled back, his naturally flirty nature taking over with ease, after all it would be rude for him to ignore her.

"Someone's gotta protect him from this randy she goat" Sam whispered while Nat snorted, watching the two of them continuing to flirt, Sharon's hands toying with the buttons on Bucky's uniform, making her way up to brush his collar.

There was no way she was going to just let the gorgeous soldier go.

The machine wasn't fixed any time soon so Bucky was given a room to stay in. He loved the feeling of modern day sweats, looking cute as ever in some comfy joggers and a cotton tshirt, his fluffy cropped hair always neatly brushed and face shaven.

He was a Sargent after all. He always looked his best, even in lounge clothing.

There hadn't been a day where Sharon left Bucky alone. She clung onto his side, practically crawling up his leg day in and day out while the others side eyed the situation, keeping an eye out for the innocent Bucky.

"So, what's a soldier like you doin' without a girl, hm?" Sharon teased, pressing her hand to his chest, loving the way Bucky flirted back with her while the both of them sat in the common room with a movie playing in the background. Tony, Nat and Sam glanced at each other, quietly watching from their place in the kitchen while the blonde continued to giggle and blush, running her finger's through his hair.

"How do you keep your hair so soft, Sargent"

"Well, I- woah"

Sharon frowned when the soldier stopped talking half way after something- or someone- caught his attention. His eyes grew wide, a classic boyish smile appearing on his face when he saw the prettiest dame he'd ever laid his eyes on walk by the living room, making his heart flutter.

"who was THAT" Bucky stared in awe, seeing her stretch her arms up, still in some type of modern tactical suit, rubbing sleep from her eyes and yet she was still one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

"Uh-excuse me" Sharon's face twisted watching Bucky stare are you like a love struck puppy, nearly jumping over the sofa so he could run and talk to you. He didn't take his eyes off you, practically swooning when he saw you pack away the gun from you holster.

"Huh-yeah, sorry-" Bucky mumbled, still focused on you, unbothered by the way Sharon's face was now red with embarrassment, seething at what he was doing.

"Look at this guy, he's not even hiding the fact that he's staring at y/n" Sam snorted while Tony and Nat snickered, watching the young Bucky watch you with heart eyes, "Aw man, he's got it bad"

"Hey y/n, looks like someone's got a little crush on you" Nat whispered, discreetly nodding to the living room. You nearly squeaked in surprise, seeing a very very young version of your boyfriend sitting on the couch, taking peeks over at you whilst ignoring the blonde who was still fighting for his attention.

"Tony, you did this, didn't you" You sighed while Tony smiled proudly, now fully invested in how all this was going to play out.

"I'll explain later. Go wash and change and you can talk to him"

As soon as you were out of the kitchen, Bucky scrambled to the group, cheeks tinted pink, bashful as ever, looking at the three smirking faces, wiggling their eyebrows at him.

"See something you like, soldier?" Nat prodded while Bucky nearly giggled, nodding.

"Who was that" He asked in earnest, truly curious to at least get your name.

"That would be y/n. I'll introduce you once she's back down. You might be her type, y'know" Sam winked knowing damn well he was your type. After all you were technically already dating. Bucky bounced on his heels, waiting patiently while Sharon huffed, refusing to move from her spot on the couch. You made your way back down after a shower to see an exited Sam and a shy Bucky along with a smug Tony and Nat.

"Y/n, meet young Buck" Sam smiled while you held your hand out, swooning at the way he shook it gently, throwing you smile few got to see, one he had when he got butterflies in his belly.

"Nice to meet you Sarge"

"Pleasures all mine, angel" Bucky whispered, leading you off to the living room to talk to you more, offering you a seat, wondering if you wanted anything to snack on or drink, forgetting Sharon's existence entirely. Sharon nearly opened her mouth to say something, immediately shutting it with a satisfied smirk seeing the other Bucky walk in followed by Steve. Hopefully he'd see his girlfriend was a cheating whore, flirting with someone else even if it was him from the past. Her brain wracked itself in hopes that this would all crash and burn while Bucky frowned the closer he got.

"What the fuck Stark" Bucky scrunched his face walking in on some punk flirting with his girl, only to realize said punk was a younger version of him.

"Relax, I'll fuse you two together" Tony shrugged while Bucky's face twisted again, grumbling when his younger self kissed you hand again, pulling you up for a dance while fumbling with a phone he'd just managed to figure out.

"They're cute" Steve grinned, nudging Bucky playfully while Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling to himself a little while later when you caught his eyes, throwing him a wink. You laid your head against the young soldiers chest while he swayed with you, unaware that he was being watched by everyone else, in his own world with just you in it.

"You better fuse us together" Bucky hissed, narrowing his eyes when you giggled at something that was whispered in you ear; Tony snorted with a shit eating grin on his face.

"Why Barnes, scared of a little competition?"

Before Bucky could retort, Sharon was up and walking with purpose, stalking right towards Bucky.

"Y'know they're both flirting hard, right? Aren't you two dating?"

Bucky wordlessly stared at her while the others looked at her with confusion, the desperation becoming embarrassing.

"Sharon, shut up" Sam deadpanned while her mouth gaped open and shut before storming off.

"Back to what I was saying. Scared, Barnes?"

"You should be the scared one" Bucky sassed back, knowing exactly what his younger self was capable of; he knew that innocent boyish charm did wonders when it needed to. That being said, even his past self recognized real love, gravitating towards his one true soul mate after just seeing her once.

He watched the two of you continue to dance and whisper, the young soldier tipping your chin up, eyes flicking to your lips, his soft pouty pink lips so close to yours, leaning down so he could press a kiss so sweet-

"Alright that's it, punk get your hands off her!"

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lialacleaf · 6 months

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Simon Riley x Reader

Bella Notte - Pt. 1

Synopsis: Simon’s dog REALLY likes you. And maybe Simon does too. It’s hard to make a move on you though when Riley is determined to embarrass him.

Art by @shkretart because their Simon is my favorite~

Warnings: second hand embarrassment, no editing

It was that time of year between the light chill of fall and the frost of winter, when you needed a coat in the morning and gloves to keep your fingers from going stiff, only to shed your layers for a light jacket until the sun started to set in the early evening.

It was raining again, and as you glanced up at the grey sky from under your umbrella you wondered if the whether persisted into the night you might wake up to a frozen driveway.

Your eyes darted over the address on your phone screen for the hundredth time as you approached the gated neighborhood, taking note of the quaint townhouses smooshed together. You approached the gate with some apprehension, taking note of the security guard who looked ready to defend his post with his very life despite being armed with only a taser.

“Afternoon, Miss,” he greeted, tipping his head at you. Police officers in London were polite more often than not, but you still got a little nervous about speaking to them. The second you opened your mouth they either thought you were a tourist, or coming around to cause trouble.

“Hi, I’m here for-“ you paused to check the address once more. “33 B,” you said, showing him your phone screen that displayed the quaint little pet-service app. “I’m a pet sitter.”

He looked at you contemplatively for a moment, and you swallowed thickly. “You from around these parts?” He asked, and you shook your head.

“I moved to York a few months ago,” you explained, preparing to pull out your IDs when he held up a hand.

“You met the fellow that lives there before?” He asked warily, and you frowned.

“Not in person, but he passed the background check so I’m sure it’s alright,” you argued.

He gave you a good look, as if he were trying to memorize you appearance before nodding to himself and swiping his badge. The gate opened with a mechanical whirring and he beckoned you inside.

You shook your head at the exchange, shoving your phone back into the pocket of your raincoat.

33B appeared to be a relatively new unit, the paint on the door appearing fresh as if it had just been done in the past few days.

There was no welcome mat, and the front porch seemed rather bare. You half expected one of those ‘Home of a German Shepherd’ signs to be hanging on the front door, but there was very little to indicate you were in the right place.

Regardless, you knocked on the door, noticing the lack of a bell.

There was no answer.

You knocked again, this time a little harder.

“Hello? Is anyone there? It’s y/n from TailWag!” You called. You were just about to turn around when the door swung open, revealing a tall man with soft eyes and a thick mustache. He seemed surprised to see you before offering you a polite smile.

“Are you…Simon?” You asked, but the man shook his head. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I-“

“No, no. You’re in the right place. Was just on my way out.” He nodded to you with a smile, stepping around you as he let himself out.

Your watched him leave, brown raised curiously before the clearing of a throat had your head swiveling around.

The sight that greeted you had you feeling like a gnome in the presence of a giant. The man was tall, with a head of messy blonde hair and piercing brown as that had you shaking a little in your bright yellow rain boots.

“Oh.”

He regarded you warily with a raised brow. “Y/n?”

You nodded quickly, almost giving yourself whiplash. There was something so commanding about the way he spoke.

“Right. Come in.”

His home was just as sparse on the inside as it was on the outside. “Sorry if this was a bad time.”

“It’s the time we agreed on,” he stated flatly.

“Right, I just- you had company, and I didn’t mean to interrupt…” you trailed off as he continued to stare at you with that piercing gaze. “So Riley? Where is she?” You asked, getting to the reason for your visit.

Simon let out a sharp whistle that made you jump, and the sound of feet running down the stairs alerted you to the incoming of the four legged creature.

You watched the dog bound around the corner and into the living room, tongue killing and amber eyes alight.

A smile broke out on your face as you kneeled down to give the dog some attention. “Hello there,” you cooed, scratching her behind the ears. “Aren’t you a pretty girl.”

“What brings an American out to York Minster?” He asked, regaining your attention. His eyes were cold and calculating.

“Right. My father moved out here after he and my mother split. He left her out of the will so I came to sell his home when he passed but..the gothic cathedrals kinda grew on me, and I got rather inspired so I decided to stay. Wasn’t much left on the mortgage anyhow,” you explained.

He raised both brows at you curiously. “And you pay for that with dog-sitting?”

You shook your head. “Absolutely not, I’m a Ghost Writer. It makes good money. The dog-sitting is so I feel less lonely,” you said, returning your attention to bestowing Riley with your affection and massaging the scruff around her neck.

“Why not just get a dog?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

You glanced up at him, awkwardly meeting his gaze. “I uhh, I had one, passed away shortly after my Dad. I think she missed him. I haven’t been ready to move on,” you admitted, feeling rather put on the spot with the way Simon was watching you as if he were looking for a flaw, or a reason to kick you out of his home.

“Fair enough,” he agreed, and you loosed a breath. You couldn’t help but feel like you were going to end up with a knife in your throat if you made one wrong move. “I’ll be gone for a few weeks at a time. You live around here?” He asked curtly.

You didn’t like the way he looked at you. It felt…judgmental, as if he were trying to decide if you were trustworthy, or if you were plotting some evil deed. “I live in the other side of town.”

He nodded. “Feel free to use the spare room, the place is more hers than it is mine at this point. She deserves a good retirement,” he said gesturing to the dog.

You blinked as realization finally set in. “Oh! Your military! I see now,” you said, glancing down at Riley who was still patiently seated beside her master.

“So you’re not retired?” You asked, and he nodded. “There are plenty of adoption agencies, and families that take on service animals-“

“I’m her family,” he interrupted, sounding very close to having snapped at you, and you winced.

“Right! Of course, I just meant that pet-sitters are expensive and-“

“You’re concerned I can’t afford to pay you?” He asked gruffly.

“No! No I- That’s not what I meant,” you palmed your face as you stood to your full height, which wasn’t much compared to his. “I’ve been doing this since I was in college and I’ve had more than a few cases of abandonment. It’s usually the ones that are gone a lot. I just wanna know what I’m getting into, alright?” You explained, holding your hands out peacefully as if you were trying to convince a wolf animal not to attack you.

You briefly noted that Riley seems much more manageable than her handler. You, however, we’re too soft hearted, and he simply had to understand that if you were going to care for Riley.

He eyed you for a moment, before nodding in understanding. “If I ever don’t make it back arrangements will be made. You won’t need to worry about that,” he assured you.

You let out a relieved sigh. “Good. We’re on the same page then.”

He nodded in agreement, and you had half a mind to ask him to stop staring at you like he was deciding how to go about skinning you alive.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you said, patting Riley on the head much to her delight.

“My flight leaves early in the morning. I’ll text you a code for the front door.”

Your forced a smile as offered him you hand in a friendly gesture. “Perfect.” He didn’t accept your offered hand, but you weren’t too disappointed. You were just grateful you wouldn’t have to see him for the next few weeks.

AN: ahhh this one is gonna be fun! The inspiration for this story came from my own fur babies, one of which I’m using as my visual for Riley. Can’t wait to share part 2!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley

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venuslore · 5 months

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could you write some fluff abt swimming with corio in the lake??

𖥔 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𖥔

summary ; you and coriolanus decide to visit the lake.

pairing ; coriolanus snow x fem!reader

notes ; nothing that i can think of, some kissing and a lot of fluff , spoilers for tbosas !

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

with each breath, the worries and burdens of living in the districts seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of peace that settled deep within your soul. the warm air filled your lungs as you inhaled deeply, both invigorating and calming at the same time. there was nothing quite like the peaceful embrace you felt walking through the woods, offering you solace in its own unique way, letting you feel its energy.

the clearing was bathed in a bright glow, sunlight filtering through the gaps in the high trees that surrounded, while birds chirped their melodious tunes in the background. they were all that could be heard, other than the low trickles of water from the lake, and the crunching of leaves beneath your lover’s feet as he finally met your side.

you turned towards him, your heart filling with anticipation and excitement as he closed the distance between you. the affectionate smile on his face mirrored the feelings coursing through your own veins.

“it’s so beautiful out here,” you hum, taking in another deep breath and letting your senses fill with that of the earth.

coriolanus wraps his arm around your shoulder, a sense of warmth and comfort. his closeness brings a small smile to your face, and you rest your head against his side as he breathes a soft “yeah.”

your heart flutters as his gaze locks with yours, drawing you in like a magnet. as the sunlight illuminates his features, casting a heavenly glow upon his face, you find yourself captivated by his radiant presence. his eyes, like vibrant gems, sparkle with a warmth that touches your very soul.

you could get lost in them – in him – forever.

scrunching your nose up at him, you give a playful push and head towards the start of the dock, dropping your bag packed with necessities for the day as you do. he follows in your footsteps, kicking off his boots and removing his socks swiftly, all while keeping his eyes fully trained on you.

there was a boyish grin on his face, something you didn’t see often, but when you did, it filled you with the most unruly butterflies. it made you wish you could see it more, while breaking your heart a little bit at the same time that you didn’t.

you waste no time in removing your own items of clothing and letting them fall to the ground in a messy pile, leaving coriolanus as you wait in the middle of the wooden path for him to meet your side once more.

standing there, you can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for these stolen moments of bliss. in a world that often felt overwhelming and suffocating, being able to share these memories with him feels like a precious gift.

you remember the countless secret rendezvous, the stolen glances while he was on duty, and the hidden touches that were filled with a mixture of excitement and fear. your love, forbidden by the laws of the capitol, had never felt so important. the mountains in the distance stand tall and proud, reminding you that there is so much more to this world than just constraints and limitations. the open field beyond the water stretches out endlessly, just like the endless possibilities that awaited. it was humbling to remember just how small you really were in the world.

yet, at the same time, as coriolanus meets you again, his arms reaching to wrap around your chest, you can’t help but feel like you were right where you were meant to be.

with that thought in mind, you take his hand, intertwining your fingers together, and let him take the lead the rest of the way, until your toes hang over the edge of the dock. he looks down at you, that same boyish grin still present, and gives you a wink before the two of you jump off the ledge.

as you hit the cool water, you feel exhilarated, a wave of freedom washing over you. the splashes and ripples create a symphony of sound that echoes in your ears, and as you resurface, you’re immediately greeted by coriolanus’ beaming smile.

in the midst of the shimmering waves, you catch each other’s gaze and laughter bubbles up from within you both as you playfully splash water at one another. there’s a shared child-like joy that comes out of the friendly competition, but ultimately coryo is the one to give in, raising his arms up to surrender.

your laughter fades away with the wind, leaving you both in a comfortable silence. a silence that doesn’t need to be filled, nor do you want it to be. the two of you meet in the middle, your legs guiding you to wrap about his waist, as his hand meets the side of your face.

you lean into the touch, and despite the cool water, you can still feel the warmth of his palm against your skin. his fingers gently stroke your cheek, tracing invisible patterns, and his touch lingers for a moment, filled with tenderness. you close your eyes, wanting to savour the intimacy of it. “you know,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a mixture of affection and what you could only pinpoint to be mischief, “i never expected to find someone like you in my life.”

you open your eyes to meet his gaze, a soft smile playing on your lips. “i feel the same way,” you admit. “i never could have imagined that i’d fall for someone like you, and yet here we are.”

coriolanus' gaze grows tender as his eyes bore into you now. “we may be different, but that’s what makes us so perfect for each other.”

a surge of emotions courses through you like a tidal wave and your lips finally meet. the sensations that had built up inside now overflow, causing you to release all inhibitions. the kiss becomes a catalyst for the intense feelings you were harbouring for the boy before you.

his hand gently grazes the back of your neck and shivers rolls down your spine. the kiss deepens, filled with desire, longing, a reassuring promise that no one could ever break you apart.

reluctantly, you have to pull away, the need for oxygen playing an undeniable factor. you don’t move far, your foreheads lingering together as your chests heave, and you catch your breaths. you smile, your heart racing, as you reach out to brush your fingers against his cheek now. you both stay in the water for a while longer, enjoying each other’s company and the tranquillity of the lake.

there was an enigmatic force that kept pulling you together, and you may not know what the future held or where life in panem would take you both, but one thing you knew for sure was that coriolanus was yours, and you were his.

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lemonyboy97 · 2 months

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Heyyy I like your writing, and I was wondering if you could do like fluff/comfort of like Val, vox, and/or alastor with a reader who gets really socially anxious and shuts down when they get overwhelmed?

Wasnt sure what gender reader was so i did neutral, thank you so much for the ask! I havent gotten one in forever and i was fresh out of inspo ❤️❤️🫂 love you anon! (Also i threw in different relationship dynamics to spice things up and also because i cant imagine alastor being ANYONES 'boyfriend', that man would go from 'close friend and confidant' to 'fiancé')

Pop in and leave me a request on my new blog!

Fiancé!Vox, Boyfriend!Val, Husband!Alastor (seperate) x gn!anxious!reader

Warnings: brief mentions of sadism, anxious reader (obviously), not quite my definition of a panic attack but close to it

(Im going to do some loose headcannons about each of the boiz, then include a oneshot for each of them)

Fiancé!Vox

Headcannons:

I feel like Vox would be the best out of the 3 in this scenario, as he's the least sadistic. Vox is a very protective lover, he's also compassionate and doting (behind closed doors). If Vox notices you (its really a matter of when not if because this man WILL notice) becoming overwhelmed or overstimulated he is gently guiding you away from the crowd to check on you, 'Are you okay?', 'do you want to leave?', 'is there something specific bothering you?' are FAQs (frequently asked questions) His way of dealing with the issue is removing you from the situation altogether- taking you back home, wether thats to your shared apartment or the Vee's headquarters depends on whichevers closest.

Scenario:

You and your fiance, Vox, are at a release event for the newest VoxTech drop. Vox is proudly harping about the newest Tech he’s developed, an even prouder arm around your waist; how could he not be proud with his pretty little love on his arm? (He calls you his ‘pretty little thing’, ‘little love’ no matter your gender or size) He’s so absorbed in his success that at first he doesn't notice the subtle tremble in your hands, or the way you curl into him as if trying to hide, or maybe the way you flinch at the bright camera flashes. But when you let out a barely audible whine Vox immediately turns to you, all ears.

Vox suddenly realizes how overstimulating this all must be; the flashing cameras, the loud and frantic crowd, the music in the background, the shouting, the rowdy demons who are protesting- oh god how could he have been so negligent?

Vox is immediately passing the reins over to Velvette (much to her dismay), and gingerly leading you through the crowd, towards the back door.

“It’s alright, lovely, just through here… There we go…”

His words are gentle, and the hands on your shoulders to guide you are 10x more so. He leads you out the back and to the limo, and once you’re sequestered away inside he just waits- He knows when you’re ready for touch you’ll initiate. He knows that for now, just the knowledge that someone is aware and looking after you is enough to help de-escalate the situation.

“There you go, doll, breathe yeah? In…. Out…. In…. Out… good job, love, doing so well for me”

Boyfriend!Valentino

Headcannons:

Val is definietly more of a 'what do you mean?' Kind of guy, or 'just breathe?', you know? We know from his workers (ahem angeldust ahem) that he isnt the most... understanding with weaknesses and the like. So- while I feel like Val's approach is a bit more 'deal with it by not dealing with it' than Vox's, it is still heartfelt for his wonderful gf/bf/partner. Even if he wont directly address it, Valentino is the type to try and reassure you through touch, wether thats what you need or not, thats what he's got because this man KNOWS he is brash and he doesnt want to make things worse.

Scenario:

You had walked to Valentino's studio to bring him homemade lunch after he was complaining about his imps being 'inconcievably incompetent'. You are now awkwardly standing backstage, out of sight, as he directs a particularily.... raunchy... scene. You are visibly uncomfortable with screams and various sounds of... mixed sensations.. echoing around the set, along with flashing lights and dizzying scents. Altogether they make an array of overstimulating inputs, and after setting down said lunch on a side bench, a pretty note tucked into the lip of the basket, you stumble back outside, trying to catch your breath. Val follows you shortly after, he caught sight of you from across the set.

Valentino carefully sits beside you, pulling you into his side.

"You alright there, babycakes?"

You shakily nod, but Val sees right through you. He sighs and kisses your temple as he absentmindedly rubs your shoulders.

"Thought I warned you 'bout my work hours, baby"

You slowly explain that you just wanted to surprise him with lunch and he smiles, kissing the inside of your wrist.

"Damn, sugar, shoulda started with that, hm? Why don't I pop in and grab it- then we can share it out here while you get your head back on."

Husband!Alastor

Headcanon:

This man. This. MAN. It can go one of two ways depending on where your relationship is with him- but in this you are married so- he would be so attentive- like. You would barely be feeling the 'oh hey, this is a lot' feeling and Al would pick up on it and knight in shining armor you away from it. Alastor just KNOWS. He has like a sixth sense when it comes to you. He is so finitly attuned to every fibre of your being that you cant even hide it from him. He just KNOWS. Like- you're in cannibal town (because be real y'all go on dates there all the time and Rosie adores you) and the children are being rowdy but 'its alright, i can manage-' oh and there's Susan- 'yes susan, we are married- no, no susan you cant see my ring im a bit worried you might try to eat my finger- No, really i insist-' oop and here comes Alastor, scooping you up with a charming grin, Rosie on his heels. 'Come along now darling, our dinner is waiting'

Scenario:

You and Alastor are in the hotels lobby, greeting guests for a party Charlie is throwing to 'encourage the inhabitants', Alastors hand is protectively on the small of your back like always. The arriving demons are a bit rowdy but nothing too bad- the real issue is the howling, rambunctious laughter coming from the bar, poor karoke all but screamed into the low quality microphone (much to Husk's annoyance), flashing strobe lights arouns the room turning the guests pink, green, blue, pink, green, blue, pink, green, blue-

"Dear?"

Careful fingers snap in front of your face- effectively lurching you out of your spiraling thoughts. You swallow thickly and look up at your husband, shaky smile plastered on your lips.

'Yes, Al?'

He frowns as he gaze flits from one eye to the other, then, his mind seemingly made up, he summons his shadow, scoops you up, and shadow travels back to you twos shared room.

"Oh lovely, this certianly wont do"

He dotes on you, rubbing your tense shoulders, kissing the crown of your head, murmuring sweet nothings to your skin as he lays you down in your shared, king bed. And later, once you're half asleep and content in his arms, he lovingly murmurs,

"No more of Charlie's so-called 'parties' for you, my sweet"

A/n: Reblogs are always encouraged and appreciated! And yes i did like my own post. I am very proud of this, i wrote it in one day WHILE (legally) high on loopy pain medicine

#hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel x reader #valentino x reader #vox x reader #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #val x reader #vox fluff #alastor hazbin #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor #alastor headcanons #alastor imagine #alastor x you #LemonyWrites

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rodolfoparras · 1 month

Text

Oh to be with old man price right now drunk on shitty wine and dancing to hozier in a dimly kitchen.

It’s not every day that you get to see Price this relaxed. Usually his mind is spinning with hundreds of thoughts- wondering if an old man like him is fit for someone young like you, wondering if there is someone who could treat you better than him, someone closer to your age someone who’s not jarred from the years they spent living, someone better looking who you could spend the rest of your life with-

But tonight he can only think about what a lucky bastard he is to have a man like you in his life. He’s got this lazy smile on his face as he pears up at you over his wine glass, and having noticed his blatant staring you can’t help but ask what’s on his mind.

“Nothing” he says, and downs what’s left in his glass. It’s not often he allows himself drink, not ever since his doctor told him to go easy with the beers. His body can’t handle alcohol like it used to and many times it has shown him that. But every once in a while he’ll allow himself a glass, especially on nights like these and he can already feel the alcohol having its effect on him, the tension in his body slowly easing up, and tongue readying itself to say too much.

However you won’t let it go, arms slinking around his waist and pulling him into your embrace

“Tell me” you whine out, into his salt and pepper hair, mindlessly rocking side to side with him in your embrace.

“Keep up with that and I’ll throw up on you,” Price grunts out, eyes squeezing shut in hopes of lessening the effects of the rocking motions but despite his words he sneaks his own arms around your waist , sweat soaked forehead pressed against your chest while he moves along to the music that’s playing in the background.

Your skin feels ever so warm while pressed flushed against his, the faint smell of your cologne and laundry detergent invades his nostrils and standing this close he’s sure he can hear your heartbeat or maybe it’s his very own pulse roaring in his ears.

This is nice, Price thinks to himself, even finds himself humming along to the tune playing from your phone before he starts softly singing to you

“You know you’re bright as the morning, soft as the rain, pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape “ Price gets so lost in the moment, he doesn’t even notice the amused smile on your face as he continues to sing. “If you can sit in a barrel maybe I’ll wait. Until that day I’d rather take my whiskey neat my coffee black and my bed at three,”

For many years Price thought that death was his ever lasting companion, that God was going to punish him for all the crimes he’s committed, that he’d end up all alone and loveless, with only the Grim reaper taking interest in such a sad and lonely man yet here he was drunk and dancing with the love of his life in your shared kitchen.

He indeed is a lucky bastard.

The gentle touch of your hand on his cheek, snaps him out of the little world he disappeared in and when his eyes flutter open, he’s met with your soft gaze and the warm smile painted on your face.

“What?” He says, and clears his throat, feelings his face turn red as ever

“Nothing,” you shrug, echoing his words from earlier with a small smile on your face and just as he’s about to ask a follow up question, you pull him in for a kiss.

All thoughts disappear as you mold your lips onto his. You mostly tastes of wine and of something sweet, probably the slice of store bought cake you sneaked in as dessert and Price finds himself addicted to it, easily getting lost in the taste, and the feel of your prickly hairs brushing across his chin, all while sweet grunts and groans tumble past your lips.

In that very moment he feels a surge of pride washing over him. See Price may harbor many insecurities but he knows how to kiss and he sure makes it clear as his own hand cups your cheek to deepen the kiss.

It doesn’t take much before he’s slipping his tongue inside your mouth, free hand sneaking under your pajama pants and cupping you in the palm of his hand.

“Oh- oh fuck,” you breathe out in surprise, eyes wide as he feels you twitch under his touch.

“How about we take this somewhere else hm?” Price says, playfully nibbles at your ear before he pulls away from your embrace and who are you to deny such request?

#this is justa. random blurb pls excuse mistakes i JSUT needed to let this out #call of duty #john price x reader #john price x male reader #john price #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #x male reader #male reader

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sobfultoast · 2 months

Text

•°~* Careful Touches *~°•

Prompt: Touching their demonic features (Wings/Tails).

(This is my first one. It ain't the best, idk. Lol)

Being human, it was only natural that you'd be curious about what makes the brothers different from yourself, like their horns and such.

Whenever they were in their demonic forms, you couldn't help but stare at them with fascination. You just had to say something...

"They're beautiful... Can I touch your wings/tail?"

• ° ~ * ~ ° •

Lucifer

"You want to touch my wings? I always knew you were brave."

Lucifer doesn't just let anyone touch his wings. They must be people he trusts and respects. Out of all three realms, there are only 4 beings who have laid a hand on his wings and are still alive: Diavolo, Mammon, Simeon, and now you.

Lucifer's wings are dense with soft, fluffy feathers. It's so thick with feathers that you can't see your fingers anymore as you sink your hand. Be gentle with your strokes, while his feathers are as resilient as him, it can still cause him discomfort if handled roughly.

As you pet his wings, he physically relaxes. Letting out a heavy sigh, his composure becomes less strict. He feels vulnerable, but he thinks that he is okay with that. It was an intimate experience for him as he doesn't particularly like his wings. they hold a painful past to him, but you said they look beautiful... Someone can see the beauty in something he can't. Someone can see the beauty in his past, and that means the world to him.

You'll see him letting his wings unfurl more often when it is just the two of you. A cursed record playing in the background, he is working on paperwork with you on his lap, stroking his wings. It's soothing.

Mammon

"Eh? My wings? B-beautiful? Of course, ya think my wings are beautiful! They belong to the great Mammon after all!"

Mammon went bright red, but that didn't matter to him. His human thinks his wings are beautiful! Damn, right! Of course, you can touch his wings, and don't stop until he says so!

Mammom's wings are smooth but rough like leather. He uses a certain wax to make them sleek and shine. He has to look good. He is a model, after all.

As you stroke his wings, he started to squirm? Laugh? He almost pushed you away in a giggle fit. Turns out, he is very ticklish on his wings. It's more sensitive near the base of his wings, and it's the easiest place to tickle him to tears. He has noted to himself to never to let you touch his wings when you have that mischievous look on your face.

He likes using his wings to get your attention, especially now that he knows you like them. He'll walk around the house with his wings out, and he'll try to make it look like he is naturally stretching them, but we all know he's forcing it. He'll wrap them around you more often, using it to guide you closer to him. If you ask him about it, he'll deny it in his tsudere fashion but continues.

He has also bragged about it to everyone. Everyone. "Hey, guess what! My human said these wings are beautiful! Ya hear? What did they say to ya? Nothin'? that's what I thought."

Leviathan

"H-huh?! B-beautiful? You think my tail is beautiful?! Y-you must be lying. This must be one of your normie tricks!"

Leviathan went straight to denial. No way do you like his tail! His tail is such an eye-sore, he tells himself, why can't it be as dangerous as Satan's or as cute as Belphagor's? There is no way— W-wait, YOU'RE SERIOUS?! Once you assure him that you're serious and you'd love to touch his tail, he goes bright red and quiet. Give him a moment, and he'll slowly lift his tail towards you. He looks away, still hesitant. You have a feeling that if you don't stroke his tail now, you might affirm his thoughts and make him cry.

Levi's tail is smooth, and your hand glides over his scales. The scales themselves give his tail a nice and unique texture. It rattles with nervousness, but once you praise it, he'll melt into putty.

Levi is more comfortable having his tail out now, which also means you will be finding that tail wrapping itself around you more, too. It has a mind of its own that always betrays his tsudere act. He'll swear he'll never fall for your normie tactics while his tail is slithering its way up your thigh and waist.

It gets more clingy to you the more you pet and praise it. He still has days where he hates his tail, but you are always there to adore it.

Satan

"I don't think that would be a smart idea..."

Satan's tail is as dangers as his wits. It has razor-sharp edges that have shown Satan its strength in fights and fits of rage. He hates the thought of hurting you, no matter how much you want to touch it.

Even if somehow you have managed to convince him that he won't hurt you, he is still hesitant. He keeps plasters and bandages on standby as you gently press your finger on his tail. The tales aren't false. A light press, and you can already feel how sharp it is. Press any harder, and you'll cut yourself. It makes a rattle noise when it moves, like two bones hitting each other.

After you pet his tail without hurting yourself, he'll be slightly more relaxed with it. He's still wary, though.

So, no tail hugs like Leviathan or Belphegor. Sorry :(

Asmodeus

"Oh, hon! I know they're beautiful! And of course you can touch them. You don't have to ask, I don't bite. Unless you'd like that~"

Asmodeus' wings are drop-dead gorgeous! Of course, you'd stare at their beauty. You don't ever have to ask to touch his wings as he'll probably ask you to touch them often.

Asmo's wings are soft and smooth, like his porcelain skin. They would have been like Mammon's leathery wings if Asmo didn't dose his own wings with skin-care and wing-care products. A very next texture to touch. His wings flutter with excitement when you pet them. He just can't help it!

Most times, when you pet his wings, it can quickly take a spicy turn. How can he not when you are caressing him so sensually?! But, he does slightly prefer the more domestic feeling of cuddling with his favourite person (other than himself) with them showering him in affection. The only thing he really ever wants...

He spends so long on his wings' care because he really misses his old wings. They were so pure and beautiful. Now they're dull... To make up with that, he has a 2 hour care routine, per wing, that he does every week. If you would like, he can show you his wing-care routine, and you can help him too! He'd love that! He has 4 wings, and caring for each of them is a time exhausting task. He appreciates that you take time out of your day to help him.

Beelzebub

"Yes. You can. Just... Be careful with them..."

Beelzebub's wings are delicate, despite the rest of him. His insect wings can easily tear, but fortunately, his wings regenerate quickly. It's still painful. Because of this, he very nervous at letting people touch them, but he knows you won't purposely hurt him.

Beel's wings are thin. It's kind of hard to pet them. Doesn't mean you can't have a closer look to something so different from anything else you have seen. His wings make a buzzing noise when he flaps them really fast. The same buzz makes most buffets in devildom have flashbacks.

His wings are also too weak to make him fly. Have you seen him? There is no way those thin wings can make that buff bloke fly! If anything, it might let him glide or hover for a short time for sports. He has to buzz them really quick to do that, so when he is attempting to hover, a big gush of wind happens and is able to send you flying.

Beelzebub is happy you like his wings, but he is sad that you can't really pet them like the other brothers. It is what it is.

Belphegor

"Really? Huh... You're werid. You can touch it if you let me use you as a cushion."

Now you have a lazy demon napping on your lap, and he is not moving no matter how much you try. I mean, a free nap spot and free pets!? How can he say no?

The base of his tail is rought fur, and the end is very fluffy, a perfect pillow, but it's really knotty as he is too lazy to care for it. Maybe you can brush it? He'll let you brush it. It saves him from getting scolded at by Lucifer or Asmodeus for not looking after himself because he was lazy. Once you've brushed it, it poofs up and becomes all fuzzy.

Unlike Satan's and Levi's tail, Belphie can't control his tail, so he can't use them as another arm or weapon. The most he can do with his tail is wag it like a cow would do.

Belphie also trips on his tail a lot. When Belphie falls over, he doesn't get up. He just lays there and waits. He waits until one of his brothers or you pick him up. It's the main reason why he carries his tail, not cause it's a fluffy pillow. It being like a fluffy pillow is just a happy little coincidence.

•°~* Have a lovely day! *~°•

#obey me satan #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #om belphegor #om mammon #om leviathan #om satan #om lucifer #om beelzebub #om asmodeus

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rootbeerworshiper · 2 months

Text

under the neon lights

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

based on these reqs: @inlovewithmattstur

warnings: angst with a very fluffy ending! and not proofread lolz

love, sienna <3

you’ve been best friends with Chris since freshmen year and the two of you are quite literally attached at the hip.

ongoing jokes about the two of you being a couple were all too common, and you can’t even be suprised at these remarks because in reality you and him were incredibly close.

normal friends don’t hold hands constantly and fall sleep cuddling, normal friends don’t catch each other staring and cause the other to become flustered, normal friends don’t spend every waking moment thinking about the other—but that was your dynamic with the boy, confusing, complicated, and anything but normal.

you often slept over at his house, Chris was never one to like sleeping alone, insisting he sleeps better with another body in the bed—and you didn’t mind.

the problem with this weird dynamic is how badly you wish things were different.

you wish your highschool experience involved going to prom with him, with a corsage laying on your wrist and a boy to kiss your hand as he greets you.

every night you imagine what it would feel like to be loved publicly, for someone to not shut up about how much they love you.

it’s impossible not to imagine cute dates and tiny acts of pda that actually mean the world.

you want romance—but instead your in love with your best friend.

on this particular night the two of you spent your time watching old videos from highschool—some more embarrassing than others.

“oh my god i cannot believe i wore that to school what was i doing?” your shocked expression causes him to laugh, his arm wrapped around your shoulder while your own arm wraps around his waist. “okay okay that’s enough of that let’s move on please” you practically cry out out of embarrassment, the boy just throwing his head back in a fit of laughter you can feel on your arm.

“i don’t think it was that bad” he says in between laughs. “to be fair i rotated the same five pairs of sweats every week so i can’t talk”

“our style just took a second to develop that’s for sure” you smile, squeezing Chris’ side slightly before relaxing into the touch once more.

the two of you continue scrolling through old snapchat memories and failed vlogs, laughing practically on repeat for an hour, the only thing lighting the room was the light illuminating from his phone.

“holy shit how is it two am already?” you sit up slightly, caught off guard by how fast time went by with your favourite person.

he smiles slightly, as if a lightbulb just entered his head. “wanna do something?” he asks, looking up at you with a look that can convince you to do anything, a look that consistently fills your stomach with butterflies that you consciously ignore.

“like what? last time i checked, neither of us have our license and Matt’s sleeping” you reply, unsure where he’s going with this. you toy with his fingers, tracing along the length of each once while he begins to speak.

“we could walk to the gas station that’s right over here, like we used to do during covid” he says, eyes focused on your hands as you continue playing with his fingers—what you don’t know is how incredibly much he cherishes your touch, like electricity is running through your connected fingers.

you smile at the memory of you and Chris back in Boston, sneaking out at three am to sit at the skatepark and eat the food purchased at the local gas station. “sure, i’ve missed that”

so the two you make your way out of bed, and you throw on one of Chris’ hoodies before joining him in quietly making your way out of the house—not wanting to wake up either of his brothers.

the walk is peaceful, streets illuminated by warm coloured street lamps and a bright moonlight that showcases the many stars littered across the black sky—for a moment it feels like your back in Boston.

Chris always insists on having background music, so your shared playlist played softly from the phone in his pocket as you walk along the sidewalks.

not a lot is said on the walk to the familiar gas station, and not a ton needed to be said, comfortable silence filling the space between two bodies as the neon lights from the convenience store light up your face a fluorescent white shade.

you enter the shop—Chris holding the door open for you and following shortly behind you as you head straight to the drink section.

the boy settles on a sweet tea and you yourself decide on a white monster. “do we want any snacks?” you ask, shutting the door to the commercial fridge.

“i could fuck up a nerds rope and some cool ranch doritos” he replies, causing you to smile because once again, it felt like old times, his snack decision hitting you with a wave of nostalgia.

and so you get just that, two of each snack that’s now stored in a small plastic bag that Chris holds as he once again opens the door for you to exit.

you ultimately decide to just sit outside the gas station, bright lights illuminating the tops of your heads as you sit down and begin to pull out the snacks—Chris’ music still playing quietly in the background.

“are you getting major deja vu or is that just me?” you ask, ripping open a bag of your favourite doritos as the boy takes a sip of his iced tea.

“one hundred percent but to be very fair we’ve done this exact thing like a hundred times” he laughs softly, a laugh that never fails to bring you serenity.

it’s silent again, the only noises to be heard are the rap songs playing from the iphone that lies on the cement and the crumbing of your dorito bags.

“i’m really happy we’re still friends, i don’t know who i’d be without you” Chris speaks up, gaze fixated on the gas pumps ahead of you.

you laugh at the sudden switch in tone, looking in his direction only to be met with his side profile, that alone causes the speed of your heartbeat to pickup. “way to get sappy all of a sudden”

“i just appreciate you that’s all” he looks to you now, meeting your gaze, making an eye contact with you that feels different than normal, maybe more intentional.

his gaze now switches from your eyes to a lower portion of your face, eyes making contact with your lips while your own eyes scan his face for any telling emotions.

“Chris stop looking at me like that” you try and joke, turning your gaze away to see his eyes still just as fixated on you as before.

“why? what if i just wanna admire my best friend?” he says softly, licking his lips and coating a thin layer of glistening saliva over them—but immediately his choice of words put you off.

this is a game you’ve played with him before. his overt friendliness that comes off as incredibly flirty and your hopeless romantic tendencies conflicting and instantly making things weird between the two of you.

“i’m not doing this with you i-“ you choose to stop speaking, already felling the pit in your stomach that is fighting back the urge to let out a sob.

normal friendships aren’t this hard.

his eyebrows immediately furrow, showing off his insane amount of cluelessness as you take a deep breath, allowing the dry, night dazed air to enter your lungs. “y/n i don’t understand what’s happening right now, are you okay?” he says, his voiced laced with a sense of concern.

“no i’m not okay!” you stand up, dusting your hands off on your sweats biting your lip to suppress any sadness dwelling. he stands up too, but still containing an innocence in his eyes that drives you insane.

“i can’t keep doing this!” you cry out. at this point you’ve given up on caring about weird looks from the cashier or other cars driving by, overtaken by pure anger that’s been smoking within you, ready to explode at any moment.

“doing what y/n? speak to me” he replies, concern overtaking his delicate face as he walks ever so slightly closer to you, subconsciously hoping to make you feel better.

but you pull away immediately, keeping a safe distance between you and the brunette. “whatever the fuck this is Chris” you motion between you and the boy with your hands. “you can’t keep looking at me and expect me not to feel something for you! it’s not fair that you say the most butterfly inducing shit and follow it up with ‘my best friend’. what am i supposed to do with that?”

every thought you’ve had about this friendship pours out of your mouth as tears well up in your eyes, threatening to pour out at any moment.

“i’m sorry i gave you the wrong impression i never meant to-“

“fuck off Chris. seriously fuck off. i don’t need to hear you reject me. i don’t want to have feelings for you. this would all be easier if i didn’t, i think we just need space” you begin to turn away from him, grabbing your things off the paved entrance.

you muster up the courage to say one last thing before walking away, a shakiness overtaking your bottom lip. “i shouldn’t have expected this to be any different. i should’ve known that this is just the way you are and i shouldn’t have been so stupid.”

a wet tear trails down your cheek, guiding alongside your nose as you speak. “was any of it ever real?”

it’s clear that by ‘any of it’ you’re referring to the romance you felt spark between the two of you, even he knows that—but he stays.

he stays exactly where he is and his mouth remains shut.

“i hope we can figure out our shit but right now i’m done. with you, with this. done.” with that you walk away, your back facing the boy as you increase the speed of your steps, eager to leave this shitty situation.

his heart drops at this. the last thing he wants is space. he adores you and he doesn’t want your friendship to be put on pause for any reason.

he wants to be able to tell you that he likes you in that way too. that every time silence fills the space between you he fights the urge to kiss you. and that he can’t help but think of you anytime someone asks if he’s single because for whatever reason when he’s with you he feels everything but alone.

he’d kill to grab your hand, to stop you from walking away and tell you how obsessed with you he is, but it’s not that simple—nothing about this relationship is.

deep down Chris knows exactly what you want.

you want a relationship. you want to go on dates and hold hands in public and put a label on how you feel for one another—that couldn’t be further from what he wants.

which is why he stands there—the neon lights reflecting in his teary eyes as your back faces him, as you leave him there all alone with his thoughts.

to him it all happened so fast, like a car spinning out of control, slipping on ice until it meets its untimely demise. this was all out of his control, and what was he supposed to do?

commitment is terrifying.

going on dates and posting each other on important anniversaries was his nightmare for so long, the idea of that being genuinely off putting.

but the idea of never having you in his life again?

the idea of not hearing you laugh at his stupid jokes, clutching your stomach with a huge grin on your face or listening to your calm, patterned breaths as he falls asleep next to you?

that was so much worse.

all of a sudden everything clicks.

he was in love with you.

he is in love with you.

all this time he knew you were different than other friends, but his feelings towards you weren’t something he was conscious of.

but it makes sense now, why he got all flustered whenever you teased him, why you had so much power over him in ways that were embarrassing.

the realization hits him like a brick, his feet planted onto the pavement below him, his mind unable to think about anything else but you.

but you’re gone. in the time that it took Chris to figure out his conflicting thoughts you had walked back to the house, fully prepared to sleep on the couch and gave Matt drive you home first thing in the morning.

it can’t be over like this, you can’t be over like this.

so he runs, like a fucking idiot he leaves behind his snacks placed against the conscience store wall and he runs.

you continue walking down the street, nothing but soft sobs escaping your shivering mouth as you think about every memory of Chris you cherished so close to your heart.

like when he wrote you letters telling you how happy he was that you were in his life, folded up and placed in an envelope. you were one of few people that were able to read his messy handwriting, but based on his proper punctuation and attention to writing his words more clearly, it was obvious he took his time. for you.

or that time when you went to the fair with him—the kid hates rides, hates them. but he also knows just how much you love them, so that night he swallowed his fear, holding your hand and going on every ride with you so that you wouldn’t be alone.

or the forehead kisses he would give you as you worked through a difficult assignment in school, his soft words of motivation that got you to graduation.

in what world is that casual?

you roll your eyes at his previous statement. he just gave you ‘the wrong impression’ as if what he did could have been interpreted in literally any other way.

you’re too caught up in your own thoughts, trying to find an answer to the never ending puzzle that is Chris Sturniolo to even notice the footsteps behind you, the pace slowing as they get closer to you.

until they stop. “y/n” Chris speaks, clearly out of breath.

before you even turn around you roll your eyes. “i just wanna sleep, can we talk about this another time please? i cant keep thinking about it”

the hand that’s softly placed on your shoulder tells you otherwise, so you turn around, now facing Chris who looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

once he catches his breath he looks at you with pleading eyes. “can i just speak?”

you nod, biting your lip to avoid any more snide comments, it’s clear he cares, that much you can give him.

he takes one more deep breath, as if he’s about to run a marathon with his voice. “i was confused. i was confused and i was so stupid and i don’t know what i was thinking”

you just stand there at look at him, wiping away your tears as he speaks. “it was all real, all of it. i just got so scared because it all felt too real. i just-“ his voice is shaky, and it’s evident that he’s holding back tears.

“you have always been more than a friend to me. this whole time i’ve been so completely obsessed with you and everything about you and i haven’t been able to think straight because every time i look at you i have to stop myself from kissing you” he runs his hand through his soft hair, struggling to look at you when he speaks.

he inhaled another breath, the air shakily filling his lungs. “but i never did, mostly because i didn’t think i was good enough for you. you deserve someone so amazing and caring and romantic and everyday i wondered if i’d ever get there. i wanted to get there so bad because i wanted you. i’m not a relationship kind of guy” he sniffles. “i mean i’ve barely even been on a real date and i’m twenty years old”

he shakes his head, trying his best to get his point across. “but none of that matters when i look at you because everytime i see you it all goes away. every fear of commitment and- and realness goes away.” tears creep out of his blue eyes, but he’s quick to wipe them away with his palms. “god y/n i’m so fucking in love with you that the thought of you walking away from me made my heart hurt”

you’ve never seen him this vulnerable before. sure, he was always honest with you, but right now he just looks so- hopeless.

he finishes speaking, shaking out his hands slightly as if to relieve tension that formed in his joints as he spoke.

you’re not entirely sure what to say, so you don’t speak, instead pulling the boy into a much needed hug, burying your face into his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist.

he doesn’t react at first, in shock initially at the sudden closeness, but it doesn’t take long for him to pull you in impossibly closer to him, one hand placed on your back and another on the back of your head.

he rests his face on the top of your head, practically burying his lips in your hair as his hand rubs your back.

you pull out slightly, keeping your arms on his side as you look at him, one last tear crawling down your cheek.

immediately his hands comes to your face, cupping your jawline while his thumb wipes away the tear drop. “why are you crying now?” he furrows his eyebrows, a slight playfulness to his tone.

you giggle, leaning into his touch. “i think these are happy tears now”

“well it’s a good thing you look beautiful even you cry” he smiles softly, holding eye contact with you as you look up at him.

“yeah why’s that?” you tease.

he leans in slightly closer, mumbling slightly as he speaks. “because i’d really like to kiss you now”

your heart flutters at this, and everything feels good again. you have Chris and that’s all you need. “what’s taking you so long?” you smile, the boy immediately leaning in fully and attaching his lips to yours carefully.

his hand still rests on your cheek, only deepening the kiss further before you start smiling, causing him to pull back as you widen your eyes.

“what was that for?” he laughs softly.

“i’m gonna sound like the corniest mother fucker if i say what i’m thinking so i’m just gonna kiss you again” you smile, leaving back in once more, if you weren’t already obsessed with him you definitely are now.

it’s a short lived kiss, the two of you are exhausted at this point, but it still means everything to you.

he wraps his arm around your shoulder now, pulling you into a side hug and kissing the top of your head. “i think after my whole ‘i’m in love with you’ monologue i take the prize for corniest fucker”

you laugh, beginning to walk down the poorly lit street. “never though i’d see the day, Christopher Owen Sturniolo is a cheese ball”

“okay that’s enough of that i’m going back to the gas station” he jokingly turns away before you pull him back to you again.

“i like it when your corny, it’s hot” you mumble, causing the boy to pause in his steps, his arm still around you.

“guess i’ll have to do it more often then yeah?” words that simple shouldn’t have the effect on you that they do, but you’re a smiling mess regardless.

“yeah”

a/n: had no idea how to end this LMAOO hopefully it fulfilled some of your needs for angst

i tried so hard to make chris accurate but i don’t know the man like that💔

taglist: @lolasnoww-blog @tastesousweet @ivypoison @disturbedwoodelf @sturnswift @junnniiieee07 @ellie-luvsfics @sturnified @s7urnfilms @madsdogst @justlivinglive @sluttycupsworld @flowerxbunnie @mbsbaby @sturniolossmut @lustfulslxt @69isabella69 @sturnioloslurps @dracoflaco @mattslatinagf @raekensluver @worldlxvlys

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo angst #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader

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sssilverstoned · 3 months

Text

couples quiz ꩜ ln4

type: transcription from a youtube video

The GQ couples quiz goes precisely how you both, and your PR teams, expect it to

lily said: i just love world building (even if im not the best at it) so i can't ever leave a concept or pairing alone, so it goes!

part 1 part 2 part 3 2.5ish interlude

Y/N: Why do I feel like I left the oven on in the kitchen?

Lando: Well, because you did. I turned it off on our way out, don't worry about it.

y/n turns to the camera with a bright smile, and lando smiles at the sight of her own.

Y/N: My hero, everyone!

Y/N: And um, I guess we're getting started now? So hi, I'm Y/N L/N, a model and creative director currently based out of Europe.

Lando: And I'm Lando Norris, a driver for McLaren Racing's Formula 1 Team, and this is the GQ couples quiz. And if I may add, I absolutely think I'm going to win.

Y/N: I'm not even dignifying that with banter.

lando turns to the camera, an eyebrow raised.

Lando: Fun fact: Y/N's quite genuinely the most competitive person I've met in my entire life.

y/n's jaw drops with a scoff.

Y/N: No shot! You race for a living, for crying out loud.

Lando: Trust me, Love, you take the cake.

y/n rolls her eyes with no charge, a smile still on both of their faces and small looks exchanged between the two of them,

Y/N: Alright, you first. What's my favorite color?

Lando: (your favorite color), easy. it's the color of your phone case right now too.

Y/N: Yup. What's my favorite place I've traveled?

Lando: You loved Venice, no?

y/n winces, weighing her hands back and forth.

Y/N: I did, but that's not my favorite. In my whole life, I'd say,

Both: Jamaica!

they laugh at their unison.

Lando: And I knew that, I knew that! Because of your grandparents.

y/n nods fondly, giggling at how lando beats himself up about getting one wrong.

Y/N: Alright, what am I most scared of?

Lando: You're petrified of spiders.

y/n gags, and shudders.

Y/N: Don't even get me started.

lando turns to the camera with a faux look of exhaustion.

Lando: This girl refused to go into our bedroom for 3 hours once when I was out because there was a spider on the vanity.

Y/N: Whatever. Where did I go to school?

Lando: Switzerland and New York, very posh.

Y/N: You're calling me posh?

Lando: Can't the pot and the kettle both be black?

a producer bursts out in laughter in the background, making the couple do the same. there's a fondness in both their eyes as they double over in laughter.

Y/N: Okay, okay, almost done. What food do I love and hate?

Lando: You hate mushrooms, and for some reason, you really don't like salmon. As for what you do like, you get stir-fry and noodles a lot, but only from specific places. And you love tomato soup, that's the number one.

Y/N: Right again, nice baby! You make a good one now, by the way.

he winks at her.

Y/N: Who is my celebrity crush?

lando scoffs.

Lando: Dylan O'Brien.

Y/N: Forever and ever. My birthday?

Lando: March 10th, a spicy pisces, as you say.

Y/N: Hey, Olivia Rodrigo herself called me that.

Lando: And what about Scorpios?

Y/N: Nope, not your turn yet, I've got one last question.

lando takes a dramatic breath.

Lando: Alright, hit me with it.

Y/N: Where did we go on our first date?

a big smile grows on lando's face.

Lando: We went to a music show one of our friends recommended, and we both thought it was awful but didn't say anything because we didn't want to leave and have the date be over, so we listened to the most shit jazz music for an hour and a half just to be around each other.

Y/N: Best result from the worst music I've ever heard.

Lando: Ditto. Now, hand me the cards, yeah? I'm about to stump you so good.

the camera transitions to y/n now in the hotseat answering questions, lando teasingly taking his job very seriously with the question cards.

Lando: Alright. Where am I from?

Y/N: Bristol, thought you said you'd stump me?

Lando: This is literally question 1?

lando turns to the producers.

Lando: You see what I mean? Ferocious.

Lando: Moving on, what is our favorite show to watch together?

Y/N: We're rewatching Prison Break, so I'd say that?

Lando: I'll give you that one. Ugh, what was I wearing when we first met? Fucks sake, can we skip this one?

y/n sputters over him.

Y/N: Absolutely not, we're not skipping over this!

Lando: Oh come on, Love-

Y/N: I swear to you, the very first time I met Lando, he came to my 18th birthday party in a full on basketball kit!

Lando: I was told it was "Space Jam" themed!

Y/N: As in dress like you're in space, you fool! Not the Michael Jordan and Bugs Bunny movie!

Lando: Needless to say, I was mortified. Seems like she still thought I was cute though, no?

another wink is sent to the camera.

Lando: What's your biggest pet peeve about me?

Y/N: You spoil everything. I can't ever watch a show or a movie without you walking in and going, "Oh, this is the episode before he dies." Like? Who does that?

Lando: Yeah, ah, guilty. Working on it. Eh, not really. What's my nickname for you?

Y/N: Cradle robber.

another producer reacts to this. a sputtering shock of laugh. "you call her WHAT?"

Y/N: We're the same age, mind you.

Lando: Wrong, you've been alive 8 months longer than me on this planet! 3/4 of a year, mind you. But I've got real nicknames for you.

Y/N: Yeah, you do. You call me Love, more than you say my name, so it always feels odd when you do say it.

lando doesn't respond with his voice, but the fond look in his eyes and nod at her answer.

Lando: What irritates me the most?

Y/N: About me? Or, like, in life?

Lando: Life, nothing irritates me about you.

Y/N: Oh, please. But, in life, you're pretty irritable when it comes to selfish people. You've always been like that, though, very compassionate and not a fan of people who aren't.

Lando: Very true, never thought of it like that, I guess. Just don't be an asshole, you know?

Y/N: See? Irritated.

Lando: Anyway. We're on our last question, so I guess you've won because it's not a point question.

Y/N: I won't rub this one in your face, just because you've been a great interviewer.

he gives her a gracious nod, and y/n rolls her eyes.

Lando: You'll never ever know how grateful I am. Final Question, what's something that you weren't expecting about me that you love about me?

Y/N: Oh goodness, are you wanting me to cry? Well, I think something that was initially a hard adjustment was the intensity of your racing schedule, and doing long distance sometimes. We don't really see each other sometimes, but when we do, you always sleep in. And at first it was really annoying to me, because we only have like, 3 days together, wake up! Let's do something! But once you told me that you let yourself sleep in on those days because it's a time to just, be, and we can do it together. So I guess my answer is, I wasn't expecting to love how much you love little moments. You've taught me to be grateful for things we take for granted, and I don't know, I think it's helped me through a lot.

lando stays still for a bit, an adoring look on his face as his eyes swell with what we think were happy tears. we're hoping so, at least.

Lando: I can't wait to marry you one day.

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 social media au #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #f1 instagram au #social media au

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manicpixiefelix · 4 months

Text

baby, put your back into it {Farleigh Start/Reader/Oliver Quick}

1/2: i'm gonna talk you through it [SMUT]

Summary: You're the daughter of one of Henrys, and known to be a snobby, entitled Princess of a woman; neither Venetia nor Felix seems to like you. Farleigh, however, claims that you and he have an ongoing arrangement. Felix says that arrangement is that you and Farleigh bitch together, then fuck like wild animals every time you hang out. Turns out you're even bitchier in person, and after a cruel joke played on Oliver by you and Farleigh at the Henrys dinner, he decides to take a bit of power back. Not that it goes as intended... nor that it goes completely wrong.

Need to Know: She/Her. AFAB!Reader. Established FWB Brat!Reader/Brat Tamer!Farleigh

Warnings: PWP!! smut; fingering, oral (F receiving), dirty talk, lots of arguing, reader is very very bratty, demeaning talk, bondage & restraints, explicit discussions around safewords (it does happen a little bit into the action but before anything major), pet name used for the reader "princess"

A/N: 4730 words. okay turns out i can write pwp. i cut out like 1.5k of background and you get the gist of it in the summary. there will be a part 2 thats heavy on the smut, but this trio takes a while to set anything up because they can't stop arguing. hints of farleigh/oliver. this was a lot of fun but again i can't stress how long its been since ive written full, proper smut, so id really appreciate feedback. <3 unedited, i love you.

{ masterpost : 1/2 }

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Fucking Farleigh Start. Oliver feels the fury as it burns and bubbles inside of him, stalking quietly through the halls of Saltburn. There, at the end of the hall, Farleigh's bedroom door, quiet and unassuming, and right next to it, Oliver's target; your door. Farleigh isn't the only one in the house who can wrap people around his little finger; he isn't the only one in the house who can get the Princess to kneel.

Trying the handle, he finds it unlocked, and eases the old, wooden door open.

"Farleigh was right," upon hearing your voice, bright, amused, and very much awake in the dark, Oliver jumps, "you're an A-plus lurker, I didn't even hear you come in."

"Was a nasty thing you did to me tonight," Oliver tries to regain some of his composure, some of the ire he'd built up on the way here.

"So you've snuck into my room, I assume you assumed I was asleep, to- what, wake me up and berate me?" There's something smug and biting in your voice, something that fuels the fury coiling deep in his gut, "that doesn't sound like enough for someone like you, tricksie, little, pauper boy." When you start to move from where you've been sitting up in bed, crawling to the end to sit on your knees as the moonlight streaks through your window and finally paints you in sharp relief, he sees you're already nude.

But even your stunning body in the moonlight cannot compare to the look on your face, the sharp, hungry, mean amusement he's never seen a person wear so well.

"Go on then, shout," your eyes shine dangerously in the moonlight; "don't you want Farleigh to hear?" They might have been right. You might be the devil. Your smile gets wider, and Oliver can only watch, rather transfixed, as you start rolling your hips with purpose, "or do you want him to hear something else?" He hears, quietly at first, a soft tap, getting louder as you keep insistently thrusting against the air, against the mattress, the sound of the bedframe hitting the wall behind it, the wall that you shared with Farleigh on the other side.

Then, all at once, you stopped. A loud, mean laugh is pulled from you as you pitch yourself back on the bed, kicking your legs out in front of you to hang off the edge, completely relaxed, completely exposed. You give a loud, amused sigh, looking up at the canopy of the four poster bed.

"God, you're such a little bitch, Oliver, Farleigh was so right," you snorted, "I was the one who actually saw you eating Venetia like your life depended on it, on the lawn of all places," you shook your head, "I don't know what you told Felix to get out of that one but I know what I saw," clicking your tongue, you raised your leg, pointing a foot at him, not even bothering to look at him, "now you won't even touch me in my own bedroom when I'm practically begging for it. I'm choosing to be offended about that; you've offended me, Oliver."

Slowly, your leg lowers, and you kick your heels idly against the end of the bed in the silence.

"Where do you get all your attitude from?" Oliver finally speaks, tone turning scornful as he approached you.

"The money," you fire back with ease, "which is why you always seem to have none." Then, in the furious silence that followed, you grinned sharply at the roof, still not bothering to look at him, "try harder."

When he touches your knee, his fingers gentle against your skin, you kick him hard in the thigh with your other foot -

"The fuck? Did you just kick me?"

"Yeah, and?" He can almost hear you rolling your eyes, "what did you think it was, the wind? Ghost of Grandma Catton?"

"Do you fuckin' want me or not?" He's still standing within kicking range, he learns too late. All the while you've never even looked at him, always looking at the ceiling, hands comfortably, casually behind your head. There's a smug grin on your lips now, something teasing and once more mean.

"Do you want me?" You respond, legs gliding open, an open invitation to your slick, moon-drenched cunt, "I thought you wanted to use me to get back at Farleigh," you said mockingly, finally looking up and meeting his deep, furious gaze. Propped up on your elbows, you give a grin that's all teeth, "wanted to show us who has the real power, that you can get us back for the stunt we pulled after dinner," you sat up further, intense, hungry amusement in your eyes that drew Oliver in to you, leaning in, his hands coming to rest on your thighs as you were almost nose to nose. Your voice lowers, gaze on his lips as your voice turns to almost a moan, "wanted to show Farleigh that you could take anything he thought was his; even me," and you start fake moaning, softly at first, but getting exponentially louder as you leaned back again, against the bed, arching and writhing from nothing, putting on a show that ended with you shouting - "Oliver's a fucking bitch!" At the top of your lungs, and cackling with glee.

Rage exploded within Oliver, and for a moment, overcome with a strange sense of betrayal at your demonstration, he smacks at your inner thigh with all the might he can muster. He can tell it stings, your laughter stops for just a moment, leg flinching up for just a second, but then you're laughing harder if possible.

"Your first mistake - of many - was letting her talk at all," Farleigh's voice from the door is frankly annoyed. You, however, gasp with delight, sitting directly up and looking at Farleigh with absolute glee.

"That's not his fault, I wasn't going to tell him," you pointed out, before looking down at your thighs, and Oliver's hands still on them, and the part of you that must have still stung from the slap, "why is your grip so soft?" You looked up at him with a derisive expression, and immediately Oliver's grip on you goes tight, nails digging into your skin; you're fucking laughing at him again, still, "awe, you're getting there -"

"Could you stop that already?" Oliver leans in, scowling at you. Eyebrows raising in mock surprise, you grinned with devilish intent.

"Stop what?"

"All that fuckin' talking you're doing."

"I don't know, can I -?" But then out of seemingly nowhere, Farleigh sits himself down at the end of the bed next to you, flush against your side. He's still in his crisp, white shirt, and black slacks, looking so put together next to your brash nudity. When his hand comes up to your jaw, barely two fingers beneath your chin to guide you, to have you looking him in the eyes, you have to bite your lip to keep yourself quiet. Both he and Oliver can see how badly you want to laugh, to make any kind of sound, but you hold yourself back.

"Okay, your fucking highness," Farleigh's voice is low and dangerous, full of warning, and Oliver sees you take a sharp breath in, gaze fixed on Farleigh's, "you don't get shit from either of us if you can't keep your dirty mouth closed." Though you nod adamantly, you puff out your cheeks, amusement in your eyes as you're clearly desperate to say something; "what?" Farleigh frowns.

"I have really bad news for you about what I have to do to suck dick," you point out, trying to keep your composure. It's not working, giggles are escaping you at a rapid rate.

"You are testing nerves I didn't even know I had," Oliver admits, desperately trying to sink his nails into you as hard as he could. If he could draw blood, perhaps that would be enough penance for having to endure your infuriating company.

However, it's Farleigh who speaks, lip curling with frustration as he smacks Oliver's hand away from the thigh closest to him. With a solid grip on that thigh, he pulls you leg close to him, forcing your legs wider, exposing you further.

"Then do something about it," he practically orders, and something about the tone sparks a kind of indignation in his chest, "you need me to talk you through it?" He snaps. This, however, quickly turns smug and mean as Farleigh leans in, nose to nose with Oliver and his building frustration with them both; "you know how to eat pussy, right?"

"You should both be very careful what you wish for," Oliver's eyes flash with a dangerous confidence as he sank down on his knees between your legs. You, thrilled and delighted by how the situation was no unfolding, lay yourself back on the bed with contented laughter, hands coming to rest confidently behind your head once more.

Farleigh watches Oliver with intense scrutiny, and for reasons he's not quite sure of, Oliver meets his gaze, refuses to break eye contact. His hand moves first, no longer holding your left thigh, he digs his elbow into your soft inner thigh, bracing his arm against you, forcing your leg further open and keeping it that way, letting him comfortably rest his hand with his thumb on your clit.

"Smart boy," you hum appreciatively, shifting your hips back and forth a little as his thumb is rubbing circles against your clit, "knows where the start button is." He takes his thumb off of you, much to your confusion. His gaze is still locked with Farleigh's. "Fucking hell, are you tired already -?" You sat up on your elbows, scowling at him, but Oliver looks sharply to you.

"Weren't you listening to Farleigh, princess?" Oliver asks, and there's something so deliciously satisfying about the look of flustered surprise on your face in this moment. Beside you, Farleigh huffs a laugh to himself and stands, pulling off his tie. Oliver's full attention, however, is still trained on your. Slowly, as he speaks, he again begins to rub circles against your clit, teasing, never enough proper pressure to be satisfying.

"I -" you started, but he immediately stopped again; out of the corner of his eyes, Oliver sees Farleigh's approving nod. Something about this all has his blood rushing in his fucking ears. You press your lips together, giving him a now expectant look, as if here, I've done what you've asked.

You're so wet, so wanting, ready and waiting, right thigh inching closer, leg curling around him, heel pressing insistently into his back. God you look so fucking good, he wants nothing more than to eat you like a man starving, tasting every inch of you -

"Give me your belt," Farleigh interrupts, and Oliver pauses, mouth literally an inch from your cunt, looking up at Farleigh like he can't quite believe him right now.

"Farleigh!" You exclaim with utter frustration, right leg lashing out to kick him, but he grabs your ankle and holds it tightly. With his free hand he makes an expectant, grabby hand at Oliver.

"Belt, now please." He practically orders.

"Use your own belt, Farleigh," Oliver nods to the belt Farleigh had just tossed to the side of the room, and Farleigh gives him a thin, unamused smile.

"Mine's nicer, and I don't want your cum on it," he explained with a mean, humourless smile. Oliver sat back for a long, furious moment, undoing his belt. The minute his hands were off of you, you tried to whine, but Farleigh, now just in his boxers, sat further up the bed beside you.

"This is overkill, I'll be good," you pouted, twisting to lay your head on his thigh, looking up at him with as pleading eyes as you could manage.

"You're not even being good right now," he pointed out; "both your thighs are over Oliver's fucking shoulders, and you haven't gone thirty seconds without saying something," but clearly you're pleased and flustered at being called out. Farleigh says your name more insistently, and you try and play innocent before he practically orders, "get your fucking legs off of him!" Like he can't quite believe you're still trying these tricks, even though you both seem comfortable in this dynamic.

"Oliver~" Farleigh then practically sings like a warning, gaze turning much colder as it falls back on Oliver himself, "where are we with that belt?"

"What's it for anyways?" Oliver finally pulls his belt free, awkwardly half throwing it to Farleigh, who does actually thank him, before his attention is back on you, bare and warm and wet and - "princess," he says suddenly before Farleigh can even answer his initial question, looking up, and you make a noise of acknowledgement, "you want me to touch you like I mean it, then keep your legs spread like you actually fucking want it," voice going low and sharp, immediately you widen your legs as best you can.

"Oh, he's good," Farleigh says, surprisingly appreciatively, watching as Oliver makes a meal of you.

Finally, finally, Oliver's mouth is on you, tongue gliding playfully along your slit, his nose continually bumping his thumb as it continues to work your clit, firmer this time. You hips wriggle and roll with him, desperate for more, growing frustrated with his teasing lightness.

"The belt can be for several things," Farleigh began, matter-of-factly as he began to loop the belt through itself, focusing on his task at hand, "if she insists on closing her legs, I'm not above using both belts to make sure she keeps them open - this bedframe's especially good for that -" a hot spike of desire passes through Oliver all at once, picturing you bound and open and begging -

"Oh, don't joke about that Farleigh, come on, you know I love that -" you actually whimpered, but Oliver, still keeping in mind the earlier warning, once more stops entirely. You gasp, as if betrayed, before remembering for yourself, actually whining, "you guys fucking suck," you whimper petulantly. For a moment, Oliver wonders if he really aught to be here, if this strange, psychosexual encounter was really worth it.

"You're fucking loving this," Farleigh countered without a moment of hesitation, saying it with such confidence that it almost surprised Oliver, "you just hate that you can't shut the fuck up for any amount of time, and that Oliver isn't actually as much of a little bitch as you thought," clearing his throat, Farleigh cast an evaluative look, before trying to shrug it off nonchalantly, "as either of us thought, I guess."

A moment of quiet stillness passes, and Oliver looks to you, face scrunched up with embarrassment, as all of Farleigh's words apparently rang true.

"Are you hourly, Oliver?" Farleigh then scowls, much to Oliver's confusion. Farleigh looks at him like he's a downright idiot, "the princess is actually being quiet, which means..." he trailed off pointedly. Oliver sat back on his heels, frowning at Farleigh for a long moment, his hands coming to rest on your knees. You, yet again growing incredibly unsatisfied, groaned into your hands.

"Not if you're gonna talk to me like that," Oliver takes a deep breath, sitting tall, gaze unflinching as he meets Farleigh's sneering gaze.

"Then fuck off, Little Orphan Ollie, we don't need you," he spits, "you should really feel lucky that you even got this far -"

"You're all talk, Farleigh," Oliver, with a newfound confidence, and his hands on you, rubbing small, gentle circles against your inner thighs with his thumbs. Farleigh's eyes narrow, but Oliver's smile turns knowing, "I know you can throw her around, and tie her up, and give her orders, clearly," he tips his head ever so slightly to the side, gaze slipping to you, to where you've still got your face covered by your hands, "but we both know no-one can speak for her, but her."

The faint, frustrated whimpering that had been escaping you this entire time goes dead silent. Oliver feels the way you go very still. Farleigh, realising what Oliver meant, also turned to look at you properly.

"'s your bedroom, princess," Oliver leans in, presses a kiss to your inner thigh, murmuring softly against your skin, "what do you think?"

"I think you're edging each other with psychosexual, power-play, bullshit-banter that's doing fucking nothing for me," you snap behind your hands, "and I'm gonna start kicking people again very soon," you warned. Farleigh rolled his eyes.

"Sit up," he sighed.

"No."

"Make a choice," Oliver told you, tone firmer this time.

"Also no." Your voice was sounding particularly petulant, and you even brought your knees together, closing yourself off in front of Oliver. After a long, vaguely irate silence, Farleigh takes a deep breath.

"Is something wrong? Are we at a yellow light? Red light?" He asks, tone far gentler, he leans over, fingers gentle against your hairline by your fingertips.

"Light... colours?" Oliver asks with genuine confusion. Farleigh is far less patient when he turns on Oliver, like he's frustrated to even be explaining this.

"Like a traffic light; instead of a safety word like pineapple, we have green - go, yellow - slow down, red - stop," said like he wanted to include duh, obviously on the end, but refrained, turning back to you.

"And... they're for her?" Intrigued and surprisingly endeared by the concept, Oliver leans forward with a little smile, resting his chin on one of your knees, looking between yourself and Farleigh. He watches you sigh, even with your hands over your face.

"How do you not know how safe words work? What kind of sex have you been having?" Farleigh's judgemental tone hits Oliver square in the chest, but before he can even answer, you finally sit up, expression wide and overwhelmed with frustration.

"Farleigh look at him; he's like if they made repression a person! He's been having the most boring, vanilla sex known to man - if any - and getting off in his spare time to things that would make God cry. Look him in the eyes and tell me I'm wrong -" Farleigh's gaze flicked to Oliver, who suddenly felt himself begin to flush scarlet, and had to sit back again, frowning at his hands. There was something about the shame at being so concisely called out that was... thrilling. Something about how clearly you could see through him, through his persona to the raw want at his very core, it was freeing. You sat up further, with purpose, grabbing Oliver's chin so roughly it shocked him, forcing him to look in your eyes for a long moment.

"You came in here with purpose thinking I was asleep; creepy, hot, deranged; I'm into it," you told him sternly, "I literally could not care less about you otherwise, you're nothing to me the rest of the time. You came here to put me in my place, I don't want you here if you can't do that." Fucking hell, Oliver can feel his heartbeat racing as you shove his face away, your expression almost bordering on disgust.

"So you're..." Farleigh, as if frustrated by this little tirade you saw fit to go on, was unimpressed as he once more checked in.

"Green light, obviously," you threw your hands into the air in exasperation, "it's like you've never met me before -" but before you can slump back against the bed like you so clearly wanted to, Farleigh catches you, shifts behind you to prop you up.

"You're a brat," Oliver says, finally finding the words for the dynamic, and rather charmed by it all. Still, Farleigh has to get a word in edgewise.

"How long 'd it take you to figure that out?" He muttered sarcastically, doing something behind your back while you made a show of struggling and wiggling, refusing to keep your left arm with whatever he was doing.

"So," Oliver clarified, testing out the code, "green light?" You grinned at him, giving a pleased nod. Farleigh, finally having caught your left hand seemingly for good, reiterates the statement distractedly. Then, with a sense of triumph and relief, he pulls the belt, and his makeshift handcuffs, tight.

"Why are you still dressed?" You ask Oliver sharply. You may have had a point, but the game was back on. With your hands secured, Farleigh sat back behind you on the bed, pulling you flush to him, arms secured and pressed between the two of you that was just edging on uncomfortable.

"Why are you still talking?" He mutters into your ear, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, one hand coming to wrap over your mouth, while his other curled around your middle, pulling your legs apart, wasting no time in dipping two long, elegant fingers into you. Your eyes light up, gasping against his hand as the two of you watch with lust in your eyes as Oliver begins to undress.

"The belt," Farleigh's voice has that lazy kind of smugness that Oliver usually hated, but now kind of makes his head fuzzy and kind of like he wants to sink his teeth into him, "is to keep the princess in her place, because someone," he says pointedly, not that you seem to notice; your eyes are closed, and Farleigh's thumb is on your clit while the fingers he has inside of you curl lovingly into your sweet spot, "manages to escape every pair of padded handcuffs either of us have ever bought," he explains, turning his attention back to Oliver, "and she complains about metal handcuffs, and zip ties, has undone every rope knot I've ever tied, and ruined every single tie I've ever tried to tie her up with."

"I bought you new ones," your voice is faint, half a moan muffled behind Farleigh's hand, and Oliver, still unsure of how to respond to any of that, finally turns back to the two of you on the bed. There's something desperate about the way you're arching against Farleigh's firm hold on you, legs having fallen open as your hips rolled in time with his fingers, lewd and needy. But Farleigh's eyes are only on Oliver, watching him with hunger in his eyes, pupils blown wide, gaze roaming over Oliver's physique.

At the sound of your voice, Farleigh's gaze meets Oliver's his smile widening just a touch before he stops entirely. A desperate keening is pulled from you, hips shifting for friction, for anything, as Farleigh rests his hand on your thigh, fingers slick, practically dripping with you.

"No, I'll be good," you whimper, eyes fluttering, half closed, "I'll be -" you were already breathing heavy, "so so good."

"Hear that?" Farleigh murmurs with a vindictive little smile, hand uncovering your mouth, moving to hold your chin, your mouth falling open in a moan as his nails scratch up your thighs. Oliver advances on you both, entranced by the sight of you both, desperate to have a taste, to play along.

"Think she even knows how to be good?" Oliver teases, once more between your thighs. Still, instead of giving you the same kind of proper relief that Farleigh had been offering, he starts out gentle once more.

"Oliver, you're so cruel," you whimper. Farleigh's hand moves from your jaw to wrap around your middle, holding you secure, while the hand that had sat on your thigh moves to your open mouth, Oliver watches, rapt, as he slides both slick digits past your lips, but it shuts you up well enough, lips closing on his fingers as you diligently lap up your own taste from him.

"See, can't trust a word she says," Farleigh purrs. You bite gently on his fingers as you moan, Oliver finally deciding to do more than just tease you. Oliver's fingers are shorter than Farleigh's, but damn if they can't still hit the same high notes. Curling and pressing in a steady rhythm, he alternates dipping his tongue in as much as he can, and circling your clit. Farleigh's hand has moved from your mouth, spit slicked fingers pinching at your nipples, lightly dragging his nails across your skin, while he's started rolling his hips against your back, cock unbearably hard and still confined to his boxers, pressed against you.

You're whimpering and moaning in his ear, straining against your handcuffs, arching, writhing, but Oliver's holding your thighs still and secure and Farleigh is captivated by how enthusiastically he's going down on you, how its shining on his cheeks, his nose - he reaches out, cards his fingers through Oliver's hair. Oliver looks up through his lashes, a fucking gorgeous sight that you're too lost to appreciate. Just for Farleigh.

God he could say something snide, something about sloppy seconds or something about this being the most expensive meal he'll ever have, but he doesn't. He gives a sly, approving smile, and his grip on Oliver's hair tightens.

"Teeth and tongue," he tells Oliver quietly. Oliver doesn't seem to get it at first, but you choke out a whine, arching further into Farleigh, tipping your head against his.

"That's cheating," you gasped, but Farleigh kept running his fingers through Oliver's hair, whose mouth had never left your cunt, nor his eyes Farleigh's face, "you're helping him cheat; you want me to cum this early?"

"You know what's cheating?" Farleigh once more grabbed your chin, angling your head so you could watch Oliver working hard to get you off, "look at him," Farleigh murmurs in your ear, "eyes open, on his," the commanding tone was hard to refuse, and your eyes fluttered open; the fucking sight of him, a mess between your legs, Farleigh's hand in his hair, was almost enough to send you over the edge, "tell him what I mean."

"Gentle- uh, gentle teeth on me- on my-" you desperately tried to string two words together as Oliver began to get more of an idea. Farleigh's hand on his head becoming more insistent, firmer, nose pressed firm against your skin when he finally took the hint, focusing on your clit, sucking and lapping at it, teeth gently teasing as you completely lost the ability to speak. The rhythm of his fingers was consistent and firm throughout it all, pressing just right -

"Keep your fucking eyes on him," Farleigh ordered, almost snarling it into your ear, "I want you to watch Oliver Quick make you cum." But Oliver had eyes only for him, feeling you clench around his fingers, thighs pressing desperately against his shoulder and the hand that had kept them apart, he could feel Farleigh's nails on his scalp and see the heady, smug pride in his eyes.

As you start to come down, breathing hard and heavy and leaning all your weight against Farleigh, you giggle with out of breath contentment.

"Princess's got not manners," Oliver shook his head with an air of disappointment, and Farleigh smirked, brushing some hair from Oliver's forehead before he reached up and tapped your cheek gently.

"Say thank you, Oliver."

"Thank you, Oliver," you grinned, tone surprisingly sincere, as Oliver crawled up onto the bed beside you both. But there's something dark and hungry in his eyes as he watched you both; reaching out, he presses the fingers against Farleigh's lips, your cum coating them like syrup. Farleigh is more than happy to lick them clean, tongue dancing lewdly around Oliver's digits, all kinds of inuendo and promise in his eyes.

Then, Oliver's attention turns on you something dark, hungry, almost deranged in his eyes. He takes your face in hand.

"And you, princess," he says derisively, not even respecting you enough to look you in the eyes in this moment, "this is not your place that I am putting you in," god it almost sounds like a threat, but you're already squirming with want and anticipation, "but we'll get there," he squeezes your cheeks and your mouth opens on command, tongue as pink and wet and desperate as your cunt had been. He spits in your mouth, sudden sneer curling his lip, blue eyes ice cold and demeaning; "and it's thank you, Oliver Quick."

You feel fucking filthy, can taste yourself in his spit.

You want him to do it again.

"Thank you, Oliver Quick."

{ part two here }

#saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #farleigh start x reader #farleigh x reader #farleigh start imagine #farleigh imagine #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x farleigh start #oliver quick smut #farleigh start smut #farleigh smut #farleigh start x reader x oliver quick #farleigh x reader x oliver #manic writer

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whoistartaglia · 4 months

Text

doing your boyfriend’s makeup

scaramouche/wanderer x reader

cw: very mildly suggestive at the end

“stop squirming.”

“i’m not—“

“stop talking!” you admonish, your shaky hand narrowly missing scaramouche’s eyelashes. he glares up at you through those very thick and unfairly long eyelashes. even without the mascara, scaramouche has the most gorgeous eyelashes you’ve ever seen. it’s unfair, really. you’re convinced that you could put on the entire tube’s contents of mascara on your own lashes and they would still have half as long as his.

with a huff and a pout, scaramouche closes his eyes once more. you continue to reapply the mascara in long, even strokes, hesitating ever so slightly when his flutter in a way that suggests scaramouche is seconds away from sleep—and that he might very well be. the tension of you nested on his lap and touching his face with gentle, wispy touches faded away to reveal the peace and tranquillity of the scene. it’s late into the evening hours, but the atmosphere suggests a gentle breeze, a warm summer afternoon, a harp playing somewhere in the background.

scaramouche is transported back to the bedroom, the fairy lights, and shuffled playlist playing from your small speaker, when you pause and he takes it upon him to open his eyes. you don’t reprimand him this time, instead taking a moment to study his face: the curve of his lips, the angle of his cheekbones, those eyelashes and dangerously gorgeous violet eyes underneath them.

“you’re so beautiful,” you whisper as scaramouche’s eyes flicker up to yours. “even without the makeup.”

scaramouche tilts his head as he studies your face in return. “i should be telling you that.”

there’s a smoke, a fog, a haze in the room with how you’re both lost in each other’s eyes.

“you do, though. every day.” you look down at the tube of mascara in your hands and set in on the vanity behind scaramouche. you look at yourself in the mirror before glancing at scaramouche’s reflection—even the back of his head, with it’s choppy haircut you requested a handful of times for him to let you straighten out, is beautiful.

“…do you really think so?”

you look back at scaramouche, surprised at the question. “of course i do.” you repeat yourself again for good measure. “you’re beautiful—even more than that.“

scaramouche is quiet for a second, contemplative, before a quiet, “thank you, [name].”

you know he’s thanking you for more than the compliment, more than the impromptu makeup session tonight, more than he might know himself.

“you’re welcome,” you return, meeting him in his cloudy, storm-filled eyes. your glance to your makeup bag and an idea like a bolt of lightning strikes you. “now, then. i just have one more thing. close your eyes again for me, okay?”

scaramouche does as he is told, fluttering his eyelids shut as you reach into your bag and pull out a bright red lipstick.

“you just need a little bit of chapstick.” you gently brush the “chapstick” on his pouted lips, even as he asks a, “and why did i need to close my eyes for this?” as you put it on.

you ignore the question and pose one of your own. “it’s all done! do you want to see what a lovely masterpiece your face has become?”

“do i want really to?” scaramouche asks, eyeing the open bottle of mascara and several q-tips and tissues you had to use for around the eye clean up.

“i’m going to say probably not, but you don’t have a choice.” you reach over and pickup a handheld mirror which you present infront of scaramouche. he studies his face, the long thick black eyelashes, the smuged eyeliner to bring out the lighter tones of lavender in his eyes, his lips colored—

“red.” scaramouche turns around to the vanity mirror, as if to double check that the firery red pigment on his lips is truly real. he meets your gaze in the mirror. “i didn’t know chapstick was red.”

“yeah, well… chapstick, lipstick, it’s all basically the same at the end of the day.” scaramouche sets the handheld mirror down and turns back to you, noting your oh-so innocent smile as you try to contain a laugh.

“you think you’re so funny,” scaramouche says, a new wicked gleam in his eyes.

“i’m familar with this shade because it’s always covering my lips, cheeks, and neck whenever you kiss me,” he whispers. you gulp nervously at his lascivious tone, and scaramouche is the one to smile. “consider this as payback.”

scaramouche leans in closer, and you don’t protest when his lips meet yours, staining them the same fiery red that you’re sure you’re going to be covered with by the time the sun is up tomorrow.

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 6 months

Text

The Green Prince | Bluebeard!Aemond x Wife!Reader

-Based on the Fairytale 'Bluebeard'- Halloween Special!

Summary: Six wives before her mysteriously disappeared, and someone in Dragonstone calls for her once her new husband entrusts her with his master key | Word Count: 8k~ | Warnings below the cut~

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: dub-con, arranged marriage, victorian england setting, era-typical sexism, murder, uxoricide, blood, toxic behaviour, apparitions/ghosts, manipulation, threats of violence

She's heard only tales of Aemond Targaryen.

The Green Prince of Dragonstone. A wealthy gentleman who often stayed within the confines of his estate.

When she abandoned the frills and wide smiles of girlhood, thrust into the pomp and practice of womanhood, that is when the stories began.

She had never seen him. And she began to believe, that the people around her who spoke of him never had either.

They were of a decent background, her and her family. Not overwhelmingly rich. But well-off is what her father always said.

Enough to employ a small army of servants.

Enough to never have to worry about the troubles of daily life that so often would hinder an everyday individual.

She doubted Aemond Targaryen ever had to worry about that either.

One fact that simply could not be frayed, was that he was royalty.

Only in the sense that he was utterly untouchable.

He had this elegance about him, they would say, a sort of curious exoticisim from the way his long, silver hair would drift down his back, to the way his inhuman purple eyes would glimmer, half lidded and looking straight ahead, as if he were piercing a knife through the individual with his gaze alone.

Though they were technically neighbours, she saw very little life pass through the iron gates of Dragonstone. His estate so vast, that by foot, she would have to commit a whole hour to simply brush by the border of what she deemed was a forbidden land.

There seemed an aura of darkness over it, that she could not quite comprehend. But one that intrigued her all the same.

Last year, at the same time as now, she had been considered a child. No better for company than being banished upstairs to dwindle about her books and writings, out of the way of adults and their serious business affairs.

What had really changed in 12 months, that they now considered her a woman?

She felt age had little to do with it.

She felt that she had been grown in her mind for some time, and had actually changed very little from the age of three and ten.

But now, at the tender age of nine and ten, there was still a girlish nature about her face. A brightness to her eyes, and a plumpness about her cheeks. One that her mother had once commented that men would find appealing in a wife.

And so here she was.

Dressed in her finery, a glass of wine in a crystal glass delicately placed in one hand, she stood beside her eldest brother, who had torn himself rather blatantly from a woman he himself was courting in favour of supporting his sweet, youngest sister.

"Do not, for the love of our mother, allow yourself to be approached by Mr Gardner. He has had five servants in as many months. I am sure you can understand why", her brother mused with a contented chuckle.

She did not know why. Nobody had told her plainly.

Sometimes she wished people would just be honest with her. And not assumed she knew the inner workings of people's minds, after years of being shut away upstairs by her parents and brother alike.

The foyer and adjoining rooms alike were filled with people, all pretending to make pleasantries with each other. And as the night dragged on, several well known bachelor's having tried their hand at impressing her, she found her glass of wine was not as endless as she thought.

When a servant had spotted her, appearing at her side to refill her glass, she had turned her body sideways and locked eyes, finally, with him.

The one people affectionately named, The Green Prince.

Like most of the men tonight, he was dressed in a suit with a long overcoat that covered his dark green waistcoat. So dark were the colours of his outfit, that they almost appeared black, like the rest of it.

His hair was loose, with a few strands falling to the front over his shoulders, and as her eyes trailed up to his pale collar, where a tie was loosely wrapped about his neck, she saw that when she met his gaze, he was already looking at her.

He held his glass in a manner most unbecoming. Hanging at his side, his long fingers grasping the edges so delicately, she was sure for a moment it was floating in his hold.

His finger, she noticed, tapped idly at the side of the room, as if deep in thought as he looked upon her.

She saw his gaze drop to her outfit, one that her mother had chosen for her. A red, almost burnt tea coloured dress, with very little flounce and fancy to it. The collar hung delicately at her shoulders, the bodice tight and the only detail of any colour was in the stitching of her skirt, which he noted was a shimmering gold.

When he lifted his eyes, he took a sip from his glass, still almost filled to the top, his burning lilac gaze hovering over the brim. She sucked in a breath, her own eyes flitting over his face. And to the patch that covered the left eye.

She didn't know why her chest felt tight, and why she hoped suddenly for the appearance of her brother. Or her father perhaps. He was staring at her so unabashedly, that for an unmarried woman such as herself, she would be looked upon with immense judgement if she were found to be staring back at him in the same manner.

Knowing his gaze was burning at the back of her head, perhaps tracing the intricate pattern of braids her hair had been styled in, she decided to ignore him, until he had the decency to approach and introduce himself to her properly.

As any good gentleman would.

She meandered through the menagerie of figures, careful to keep her wine close to her so that she wouldn't repeat the same embarrassment as last year when she spilled the entire glass down Mr Bray, whose wife near lost her voice with incessant shouting.

Her father, ever cheerful, as rich men so often are, materialised at her side, grasping her elbow and tugged his daughter close to him. His breath smelled like red wine as he whispered to her.

"It appears you have captured the special attention of Mr Targaryen, daughter"

Her father chuckled when her wide, terrified and yet curious eyes met his.

How could she have captured his attention, when she had done nothing at all? She thought.

She did not yet know, the charms that the appearance of a female body could offer. And how it could transform a respectable man from a pillar of society, to a hungry, lustful beast at a moment's notice.

"I shall introduce you to him" her father insisted, leading her along at his side, despite her quiet protests.

"But father-"

"Hush now. Remember your manners".

His tone of voice was enough.

She had not experienced it as a mere female. But she had seen first hand what her father did to her brother when he disobeyed. Finding a sort of punishment worthy at the end of his cane as it cracked against her brother's palm.

Her brother still wore gloves often. That was his shield.

She had yet to find her own.

Perhaps hers was in her mind, she thought. That she might be able to protect herself with her ideas and opinions, twisting the minds of men, as her elder sister had said once, to suit the needs of the women they owned.

She often had to remind herself, she was property. And could easily be bought and sold, and kicked to the roadside if she had done something to mar her family name.

She was thrust into a sort of social assassination once again once stood before the famed Mr Targaryen, who nodded his head in greeting but said nothing.

"My Targaryen. What an honour it is to have you here. Please might introduce my daughter"

He bent somewhat at the hip, his hand moving to grasp hers, the skin soft and feminine.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss"

His voice was like the purr of a cat. And though terrifyingly intriguing, she couldn't find it in herself to look away.

"And to you, Sir. Many thanks for the invitation" Aemond turned towards her father, giving another barely existent nod of his head, his expression flat and almost bored.

"It is no problem at all, Mr Targaryen. Please accept my condolences on the passing of your wife"

Late wife?

She felt rude to ask, so said nothing.

Aemond seemed to understand her curiosity, and gave a light smirk in her direction, though she was on his blind side.

"Thank you, Sir. It was a great tragedy indeed"

"Indeed" her father repeated, leaning forward as if to emphasise the size of his empathy for him, "I understand she was quite distressed for some time, was she not?"

She almost passed her father a warning glance. Thinking it rather rude for him to say such things about his late wife. Whether she may have been mad or not.

But Aemond merely nodded.

"Indeed. I am afraid, however, it was an inevitable accident"

Accident.

She of course, remembered hearing the gossip, and hearing her father read the newspaper every morning. An update about the mad Alys Rivers at the top of the page every time.

Alys Rivers, the Lady of Dragonstone, found dead in God's Eye Lake. A wound to the neck spells suicide.

A wound to the neck was a kind description.

Her pale skin was said to be slashed open on one side, everything visible within. And once the water had got to her, she was swollen, pale and blue, completely drained of blood. Almost entirely unrecognisable.

It was just as well she had no family. They would not have wished to see how she met her end.

The article found it necessary to articulate, that her body had been returned to her husband.

Across the room, another gentleman called for her father, and she felt the hot whips of panic at the back of her neck at the thought of being left alone with Aemond.

"Do excuse me" her father said quickly, disappearing into the sea of black and grey.

She herself turned back to Aemond, not wanting to be rude, and tapped her fingernails on the crystal glass nervously.

"I am very sorry to hear about your wife"

Aemond hummed, one of his hands behind his back like he had a secret.

"Thank you, Miss"

There was a long period of silence between them. And for a while, she wondered if she should be the one to break it.

Aemond laughed lowly, leaning down to her face as he caught something interesting in his sights.

"See your brother?" He murmured. And her face turned as well, not realising at first how close their faces were, but she could not very well pull away without offending him.

All the same, he smelled of sandalwood.

Her eyes followed his, to her brother on the other side of the room, where he was thoroughly embarrassing himself by laughing too widely with the woman he had been courting for several months.

"He is awfully close to that woman, is he not?"

She swallowed, raising her chin to appear more confident as she spoke, "She is to be his intended. It is only natural they speak freely with one another" she reasoned.

Aemond did not move away, his shoulder brushing against her side. It made her shudder.

"He is certainly doing something freely" Aemond hummed deep in his chest, a tone which sent a dull ache through her body.

Her brother leaned in close to the woman. And she watched her blush and throw her head back with a demure laugh, her brother leaning close to run his nose along her neck, grinning against her skin.

It felt forbidden to watch them be so close.

And yet he was so brazen about it.

"She seems to be enjoying herself, at least"

She couldn't find it in herself to reply.

For the woman did appear as if she was enjoying herself. And briefly, stood beside Aemond, his breath softly batting against her neck, she wondered herself, how it would feel if he did the same to her.

She wondered if he was thinking the same thing as her. Sneaking into her mind like a whisper, as if he were being a locked door, and was peering through the keyhole to uncover her darkest thoughts and desires.

Her brother leaned towards his intended, planting a kiss to the column of her neck. And she felt herself parting her lips as the other woman had, not only at the shameless behaviour of her brother, so consumed in wine that he felt no need to appear reasonable in front of other people, but also because she felt Aemond’s slender fingers at her forearm.

It was not at all like the way her father had pulled her to him, in ownership.

Aemond tugged her towards him in a sort of longing, his nose pressing into the plaits of her hair.

“I am going to ask your father for your hand” he whispered, “and he will say yes. And you shall be mine”.

She listened with her fingers wrapped around the wooden pillars of the staircase as her brother shouted obscenity after obscenity at her father. Every now and then her mother would insert her little, sweet voice that was inevitably crushed by the low boom of the two males in the room.

With her gaze planted firmly in her lap, tracing the patterns of the lace of her nightgown as she listened, she thought with a sort of sadness that the offer of marriage should be a joyous and happy occasion. And now in her household, the prospect of her being tied to the Green Prince himself was so offensive to her brother, that he felt the need to fight on her behalf.

Perhaps knowing his sweet sister had no choice in the matter.

“He is barely half a decade older than her and has had six wives in as many years, father!” he boomed, and she could tell by the way his voice bounced off the furniture that he was pacing and throwing his arms around.

“To give her away to that brute. It is unthinkable!”

“Be quiet!” her father roared back, “the wedding will go ahead as planned. We will not get a better offer than this!”

While she was happy, that her brother was trying to stick up for her, it was no use. He nor her had a choice in the matter.

Her father had said it himself.

We will not get a better offer.

Not she.

She was property. Something to be sold and given in exchange for goods or reputation. What she wanted, was of no consequence.

And she couldn’t help but think of her mother, several decades younger than her father, and how she must have felt at her tender age when confronted with the prospect of marrying a man much older than she.

In a way, she felt connected to her mother in that way. But also in a way that she resented her, for dressing her up, plaiting her hair and pushing her out into the rich man’s world, ripe and ready for the taking.

Passing her the torch of a woman’s anguish.

The wedding felt clinical. More akin to a funeral than a union of two people.

Her brother stares dagger into the back of her intended for the entire ceremony. All while her mother cried softly into her handkerchief and her father sat, stoic and silent, his chubby fingers caressing the sculpted ornament on the top of his cane.

She remembered his hands as they were bought together and the officiator had placed a sort of sacred cloth over them as he muttered his prayers. Binding them lawfully and before the eyes of God, for their whole lives.

His hands were large, his palms completely dwarfing hers and his long fingers wrapping around hers like tight vines. And at that moment, she had never felt so small in her life.

And noticed that his side of the wedding chapel, where his family members were supposed to sit and witness their union, was completely empty.

Six wives in as many years.

That is what her brother had said.

She knew Aemond had been married multiple times prior to her, but was her brother merely exaggerating?

In contrast to his hands, where the blood swam warmly through his limbs, his lips where the officiant asked them to seal their union with a kiss, were cold, and not forthcoming. As if he had not asked her father for her hand in marriage, but that this entire affair was so useless and merely for looks, that he’d rather be somewhere else.

That said. She could not escape the intensity of his gaze.

He seemed to focus solely on her, much to her discomfort, to the point where it seemed like he was not listening to a single prayer or hymn that was uttered in the chapel all afternoon. And though her eyes were elsewhere, to try and place the feeling that bubbled in her chest somewhere else, she often found his lilac eye drifting to the details of her necklace, to face, and pausing where she wet her lips nervously.

If he hadn’t possessed such a domineering, strong presence, she thought he would be devilishly handsome.

Perhaps a fact he already knew.

It was unlike her family to have celebrations, so they didn’t.

She gave each of the servants, some who she knew for most of her life a final embrace, thanking them for their hospitality and care where she did not receive it from her parents. And as her luggage was packed meaningfully in the back of Mr Targaryen’s carriage, with two large horses at the front, she gave her brother a tight embrace as well. Inhaling and savouring the musty smell of tobacco on his coat.

He looked saddened, but for the sake of appearances, forced a smile onto his face.

“Good luck, dear sister. Remember you may write to me, even though you are a married woman” he smiled, teasing her softly with a nudge to her shoulder.

She gave a softer hug to her mother, who usually was not keen to shower her with affection. But she supposed, she was the youngest daughter, so it was only natural.

Her father, after having busied himself in an idle chattering session with Aemond, merely tipped his hat, and did not shed one bit of emotion as she climbed into the carriage before her husband. Aemond's hand helped her up the step, watching as she disappeared inside.

The smell of his sandalwood perfumes on his coat was stronger as he sat beside her on the cushion, instructing the handsome, olive-skinned driver to move forward and away from her home.

She only waved to her brother. And watched as he had wet eyes, stepping forward a few paces like he was about to break into a run after her.

The carriage was much nicer than anything she'd seen in her young life, and though they were for all intents and purposes, considered neighbours, it was still a half hour ride to his estate.

Dragonstone.

Her skin prickled at the mere thought of it.

She'd never seen it before. Nor had any of her family.

All she knew was that it was often clouded in fog, that when you stood at the front gates you could barely see the arching towards and dark brick in the distance anyway.

All she had heard was what people said.

That it was a frightful, maze of a place. With winding corridors and crooked doorways, and barely any servants.

He was a rich man, why not employ more?

He did not say a word the entire way home. He only sat, cross legged, and fiddle with his fingers like he was nervous. Turning them over in micro-movements.

Don't speak unless spoken to.

As Dragonstone came into view once they crossed the boundary of the iron gates, she felt her breath taken away.

And it was only when Aemond assisted her with a hand as she stepped down from the carriage that she could really appreciate the sheer size of his estate.

It was so big it was beyond comprehension.

She briefly wondered if she would get lost in such a place.

"Cole will bring your things to our room"

Her heart started to flutter, and pitter patter all at the same time.

Our room.

She had almost forgotten her one wifely duty she was to fulfil this evening.

To appease him.

The thought made a sort of tightness in her belly, though she was unsure why. Of course, her elder sister had divulged her own horror story of her wedding night. Though her sister was twenty and she herself only five and ten at the time, the nitty gritty was of great curiosity to her.

"For several hours the poor thing just cried and it rather spoiled the mood. Turned out that he had…pleased himself the morning of the wedding so as not to become too excited when the evening rolled around.

Oh well, no matter. Instead, when he had a rather excited visitor the next morning he crawled atop me and breathed heavily into my neck while he tried to get it inside me. 'Twas over in an instant dear sister and I did not feel a thing".

Though the anecdote was funny, although awkward seeing as she sat next to her brother-in-law the next morning and tried not to giggle, right now, it did little to quell the gnawing inside her.

Aemond did not seem as quiet and unsure of himself as her brother-in-law was. She doubted a man of his standing would have any issue fulfilling his role as a husband.

As he had done, six times before.

Which triggered yet another question.

Why no children? Surely all six of his previous wives could not have been barren?

Did they commit suicide? Ashamed of themselves for failing to fulfil this task? Were they all mere accidents? Or did someone break in at night to steal his plethora of fine jewels and artefacts and run into one of his unfortunate wives along the way?

It seemed entirely impossible.

She watched Aemond walk confidently to the front doors, where a couple of servants stood to greet the new Lady of Dragonstone. His coat fluttered around his thighs as he turned, the ends of his silver hair hung like they were floating.

"Wife. May I introduce you to the staff. Anything you so wish, please do not hesitate to ask them"

The two servants stood, hands clasped, looking entirely scared stiff. One was a middle aged man with an apron dirtied at the edges, and the other a maid, barely five and twenty, who offered her a polite curtsy.

She simply smiled at them, "a pleasure".

They said nothing.

There was something melancholic. Ancient. And crushing about Dragonstone.

She felt the weight on her shoulders the moment she passed those gates. Did they feel it too?

Did Aemond?

This was the only moment he seemed to smile, as miniscule as it was with a darkened gaze, was when he turned to look at his new wife and nodded.

"If you will forgive me, I have some business to attend to. I will see you tonight for supper"

His expression never wavered, even as he bent at the middle to press his lips to her hand, above the ring he had placed on her finger not a few hours before.

The servants quickly scuttled out of her sight and so she thought to amuse herself by exploring her new home. Out of habit, she started upstairs, going straight to her bedroom to inspect.

There was a large four poster bed made of what appeared to be walnut in the middle of the room, with various ornaments strewn about, but very little to suggest that he actually relaxed in here.

There were no mementos, keepsakes, and she thought briefly she couldn't get a grasp on his personality this way either.

She blushed and felt that tightness again at the thought of sharing a bed with him, of what they might have to do.

The rest of the house was indicative of the first room she ventured to. Lacking a certain personality she was sure existed in her new husband but one he refused to show.

The estate was cold and empty, with flagstone floors stretching along the long dark hallways.

There were so many doors it was difficult to know what on earth could be behind all of them. She'd so far discovered the Library, the Dining Room and even happened upon the scullery rather by accident.

And then, one room…

It had a oxblood red door, worn around the edges and the colour faded somewhat. She noted the scuff marks around the handle and the hinges, as well as the stone beneath the door where overtime, footsteps had worn it down.

So she was doubly surprised to find the door locked.

Curious.

Her skin prickled, and she was sure for a moment that she saw her own misty breath. Like that feeling that someone is watching you but you are too afraid to move an inch. The tips of her fingers suddenly felt numb.

She felt it on her neck, an iciness.

But when she turned, her breath stuck in her chest from panic, she could only see nothing but the empty corridor.

And all was silent.

There was a heaviness in her chest which seemed to pass through her like trying to walk through honey, trying to pull your feet up just an inch to step forward.

And as quickly as that feeling came, it was gone and she turned back in panic once she heard soft, careful footsteps behind the oxblood door.

She clenched and unclenched her fists in fear, trying to reason with herself.

Undeniable footsteps, ones that had started at the threshold and we're now walking slowly away from her.

The blood rushed warmly back into her fingertips, and she rubbed them painfully against her navy dress, trying to will a feeling back into them.

Footsteps…

She only heard her own as she hurried down the corridor again, her shoes clocking against the flagstone.

So desperate to get away from that heavy, morbid feeling that she nearly hurtled right into the young maid.

"My Lady!"

"I do apologise" she uttered immediately, her chest pushing against her bodice with her hurried breath, "I was not looking where I was going".

The maid curtsied, as if she'd forgotten to and straightened, "Supper is to be served, my Lady. May I-"

"What is that room? Down the hall?" She asked.

The maid raised her eyebrows, "Which one, my Lady?"

She turned her head down the hallway once again to point to the one she meant, and her words died on her lips.

The door moved.

It was unmistakable.

The shadow where the door was leant ajar quickly disappeared, and the frame was filled once more by the large wooden slat against it.

There was no click of a lock to be heard.

She was so afraid she lost herself for a moment. Going all pale. So much so the maid had to prompt her.

"My Lady?"

She shook her head, looking back to see if the door would move again, and drift open as it had before.

But it never did.

And the thought that as she was running away before, the door was slowly inching open, scared her beyond belief.

"It's nothing, I apologise" she said quickly, "Supper, thank you".

There was nothing of note for the rest of the evening.

Supper was quiet. And the table was so long with husband and wife sat at either end, that they may as well have been in separate rooms while they ate.

It was nice enough food she was grateful for that. A selection of soups and meats, and breads to fill her belly between courses.

He did not speak.

He barely moved any other muscle than his arm to fork the meat into his mouth. She watched him every now and then, over the barely dancing flame of the candelabra, otherwise the room would be completely dark.

So she drank her wine, and stayed silent. Waiting to be spoken to.

The only thing he said was right at the end.

"Shall we retire for bed, wife?"

And she could not very well say no.

She made brief eye contact with the maid as she followed her husband to the grand staircase, each step feeling heavier and more nerve-wracking than the last.

Her husband was tall, broad and she had no doubt be enjoyed the domineering aura he gave off. Judging by the dark colours of his waistcoat and trousers, as well as the leather eyepatch over one eye, he enjoyed inhabiting darkness.

She thought with some amusement that the only bright things about him were his hair and eyes.

Things he could not change.

He was certainly a marvel of a man. And truthfully, she should count herself lucky that he is at least somewhat close to her in age.

Aemond closed the door softly once they were both inside. The curtains were now drawn, and the room was filled with an amber glow from the candles the maid had lit for them.

She needn't ask him for help, for her new husband immediately stood behind her, and began to unlace her dress as if they had been married an age.

His movements were so sure. And she felt with jealousy of some kind that he had done this with six other women before her.

No wonder he was practiced.

There was no room for romance when to him, it was all just a matter of duty.

She stood only in her chemise, having pulled her hair free of her braids, feeling his gaze the entire time.

"Are you intent on remaining silent, wife?" He asked, and she heard him pull off his waistcoat with every pop of his buttons.

"Or might you become more vocal in the marriage bed?"

She felt her cheeks flush and thickness in her throat. Inadvertently pressing her legs together where a sort of excitement was blooming.

"I could not say…" she answered.

And chuckled lowly, pressing his front to her back, dragging his nose up the side of her neck, just as she had seen before.

She felt something hard press against her backside, his hips pushing it against her and moving softly, creating just a tiny bit of friction.

"Tell me" he muttered, his lips tickling her ear, "tell me what a good wife does"

She was suddenly nervous, thinking about what other people had told her.

And it was increasingly difficult to think, with his large hands pulling her chemise off her body.

"A good wife…is loyal to her husband" she recited, her breath coming in short pants, "she is…loving"

He blew air from his nose, like he was amused.

"..and she is obedient"

"That's it"

Aemond peeled the chemise off her, letting it drift to the floor.

"A good wife makes herself available to her husband"

She gasped and he revelled in it, as he pushed her newly naked body onto the bed, her body sinking into the mattress and watching as her husband bared himself one button at a time.

"Of course. There a many other wifely duties" he grinned.

His fingers moved to his trousers.

"But for now, I only care about this one".

Being touched all over was strange. There was a dull ache in her core when her husband touched certain areas, a feeling that she didn't recognise.

Her confused and somewhat distressed face at the whole ordeal was endearing to him.

Her young, plump face looked up at him with gleaming eyes and shame arched in her eyebrows.

It hurt. Not as greatly as she thought. But it still did.

"Close your eyes. It will be over soon"

She did as he said, turning her face away. But it was not over soon.

His member throbbed inside her, and she thought she'd never felt more full in her life. Since closing her eyes, she could not see the way his hair began to tangle around him, as his hips chased hers and came against hers with a soft smack.

The pain gave way to another feeling still.

That same ache she felt when he'd touched her.

Aemond smirked when he saw the confused, ashamed expression on her face. At the way she pressed her lips together.

"I think you are enjoying this" he murmured lowly, pushing harder into her like he was intent in piercing her stomach, "if I did not know any better, you would almost be moaning".

She didn't want it to feel good.

Or did she.

It felt wrong.

And yet she couldn't deny when he raised her thighs, his fingers wrapped into her flesh, it did feel good.

"Look at me" he whispered, never stopping, "Look at your husband, who is giving you pleasure"

Some excitement sparked inside him, when she didn't do as he asked, her warm embarrassed face pressed into the sheets as much as she could. Her eyes closed.

He laughed when she refused.

"Yes - you feel it, do you not? No need to act all coy. I can feel your body's response"

Shame crept into her body, her limbs going all tight just as he'd said. Feeling herself hit that irreplaceable point, she simply whimpered and felt his length throb once more before he spilled inside of her, releasing all he had to give.

She thought with lewdness, that his spend was warm inside her.

Aemond seemed to take great pleasure in making his wife shrink into herself with embarrassment and shame every time they coupled. He loved that doe eyed look she gave him, as if he did not have his cock buried between her legs every night he could since the wedding.

He would have her any way. Fully clothed if the moment presented itself.

There was something erotic about taking something that looked so innocent and filling her with his spend. How she would act all coy, with it dripping down her thighs.

He delighted in the fact that he had managed to kidnap this sweet young thing, and use her for himself and his pleasure any moment he was able. And the month that passed since the wedding, he could not think of a time that was sweeter.

So it was with great irritation that he was called to King's Landing. Some business with his brother that apparently couldn't wait.

He did not want to leave her.

He spoke firmly, stood before the oxblood door in his travel wear.

"While I am away, you must not enter this room. Do you understand?"

When she nodded without asking why, he smiled in pride and placed the master key in her small palm. Entrusting that she would do as she had promised in his absence.

He thought he'd reward her when he returned, by fucking her in the comfort of their bed sheets, until she was pink in the faxe and begging him to stop. Just as he liked her to be.

As soon as her husband left, she felt even more that she was being watched. All the little hairs on the back of her neck pointed upwards.

The maid kept clear of her, which was nothing unusual. But it was almost as if she was escaping rooms before she herself knew why. As if she knew what invaded the invisible space within them as soon as her back was turned.

Did she hear the voices too? See the dark figures and closing doors?

Anytime she passed the long dark hallway to the oxblood door, she felt her curiosity grow tenfold. But also a sense of dread, heavy in her gut, tugging her back to this wretched place.

What could be behind the door, that her husband wished not for her to see?

In the Library, the fire crackled comfortably as she turned the faded pages of her book. The maid busied herself collecting the dirtied saucers and teacups beside her, humming to herself gently.

The air suddenly went cold around her neck, and a breeze passed, evident by the dangling of her earrings. It was not only her imagination.

"A golden key. Oxblood door. Give the six souls rest, sweet child"

She looked up at the maid, "I am sorry, did you say something?"

The maid straightened and shook her head quickly, eyebrows arched in confusion, "No, my Lady"

Why did the maid always flee like that? Like someone was chasing her? With their claws at her back like an animal in the forest?

The key was ornate, with winding patterns and several notches at the top. And when she held it in her small palm, it felt hot to the touch like an iron rod.

Aemond would punish her.

How? She did not know.

She slotted the key into the door, without the energy to turn it. And her limbs felt heavy, and her knuckles cold, like someone was pushing on it. Forcing her will.

"That's right. Insert the key into the keyhole, and turn…"

A voice echoed off the stone.

A low, sweet, mature voice.

Click.

The oxblood door gave way to light, torches lit at every corner, illuminating the oxblood colour of the floor before her.

A step down.

The floor rippled like liquid.

"Our souls…"

Her shoe was slick with something oily that clung to the suede. Irreparably staining them.

Her skin prickled. Vomit bubbled at the back of her throat.

Six torch-lit figures reflected in the blood on the flagstone floor.

Hung, wrists bound over their head. White skulls in various stages of deterioration, with strings of what was once luscious hair drifting past their bony shoulders.

She saw with dread, they were still wearing dresses that hung off their ivory skeletons.

She was sure she collapsed with grief, a scream echoing around her that did not feel like her own. The only sound she registered was the clanging of the key as she dropped it in shock, blood of Aemond's ex-wives enveloping the brass.

Her throat felt sore.

She watched their empty eye sockets. The dust over their bound hands and their feet as they dangled inches off the floor.

Breath hot in her lungs like she was clinging to life as she knew it, she scrambled for the key and pulled the door shut behind her with a mighty boom.

Darkness crawled up her skin, now that she knew what was behind it.

Was this her fate?

If she displeased him, would she be their successor?

She was sat, with head in hand, in a state of complete distress with sweat on her brow and neck as Aemond returned.

She had paced the room for hours she felt, wringing her hands, as if to find what she might say to him on his arrival. He'd see it on her face.

He would know she had seen the corpses of his precious wives on her soft, innocent features. Scarred forever by death.

His tall, broad form filled the doorframe. And he dropped his coat onto the bed with a tired huff, but said nothing.

She almost wished he would say something. To spare her this horrible anticipation.

But she watched as he took two careful steps in. His one eye flitting over to the key he'd left her on the bureau.

The blood had not lifted from the brass. She could not wash it. No matter how much time she committed to it, it would not become clean.

Her husband looked back at her like she was something to eat, his eye half open with only half his iris visible.

She sobbed and cried when he advanced and held her to the wall by her neck with ease, slamming her small body against it.

"You thought you would get away without punishment, hm?"

She sobbed like a child, her tears wetting her cheeks and neck, to his fingers. Her own tried to pry his away, feeling that he was hurting her effortlessly with his grip around her throat.

"Please…husband…"

He could have laughed.

"Now is no time for begging. Tell me, how should I punish you, wife?, he grinned widely, his tone low and condescending as he spoke to the small woman before him.

"Please…you may do as you like with me - just first, let me pray-" she begged with a hoarse, tired voice. Never feeling that she could be scared of him in this way.

He pulled his head away, looking down at her past his nose, his lips tight.

She felt his grip loosen, but the places where his fingers had been were sore and red.

"I shall do as I please. But since you asked so nicely to pray. I shall let you"

She felt herself breathing like she was swallowing fire a she stepped out the door, allowing her privacy to pray before he inevitably drove a dagger through her, or something of the like.

She rushed to the master key and locked the door with a quick slam and click, locking her husband out and flinching when his palms pushed with urgency on the other side. Rapping on the wood like an animal who couldn't see their prey.

She had no intention of praying.

"Open this door! Now!"

Her eyes scanned the room anxiously and with urgency. She felt her fingers shaking as he pushed the window open, looking down at the great height she would have to jump to escape him.

A sure death.

She clambered over the bureau, her knees knocking painfully on the wood as she advanced in a panicked state towards the ledge.

Her brother.

If she could just escape to him.

He would save her.

A clang of metal rattled against the floor as her husband, as strong as she was, sent the door flinging off the hinges. His large arms wrapped around her waist as she writhed, fearing her life. Expecting a blade to her neck. Or perhaps to be dragged to the oxblood door, to never return.

"Husband - please - have mercy-"

"It is too late for 'please'. It is time for you to feel the consequence of your actions"

She struggled so much, he tackled her to the floor, holding both her forearms behind her back in one hand, pushing her front to the cold stone floor, her warm cheek moulding to the pattern of it.

"I beg you - have mercy and kill me quickly-"

Her tears wet her face entirely, feeling his body over her back, pressing his hips into her backside, letting her feel his wrath.

"Mercy?" He chuckled darkly, "why would I show the likes of you mercy?"

"You who I have treated with care and respect. You who has disobeyed me"

"My Lady shall learn this lesson now"

His voice was dark and low, and it scared her more than the whisperings of the paranormal and the sight of what was behind the oxblood door.

She panicked with a warm face as he rucked up her skirts to her waist, flinching when she felt two of his thick fingers swipe across her hot centre while he continued to hold her down.

"I do not often take pleasure in teaching my wife a lesson. But, for you, I shall make an exception"

She pressed her lips together, not wanting to anger him with her whimpers and whines as she felt him slide his trousers down and rub his hot, throbbing member, ready and waiting for her, against her cunt, collecting her wetness on his length for ease of entry.

He sighed longingly, his breath tickling her neck, his eyelashes fluttering against her jaw.

She choked on her breath as he slid into her, his fingers holding her hips desperately to widen her legs to accommodate him deeper inside her.

"None of them were worthy - fucking none of them -" he breathed, his breath hitching with each soft smack of his hips against her, stretching her walls to the shape and size of him and groaning at the way her hot insides parted.

"Do you wish me to give you a child, hm? None of them - fuck - none of them could give me what you do-"

She whimpered, feeling his length fill her repeatedly and bully the end of her, each blow against that rough spot inside increasingly making her shame and despair at his use of her body ebb away into a forbidden and unknown feeling.

"If you do not behave, you will not be allowed that pleasure" he muttered, his breath coming in short bursts, his thrusts as well becoming sloppy and unconfident.

Her gut warmed with his length piercing her insides. And she felt as though she was missing something he was telling her in his own way. Eyebrows arched in confusion.

Even now, while he fucked her on the floor, she felt afraid for her life.

"Oh, little one, I am almost disappointed that it took so long for you to realise that I do not intend to kill you.”

Her wet eyes cracked open to turn her head in discomfort to him. Her cheek rubbing against the stone floor as he pulled her hips up to fuck her deeper.

"No. You shall give me children. Many of them if you wish to please me"

She tightened around him completely out of instinct, and Aemond groaned loudly above her, pushing his chest so hard against her back she felt she might break.

And her hands clenched into fists, absentmindedly pushing her hips back to him to chase the remnants of that sweet rapture she was sometimes awarded when coupling with him.

A sweet escape from this prison.

He laughed, when he realised that she was quite resigned to her fate.

That she, compared to his other wives, was finally worthy of giving him children. Of satiating his desire to dominate a woman so easily. How he enjoyed watching the look of shame and pleasure on her face, as she battled with herself to submit to him or not.

He slammed with a wet squelch back into her again, filling her with his warmth with a long, shuddered groan. His grip so hard around her forearm, she was sure blood did not reach her hands.

He continued to move shallowly into her, pushing his spend as deep inside her as it would go. As if, whether she wanted to or not, he would fuck his child into her and watch her grow fat and round.

And then, once she had one, would fuck yet another into her.

Her breath came fast and hot from her swollen lips as she trembled around him, unknowingly prolonging his pleasure inside her.

His lips brushed against her ear.

"No other words before I begin?"

It was difficult with her head pushed against the floor, but she nodded softly in confirmation. Relief flooding her as she saw her husband's smirk rise to his lips, both his hands dropping to her hips to tug her back onto his length.

"Then let us begin"

670 notes · View notes

starlitmark · 5 months

Text

Summary: You decided to surprise San at the office, and things get a bit… out of hand… Pairing: Dragon!San x fem bunny hybrid!reader Tropes: hybrid au, poly au (background) Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, pet names, reader has blue eyes due to being a bunny, magic usage Smut Warnings: kissing, oral (f receive), psuedo exhibitionism, possessiveness Word Count: 2,527 Note: Happy (very late) birthday, Topaz @sanjoongie! I hope you enjoy!!

Cotton Tails and Simmering Fires Masterlist

Before You Interact

“Where are you off to?” A rather nosy pink-eyed dragon asks.

“Well,” you start, “I know Sannie’s been stressed with this merger he’s working on… I was gonna go to the office to surprise him.”

Although you’re not particularly close with Wooyoung, he’s been nothing but welcoming and kind. That only shows more when he flashes a bright smile at you, his sharp fangs showing as he does so. The bar through his eyebrow glints in the kitchen lighting as his eyebrows scrunch slightly with the intensity of his smile.

“Well, I’m finishing up some lunch, and if you want, I can pack some up so you can take it to him. It’s nothing special, just a bulgogi bowl, but I’m sure he’d appreciate it.” the white-scaled dragon offers, “I can pack some rice and veggies for you, too. If you’d like that!”

You smile at him, ears perked up on top of your head. “I’d really like that, actually, thank you.”

Wooyoung nods at you and immediately starts preparing two boxes to transport the food in. As you wait, you look at the purple-haired man in more detail than normal. Not in any way other than to observe him. He practically lives in his dance studio, so to see him now, you know you should keep a visual log of him. A tattoo of lightning strikes stands out against the skin of his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his slightly too big long-sleeve shirt as he meticulously packs the food he offered earlier. You stay silent as he does so. The silence isn’t awkward, though. With some of the Thunder, you do feel a bit of tension. With Wooyoung, though, you’ve never felt uneasy. When he hands you a small bag with the containers, he offers you another smile with a giggle laced into it.

“Have fun on your adventures! I’ll tell your other boyfriends where you’re off to in case they ask.”

You shake your head, “Jongho is with a client, Yeosang is dead asleep after trying to pull an all-nighter, and Seonghwa is booked solid. I doubt any of them will be looking for me any time soon. I appreciate the offer, though. Bye, Woo!”

And with that, you’re out the door and heading toward San’s office. It’s much too far to walk, and although your boyfriends never let you drive, you can do so. The drive isn’t horrible… until you get into the heart of the city where San’s company is housed. Among the concrete jungle, his starkly black glass skyscraper stands out. The traffic around the area leaves much to be desired. Sitting in the same spot, not even 500 feet from the entrance to the parking garage below the building, for nearly ten minutes is a form of torture you’d never wish upon anyone. Once you get to the entrance of the garage, the security simply sees the car and then your face and lets you pass. With how often you’ve shown up (typically accompanying San), the most important staff members know who you are.

While the ride up to San’s top-floor office is long, you find yourself more excited with each floor you pass. Your tail wiggles beneath the length of your cardigan as a way to expel some of that excited energy. A few of the chairmen say hello to you in passing once you do exit the elevator. It seems that San must’ve just gotten out of a meeting with a few of them based on how many you saw. Then, stopping outside his office in front of his secretary’s desk, you lean forward toward the deer hybrid. With one elbow on top of the ledge, you rest your chin on your palm.

“Hey, you.” You call playfully.

“Oh! I didn’t know you were coming today! If I had known-”

“Somin, calm down,” you giggle, “I didn’t tell you or San I was coming. I’m surprising him. Play along?”

The other prey hybrid nods and smiles softly. You watch as she presses a few buttons on the intercom before it starts ringing. After about three rings, you hear San pick up the other end of the line. You step past her desk and stand by the large dark cherry wood doors that lead to your purple-scaled boyfriend.

“Yes, Somin?” He asks. You can hear that he’s preoccupied with some paperwork just by his tone.

“You have someone here to see you.” The deer hybrid says calmly.

“Somin…” A warning tone in his voice sends a chill down your spine and settles between your legs, “I just started my lunch break. Why would you-”

You push open the door and walk right in. A bright smile radiated from your lips, and your tall white ears stood high with joy.

“If you don’t want home-cooked food from Wooyoung or to see your favorite bunny, just say so.” You tease.

San’s pending annoyance instantly simmers, and he whisks you up in his arms. His silver lip ring stands out against his plump, pink lips as they grow into a smile. You giggle as he lifts you up and hugs you tight against his body. Typically, he doesn’t show much physical affection while he’s in his office. Him picking you up and holding you tight against his muscular frame has your heart and stomach flooding with butterflies. You feel him take a few steps back into the office before nudging the door shut with his foot. He puts you down and takes the small bag with the food from you.

“You didn’t even let me say bye to Somin.” You say with a pout.

“You’ll see her on your way out.” San reminds you, “I want to take up as much time as I can with you.”

You make your way over to the black leather couch, plop down, and wait for San to join you to eat. Normally, he eats at his desk, drowning in papers as he eats. He makes an exception with you here and sits with you on the couch. Despite the office being very formal, the couch is framed by two tall bookshelves. There’s a mix of different genres. Of course, he has some boring books that pertain to his career. But fantasy, classical, mystery, and many more books are on the shelves. San sits down beside you and pulls out the containers before placing them side by side on the glass coffee table in front of you.

“How were your morning meetings?” You question once he starts opening the containers.

“Not bad… Mr. Kim tried to tell me how to run my company again.” He starts to grumble at the end.

“And you’ve never let him.” You remind him before taking a bite of your veggies and rice. “You do an amazing job, and we both know that.”

He nods, his slitted pupils dilating when he looks at you, “It was nice of Wooyoung to make you a veggie bowl.”

“Yeah, he actually stopped me on my way out and offered to send me with the food. I think he just made too much, honestly.” You giggle.

You and San float through conversation as you eat. At some point, you whined about your food getting a little too cold for your liking. San instantly takes the container from you and heats his hand just enough to warm your food back up. As your time together progresses, you end up practically on top of your silver-eyed boyfriend. You’re tucked under his arm, legs curled up on the couch while you finish the last few bites of your food. His typically neat button-up is slightly wrinkled, and a bit of your snow-white fur has found its way onto the black fabric.

“Treasure.” San sighs, placing both containers on the table after you finish eating.

“Hmm?” you hum back, looking up at him, “Is everything okay?”

“Come sit.” He tells you while patting his thigh.

You don’t waste a second. You move from being tucked under his arm to straddling his lap. His hands fall onto your hips, rubbing his thumb against your left one in small circular motions. You normally can’t smell your scent, but now, you smell yourself clearly and smell how sweet your scent has become. A smirk touches San’s lips. You see a small tendril of smoke escape his lip. The smoke curls around his lip ring before disappearing into the air.

“You smell so good right now, Treasure.” He practically growls, “It’s taking everything in me not to jump you right now.”

“What’s stopping you?” You challenge.

A curl of smoke escapes the corner of your boyfriend’s lips, and his pupils sharpen; you can hardly see them. He’s trying so hard to maintain his composure, but you both know he’s weak to you. His large hands press harder into your hip bone, hoping to remain composed. He snaps when you whimper, and your nose starts twitching as a response to the predatory hybrid. You find yourself spun around and bent over the couch he had been seated on moments ago.

“I’m so happy you chose to wear this dress today, Treasure.” He practically growls as he kneels down, running the pad of his finger against your clothed folds, “You’re already soaked, and I’ve barely touched you.”

On a normal day, San makes you melt into a puddle. Something about doing this here in his office with the city below you makes you practically vibrate with excitement. You feel the heat of his lip ring against the back of your thigh. His kisses trail higher and higher until he’s pressing barely there kisses against your clothed heat. His lip ring burns hot through the fabric. Just when you think you may go insane from the thin barrier between your core and San’s lips, he tugs the material. A rip sounds through the office.

“You don’t need them here, Treasure. No one’s gonna see you like this but me.” he practically growls.

Before you can formulate any response, San’s tongue delves into you. The pink muscle is normally warm as is, but he seems to have heated it more. The hot feeling of his tongue deep inside you makes your thighs twitch. Your head falls forward against the back of the couch; your ears flop forward in front of your face along the leather.

“Sannie,” you whine, grinding back on his tongue more.

“Hmm?” San responds, and the vibration of his voice sends tendrils of pleasure through your body.

You can’t even think of what you wanted to say to him mere seconds ago. Instead, you grind back against his face more. Your silver-eyed boyfriend has other plans, though. You swear you can feel him smirk before letting a hand trail along your thigh. His nails scrape against your skin just enough to leave thin red marks in their wake. The fingers trail around between your thighs just in front of his face and start gently grazing across your clit. Just enough for you to be aware of the stimulation but not enough to give you any release.

“Do you want something, Treasure?” He mumbles before continuing to lap at your folds.

“Sannie,” you whimper, “want- fuck- want-” You cut yourself off with a moan.

You try to push back against him again, only to have his other hand grip your tail. You let out a loud moan and tremble at the contact. Your orgasm comes out of left field, and you crumble against the couch as your boyfriend helps you ride out your high. The moment you come back down, you find yourself limp over the back of the couch. Your thighs are still trembling, and your snowy ears twitch slightly.

“Treasure.” San calls with authority in his tone, “You didn’t answer my question, I’m afraid-”

His words get cut off by the sound of his desk phone ringing. You hear a huff before he strides over. Rolling so you lay against the cool leather. San clearly is hard inside his dress pants but focuses on getting to the incessant ringing phone. He throws himself back in his large office chair and presses the button to allow the call to be on speaker.

“M-Mr. Choi,” It’s Somin, “The officials from-”

The sound is cut off from your ears when San picks up the phone and brings it to his ear. You glance at the scraps of your panties on the floor and kick them under the couch before quietly walking up to your boyfriend. His eyes follow you as he listens to his secretary.

“You mean to tell me that they’re an hour early? They aren’t supposed to be here until 3pm.”

You don’t hear Somin’s response, but San’s silver eyes dart to the clock on the wall. It is 3pm. Your pale blue eyes meet San’s silver ones before you step closer. You push his shoulder just enough to move his chair back. The chord of the phone stretches just a bit but not enough to strain it.

“What are you doing?” The purple dragon mouths to you.

You hold a finger up to your lip. You kneel down and shimmy your way under his desk. His pupils are thinly slit again. Seeing the shift from how dilated they were moments ago sends shivers up your spine. His eyes stay trained on you as you run your hands over his strong thighs. Another curl of smoke escapes his lips. He’s trying so hard to hold back.

“H-huh? Yes, Somin, I heard you. Yes, yes-”

San takes a sharp breath when your hand runs over his clothed member. You can feel the small hard bubbles that run up his member. Your mouth waters like a Pavlovian response to it.

“They’re downstairs, you said?” San asks, trying to maintain his composure. “Yeah, send them up.” he tells her, a fire burning in his eyes as he watches you. “She’ll be leaving shortly, it’s okay.”

You give him big, innocent eyes, and ears back against your hair as you start to play with his belt buckle. He leans forward and places the phone back on the stand. A small flicker of flames is visible as he pulls his hand back from the device. He gives you a burning stare, his pupils practically swallowed by the metallic silver swirling in his irises.

“Behave yourself.” He bites, “If you can behave while I have this meeting, you’ll be forgiven from enduring that punishment I was about to dole out.”

You nod, “Can’t I have a bit of fun, though?” You bat your eyelashes at him, hoping to sway his choice.

“After they’re seated.” He caves, “And you’ll take whatever I give you. No funny business, understand?”

“Yes, sir!” You respond with a slightly teasing giggle to your tone.

A growl, followed by a tendril of smoke from his nostril, escapes him. He looks as though he’s about to correct your rather sudden bratty behavior before a knock sounds on the dark cherry wood door. He doesn’t say a word to you, but his eyes speak for him. ‘Behave yourself and stay quiet, or you’ll pay the price.’

Networks: @monsterfvckersunited @kwritersworld @k-vanity @cultofdionysusnet

Tag List: @sanjoongie @jaehunnyy @ericssmile @anyamaris @almondmilkeu @shinestarhwaa @northerngalaxy

#san smut #mfu-net #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #cultofdionysusnet #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #san fanfic #san x reader

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clementine-thedestroyer · 7 months

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Kinktober day 15/16: Pegging + feminization - Scaramouche x reader

Warnings/tags: Pegging, feminization, fem!reader, Scaramouche is a brat but there’s not really any brat taming. A healthy dose of humiliation, reader being a bit of a brat too.

I mean, I think the title explains it pretty well… I can’t believe I actually posted this.

“This is stupid.” Scaramouche huffed, pouting as you snapped away with your phone camera, planning on preserving his humiliation securely in your camera roll.

He stood in front of you in a light purple pleated miniskirt, a loose white shirt sleeved crop top, and a massively oversized purple jacket you had dug out of the bottom of your closet.

He had done this to himself. He had no one else to blame, honestly. He shouldn’t have made the bet if he wasn’t willing to follow through.

It had taken a bit of a fight, but you had eventually gotten him to hold up his end of the bargain, and god was it worth it. Because now you had your absolute brat of a boyfriend in the most compromising position imaginable, and you were free to have your fun with him for an hour.

“I swear to god, once this is over, you’re going to regret this.” He hissed, glaring at you.

“Oh I’m sure I will.” You responded smugly, cackling as you put a cutesy pink filter over one of the photos you had just taken.

Scara groans, rolling his eyes as he tugged the skirt lower, trying to get a bit more coverage from the, admittedly, very short skirt. “Are you done yet? Can I take this shit off?”

“You said I had an hour, I’m using that hour, Scara.”

He grumbles, rolling his arms and huffing in his usual manner.

You can’t help the grin from sneaking onto your face, turning away to hide it as you give him his instructions. “Get on the bed, on your back.”

In the background, you can hear Scara grumble a protest (something-something, opportunistic pervert) along with the creak of the bed frame as he, in the end, does as he’s told. You ruffle through a bin hidden in the back of your closet, smirking as you find what you’re looking for.

You walk up to him holding the item behind your back with what you’re sure must be an unsettling grin, at least judging by the way his leg is jittering and his eyes dart over you with thinly veiled worry.

You smirk, taking your arms out from behind your back and showing Scaramouche what you have.

A glittery bright purple dildo- in all its excessively hyper feminine glory.

When he sees it, his face drops. “Oh hell no. You are not using that on me.” He growled, scrunching up his nose and giving the overly girly dildo a down right nasty look.

“Oh hell yes. You lost the bet, remember? It’s only fair that you hold up your side of the deal.” You say, smirking as Scaramouche glared at the piece of plastic like it personally pissed in his oatmeal.

You plop yourself onto the bed, swinging your legs up and onto the mattress as you scoot towards Scaramouche. If looks could kill, you’d be a fully decayed corpse right now…

Although the intimidation factor of Scaramouche’s well practiced dirty looks and glances is massively undermined by the fact that he’s achingly hard, dressed in a your clothes, and practically trembling- his eyes following you and the toy in your hand like a cat’s to a feather.

“Poor boy, you’re trying to be all scary- but you can’t help how needy you are, can you?” You ask, reaching to your side and ruffling through the drawer of your nightstand, looking for lube. You can’t help the boost to your ego that comes with how thickly he swallows as you pull out the bottle.

You move back over to Scara, tapping the insides of his thighs in a silent command to spread his legs bad make room.

Once he does, you slot yourself between them, grinning when you glance up and catch the sight of Scaramouche’s bright red half-turned-away face- the back of one of his hands resting against his mouth as his blush steadily deepens.

You grin, leaning forward and spreading his thighs further apart, tapping the side of his hip and giving the simple command of “lift up”.

When Scara does as he’s told- lifting his hips so you can hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and pull them off, but leaving the skirt- you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face.

“Scara, have I ever told you you have a really pretty cock?” You ask, gently running a finger along the head and down his shaft. Scaramouche doesn’t respond, clenching his teeth and drawing a shaky inhale at the feather-light touch.

“You’ve gone awfully quiet, Scaramouche.” You chime teasingly, laughing when all that he respons with is a choked “S-Shut up-”

You lean forward, kissing his cheek and stroking his hair sweetly, giving him a moment of softness before pulling away and letting your face go back to a slightly condescending smirk. “Come on pretty boy, you know you gotta ask for it if you want it.”

Scaramouche’s eyes harden- snapping to you with an outraged look before remembering himself, biting his lip and looking away with a glare.

“I’m waiting.” You say, fiddling with the cap of the lube bottle as you feign impatience.

“You’re the one who wanted to do this. I’m not fucking begging.” Scara replies, spitting out the words like they were poison.

“Then I’m not fucking you.”

“Fuck me. Please.” Scara growled, flopping his hand down onto the pillow and looking away as he mumbled out his half-assed ask.

You grin cheekily, tapping your finger against your cheek and tilting your head in a way that you knew would piss him off. “Hmmm, I’m gonna need you beg a little bit prettier than that.”

“Just fuck me with the damn toy already! I swear to god! You’re such an ass sometimes!!” Scaramouche glares up at you- looking a bit like an angry cat just dumped in a bucket of water.

You laughed, giving in and opening the bottle of lube, squirting a decent puddle onto your hand before tossing it to the side, but still within arm’s reach. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m working on it.”

You coat your fingers, spreading a bit on your other hand before taking Scaramouche’s cock on your hand, jerking him slowly as you start to open him up on your fingers.

Scara tenses up as your fingers enter him- scrunching his face up like he just tasted something sour- at least until you give him a light swat on the ass, a stern command to “relax” falling from your mouth like second nature.

He does as he’s told, taking a deep breath and working to relax his body as you rub a circle into the bottom of the head of his cock with the pad for your thumb, paying further attention to the spot when you’re rewarded with a loud groan for your efforts.

You smile at his noises, working him open gently and slowly while making sure not to hit his prostate yet, instead paying all your attention to the head of his cock.

After a moment, you slip a second finger in, briefly taking your hand off his cock and reaching up to slip your hand under Scaramouche’s top. You grin at Scara’s startled yelp when you grab a handful of his pectoral muscle- squeezing and groping the flesh as he squirmed.

“Pretty tits.” You say, moving your hand to pinch at his nipples.

“I’m not pretty.” Scaramouche growls, a bit embarrassed at your attention to his chest, trying to slip his hands under the relatively skimpy crop top to protect himself from any further gropes or pinches.

You laugh, relenting and pulling your hand away, as you go back to jerking him off.

“You are very pretty. Scara, all the time and everywhere, but especially with this skirt and top.”

He grumbles, mumbling some snarky response or other- only to stop and watch as you press a kiss to the side of his cock, swiping your thumb over the slit and taking his precome, letting it mix with the lube as you spread it over his cock.“See? Look, I told you that you were pretty. Look at this cock, it’s so pretty, Scara. Just look at how needy it is.” You coo, looking up and grinning as Scaramouche turns his face away.

“You know, turning your face to the side doesn’t help when your ears and neck are bright red too.”

When you tease him, he turns his furiously blushing face back to you. Opening his mouth to retort, you press your fingers upwards and into his prostate, relishing in the strangled moan that fell from him instead of his usual snappy comebacks.

At that, you deem him ready. The toy was pretty small anyways- he shouldn’t have any trouble. You take his distraction as an opportunity, pulling your fingers out, grabbing the toy, and hooking an arm underneath Scaramouche’s knees. You bend him over himself, pushing his knees beside his chest and holding him there, giving him a lewd view of his wet cock against his stomach and of you holding the toy, grinning at how he whined when you moved him.

Before he could speak, you push the toy inside, leaning over to speak against his ear as you mercilessly hit his prostate spot-on over and over. “Pretty boy, you’re doing so well for me. Look at you in this cute little skirt, taking the toy so well. Such a good boy.”

Scara yelped- tears gathering in the corner of his eyes as you bullied his prostate- whining and squirming as your pace ratched from about a 4 to a 10.

“See? Look at that pretty cock, do you even need it to cum? Cause I think you can come just from this, can’t you?”

Scaramouche sobbed, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to reach his hand up to jerk himself off, only for you to grab his hand and pin it under his own body weight.

“No no no- I need- I needa- I-“

You shush him, still pinning him down as you flip a switch at the base of the toy, stopping your movements and instead grinding it almost painfully against his walls instead- watching as Scara seized and twisted in pleasure as the vibrations started up.

“No, no. You don’t need your hand, Scara. You can do it, I believe in you.”

You ground the toy into his prostate as his body tensed and he came with a shout, not stopping even as he spilt cum all over the skirt and crop top, even managing to get a bit on his face.

Once he comes down, you turn the vibrations off, gently unfolding him from himself and pressing kisses to his temple, wiping his tears away and holding him tight as he came down.

You kiss him gently, giving him a tight squeeze before pulling away a bit.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay pretty boy?”

He glares, still clinging to you like a lifeline even as he scoffs and turns his nose up at you. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? It’s true!”

“No it’s not!”

“Grump.”

“Opportunist.”

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

#scaramouche x y/n #scara smut #scaramouche smut #genshin scara #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scara x you #scara x reader #scaramouche #sub scaramouche #scara x y/n #smut #genshin fanfic #genshin smut #fem reader #fem!reader #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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deanbrainrotwritings · 3 months

Text

— HERO OF THE HALF-TRUTH

SUMMARY : “I'm a hoe for Soldier Boy (I'm past hiding it😅) so I thought maybe you write one smut fic where he seemingly picks up reader from a bar, where he is at some promo event or something like that, and they go for a quickie behind a bar and after when she wants to go home, he forces her to sit through rest of the evening with his cum dripping down her legs, and if you're comfortable with it- there could be some degrading, hair pulling, roughness, choking?” — @k-slla

PAIRING : soldier boy (ben) x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

TAGS/WARNINGS : explicit(18+), tiny canon divergence, depression, trauma, ptsd, degradation, i made soldier boy a sad little puppy, hair pulling, roughness, choking, unprotected p in v, cum kink

WORD COUNT : 3.7k

A/N : title from an august burns red song. this fills the secret relationship square on my @jacklesversebingo card. I almost forgot to post this lmao

Soldier Boy, he can’t seem to escape Vought.

Even breaking every rule Stan Edgar enforced didn’t get him released of the steel strings keeping him from doing whatever the fuck he wanted.

After being tortured for forty fucking years, it was the least he thought he deserved. He was old as fuck, he could feel the heaviness of it every morning when his eyes opened up to the bright sunlight. He was exhausted and everything looked dead.

On top of everything, there was a dull ache that remained attached to him like a parasite from the betrayal of his teammates. Even though they’re all dead, even though they didn’t matter to him as he ended their lives—or even before that—his life layers around the hurt and pain left behind by the Crimson Countess.

There was an emptiness that pressed into his soul like a black hole that no amount of drugs, sex, and alcohol could fill. It got sucked up like it was nothing, unseen, forgotten. It’s how he felt, too. Like nothing, forgotten, thrown away like a useless piece of trash by the very company that struggled to keep him under their thumb now, once again.

He had dreams and hopes before everything that happened. He could have had it all, but all of that evaporated in the same way he had eviscerated his old lover, the Crimson Countess.

More often than he liked, Ben woke up to nothing, to no one—completely alone, unloved, unimportant. Forgotten.

Still, here he was, at a ridiculously expensive bar for a promo event. Rich assholes surrounded him, faking smiles and faking laughter, shaking hands and making stupid small talk. They wore expensive suits and held glasses of alcohol that they hardly drank from the whole night.

Don’t even get him started on the Supes that were on their best behaviour for the night. Pretending to be the good guys. Ben thought they were worse than him. Every single one of them were pathetic, useless, and weak. He didn’t like a single one, but he smiled, too, faking for the night knowing all the annoying cameras that were snapping shots of everyone at any given moment, and that irritating journalists were eavesdropping on every conversation to get the juiciest stories.

He rolled his eyes as soon as he was able to get away from a journalist who refused to take his ‘no comment’ for an answer. Instead, she was hounded by the Deep who was told which people to talk to in order to continue rewriting his image.

Ben grunted when he sat on the barstool and the bartender greeted him with a flirtatious, red-lipped grin. He wasn’t in the mood for anything tonight, but he mustered a smile when he ordered a whiskey. But otherwise, he stared into the golden liquid after taking a small sip, ignoring the woman when she brushed her fingers with his.

Life went by around him; pop music played in the background, people’s voices made a hundred symphonies from laughing and conversation. And the bartender took Ben’s rejection with pride and continued to speak to patrons, reporters, and other Supes.

His attention drifted away from the glass containing golden liquor when his skin prickled, a shiver running up his spine. He looked to the one side and then the other, there’s only one person who could make him feel that.

And there she was, sitting on a barstool at the edge of the bar top laughing it up with A-Train, rather awkwardly. It’s like she called to him, somehow, without words. Not a single look had been exchanged just yet. His body felt her before he even laid eyes on her beauty, or touched the softness of her, or caught a whiff of her floral scent.

Ben stood up to make his way to her. A-Train left instantly when Ben stood behind her with a scowl on his face. He watched her shiver with a tiny smirk, her sentence halfway complete by the time A-Train made it halfway across the room.

Casually, she spun around in the stool to face him. Her expression was guarded—to everyone else, they were strangers.

“Hey,” he grunted, deciding to take a seat next to her.

“What are you doing?” She asked quietly, looking away from him to drink the sweet Cosmo she ordered for herself.

“I should be asking you that,” he shook his head and gave her a sideways glance. He caught the tiny smile on her face for being caught and bit his lip to stop himself from mirroring it.

She paused and took a slow, short sip of her drink. He resisted the urge to look at her for taking so long to respond. He could feel her hesitation and her quiet sigh made his smile drop slightly.

“I haven’t seen you all week,” she murmured, finally admitting what had driven her to see him in a place filled with people he was hoping to keep from entering her life. They had no privacy now with all the Supes and Stan Edgar around, and he wanted to be angry at her for risking their… relationship, but most importantly her safety.

He kept her from Vought, from Supes, from anyone who could hurt her or use her to get to him.

He felt bad. Even though he had good intentions. He couldn’t deny that he was neglecting her. Making her wait for him as Vought dragged him here and there either to play hero or to do shit like this. Promo events. Fucking movies, songs, advertisements.

It was exhausting to pretend so much.

He wished he could see her more often.

If he could, he’d like to return home to her. To lay in bed with her while she runs her fingers through his hair and while they watch another important movie he missed while he was… yeah.

He just wanted to settle down with her, but Vought was a danger to his dream with her.

Ben drowned the whiskey in one gulp and pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, inhaling softly. He could feel her watching him, and he eyes subtly followed as he stood up and stomped away from the bar to get outside.

He hoped no one would follow him, except her.

The night was dark, and cool enough that the sky was clear and the stars fought to shine against dark blue-violet skies despite the bright city lights. There was no breeze, the air didn’t bite at his skin and made his cheeks and nose turn red.

It was perfect.

As perfect as the back of a bar could look during the evening. Cars zoomed by at the very end of the alley and colourful graffiti covered posters of Supes in the wall. Slander and hatred were sprayed against the walls, against Vought, a majority of the Supes. Others wanted Maeve back or defended Starlight, or Homelander.

People were twisted. Cruel. Pathetic. Hypocritical. As they always were. They never changed, from what he remembers. Not really. They always think they are right, that they know better-

“What?” He heard the heavy door slam against the wall. The door shut slowly behind her when Ben turned around to see colourful pink and blue lights from inside form a shape around her body.

She crossed her arms over her chest, her face was sadder, but still careful. She knew better than to drop her guard. That fearful glint in her eyes told him that she knew better than to think she was safe. Or that he wasn’t being watched.

That didn’t stop Ben from wanting to hold her. To kiss away her doubts, to smooth the worry lines on her forehead with his fingers, to melt away the tension from her muscles.

“Sorry,” he whispered instead, his fingers twitching before clenching into a fist. He stepped towards her once the door clicked shut behind her, but she stood where she was as if her feet had grown roots, preventing her from reaching him. “You know I’d like to go everywhere with you in my arms, but-”

“You don’t need to explain it to me again,” she interrupted him softly, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to make herself warm. She looked down at the intricate designs on his suit rather than looking into his big, pleading, green eyes. “Did you miss me… At least?” She blurted out, embarrassment blazing up her face for needing that reassurance, for asking it out loud.

Ben took the final steps to close the distance between them and cupped her cheek. He pressed his lips to her forehead and brushed her cheekbone with his thumb. “I did, you know I did,” he mumbled softly against her.

Ben could feel her relax in his arms. She breathed out slowly and he wrapped his arm around her waist to bring her as close as possible. She clung to the buckles on his vest and closed her eyes as the sounds of the city at night faded into nothing around the two of them.

Part of Ben still felt guilty. Probably more now that he was holding her than before.

Here she was, all dolled up and glamorous for him. Because she missed him. Sure, he thought of her way too much the entire week, but she doesn’t know that. He was so overwhelmed with his job and doing what was expected of him, reshoots and interviews, so many things that came with his contract with Vought.

If he trusted the damned company, he’d include her and her safety when it gets renewed. He’d request a meeting tomorrow, or tonight, to have it changed. So he wouldn’t have to sneak around with her. He’d like to quit to have all that without being under Vought, but he wouldn’t feel safe, and therefore, she wouldn’t be safe either.

If he could, he’d fake his death and run away with her. But unlike him, a man who simply doesn’t belong in this time, she was the tree at the centre of a garden that everyone loved to gaze at and be around. He couldn’t just uproot her and leave an empty space where she once was in everyone’s lives. She was loved for who she was—genuine, kind, feisty. But Ben was just liked for his looks, for what he was good for—except for her, he loved him as he was, for all that he was.

Every ugly part. Every bad part. And there was a lot of that. He was an asshole and he was insecure, he already knew that. Who was he kidding besides the people who seemingly adored him? Fans?

“Come on,” she whispered, pulling away to kiss him on his bearded jaw, “let’s get back inside so I don’t freeze out here.” Ben’s fingers dug firmly into her hips to keep her in place.

“What makes you think I’m letting you leave so quickly?” His rough voice caused a shiver to run up her spine. She smiled softly against his mouth and pushed up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck. “I missed you and you look gorgeous. And now that I have you here… I’m going to make a mess of you with the time I have.”

She inhaled sharply, excitement speeding up her heartbeat. Ben walked her backwards until her back hit the cold wall and she gasped softly once she was pressed against the painted bricks. Her flushed skin made her more sensitive to the cold surrounding her and almost instantly, before his luscious mouth even landed on hers, she felt a tingle of excitement followed by a flood of wetness between her legs.

“Are we really gonna fuck here?” She whispered against his lips. His beard tickled the soft skin of her chin when he hummed a ‘yes’ against her lips, pressing softly at first. “What if someone sees us?” She asked, burying her fingers into his soft, brown hair.

Ben smirked, his tongue teasing the seam of her lipstick-painted lips. The dull flavour of lipstick hit his taste buds, but his mouth still watered. Her lips parted just slightly, her shaky breath made his lips tingle. “You should know better than to think that would stop me.”

“Fuck,” she exhaled, his voice alone was enough to make her moan. His fingers clenched her dress, slowly dragging it up her legs, slowly pressing his knee between her legs. To tease, his knee grazed her clit, their mingled breaths made his mind hazy with arousal.

“Now, be a good little slut and give me your panties,” he ordered, releasing her dress to smack her ass with both of his hands. She moaned softly and brought his lips down to hers for a deeper, sensual kiss.

His fingers tangled in her hair and he tilted her head to slide his tongue into her mouth, licking, sucking, desperately looking for a way to fuse himself with her. Her fingers blindly pulled and tugged at the buckles around his hips and then she whined uselessly when she couldn’t get a single one undone.

He stopped kissing her to laugh softly, “I told you to focus on you.”

“Please,” she laughed shyly, pecking his lips. She cupped his cock over his trousers and he gasped, rolling his hips against her hand.

“We have to make this quick,” he told her, stepping back to work quickly on the buckles. He was faster, pulling out straps expertly, habitually, from years of practice. He didn’t even have to glance away from her flustered face, but unlike him, she clumsily dragged her seamless panties down her legs.

He hadn’t removed anything, not enough for her to see how hard he was, and he wasn’t giving her a chance to. “I’m keeping these, doll,” he grinned, snatching her underwear and shoving them inside his armour vest, right where his heart thundered against thick metal.

“Can I keep anything of yours?” She pouted.

“You can keep my cum?” He offered with a smug smirk, his hands moved from where they were to grasp her hips and spin her around faster than she could process.

“Okay,” she replied with a smile, hesitantly setting her hands and cheek against the wall. He laughed against her shoulder and hiked up her dress again, his fingers trailing up her sides.

“You just love being a fucking cum-dump for me, dontcha?” He teased, his voice dripping over her like honey, deep and hot. She moaned softly in response and wiggled her hips impatiently.

“Fuck.. anything for you, Ben.” He sank his teeth into her neck and guided his cock to her dripping entrance. The tip of his cock circled her entrance and slid through her wet folds slowly. The feeling of her bare heat against his skin made his grip tighten painfully around her hip.

“Christ, you’re so fucking wet already,” he groaned, the length of his dick teasing her clit with every back and forth, “and I’ve barely even touched you.” He slowly pushed himself into her, shuddering at her delicious warmth wrapped around him. Her walls fluttered around him and she pushed her hips back into him, adjusting to the size of him. “That’s my needy little whore,” he praised degradingly, dragging his calloused hands up the front of her dress to palm her breasts.

She moaned softly and reached back to thread her fingers through his hair, pulling at the strands until he groaned deeply against her back. The sound shook through her body like an earthquake and sent ripples of pleasure to her clit and pulsing walls.

“Beg for my cock, needy little slut, show me how much you missed me,” he whispered into her neck with a smirk. He was all smug and sexy, hard and firm, and each touch woke something in her that she would have otherwise been too embarrassed to show anyone else.

“Please, fuck me,” she begged pathetically, pulling harder at his hair if she couldn’t convince him with her pleas. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pressed his fingers into her palm until she relaxed her grip. “God, please, Ben… I need you so bad,” she whispered needily, extending her hands back to grip onto any part of him that she could easily reach when he let her hand fall.

“Come on, let me hear you,” he panted, slowly thrusting into her. He bit his lip, digging his fingertips harder into her hips. She gasped at the pain and squirmed, but a tingle of pleasure began to bloom as he bruised her skin and dragged his cock slowly through her walls. “My pretty little slut,” he growled, smoothing his hands up her sides to bend her forward slightly.

“Please, Ben! I need you!” She whined, allowing him to roughly pull her up again against his chest. He pressed a hard kiss to her jaw, snapping his hips forward once as he groped her chest. Ben pulled the top of her dress down and didn’t hold back with the painful pinch of her nipples between his fingers. He ground his cock into her, driving himself deeper as she moaned and squeezed him.

Her toes curled inside her heels and her breath hitched, but Ben continued to mouth at her cheek and her shoulder, his breath as uneven as hers. She could feel the grin on his face, the tickle of his beard fueled her arousal and she was dripping around his cock like a desperate whore.

“Please! I-I can’t take it!” She cried, pulling hard on Ben’s hair to make him move faster. He growled against her flushed skin and delivered another rough thrust in response.

Ben’s teeth grazed her jawline and he grunted softly with each unhurried, deep, hard thrust. Her soft pleas and loud moans echoed against concrete walls, carried into the dark nothingness of the city. Her pussy clenched tighter around him and he was almost out of breath from how amazing she felt.

She clung to him as best as she could and his large hand ended up wrapped around her throat. He was waiting for her to finally fall apart and beg him to make her come. All she could do was ride along the tiny edge of her orgasm, so close to toppling over, but never having that pleasure wash over her.

“Faster, Ben! Let me come... Please… make me come!” She cried out, trying to move her hips to desperately meet his deep, slow pace. He squeezed her throat, pressing his fingers around her throat until her vision turned nearly all the way black.

“Christ, you’re perfect when you beg for my cock,” he chuckled. Be relaxed his grip and she inhaled sharply, her brain getting fuzzier, like static. A moan slipped from between her lips and Ben finally began thrusting into her faster, sharper, precisely. Short quick gasps made their way past her swollen lips and his name hung in the air when it was stuttered lovingly.

She found it easier to hold onto the wall, bending herself over once again as her knees became weak and her heels became difficult to stand in. Her mind evaporated from her skull, all she could feel was him, Ben. His suit brushed against her sensitive skin, hard armour pressing into her soft body. His beard scraped against her flushed neck, causing her to shudder and clench around him.

His lips were wet and warm against her skin, his breath adding to the heat to combat the cold that engulfed them. His hands touched and grabbed at what he could reach before tangling in her hair. He gripped her hair in one hand to breathe clearly into her ear, and he pulled at the strands so she stood up straight and couldn’t move away from him again.

Her scalp stung at occasional harsh tugs but his fingers on her clit distracted her enough to find more pleasure than pain. “You always do the stupidest fucking things for my cock,” he grunted in her ear, and despite how irritated she was from being edged she couldn’t help being amused.

Maybe it was all the pleasure that put her in a good mood or maybe it’s that she was finally where she wanted to be, with Ben. The man behind Soldier Boy.

Her body had a pin-point focus on all the pleasure induced by everything he did to her. Taking her ability to breath with his grip tight around her throat, holding her to him with her hair wrapped around his fist. She felt like an overfilled balloon, overwhelmed with pleasure, love. She missed him more than anything and he was intoxicating.

She felt her orgasm wash over her, a scream of Ben’s name that he was partially able to muffle with his hand squeezing the side of her neck. She gasped, strained and strangled sounds that could barely move past his tight grip and then he let go before he could finish.

She was cold and empty for a few moments, her pussy clenched sound nothing and then a breath was punched out of her chest when he pressed her back into the wall. She was up in his arms, back to moaning and shaking when he slammed back into her.

A few quick thrusts with rough kisses pressed against her lips before warmth bloomed inside her from spurts of his release. Warm cum trickled down between her thighs and Ben laughed huskily against her shoulder when she held him tighter.

“I missed you,” she whispered breathlessly, slightly disappointed when he pulled his cock out of her and set her back down. She leaned against the wall to catch her breath and recompose herself. She closed her eyes when he dipped down to kiss her cheek.

“Me too,” he murmured, his lips ghosting across her flushed cheeks. She fixed her clothes and tried to keep her focus on him, but she felt exhausted. Weak. “Tell you what,” he began, pulling her back in to keep her warm, “Sit like this through the night and I’ll take you home with me,” he proposed, smirking at the laughter that shook her body. “That’s what you’re good for, keeping my cum safe inside that needy little cunt of yours,” he brushed his lips against hers, collecting sticky strings of their release with his fingers to smear them across her painted lips. He bit his lip and watched her lick her mouth clean.

“Yes, sir, Soldier Boy,” she smiled, entranced by the lascivious way he sucked on his fingers.

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