#still need to further flesh it out lols | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

captainfern · 7 months

Note

*comes sniffing in your ask box for treats*

throwing in a silly little request for Simon and Price sharing a partner maybeeee? ily 👉👈

🐩

Fade To Black

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader x Captain John Price

["Fade To Black" by Metallica]

[18+]

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• summary - your boyfriend's love making you feel good <3 that's the summary lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 4.4k • warnings - fem!reader, all porn zero plot<3, established poly relationship, oral [f!receiving], fingering, m!masturbation, voyeurism?, unprotected piv, soft!ghost [use of pet names, praise, obsessed boyfriend things], implied dom!price [minor degradation, minor dumbification], ghost loves you, price loves you too, breeding kink [predictable with my writing i know 😭], both men are possessive, strong language

🍪 - for you !! with a side of cod smut, of course ;3

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Your relationship with John and Simon was, quite possibly, one of the best aspects of your life.

They both took care of you so well, and ensured you had everything you could possibly need. They both spent quality time with you, together and individually, and both spoiled you like good boyfriend's should. They both protected you, too– Simon's hand on the small of your back in public, shooting dark glares at other people brave enough to glance in your direction– John's warm hand in yours, guiding you through a crowd, his thumb brushing soothing stripes across your knuckles.

Both of them loved you. Both of them were totally, utterly obsessed with you.

How could they not? You were just so good for them. Always worrying about them, patching up the wounds they often returned home with, cooking for them after a long day working. You tended to their needs first, in more ways than one– example, you never complained about dropping to your knees in front of them if they needed some kind of release.

God, they loved that part. They loved the part of you that was so eager to be good for them. Both of them. How willing you are to let them toss you back and forth between one another, bend you over the couch, spread you out on the rug, pin you up against a wall. Obviously, they loved everything about you, but a pretty thing like you being theirs and theirs alone? A blessing.

But just as much as you loved to service them, they loved to service you. It was in their nature, of course. Looking after their girlfriend? Their future wife? It was instinct.

And besides, even when it was their turn to give more, you were still always good for them.

Late one evening, John returned home and kicked off his shoes. Usually, you'd rush to the door to greet him, even if you did have to wriggle your way out of Simon's hold sometimes. You'd wrap your arms around him and hug him tight, and he'd return the hug with a kiss to the top of your head.

This time was different. You didn't rush into the entry-hall to greet him with the most beautiful smile. Instead, John was greeted by complete silence as he walked further into the flat.

Well, it wasn't complete silence.

Other times where you'd failed to greet him, he couldn't help but frown. This time, his lips quirked into a knowing smile as he made his way towards the living room.

Your breathy whimpers filled the flat, paired with your own laboured breathing and low grunts from Simon. He had you sitting upright on the couch, your legs folded over his shoulders as he kneeled on the ground in front of you, his face between your legs. Simon's grip was tight on your thighs, gripping the flesh and holding your legs in place, which were now beginning to tremble. He grunted with each flat lick of his tongue up your wet folds, followed by another low-pitched noise when he shoved his tongue deep into your cunt, his nose nudging your puffy clit.

You had a handful of his dark blond hair, almost brown in the low light of the living room, fisting it tightly as you arched against the couch. Your eyes were closed, your mouth parted as more whimpers fell from your lips, including whines of Simon–! which made Simon moan against you. He was painfully fucking hard in his trousers.

John watched from the doorway for a moment, leaning his shoulder against it, listening to your sounds. After a moment, Simon pulled away from you for just a moment to utter "Look who's home, baby" before sliding his tongue back inside you.

John couldn't help but chuckle at the fact Simon knew he was there without even turning around.

Your eyes flew open, immediately finding John's. You sucked in a breath, trying to hold your whimpers at bay, long enough to greet him with watery eyes and a small pout.

"John." You keened, eyes immediately closing as Simon's pace picked up. You let out a loud moan that made John's cock twitch in his trousers as he crossed the room and sat beside you on the couch.

He leaned over to kiss you– smoothing his lips against yours before slipping his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss by grabbing hold of your jaw and angling your face closer to his. You moaned into his mouth, his other hand finding the back of your neck, pinning you in place so he could lick further into your mouth.

Below, Simon grunted into your core, muffled. John pulled out of the kiss, still holding your head, looking down to meet Simon's eyes.

"Got something to say?" John asked, cocking his head to the side. You whimpered in his hold, and Simon's eyes darted from John to you, and back and forth a couple times.

John knew Simon all too well. Each time you let out the smallest whimper, the breathiest whine, the longest moan, his cock would twitch, growing harder in his boxers. He loved the noises you made. So with John kissing you...

John smirked, slotting his mouth back against yours, his eyes still on Simon. You moaned into his mouth, your eyes fluttering shut. The noises were quiet now, just deep hums in the back of your throat. Simon's brows pinched as he glared at John. John winked at him.

Simon grunted against your cunt, his tongue moving in and out of you. Small dribbles of your slick slipped down his face, coating his chin as his efforts increased, pace quickening, nose pressing tighter against your little bundle of nerves. He could hear the way you were moaning into the kiss, and his eyes remained firmly on your face.

He knew you were close. Your thighs were slowly tightening around his head, and you were arching further off the couch. Your thighs quivered in his hold, the slick walls of your cunt pulling tighter around his tongue. He groaned into you, letting one hand run up your thigh and over your mound, cupping you there while this thumb pressed heavily against your clit. He rubbed fast circles and finally, finally, you broke the kiss– pulling away from John to moan, "S-Si, fuck, please– please, please–!"

Before John could pull you back into the kiss, you came around Simon's tongue. You moaned, long and drawn out, as Simon licked you through it, still thumbing your clit gently. The sound filled Simon's head, making him reciprocate his own moan, lips parted against the slick mess of your core. He continued swiping licks up your folds, around your leaking hole, until you were squirming against him, John placing kisses along your jaw.

Simon pulled away, kissing your thighs as he went. After placing one final kiss to your inner knee, he got to his feet, knees cracking as he pushed overtop of your body, shunting John out of the way so he could grasp your face and kiss you.

John let out a laugh. "S'that how it's going to be tonight, hm?"

Simon didn't respond. He simply cupped your face and pinned you back against the couch. His knee slotted between your legs as he kissed you, shoving his tongue into your mouth. You tasted yourself when your tongues met, and you whimpered his name into his mouth.

When Simon– begrudgingly– ended the kiss, he flopped down on the other side of you. But he pulled you with him, grasping your hips and pulling you into his lap, your back against his chest. He immediately attached his mouth to the curve of your neck and shoulder.

John watched you and Simon for a moment. "Has he been treating you well, sweetheart?"

You nodded, Simon's arms now winding their way around your midriff, holding you to him. Your head lolled back to allow Simon more room, but your eyes remained on John.

"D'you have a good day?" You asked.

"Mhm," John replied simply. "I missed you, though."

"Missed you too." You mumbled, eyelids fluttering when Simon sucked harder, skimming his teeth against your sweat-slicked skin.

John cocked his head, watching your expressions for a moment. He smiled, content, before grabbing a half-smoked cigar from the ashtray at the end of the couch. He relit it, and the familiar sound of the lighter clinking had your eyes opening like some sort of Pavlovian response.

John inhaled and then exhaled, smoke curling out above his head. You watched him with glistening eyes, and he could see your focus drifted across the way his fingers held the cigar. His smile widened, and he lifted his free hand, beckoning you over to him with a curl of two fingers.

Straight away, you weaselled yourself free of Simon's hold. He frowned.

Of course, he let you go and you didn't actually force his hands away. If he wanted you to stay, his arm's wouldn't have even budged.

You crawled into Price's lap, smiling at him when his free hand rested hot and heavy against the bare expanse of your lower back.

"Hold this for me." He whispered, grabbing his cigar and handing it to you. You took it from him, a wisp of smoke fluttering across the skin of your cheek.

His other hand skimmed down the front of your body, over the dips of your breasts and tummy, until he reached your cunt. He groaned when he ran two fingers down your folds. You were so fucking wet. With ease, he slipped his fingers into your sopping cunt, straight to the knuckle. You hummed low in your throat, head tilting forward.

"Fuck, you're wet," John muttered, thrusting his fingers in and out of you. "S'this just from getting your pretty pussy eaten, hm? S'all this 'cause've Simon?"

You moaned. "Yes–!"

Behind you, Simon grunted, and was pulling his cock out of his trousers and fisting it slowly. His eyes watched the two of you closely, the head of his cock leaking pre-cum. What was left of your arousal on his fingers, he smeared it across the hard shaft of his cock, his other hand cupping his balls as you rocked yourself against John's fingers.

John chuckled lowly. "Naughty fucking girl, aren't you, sweetheart? Listen to how wet this cunt is." He pulled his fingers out and then thrusted them in roughly; the sound eliciting was a loud, wet squelch that made your tummy flutter. John hummed, appraising you with dark eyes. "So fucking wet, isn't she, Simon?"

Simon grunted, the movement of his hand speeding up. He jerked his cock, gripping tighter at the base, pausing only briefly to thumb at the reddened tip.

John grinned, then nodded at the cigar you were still holding. You got the hint, drowsily holding it out for him to take into his mouth. He inhaled deeply, and you pulled it away when the hand on the small of your back danced upwards. He cupped your neck and pulled you down to kiss him. He exhaled the smoke into your mouth and you whimpered as you felt it sting the back of your nose and throat.

The kiss was wet, messy, and tasted of smoke. His tongue was relentless against yours, saliva pushed from the corners of your mouth, running down your chin as he forced more and more whimpers from you. He continued to fuck you with his fingers, adding an abrupt third while he sucked on your tongue, before pushing his tongue back into your mouth with a grunt. The smoke was bitter in your mouth, his saliva tasting of it, but it made you moan out anyway– a sound that had Simon dropping a whispered "oh, fuck" behind you.

The heel of John's hand pressed hard against your swollen clit, causing your entire lower body to shudder. The sensation of three of his big fingers inside you was enough to have the pleasure in your lower stomach rise. The roughness of the digits inside you, thrusting against your warm, slick walls and that spongey spot inside you, had your head spinning.

"John, m'gonna– please can I come?" You mewled out, almost dropping John's cigar as your fingers began to tremble.

"You wanna come?" John whispered. "You wanna come? And you're asking your captain for permission? What a good fucking girl you are, sweetheart."

You always loved it when both your boyfriends brought their ranks home. Maybe it was because you were a civilian, but it always had you feeling some type of way.

You mewled again, high-pitched at his words. Behind you, you could hear Simon grunting and groaning, and the wet fap fap fap's of him stroking his cock. You wished you could see it. He always looked so pretty when he jerked off. Such a pretty boy.

"Come 'round your captain's fingers, then. Go on," John said, fingers nailing that spot inside you each time. "And kiss me while you come."

You did– when your orgasm crashed over you, you crashed your mouth onto John's. You shook against him, cunt squeezing his fingers tightly and thighs shaking against his lap. You whined his name into his mouth as, once again, his tongue found yours, pushing more of the acrid taste of smoke into your mouth. His free hand left the back of your head and he plucked the cigar from your hand when he pulled away from the kiss. He placed it back into the ashtray, his other hand leaving the wet heat of your cunt. He grabbed hold of your hip and began grinding you down against the bulge in his trousers. You blew out a long, whiney breath.

Behind you, Simon's orgasm was approaching. Tired and bordering overstimulated, you managed to turn your body to watch Simon as John slowly rocked you against his lap. You whimpered out "you're so pretty, Si" when you finally got a good look at the way he was fucking his fist, his hair dishevelled, lower face still shining with your slick. His cock twitched in his hand at your words, and he moaned your name. Your clit began to throb with need.

"Christ," Simon hissed. "Can– fuck– can I come on your tummy, baby?"

"Please." You whined, butterflies filling your stomach.

John helped you twist in his lap until your back was against his chest. Simon got off the couch and approached, still pumping his cock with his lower lip snagged between his teeth. He grunted with each movement of his hand.

Meanwhile, John weaved his arms around you, large palms cupping your tits as he leaned back further against the couch, exposing more of your midriff to Si. He squeezed your tits, rolling your hardened nipples between his thumb and forefingers, his smoky breath brushing over your shoulder. He nosed at the pulse behind your ear, eyes watching Simon as more pre-cum leaked from the blond's cock.

"Beg for Si, sweetheart," John whispered in your ear, loud enough for Simon to hear. When you whined, John tutted in your ear, rolling your nipples harder between his fingers. "Use your words."

You gasped out. "Fuck– please, Si. Want your– oh, fuck– want your cum, please."

Simon's mouth dropped open, a guttural groan following as he jerked his cock once, twice more, before pushing his hips towards you. He came in hot spurts, covering the soft shape of your tummy in stripes of milky white. He grunted out your name, fisting his semi-hard cock with cum-covered knuckles.

"Fucking hell..." Si breathed, standing over you and John still. John let go of you, running his hands down your body soothingly.

He looked up at Si, who was now ripping his shirt over his head and pulling his trousers and boxers all the way off. John was the only one still completely dressed.

"You want her first?" John asked, rubbing your thighs. You leaned back into him, humming contentedly, eyes closed.

Simon cocked his head. "You don't–?"

"I'll watch first," John said with a smile. "Besides, I've got a cigar to finish."

The real reason John loved watching was, well, exactly that. He always loved watching how you reacted to Si– how you reacted to his touch, his mouth on your skin, his praise. He also loved the way Simon bullied his fat cock into the tight heat of your cunt. John's eyes almost closed in pleasure at the thought.

Simon offered John a grateful smile, before he was gently guiding you off of your other boyfriend's lap. He gathered you in his arms, hugging you for a moment. You squirmed slightly; his seed being smushed between the two of you.

"How do you want me, baby?" He asked you as John grabbed his cigar, situating himself more comfortably at the end of the couch, beginning to unzip his straining trousers.

"Want you on top of me..." You whispered, carefully prying yourself from Si's grasp and flopping onto the plush rug beneath you. You spread yourself out on the rug, sighing through our nose, your body on perfect display.

Simon was hard again. "On the floor?"

"Mhm..." You smiled at him, and you heard John chuckle in the background. You looked over at John. "So the captain get's a good view."

John cracked a smile. "Yeah? You want to get fucked on the rug like a good little whore, hm?" He had pulled out his cock by this stage, pumping himself slowly. Like Si, he was big, the tip reddened and leaking dribbles of pre-cum.

You smiled, biting your lower lip.

Simon settled onto the soft rug between your legs, large hands massaging your knees before grabbing the backs of them and pulling you closer to him. You couldn't help but giggle as you were yanked down the rug, but the giggle dissipated to a stretched out moan as you felt the solid warmth of his cock against your inner thigh.

He grasped his cock at the base, running the ruddy tip up and down your soaked folds. He hummed in pleasure, smearing more of your arousal against the curve of your arse and your inner thighs. The sensation made you shiver, and he squeezed your thigh in comfort.

"S'alright, baby, I'm here," Simon cooed, circling the wet tip of his cock around your swollen clit. "I'm right here..." He mumbled, dragging the tip through your folds until he reached your leaking hole, pressing against it gently.

Your back arched off the rug, your entire body heating up. The one hand he had on your thigh felt like it was burning you, searing into your skin. You whimpered out for him– Simon, Simon, Simon– hands scrambling for purchase, grabbing at the soft rug.

"I know, my girl, I know, 'm gonna give you what you want," he told you, circling the head of his cock over your cunt. More arousal leaked from you, meaning more arousal smearing onto his cock. He stuttered around a groan. "Such a p-pretty pussy, baby. So wet. And such a good girl, too. Been such a good girl for me and John."

John groaned from the couch, muffled around the shape of his cigar. He had stopped stroking himself, and was gripping his cock, hand resting near the patch of dark hair at the base. A hazy cloud of smoke hung in the air above him, and you could smell it– smell smoke, John, Simon, sweat and sex. You took a deep breath.

"Here you go, darling, take what you need," Simon whispered, leaning over your body to place a delicate kiss to your lips as he slid his cock inside you. His pace was deep and slow, dragging against your gummy walls and dragging embarrassingly loud noises from your mouth. Simon groaned too, the feel of your wet heat around him almost too much. When he bottomed out, he mouthed at the crook of your neck. "I love you."

Tears were in your eyes now. He was just so big. But he was so, so soft with you. Gentle.

"I love you too, Si," you said, kissing his cheek. You then looked over at John. "I love you too, captain."

John bit back a moan. Captain. Cheeky girl.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Simon shifted his hips, dragging his cock out of you. It glistened with your arousal, and it made his face grow hot. He bit back a whimper when he pushed inside you. You gasped, and he did it again. Again and again until he had a set a rhythm that had your entire body on fire, writhing against the rug.

"Si." You moaned, arms moving around his shoulders until the tips of your nails were scraping across the muscular planes of his back.

The head of his cock filled you deep, knocking up against the base of your cervix. The sounds were wet and lewd, paired with your moans and Simon's hushed grunts. John watched and listened, his cock twitching against his stomach as he pumped himself, his cigar resting between his lips.

"You feel so good, baby, fuck. Such a good fucking pussy," Simon grunted into your neck, before he lifted himself back up to look into your eyes. He ground his hips against yours, his cock bullying up against the plug of your womb, stretching you open. You mewled, high-pitched and desperate, scratching at his back. He smiled, strands of damp blond hair falling over his forehead. "That's it, baby, mark me up."

No doubt his back would be striped with red lines by the time he was done with you.

Your body was burning hot against the rug, sweat building at the base of your spine as that familiar knot in your stomach began to grow tighter– pulling and pulling as Simon fucked you.

He had both hands on your hips now, pulling your body to meet his with each of his timed thrusts. On the couch, John had to slow the movement of his hand so he didn't come too soon.

"S'that feel good, sweetheart?" He asked you, taking the cigar out of his mouth for a minute. "Is Simon making you feel good?"

"Yes..." You whined, overwhelmed. You felt so good.

John repressed a groan at the whine in your voice. "Then tell him. Tell him how good his cock feels inside your tight cunt."

Simon closed his eyes. "Christ, cap–"

You moaned, then moved one hand away from Si's back, to his head. You grasped a fistful of his hair and tugged gently, forcing your boyfriend's eyes to open and a strained moan to fall from his mouth. You kissed him, then uttered against his lips, "You're making me feel so good, Si. I l-love your cock– oh my god–!"

Si had reached a hand down and was now rubbing circles on your clit. Your words had his brain swimming, his thrusts deepening and pace quickening. The tight ball of pleasure was drawing tighter and tighter in the base of your tummy, your cunt fluttering around his cock.

"Yeah? You love this cock. baby?" Si mused, a noticeable quirk in the corners of his mouth. "Well, it's all yours, isn't it? S'your cock, jus' like this is our perfect– fuckin'– pussy."

Si punctuated the last three words with heavy thrusts, making you cry out. His words were slurring as his orgasm neared, sweat dripping down his abs.

Our.

That made John groan and come all over his hand and stomach. He moaned your name, head flopping back against the couch, the remnants of his cigar already in the ashtray. The moan of your name was followed by a "Jesus Christ, Simon."

"John–" You moaned, wriggling against the rug. You were so close, and as Simon maintained his deep, heavy thrusts, it wasn't long before your cunt was beginning to squeeze him tighter, your legs shaking around him.

"Please, Si," you gasped. "Please, please–! M'gonna, oh my god, m'gonna come– please don't stop."

Simon grunted above you, his fingers still working against your clit, his cock still rutting into you deeply.

"Come for me, baby," he whispered. "Come on my cock. That's it, baby, yeah– good fuckin' girl."

You came around his cock with a sob of his name, your cunt squeezing him tight as the ball of pressure snapped in your tummy. Your orgasm was hard, slamming over you and rendering you breathless, your head floating. Your clit pulsed beneath the movements of his fingers, and in your blissed out state, you vaguely noticed the shapes he was drawing across your clit.

S... I... M... O...

That cheeky son of a bitch.

N...

You sobbed out, your orgasm finally settling and your body going lax against the rug. Simon moved his fingers away from your clit, and used both hands to grab each of your knees. He bent your legs, pushing them up against the rest of your body, folding you in half so he could split you deeper on his cock.

You wanted to scream. He was hitting so deep. You were so fucking full.

"Good girl..." You heard John mutter behind you. That made your stomach flip.

Simon was close. He was huffing, grunting. His eyes were glazed over, pupils dilated so much his eyes almost looked black. His gaze never left your face as he pounded into you, his cock sliding against your slick walls, drawing dribbles of your arousal out of you with each thrust.

"M'gonna come in this tight cunt," Si whispered, almost too quiet for you to hear. He spoke louder when he continued his sentence. "You want my cum, baby? You want me to come inside you? Want me to fill you up, fill this pretty tummy?"

"Please–!" You sobbed.

"I will, pretty girl, I will. Want you to take it all... take it all like a good girl," he moaned. "Get you– get you pregnant. Fill you up with my kids. I'd look after you, baby. We'd look after you."

You were almost crying now.

"M'comin', baby," Simon all but growled above you. "Take it all. Take it, take it, take it–"

He came, moaning around your name. He came a lot, too– liquid warmth flooding your insides, leaking out around the shape of his cock, punching a moan from his lungs. You shook beneath him, trickles of his cum dripping down the soft flesh of your arse.

He didn't pull out. He simply moved to the side and kept you hugged against him, lying against the rug with you. He looked up at John, who was still sitting on the couch, half-dried cum splattered across his shirt.

Simon smiled. "Join our girl and I on the rug, cap?"

John smiled in return. "No time for rest, Simon. It's my turn."

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ended it here cause i'm lazy but i hope you enjoyed x

#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #call of duty #fem reader #cod smut #call of duty smut #captain john price #simon ghost riley #price cod #ghost cod #simon ghost riley smut #captain john price smut #captain’smetallica

2K notes · View notes

phntmeii · 8 months

Note

Hil

Im not sure if your taking requests for writing, but if you are I was wondering if you could do a slashers × S/O who is very strong but doesn't look it?

If that makes sense...

Like the S/O is very sweet, short and small, like she looks petite and fragile but it turns out she can easily lift extremely heavy things, or can punch really hard.

Like even harder or stronger than the slasher.

If you could specifically add Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, (NBC) Hannibal and Will, and maybe Thomas Hetwit?

Sorry I don't know if that's too much to ask for, I just love your writing so much!

Being Stronger than Slashers .

[ SFW + Fem Terms]

Pairings: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Thomas Hewitt x petite!strong!Reader General Warnings: Descriptions of Gore/Blood, Violence, Slightly OOC, Descriptions of panic attack/episode, Manipulative behavior mention

A/N: ty anon for request <33 Back to slashers :) Sad I haven’t posted more of them literally in Halloween month but I’m working on it (last second lol) </33

Bo Sinclair

Absolutely turned on to the fucking max when he sees your strength.

Small, sweet partners was always his type. He just loves fulfilling the typical male stereotype of being a protector over his partner.

When he turned the corner, looking to finish off the last victim of the lot within his abandoned town, only to see something better.

He watched as you effortlessly were carrying the body of the victim over your shoulder like it was nothing. Head completely caved in, more of a mass of flesh and blood than an identifiable person. Your other hand held a bloodied hammer.

Bo was completely still, but not of fear. He was standing there like a man who had completely re-fallen in love again.

His eyes were shining as his grin grew wide. Approaching, he was nothing but prideful.

His voice was light with a chuckle, thumb brushing away the blood on your cheek. “Shit, sweetheart… Never knew a pretty girl like you was so… strong. I love it.”

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent was overprotective a lot of the time. He was insistent you were never near his work nor would you be involved when victims were in town.

He loved you too much to have you a part of him and his brothers’ work.

Vincent was slightly startled, hearing the door of his studio open. He knew both his brothers were out.

Seeing it was you, he approached, silently looking down at you. You could tell there was an air of disappointment at you being in his studio when he didn’t want you to be.

A ragged, strained voice spoke from behind his mask, “Why?”

With a shrug of your shoulders and a smile, you walked past him, further into the studio. “Bo said he needed a box in here.”

Watching you walk past, his eyes were hidden but widened as he watched you easily lift up a heavy table to look under it, scrolling past the items underneath it.

He approached confused but didn’t stop you. “Oh! Here it is!” Your arms held up a filled box of tools and parts.

Vincent followed you around curiously for the rest of the day like a shadow. He was completely fascinated by your strength, wanting to see it again.

Once you returned from helping Bo, Vincent couldn't let go of you. He kept his arms around you, head on your shoulder. His quiet, strained voice simply said, "Show me again... Please?"

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal always held an air of curiosity about you. Your sweet nature was like an untainted part of his life. A woman so far from himself.

Hannibal’s curiosity was never-ending. He took advantage of his intelligence to learn as much as he could. Stalking, Manipulative behaviors in “therapy”, etc.

You were almost always at his place. He liked it better that way although it provided some maintenance when it came to his extracurricular activities.

Hannibal had been making another of his fancy dinners for the two of you. The presentation had to be precise and perfect. Presentation was half the work for him.

He absentmindedly spoke while you were cutting vegetables beside him, “I have not set the chairs. I will do so in a moment, my love.”

Immediately, you wanted to assist. You always liked helping out. “I’ve got it!”

Watching you walk away, he expected to finish his current task before going off to assist you. Instead, he looked up to the doorway to see you easily walking past with a heavy wooden chair in each hand, easily carrying the two like they were just a stack of papers.

A small smirk curled at his lips as his hands slowed in their work. He whispered to himself, knowing his eager curiosity was not wasted, “You are… a delight, my love. You will make for something truly wonderful.”

Will Graham

Will was someone who was vigilant and aware. His mind always raced a million miles an hour with tiny observations and connections.

There was something about you but he just couldn’t place it.

But, what was there to prove? You were sweet and kind, seeming so far from what he knew. That was part of why he held love for you—You weren’t him.

Will was in his head again, silently panicked by his own mind. It was torturous to live in a prison of his own violent thoughts.

You were someone who always noticed. Always could pick up when these episodes started.

Holding his hands and speaking sweetly to him to draw him back to reality, unfortunately, wasn’t working this time.

His eyes kept darting back and forth while his breath quickened. With him standing still, quivering, you had to make the choice.

With simple ease, you picked Will up bridal style, walking away with him.

It took him a moment to realize what happened, breaking out of being inside his head. His eyes just stared at you when he was placed onto his bed, sweat drenching his forehead.

He broke out into a small smile, absentmindedly licking his lips, as was his habit. "I... didn't know you could do that."

"Is it a bad thing?"

"No. It's... really attractive, actually."

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy was always a protector. Toward his family, it was evident. A given. Toward you, it was an inherent need.

The last thing he'd ever want is for you to be hurt, especially when victims come around.

He would lead you and Luda Mae into a room, having you two barricade it while him and Hoyt took care of the unfortunate victims who made their way to the wrong home.

You waited, albeit anxiously. And it only grew once you heard a loud thud followed by Hoyt's yelling.

"Goddammit, Tommy! The fuck are you doin'?"

Immediately you knew something went wrong. Despite Luda Mae trying to keep you in the room, you ripped away the makeshift barricade on the door and rushed out.

Tommy was on all fours, holding the side of his head. A man, you assumed one of the few victims, held a hammer in his hand. He quivered holding it, as if horrified by his own self-defense.

Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest chair, pulling back and cracking it hard against the man. Aimed for his head, he dropped to the floor unconscious by the impact.

You rushed over to Tommy's side, panicked. "Tommy! Tommy! God- Are you okay?"

His arm just instinctively shot out and held you to his body, protecting you in his mind. He opened his eyes and looked past you to see the victim with broken wooden pieces of the chair on top of him.

With his mask on, his expression was hidden. But inside, his heart warmed at how you were strong enough to protect him too. His own protector.

#slasher fucker #slashers x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher x reader #slashers #slashers headcanons #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt headcanons #thomas hewitt x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #vincent sinclair headcanons #vincent sinclair x reader

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bad268 · 3 months

Note

can I request a clingy Kimi Antonelli

where he’s obsessed with kissing reader and overall being affectionate to the point he does not want to let go of her before the race and Toto is like “leave the poor girl alone Kimi” while Susie is like “you were like that before”.

HELP IDK HOW TO END THIS BUT YA ALSO LOVE YOUR WORKS 💗💗💗

Clingy Antonelli (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 2/3

Requested: Clearly (I loved this too much lol I'd be down to do a Clingy Antonelli series and we need some fluff after this race lol)

Warnings: none.

POV: Second POV (You/your, but it does say 'poor girl' once)

W.C. 1025

Summary: Sweet reunions bring Clingy Antonelli to the surface.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

It was a common occurrence that you were in the paddock with Kimi. Ever since you decided to attend school entirely online, you were by his side, and it may (or may not) have been because of the begging you received from Kimi.

It started when he was in karting, and he just wanted someone familiar to talk to. Then, when he moved to championships, he was always one of the youngest ones competing, and it was weird being the odd one out. Around the same time, you were given the option to switch to online school. He begged you to do it, so you could travel with him. How could you say no?

Not to mention, you loved taking pictures, especially of your favorite person, and PR from both Prema and Mercedes would pay you for some of the pictures. It was just easier to pay you since you always took pictures of Kimi.

But that’s beside the point. You were doing what you normally did whenever Kimi was a guest on the F1 paddock: sit beside him silently as he listened in on a meeting. Sure, it was not your favorite thing to do, but it was a standard. And most of the time, the meetings did not even concern Kimi; he just had to sit in them because he was their junior driver.

You were sitting in the back of the room, holding his hand and not paying attention at all. That is until Kimi started pulling at your hand to get your attention. You turned your head and met his eyes. The look he gave you was one you recognized immediately, a silent plea for you to sit on his lap. With a joking sigh, you moved onto his lap as he smiled laid his head on your shoulder after giving you a kiss on your cheek.

“You’re more clingy today,” you whispered to him, “What’s up?”

“You’re going to leave for two weeks,” he complained as his arms tightened around your waist. “I know you miss your family and friends, but I won't see you again until right before the race.”

“Don’t worry, amor (love),” you consoled as you rubbed his arms, leaning further back into his hold. “I’ll be back before you know it, and we’ll be back traveling in no time.”

“Yay,” he chuckled before cutting himself short, “And I’m not clingy.”

“Oh come on,” you replied in disbelief, turning your head to meet his eyes. “Clingy Antonelli is my favorite.”

Despite being with your family for once, Kimi would call you at any chance he could. He just needed to hear your voice and see you before doing anything racing-related. It was one of his superstitions, and you did not plan on standing in the way of it.

Flash forward to when you finally came back. Due to the time difference, it was only 12 hours from the last time you talked to Kimi, but for him, it was nearing 20 hours. He knew that he had to give you space at some points, but this? Nope. He was sure that your plane should have landed ages ago, yet you still were not on the track. You had yet to answer his calls or texts, and he was starting to get anxious.

He was pacing around the garage, half listening to his strategy team go over the plan for the race. He half-registered some Mercedes personnel walk into the garage but did not think anything of it since he remembers them saying they wanted to see him in action this weekend. Little did he know it was Toto and Susie Wolff in the flesh. They talked a little bit with the team before they turned their attention to Kimi.

“Is he always this nervous before a race?” Susie asked Toto, knowing that he had seen Kimi racing in FRECA before, but she did not remember him saying that Kimi got nervous.

“Not that I remember,” Toto responded just as confused before he turned to Kimi’s race engineer with a questioning look, gesturing in Kimi’s area.

“He’s missing his lucky charm,” Anthoine laughed, shaking his head. It’s said when you talk about someone, they appear, and that’s exactly what happened. Like clockwork, Kimi’s head snapped toward the garage door as he heard your unmistakable laugh. Kimi immediately took off, trying to find you. It did not take long because you were right around the corner, about to walk in with Ollie. Kimi wasted no time, picking you up in a tight embrace as he peppered kisses all over your face. Anthoine chuckled again as he pointed at the two, “Oh, look. They’re back.”

They all let you have your moment in peace. Kimi needed it. His nerves were through the roof, everyone could tell, so despite knowing that he needed to get in the car as soon as possible, they stepped back. The last thing they needed was an anxious driver on the track.

You could not even hear what Kimi was saying, just a bunch of anxious thoughts coming to light. You let him rant as much as he needed before he finally set you down and placed a long kiss against your lips. He pulled away all too quickly for your liking before leaning against your forehead, whispering, “you’re never leaving me again.”

“My flight got delayed, and my phone died,” you whispered back as he went back to placing butterfly kisses all over your face. “I wanted to call you.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” he sighed, hiding his face in your neck and breathing you in “You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

“Leave the poor girl alone, Kimi,” You heard a voice behind Kimi chuckle, causing you to look over his shoulder. It was Toto and Susie Wolff, which caused your eyes to widen and your face grew red in embarrassment. Immediately, Susie’s arm came up to smack Toto in the shoulder.

“Oh, leave them alone,” She countered, “You were just like that before we were married.”

“Oh, he’s just being Clingy Antonelli,” you laughed, nervously. “I’ll get him into the car, don’t worry.”

~~~

Part 2 ->

~~~~~

#andrea kimi antonelli x reader #andrea kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli #kimi x reader #formula 2 x reader #formula 2 imagine #f2 x reader #f2 imagine #f2 #f2 x you #f2 fanfic #formula 2 #prema racing #bad268 #ship268 #thing268

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cweampier · 1 year

Note

I just think Leon is so vocal in bed and he is the king of dirty talking. I love it so much

ohhhh… oh yeah, definitely… he’s such a talker sorry for the lack of posts lately, i’ve been very burnt out lol

cw for dubcon if you squint

finding himself deep inside your pussy as it squeezed around him? oh yeah he’d start mouthing off. you squealed and writhed in his arms while he just tried to keep you in place, still fucking his flushed cock into you, reaching unimaginable distances. kissing your cervix with his mind set on filling your womb. it was like he was on autopilot, driving himself further, harder, faster. his mind was spiraling, as he shoved your face into the pillows. skin damp with sweat, he continued to drill into you, unyielding.

“no.. can’t.. can’t fucking stop.. don’t wanna.” he panted out, breaths wavering as sweat collected atop his brow bone, mixing together collecting a sticky concoction on his forehead as his brows knitted together, causing the skin to wrinkle. “please, oh, please fuck me, fuck me~ fucking—hh’god!~” he rambled absentmindedly, pulling your ass closer to his pelvis, flesh suctioning together as he tethers your bodies into one with each snap of his hips. his eyes shut tightly, letting out a few strained groans of fulfillment.

“want you to fucking.. cum around my fucking cock, sweetheart. fucking need it,” his voice trailed off as he threw his head back, hair sticking to his forehead, tousled and chaotic. “please cum around my cock, your cock, ‘t’s yours, baby.. promise ‘t’s yours.” he heaved, hips bucking roughly in an animalistic fashion, pupils dilating widely. the usual blue of his irises being disrupted by the spread of his dark pupils. “‘t’s your .. fucking cock, baby.. all yours, fuck..” he echoed himself, nipping at the skin of your shoulder to cease his idiocy.

a depraved yelp elicited from your throat only to be muffled by the plushness of the pillows beneath you, practically suffocating against them as he continued to hold you still. he was hitting it so fucking good, ripping every ounce of defiance from your body as you just took it. all of it. sounds of your drenched cunt filled the room as well as the satisfying sound of his balls plapping against your particularly sensitive nub, causing your knees to buckle underneath you. you pawed at the sheets, hands clammy as you’d strike the pillows weakly. with one final clamp around the base of his dick, you unraveled completely, flooding the bedding beneath you.

but, leon was an addict. he was a fucking fiend. his greedy ass did not stop plowing away, making you shriek and protest against it, legs thrashing against him, the balls of your ankles digging into the sides of his thighs. he hissed, gripping your hips with a hold that felt almost bruising. “good fuckin’ girl.. such a good girl.. going all dumb on my cock like that, baby… you love it s’much. got’chu.. creaming ‘round me.. hmmff..” he babbled, pressing a large hand onto your lower back, arching your stomach into mattress further to somehow plunge himself deeper into you. he seemed to be edging himself, unrelenting. wanting to ensure he piped you to the brim with his seed.

“so messy, so .. fucking wet, shit!~ pussy’s fuckin’ sucking me in, haah!” he squeaked with urgency, throat tight with exhaustion. his hips ached with care, the stiffness of his joints palpable as his thrusts became sloppy, uneven, uncoordinated. you couldn’t speak, could hardly move. your voice was broken down and hoarse from all that hollering. one thing about leon, he’ll always slut you out.

#tima is back w another shitty post #i’m so sorry if it isn’t up to your standards </3 #so unfiltered… naw leonnnnnnn #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #cweampier

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silvergyus · 7 months

Note

Bro doggy style with beomgyu would be so sexy like- imagine him taking pics of u from behind or damn recording it. I literally need a fic dedicated to it.

take a photo

pairing: beomgyu x fem!reader

summary: beomgyu likes to record when he fucks you from behind

warnings: kind of dom!beomgyu, beomgyu (consensually) photographs & records during sex, creampie, reader has a vulva, pussy slapping, mention of y/n's hair being long enough to pull, hair pulling (y/n receiving), use of "baby/ babe/ pretty girl/ good girl" for y/n

word count: 1,100+

author’s note: not sure if this is what you were looking for anon lol please enjoy my first time writing this kind of dynamic

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Beomgyu fucking you from behind with deep strokes, relishing in the way your pussy sucks him in. He’s big and in this position you can feel him all in your belly. He has a grip on your hip, lazily pulling you back onto his cock, hips still as he moves you back and forth. You let out a long, low moan at the feeling of being filled completely.

You can hear his smirk even before you turn to look at him chuckling quietly. His bangs fall in his face, shadowing his eyes as he looks down at you. He caresses your side and ass, still slowly pulling you back onto him. His guitar-calloused fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You whine at the sensation, your skin electric under his touch as he moves you along his hard cock once again, his personal toy to use and play with.

“Pretty girl, already so fucked out,” he says, kneading the flesh of your ass, “and I haven’t even done anything yet.” You can hear the edge in his voice as his hands push you forward until just the fat tip of his cock remains inside you. “How are you gonna act when I fuck you for real?” he taunts, hips finally moving, pushing all the way in with a sharp thrust. His hand wraps in your hair as you moan again, burying your face in the crumpled sheets to muffle the loud sounds of your pleasure. Beomgyu tugs your hair, pulling your head back and making you arch your spine. You hear the click of a shutter and see a bright flash as he snaps a photo.

He moans as the photo displays on the small screen. His hips pick up the pace, spurred on by the permanent image captured in pixels. The digital chip in this old Nikon is filled with photos just like this one.

“Gyu!” you cry out, “hnngh- it’s too much.”

“Shhh,” he shushes you, “you can take it baby; I know you can.” He continues his quick, punishing pace, the room filling with the sound of skin slapping skin and your wet cunt sucking him in.

You moan again from his words, hands gripping the sheets tightly. Beomgyu’s hand is still in your hair and he pulls it once again. His other hand moves from your hip, supporting you as he pulls you up, back pressing to his chest as he continues to fuck into you. You see the camera as he raises it high, fitting both of your bodies in frame. “Smile for the camera baby,” he says right before the flash goes off.

The image that develops is your sweat-soaked skin, hair plastered to your face- Beomgyu in a similar state as the hand that isn’t holding the camera cups your breast, holding you in place as you’re impaled on his length.

Beomgyu groans when he sees the photo in the tiny, pixelated display. He presses a wet kiss to your cheek, moaning into your ear- “so pretty baby, always so pretty for me when you're taking my cock.” His words draw a high-pitched whine from your throat and he allows you to flop back onto the bed. His hands are rough as they position your legs further apart to give him better access to your pussy. Once you’re exactly as he wants you, he snakes a hand up to again paw at your chest.

He drops the camera onto the bed, moving the hand that was holding it to your chin. “Look how pretty you are.” He turns your head towards the camcorder filming from the nightstand. You can see yourself in the grainy display. You moan loudly at the sight of you being groped and filled. Beomgyu laughs again, placing a kiss to your shoulder as he continues to pump into you.

“Can you cum for me baby? Want to see it in the movie.” He makes eye contact with you through the pixels on the screen. You nod, shivering with anticipation and the knowledge that he’ll watch you cumming over and over again.

“Good girl. Let me hear you when you cum, okay?” His hand finds your clit, neglected up until this point. You squirm when his rough fingers tease the bud. “Does that feel good baby?”

“Yes! Yes Gyu- so good!” Your voice is high and wobbly as he continues to rub your clit, his fingers dipping into your wet folds, coating them in your essence before returning to where you need him most.

His hips continue to pump into you as he chases his own high, his grunts and moans loud behind you. The dual sensations of his cock filling you completely with each thrust and his fingers finally playing with your needy clit cause you to cry out a series of broken whimpers and moans. The incoherent babbling of just your boyfriend’s name again and again as all other thoughts are driven from your mind. You can feel your high approaching rapidly, the tension building in your tummy as you race towards release.

Your cries are broken by a swift slap to your pussy- Beomgyu’s fingers landing perfectly on your clit, sending bolts of electricity through your body. Your orgasm hits you like a truck and you shake in his grasp, moaning loudly as you come undone.

“That’s it baby, that’s it. Cum for me baby, right on my cock.” He moans, feeling you clench around him as your orgasm washes over you.

“Please!” you beg, “cum in me!”

Beomgyu’s rhythm falters as he cums. Burying himself to the hilt as he collapses against your back, the two of you moan in unison as he paints your walls with his hot cum. You can feel his hips stutter against your ass, chasing his pleasure for as long as possible. You clench around him and earn a low moan in your ear. Your skin is hot and sticky everywhere his body touches yours.

You lay like that for a moment as the two of you catch your breath. Your knees burn, suddenly able to feel them as you come down from your high. You wriggle your hips, signaling to your boyfriend that it’s time for him to pull out.

He pulls out of you, marveling at the white, sticky mess dripping from your swollen pussy. “You’re so hot, baby.” You hum in content, face resting against the tangled sheets.

----

Later, after you're both all cleaned up, you find Beomgyu sitting at the edge of the bed, watching the video play on the tiny screen of the camcorder, the shitty speakers distorting your broken moans. You catch him smiling as he watches the video, eyes wide and extremely focused, tent obvious in his shorts.

"Hey babe?" he asks, "would you want to go again?"

author’s note: this is a work of fiction not meant to accurately represent the idol. please do not repost.

#txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu hard hours #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #ari writes #ari's mailbox 📬#txt: beomgyu

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twistedbloodstain · 5 months

Note

I have two ideas for the marquis de framing that I think you’d do great writing!

1: where the reader is interrogating the marquis (meaning she kidnapped him) and through there, they start to get feelings for each other

2: reader (who had a relationship of some sort with the marquis) fakes their death because they couldn’t take the assassin world. The marquis is devastated (lots of angst hehehe). They meet again while the reader is trying to help someone (maybe John, lol)

3: reader who is part of the high table meets the marquis for the first time. Sorta like live at first sight.

vincent de gramont x reader: i could never give you peace | what’s meant to be is supposed to be

plot: the one where he finds you again.

warnings: the reader’s a medic/healer in here SORRYYY…, she knew john from before, he rats her out lolz, kidnapping except vincent doesn’t do it this time..(yay! cuz he forced someone else to do it!!!), anon im so sorry i focused too hard on one part, i will do an extra (i swear)

masterlist

“stay still.” you mumble.

mr. wick lets out a small grunt while you sew his wound back together, nothing too fatal (at least in his standards) but without the help of any anesthesia or alcohol to soothe the pain, the assassin had no choice but to follow.

“don’t worry, it's almost done.” you whisper almost finished with patching up the flesh on his back. “and..there..”

he immediately gets off his seat and reaches for his shirt stationed on a random desk scattered with medical supplies. he digs into his suit jacket and fishes out a coin and hands it over to you, you accept it eagerly and begin cleaning up.

“you need any help with transport?” you inquire while you discard your bloodied gloves and utensils.

“yeah.”

“on your way out turn left and find the guy with a gray jacket. he’s one of winston’s men, he’ll help you out. where are you headed?” you inquire while washing your hands. he hesitantly answers before offering a reply.

“paris.”

“oh.” you stop in your movements and look at him. he stands near the door way all dressed up with blood caking his temples, he still looks rugged and in no shape to do what he has to do in pairs but your opinion likely doesn’t matter to him.

“good luck, i guess.” you mutter.

“you’ve been there.” he says.

“i..have.” you hope he doesn’t press any further.

“what’s in paris?” he questions but doesn’t take a step further.

“for you?” you uneasily say, he doesn’t reply.

“a dangerous man. i..think you’ll die trying just to get what you want, mr. wick. but hey, who knows? maybe, it’s now him.” you explain.

“the guy who had the continental demolished, was it him?” he sternly asks.

“..yes, i think it was him.” you confess, avoiding his eyes.

it had been almost three years since you left that country.

three years since you left him.

you can’t even bear to say his name because if you do, all of it will spill out. how he met you, how kept you and how he loved you.

he nods, “and for you?”

“an even more dangerous man.”

ever since mr. wick entered and left your clinic. you've been in a constant state of anxiety. the mere thought and mention of him had you nervous, especially when you heard that he was in new york a few days ago. you thought it was all over, that he found you and was going to rip you from your freedom in this city.

the following news shocked you to your core, the new york continental being demolished was not in your bingo card as to why he’d be here. all because of an excommunicated assassin which you had tended to almost a day after the bombing.

although you’re horrified with the state of events, relief flooded you when you realized he wasn’t there for you. you’d still be safe from him.

but you can’t help but think what all of this means for him. at some point, you know that john wick will kill him, and you somehow played a part in it. you feel a tinge of regret for him but it’s quickly overshadowed with the horrors he’s done and you don’t feel as bad.

he did like you though, when you still worked at france for him as his estate medic. whenever he found himself wounded in the line of fire in an ambush attack, you were the one who tended to his wounds and saw him at his weakest. you don’t know why but a strong sense of trust was established between the two of you.

you thought it to be a friendship but fleeting glances of affection would seep through when you talked or when a large bouquet of flowers suddenly appeared in your clinic after patching him up.

you toyed with a pin he gave you, his insignia. only he wore it proudly on his coat and truly, it warmed you to him. he did make you feel appreciated, small touches on your back and sometimes fiddling with your hands whenever you sewed his wounds, gave you butterflies in your stomach.

with you he was just…vincent.

soft words and touches with soulful eyes looking into yours, just gentleness and affection present in him. it made you indulge into it too, that he isn’t the cruel man people made him out to be. he isn’t heartless, that’s just how the world is.

a naive perspective.

a perspective that was easily shattered when you’d hear a bloodcurdling scream from the barn, and he walks out with blood on his hands and a disgusted look on his face from his clothes being stained. gunshots echoing beneath the servant’s staircases and thudding bodies being dragged into the secluded forests of the estate. you whisper to yourself those very same words even if all his actions sent chills on your spine.

but the truth of it is that, he is heartless. he is the man people made him out to be and you’re a fool thinking he could be better for you but at the end of the day, he is still the marquis.

it made you think. what if this is all a game to him? what if the moment he finds you uninteresting you become another stain on his suit?

it’s not a secret that men like him love having delicate pretty things only to break them apart. that’s all you are his current delicate and pretty thing.

you decided to leave. you weren’t staying long enough to find out what would happen to you, feelings be damned when you’re easily replacable to him. you knew that the marquis was like a dog to a bone when he didn’t get the things he wanted, which only pooled fears into your stomach should he find you in new york.

he cannot have you.

you stare at the pin before chucking the pin somewhere in the room, you get up from your chair and begin closing the windows from your clinic.

a knock comes from the door, you chuck the remaining medical materials into a random desk and walk up to the door. wounded assassins aren’t a strange occurrence at this time of the evening but something…felt different.

your gut was telling you to ignore the person on the other side and stay still. you thought that maybe if you didn’t answer the person would go away. wanting to play things safe you don’t mutter a word that would alert them of your presence. it usually worked in some cases.

the knocking persists, much harder and louder now. your hands begins to shake and your eyes start looking around for an emergency firearm to help defend yourself, your actions frantically halt when you hear a voice through the door.

“doc?” a gruff voice asks.

you sight and put a hand on your chest. it’s just john wick. you eagerly open the door to let him in.

“john.” you greet, “come inside.” you invite him as you walk inside.

john doesn’t follow you and a confused expression takes your face, until you take a good look at him. for the first time, john wick doesn’t look wounded to you, his face and hands void of any blood, a new bulletproof suit adorning his body, a french one you notice but it still leaves you questioning things.

“i’m assuming france went successful.” you say.

“…it’s close.” he pauses before replying, seeming as if he’s finding the right words to say.

“what do you need?” you question.

“it’s winston. he’s been shot.” you freeze.

oh dear. you never really approved of the things he did but a soft spot was always present for him and charon. they helped you settle here in new york, but winston took you in even when he knew of your history with vincent. you swore to always help him in ways you could and now the opportunity presented itself.

the car sped down the street with you and john in tow. you hold your medical kit close to your lap, feeling uneasy with the thought of losing the old man. charon had been so recent and you don’t think you bear to lose the friends you’ve made along the way.

you glance at john and he looks calm and composed as usual, eerily so. a week earlier he was calm but you could feel his anger and determination simmering underneath his skin. now it looked like he was taking a walk in a park. you eye him carefully, uneasiness seeping in your stomach.

“did they give it to you?” you ask, he looks at you before clearing his throat.

“just an extension.” he answers, knowing exactly what you were referring to.

“to do what?” you ask again, john doesn’t budge and continues driving, ignoring your question. your eyes stay on him but he doesn’t look at you.

silence settles into the car and you lean back in your seat. you really wish your brought your gun with you right now. you don’t know why but you have a feeling that something is wrong right now, especially with john. he’s not telling you something.

or maybe it really is none of your business. perhaps he wanted to spare the bloody details of how he’s going to win his freedom back. you relax and try to forget the uneasiness, trying to remember that winston is the priority right now, you shut your eyes. all of your fears are gathering together and it’s making you overthink your interaction with john, everything’s okay.

the loud sound of drilling makes you open your eyes, you look at the window and you see a familiar street.

the new york continental was being rebuilt.

your apprehensiveness returns.

“john?” you look at him once again, “who shot winston?”

“he got hit during the line of fire.” this time he replies.

bullshit. winston would have an emergency plan before the shooting started.

“in new york?” you press.

“yeah.”

another bullshit. you could see through his lies, he’s clearly fresh out of france. what was he trying to do?

“j-john.” you voice shakes almost as if you’re begging. something happened in france, something that saved both winston and john.

he looks at you with regret in his eyes. not enough to save you for what’s about to come.

“where are you taking me?” you sputter, your heart beating fast in anxiety, “i’ve done nothing but help you, please don’t do this!”

“he took winston with him and he found out.” he quietly defends.

“please help me, i don’t want to go back!” you begin crying, tears rolling down your face, “he’ll kill me!”

he makes no reply and continues driving. with no hope left with him, you try to open your side of the door. he immediately notices this and grabs your arm trying to stop you from leaving, you begin hitting him with your other arm.

you know that he doesn’t want to do this but it feels so unfair. you’ve saved his life only to throw yours away.

“let go of me!” you scream.

“i’m sorry.”

you feel a prick in your neck.

you feel a heavy sensation pulling at your leg, your eyes feeling groggy still wanting to keep your lids closed. however the sensation persists and this forces you to open your eyes and sit up.

a dark room welcomes you, only a small lamp helping you take a small look of where you are. specifically, on a plush bed and a decorated room. your body feels heavy from exhaustion which makes you lean back to the pillow behind you.

pondering what made you feel so tired when you haven’t done much for the night, you’ve sewn back together…a pair of assassins for the night? or was it three? two austrians and…who?a french? no…no..it was winston.

that’s right.

wait.

only you didn’t treat winston.

you bolt up, your body seemingly sobers from the realization.

john brought you here in exchange for his freedom.

you look around to see some sort of presence in the room but with the darkness it was hard to tell, nevertheless you hopped off the bed and bolted to the wooden door nearby. no wonder the place looked familiar, only the marquis would have a place as frivolous as this.

you need to leave right now. your hand reaches for the door until you find your body being slammed on the floor. a groan leaves your throat, in pain you massage your forehead and look around.

oh goodness.

a gasp leaves your mouth when you see a chain wrapped around your ankle, you inspect your foot before tracing the lines of chains, which were sourced on the thick foot of the bed you were on.

you tug it to check its strength and to see how long it actually goes. it was long enough to walk around the room but not long enough to reach the door. this is basically your fully furnished torture chamber.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

a loud creak echoes through the room.

you really hate how things are right now.

he’s going to kill you. kill you for leaving him, how you easily made him look humiliated for being abandoned.

feeling your knees weaken you sit back on the bed and your hands shake in trepidation. the marquis’ simple presence made you scared of him, you felt tears falling down once again and you lowered your head, not wanting to look weak right now.

his footsteps are heard through the room, the door loudly closes shut, a thud echoing. he doesn’t say a word.

you feel everything leave your body. hope,freedom and life mostly.

he walks up to you until you see his shoes on the floor, a blurry sight entering your eyes due to the tears, he touches you, tilting your chin upwards and you do everything not to flinch. was he going to snap your neck?

you look at him and he still looks the same, slightly more mature.

but the same man you met a few years ago, if you jumped back into your rose tinted glasses, you’d probably see the vincent you cherished at some point if you weren’t so frightened right now.

he inspects you, his eyes wandering through your face. searching for something that’s supposed to be there, his lips part almost as if he’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“i-i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” apologies spill out of your lips, wanting to take the chance of saving yourself, “i-i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to.” you cry. your hand reaches up to his hand that held your chin and you grip it for mercy, his hold on you weakens.

he doesn’t say anything and leans forward to you. you need him to say something, anything, whether it meant he’d simply say he wants yuu dead.

“please forgive me, just please don’t kil-“ he cuts you off.

with a kiss.

not a firm one but a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips.

he takes your hands into his and fiddles with it, trying to find his place in them just like before, he halts the kiss and leans towards your face. the man right in front of you wasn’t the marquis, it was vincent.

your vincent.

the one with soft eyes looking at you with relief and adoration. the gaze that looked at you as if you were the most precious thing on earth, he wipes the tears on your cheeks and the next thing he says dissolves all sense of worry out of you.

“i could never hurt you.” he whispers.

author’s note: this kinda doesn’t make sense bc im so braindead rn to expand things but basically vincent finds medic!reader through winston and in exchange for the continental and john’s freedom, john brings medic!reader back to vincent. so basically she got ratted out lolz. this would work better if i made a vincent pov would be fun but i have a bunch of prompts to work on…(tempting) + he literally chained her down to him (hshshsh marriage allegory…) i kinda want to be funky dynamic of obsessed man + “ngl what’s wrong with this guy but i vibe with it” woman

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comfortless · 3 months

Note

so. please consider: König is a prince (yeah we aren’t going full king this route, maybe he has an older brother or some complications having the throne to himself but either way he has some power just not all of it lol) and reader is part of a performing troupe that usually acts out plays outside of the castle. he goes out to watch them and becomes so desperate for her that he gets /her/ to perform as /him/ when the plays are about his heroic deeds or whatever.

i have had this idea stuck in my head for days and i just know you can bring it to life 🩵

the evil little König in my head took over. no one look at me. 🥩🏰

prince!König x fem reader.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. dubcon. mentions of adultery (not committed by reader or König), corruption kink (virgin!König), cunnilingus, light roleplay, scent & praise kink, smut (piv), reader is kind of evil here (König still manages to be worse), allusions to abduction.

“You are certainly lovelier than my wife, the Queen!”

He had his sword drawn, not high enough to elicit panic, but just enough to know that yes, there was a very present threat. This could be a bloodbath in an instant. Speak another word — he won’t refrain. He feels his teeth grit, grating, ash in the mouth and in the air.

The actors are unaware where they are stood on stage, and the mass of bodies surrounding barely take note of their Prince. A phantom. Loathed thing that he has always been. More hated than even their lecherous, stupid king. There’s only one thing he’s good for and it’s never been politics; there’s no need to garner up public appeal when your stage is a foreign field littered with blood and corpses.

Another insult to his poor mother and the city could be one too.

From a small wooden booth acting as a prop depiction of a brothel, steps a woman. Barefoot, bare flesh, the only thing she wears is a breast band and a loincloth of finely stitched lace. She isn’t a whore, not in truth, but she looks the part of the women his men rush to the second they’ve returned home. Ale and sex in abundance, and he’s never had the focus for the latter after a round of the former.

He watches as she sways, draws her hand to her forehead and bats her lashes while her other trails up her thigh to the hem of the piece concealing her womanhood. She stops with a laugh, turns to the crowd with sparkling eyes and says, “You lot should not cheer! The Queen surely deserves better than a womanizing fool!”

König’s never been one for plays, how tactlessly they slander the royal family and make jest of current affairs. This troupe, though… he thinks it’s done in taste. Or maybe it’s just her.

Even as the aging performer with his weathered face and messy gray beard acting the part of his father rushes to the pretty thing on stage and paws at her waist, König can not tear his eyes away.

The scene reaches its end when the brothel is burned, enacting something horrible the king had done several springs ago. Bereaved, the woman returns to the stage and bares her breasts, monologuing so sweetly as she feigns tears for her fallen sisters.

König swears to be nothing like his father but he still finds his trousers fitting more tightly at the sight, not foul enough to touch himself here, if ever at all. His heart aches with each fragile word spilled from those plush lips, and his cock demands further engagement with each gentle sway of her body and heave of her round tits.

His sword slots back into place at his hip when the scene comes to an end: the crowd a storm of laughter, the fire of the torches illuminating the street flickering, the actors dissipate behind the wooden stage, and all at once the play is over.

Tactless and impulsive, he thinks to thank her for not furthering the set-up for a joke, looks the part of a proper fool when he makes his way backstage where she’s sat wiping away carmine from her cheeks. The actress’ eyes go wide and hazy when she catches sight of him towering over her, the cloth and mirror slipping from her hands to rest on the table.

Of course, she takes it as a warning, asks him if he would prefer they only act out the current affairs— the recent siege of the southern kingdom, maybe? Or a story about the harvest festival? The gods or beasts? Anything she can sputter out to the man she easily recognizes as being the Prince.

König only finds himself further endeared when she dips her head as if ashamed and moves to conceal the bare skin of her stomach as though it would be insulting to see her in such a state of undress.

He excitedly tells her about the siege, of how he slaughtered those treasonous men and so valiantly brought their women and children to the capital to live much more honest lives, boasting while she looks on in acute, wonderous horror. That’s what he chooses, even pulls his hood from his face and drops it into her lap when he tells her she has to play his part.

The actress explains to him, docile and sweet, that she’s never played a male role and certainly lacks the stature to accurately represent him of all people. To which, he laughs, bids her a farewell with a flick of his wrist and wanders back out into the cobblestone and muck to finish up his patrol of the city.

A fortnight later, she returns to the stage in hastily put on armors, his veil hanging proudly about her head, a wooden sword clasped tightly in her hands. The crowd watching laughs at her expense as she tries in earnest to perfect the way she imagined his sword must have danced during that siege. The male actors fall with each tap of the weapon’s tip, and her voice takes on a forced, deeper tone when she speaks her praises to the kingdom she’s pilfered glory for.

König only sees fire, not in the flames of torches but lain out before him, a heat that courses from the picture of this beautiful little doe on stage straight down to simmer in his chest, his stomach. She’s so cute, pretending and doing her best just to appease him that he finds himself backstage again once the play concludes.

It’s just to talk, to congratulate her on a wonderful performance. He even presents a hefty sack of gold coins to her when she returns his veil, and she marvels at the donation, takes each piece and turns it in her fingers for a time before setting the little bag on the table.

Her brow scrunches for a moment before she settles on offering her hand out to him, fingertips ghosting over his upper thigh, loitering on the armor shell protecting him and drifting further up until he takes her hand and interlocks their fingers. Surely then, the actress comes to realize that her prince is as pure as the sisters in their temples.

She breathes out a laugh and shakes her head.

“I mean to pleasure you, my Prince,” she says, less meek now and more insisting. Her hand draws back to remove the prop armor from her body, eyes never leaving his own.

Though he considers the woman’s offer heavily, pulse stampeding and heart aching, he does eventually will himself to voice a weak refusal.

Never does he keep himself holed away from her for long, even after; König returns for each play whilst his men go about patrolling the city for prowlers and thieves. He watches each performance and continuously seeks her out backstage after. They talk each time, with him offering his suggestions and her clamoring for excuses as to why, no, she isn’t fit to play his role for another fight or some drab court meeting.

Finally, the same song and dance proves too much.

This night, there is no play and König still finds himself in the room cluttered with set pieces and props. The other actors have gone about seeking their own affairs for the evening; bedsides to coax comfort from or mugs of ale and bowls of bone to drown themselves in whilst gambling away the coins the hungering crowd has thrown their way.

She sits with him, perched up on her little table wearing nothing at all. Her skin is lit aglow by candlelight, the incense burning bathing all in the welcoming, warm comfort of lavender and rosemary. There’s ash in his chest again when he finds himself at her side, already aching with a want that should not exist, one that he would deny in full with bared teeth and blurry vision.

Only, she doesn’t prompt him with questions when her palms splay flat at the chest of his tunic, just grins like a wolf given a fat leg of mutton when she feels him begin to tense. She assures him that she’s only teaching him to act after demanding that he kneel, catches his jaw atop her hand and guides his face between her thighs where he then pants and groans at the foreign, enticing scent.

It awakens something in him, something bathed out and buried in blood, the very same that courses through his veins like a violent river now. A feral look and an iron grip on her hips that would leave bruises is all she gets. All until she hisses out the words, “I am your princess and you will do as I ask.”

The first lick is hesitant, clumsy, his stubble grazed over her most sensitive parts as he slips his tongue across the smoothness of her slit. He doesn’t have an idea of what he’s doing, only enacting the vile things he’s heard men about the castle speak of, how to properly take a woman apart and push her to not only want, but to need.

Mostly, she’s unimpressed.

When he gathers her taste on his tongue, he becomes a man possessed, ripped away from duty and sovereignty and brought down to the lowness of mere swine. He groans into her cunt, laps and suckles at anything his tongue and lips can touch, savors the sight, dewy and swollen when he presses a kiss to the bud that finally does get her to purr.

“Sweet boy..,” she coos to him when her hands find his hair, petting him so gently as he continues to lap at her clit. “You’re taking such good care of your princess, yes?”

His mind blanks entirely, driven forward with a renewed, feverish vigor as he dismantles her wholly with a drooling mouth and an unrelenting stare. Rationality should have pulled him away before it ever got to this point; she’s a peasant, and he can’t run amok fathering bastards and condemning himself to Hell for a simple woman. But that’s all beaten back by her taste, the way she writhes in his hold, keeps whispering her praises and lacing those soft fingers through his hair… no amount of devils or men could pry him from her cunt.

Only she does when her voice comes in a pant and her grip tightens to pull him back. The table, his face, all sticky and wet with what must have been her very essence, drawn out by a man lacking experience but so unknowingly eager.

“Take off your clothes,” comes her next demand, one he obliges with a great hesitance.

The tunic is pulled away with shaking hands, the tie of his trousers next. He mutters a curse below his breath when his cock springs free, so erect and angry it looks painful. The tip drools just as much as that fluttering heaven between her legs, pearly beads of preejaculate leaking down to stain the fabric and further condemn him to this impromptu fate.

He jerks when she wraps her hand around him there, whines when she leans forward to kiss its head.

“I can’t…” His voice sounds weak to his own ears, pathetic and miserable as he makes a mock attempt at prying her away with a gentle press to her shoulder. “My princess… we should not.”

He’s almost certain she’s a devil herself sent to exact some punishment upon him when her lips curl up into a grin and she lies back with her knees drawn to her chest. She speaks such words to him then that he would not dare to ever repeat, songs only the unknown could sing. An angel, perhaps, when she slips a finger into herself to demonstrate to him just what should be done… there, with panting breaths and whispers of heaven.

And finally, when his cock throbs and kicks at the sight, all resolve is entirely lost. He positions himself over her where she guides the tip of his manhood to her slit, praises his size when his hips give an involuntary twitch and he slightly dips into her, sampling her warmth and the resistance from something so thick pressing into her.

His world crumbles at the sensation, cobblestone replaced by the raging heat of brimstone and an obscene lust that clouds his mind and leads him to spear her open to his hilt.

He finds holiness in their union, bites back a roar when her walls tremble around him. She only laughs when his teeth find her shoulder, only sings more hymns into his ear as he fucks into her cunt at a reckless, brutal pace. The words don’t register, far-away and distant amidst the roaring tide of sensation. She’s so tight, so wet and yearning, quivering beneath him and clawing down his back.

“We shouldn’t, hm?,” she whispers in his ear, teeth grazing the lobe. His strokes become even sloppier, each thrust stuttered and heady when the sound of her voice pulls through the haze of bliss. “My sweet boy is so good at this, though…”

His voice is nearly a wail when he loses himself fully then. He holds the back of her thighs, fucks himself through an orgasm that leaves his head spinning and his body shaking as though he’s come down with some wretched fever. And perhaps he is ill, because he can’t bring himself to think of anything more than the divine rapture of stuffing his seed into the warmth of her pussy, can’t bring himself to pull his cock out of her even when he begins to soften.

His face is buried against her neck, professing his endless love as he breathes her in and ruts into her over and over until his cock is once again stiffened and drooling inside of the very cunt he would die to keep.

Surely, when her troupe begins to pack to drift further out into the kingdom for their performances to be seen… he could accuse them of slander, have the old man playing the part of the lecherous king executed, the others thrown into rat-infested cells, and the little princess tethered to his bed to warm his heart and his cock.

He will kiss away her tears, tell her that all could be forgiven if she would only let him make an honest woman of her.

#könig x reader #tw: dubcon

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afictionalwhor3 · 6 months

Text

Mrs. Serensin

A/N: Back again from the dead lol. College is kicking my ass I cannot even lie. Also, I've been pissed at the lack of diversity in fandoms/fan fics until I realized I can literally change that lol so here's my take enjoy. One shot, I wrote wherever the wind took me.

Dad!Jake Serensin x Wife!Reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, established relationship, fluff (Jake and reader being domestic and in love), only minorly proofread.

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It wasn't the warm sun on your skin that woke you up. Or even the usual patter of feet and knocking at your door that pulled you abruptly from sleep. It was the feeling of soft lips on your skin. Feather light and if you didn't focus you might've missed them. You stirred softly looking over your shoulder as Jake looked back at you with those gorgeous green eyes you fell in love with so many years ago.

"Morning Mrs. Serensin" He says with that famous boyish grin on his face as he presses a soft kiss to your lips.

"Morning" You mumble wiping your eyes after you kiss him back. "What time is it? Where are the kids?" You asked him. In seemingly no rush Jake went back to his previous role applying warm kisses to the column on your throat and along your shoulder. As much as you wanted to enjoy the moment you couldn't help but anticipate the screaming of children.

"Relax... kids are still sleeping. It's pretty early. It's just me and you darling" He says and some of his Texas drawl slips out making you smile. You lay on your back to properly look at him your hands tracing over his exposed chest down to his defined stomach. His ability to keep up with his physique while parenting three kids always ceased to amaze you. Jake smirks down at you putting his hands on your hips and giving them a squeeze.

"So are you telling me Mr. Serensin that I have you all to myself for the unforseeable future?" You ask smiling at him as he leans in close to you.

"You do Mrs. Serensin. But I don't know for how long so I plan on making the most of it," He says pressing his lips to yours passionately as you wrap your legs around his waist. After your third child, you were scared that yours and Jake's sex life would die down, or maybe he wouldn't even find you attractive anymore. Boy, you couldn't be further from the truth. You could swear that after each kid Jake only began to worship you more.

"You're gorgeous. Always so pretty" Jake whispers to himself when he pulls away from your lip to kiss at your jaw. He then quickly gets rid of his old navy shirt you had on. Slipping a finger up your slit smirking as you whimper. "Always so wet for me mama. I love it." He says pressing his lips to yours again as he slides a finger into your pussy making you moan.

"Jake please. I need you so bad. No teasing please," You beg. The nagging feeling of getting caught lingering at the back of your brain and you don't know what you'd with yourself if this moment between you two was interrupted. Jake slides another finger into you curling them just right to make your eyes roll back as you grab his wrist.

"There you go baby. I got ya. Always gotta make sure you're ready for me." Jake says pressing kisses to your collarbone as he gently pulls his fingers out and takes off his boxers. He guides himself up to your slit teasing you briefly before slowly sliding himself inside your heat both of you letting out breaths of pleasure. "Fuck you're always so tight for me mama. Three kids and you're still tight as the first night we met" Jake breathes into your neck.

One of the many things you loved about sex with Jake was how he wasn't scared to be vocal. You loved all the filthy things he would tell you as he fucked you into oblivion. No matter how many times the two of you had sex it would never get old. And this time was no different as he began thrusting in and out of you, "Yes Jake. Right there baby" You moan your hands finding his back as your nails dig gently into his flesh.

"Pussy's always ready for me. Always ready to take me. Ain't that right baby?" Jake asks as you nod. Usually, he loves to take his time with you, always wanting to make you cum before he even thinks about pleasuring himself. Unfortuantely this morning he didn't have that luxury and there is no way he would pass up an opportunity to watch you lose yourself on his cock. He sits up putting one leg over his shoulder and after a couple of hard thrusts he watches your jaw go slack and your eyes roll back. "There we go mama. There's the spot I was looking for. Feels so good doesn't it baby?"

All you can give him is moan after moan as you spiral deeper and deeper into pleasure. Jake realizes you losing your volume control and presses his lips to yours. "So loud for me. Love when you vocalize how good I'm fucking you baby" He whispers against your lips.

"Jake you're fucking me too good. Don't stop baby and I'll cum. Gonna cum all over your cock" You moan locking eyes with him. Now it is Jake's turn to get lost in your big brown eyes. The same ones he saw everytime he looked at your children.

"Gonna make a mess on my cock baby? Go ahead. Cum for me, I got you" He instructs as he slips a hand in between your body and begins to toy with your clit. That is the final straw for you as you bite softly into his shoulder to control your moans of pleasure. The spasming of your orgasm around Jake's cock has him cumming only a few strokes after you "Fuck baby I'm stuffing your pussy Oh god!" He moans into your ear before relaxing against your body.

You both lay in post orgasmic haze for what feels like forever "We should probably get ourselves together sometime soon before we end up having the birds and the bees conversation a lot sooner than we planned," Jake says making you smile. You run your hands through his hair a few times always trying to maximize the alone time you two shared,

"I guess you have a point there" You say as he smiles looking at you and kissing you "You are the love of my life Mrs. Serensin" He says before slowly pulling out of you as you whimper at the loss of contact. He stands up getting a warm cloth to clean you up with before he uses it for himself. After he does so you stand up so you can start getting ready for the day. You walk over to your closet finding clothes to put on after your quick shower. As you do so you hear Jake whistle behind you making you look over your shoulder,

"Looking good has always Mrs. Serensin. Do you know that everyday we are together you get sexier?" Jake asks as you roll your eyes and go back to the task at your hand biting your lip to hide your smile. You grab a towel before looking at him again,

"You know you don't have to sweet talk me anymore? We're married you know I'll give it to you whenever you want. Also I have a name outside of Mrs. Serensin" You say rhetorically loving that he calls you that all the time and never stops trying to woo you like the days he asked for your number.

"You know better than anyone I love the chase. As long as I'm on earth I'll spend that time hitting on you. You're too hot not to. And if I wanted to call you by your name I wouldn't of married you." He says as you continue to hide your smile from him and walk towards the bathroom. Before he can even ask you say, "No Mr. Serensin you cannot join," you smile as you see him fake pout out of the corner of your eye.

"They have the little festival thing in the park we could take them to. Wyatt and Cam loved it last year with the face painting and the balloon animals." You say as you and Jake finish getting dressed for the day almost ready to wake the kids up. Jake walks over slapping your bum gently before wrapping his arms around you.

"Whenever you tell me to go Mrs. Serensin is where I'll be" He says as you roll your eyes. He buries his head in crevice of your neck enjoying the fresh smell of vanilla that is so uniquely you he can smell it wherever he goes.

"Well there's also-" You start before both you and Jake hear a loud crash from downstairs. Both looking scared you race out of your room and downstairs. Jake keeps you behind him the whole time as you walk into the kitchen and see your three children covered in some kind of mix and eggs. Both of your jaws hanging open.

"We wanted to surprise you and make you guys pancakes" Your oldest Wyatt says as you sigh taking a deep breath as you see Jake try to refrain himself from laughing. You hit him lightly in the arm as you get closer to your babies.

"That is so sweet of you guys but next time you can get one of us and we will help you. Just to make sure no one gets hurt." You say picking up your youngest, your little girl Julia as she smiles that big toothy grin at you. "Surprise!!" she says holding her arms out as you hold her at an arms length laughing softly.

"How about daddy helps you guys get cleaned up and dressed for the day while I clean this mess up. After that we will all get breakfast and if you're good go to the park." You say as they all clap in unison. Wyatt and Cam make a dash past Jake racing to the bathroom as you walk over to him putting Julia in his arms.

"Get to cleaning Daddy. There's a lot of work to do" You smile giving him a kiss as Julia cuddles into him leaving Jake stunned and just as dirty now. Yet he can't help but smile at you, then his little girl, and at the life he currently as. Despite the egg yolk on his shirt, and the mess that he can already hear happening in the upstairs bathroom, he swears he wouldn't change his life for anything.

#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin smut #top gun maverick #top gun hangman #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake serensin x black!reader #dad!jake seresin #hangman imagine

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polyo-nym-y · 28 days

Text

Desserts, Served.

[Bon Appétit Pt.2]

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Alastor x Female Reader

[What to expect/Warnings: NSFW MDNI!!Blood, begging, P in V, you get restrained by his tendrils, soft ending, dirty talk, idk its tame for how I write Alastor LOL]

[Part 1 Here]

[Link to full drawing here]

Hello! Oh my goodness I am just utterly speechless by the positivity within this little horny community!

Thank you to everyone who liked my first post and who commented wanting a part two. This is for you guys <3 I’m sorry it took FOREVER to finish but I was nervous about disappointing lol.

But I needed to get this posted cause I have SO much planned for the future >:3

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You watched as his long fingers hook under each suspender, slowly slinking them off his shoulders. He sent a toothy grin down to your disheveled form. As if the red of his eyes were literal hell-fire, you felt his gaze rake over your body, heat quickly following wherever they went. “What do you say, darling, are you ready for dessert?” His voice was low and heavy, the sound settling in your ears but you were unable to process what he exactly said. Your own rapid heart rate was all you could focus on as you tried to calm yourself down from the overdose of dopamine you just experienced.

A chuckle rattled from him as he reached a hand out, talons holding your chin to direct your gaze at him. His ears twitched as he cocked his head to the side, staring into your wide and glossy gaze. “Hello~? Still with me? I don’t recall eating that tongue of yours.”

Your head was foggy from your release and eyes too focused on how beautiful he looked right now. The room was dark save for the soft lighting of a lamp on a far table. His eyes glowing ethereally and his smile softening around the edges.

Alastor leaned, pressing his hips further against you. The feeling of his clothed hard-on against your exposed flesh was more than enough to wake you from your dreamy state. Glancing down trying to see him pressed into you. “W-What?”

“I asked you a question.” Pinching your chin his claws dug in slightly, trying to get your eyes back up to his. “It’s not a proper meal without dessert, you know.” He hummed a tune you didn’t recognize as he leaned back and away from you. “But if you’re full-“ He physically withdrew himself from you, reusing the same manipulation tactic he used earlier.

Just as he hoped, it brought panic to your eyes. Once again the idea of losing his touch rocked you to your core, literally. Suddenly realizing how cold and empty you felt without him and his addicting touch. The exhaustion you once felt melted away as you pushed yourself up from resting on your elbows. You lurched forward, fingers yanking Alastor in by his shirt. Crashing your lips into his you wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him into you, ensuring he couldn’t back away any further.

He watched with wide eyes for only a moment before he quickly melted into the kiss. One arm wrapped around your waist to press you flush to his chest. His other hand came to hold you by the back of your neck with a firm pressure.

His half-lidded gaze never left you as he swiped his tongue over your lips, asking entrance. To his dismay, however, you instead pulled away from him. His long fingers tightening at your neck as you struggled to pull your lips from his, his own hunger and greed showing.

You slowly slipped your eyes open to find him already staring at you. Having leaned away from his lips just enough to ghost words across them. “I’ll never count a meal as satisfying until I’m feeling stuffed.” You could feel his grin grow as he narrowed his eyes on you. “And I’m famished.”

Once again you felt the air around you grow heavy. Static began to prick at your skin as it buzzed in your ears. The lamp flickered in the background as the entire room grew darker. “Oh, Mon Cher…” his words were so heavily filtered you could barely hear him, the static began to rise further. His claws danced from the back of your neck as his hand nestled to your front. His large palm gripping you by your throat as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I'm going to fuck you stupid.” Instantly, blood rushed to your cheeks. He dropped the innuendos and the shock from it had you frozen like a deer in headlights.

You felt him tighten his grip around your throat, lips parting to gasp air instinctively. The room grew dark, too dark, as the space was completely shrouded in shadows. The only presence was Alastor, his glowing gaze seeming brighter than before. His little antlers began to grow above you. Perhaps, you thought, you were indulging him too much.

Fear flooded your senses as he drew himself up from you, stature taller than before. Suddenly, you were being thrown down against the desk by your throat. Body tensing as you braced for a hard impact of wood and vintage radio equipment. Your hands flew to grip his wrist as you were thrown back. But the pain you expected never came as instead a plush softness enveloped you. You blinked, darting your gaze around as the shadows withdrew, allowing light back in.

The sound of a zipper and a rattling laugh snapped your attention back to Alastor. He loomed over where you laid on the edge of a soft surface. “Oh ho! You should’ve seen yourself just now!” His shoulders bounced, his genuine laughter had you squeezing your thighs together. “Fear looks good on you, my dear.” He’d coo over you.

Confused, you glance away from him as you begin to crawl backwards, you turn your attention to the room. Realizing you were no longer in his radio tower. Instead, you were resting on a soft bed in a familiar room, your room. “Wha-” You turned back to Alastor squinting up at him. “Oh, fuck you! You think you’re so funny?” You tried to keep the playful squint but you couldn’t stop the smile that wanted to form.

You pushed yourself up into a sitting position, eyes glued to the open zipper as he untucked his shirt. The bed dipped as he stalked closer, his knee settling on the mattress. “I know I’m funny, darling.” You had just barely caught a glimpse of his dark happy trail before you came face to face with Alastor, who had crawled over to you. One black palm settled flush against your chest. A devious smirk returning to his features as he pushed you back down on your back.

A huff of air left your lungs as you were knocked down. Eyes scanning over his face as he situated himself above you. As you felt his hands pry your legs open at your knees, you let out a scoff. “Tch yeah…funny-looking..” you would taunt under your breath.

He quirked a brow at you as he sat on his knees between your legs. “Ha. Ha.” One of his hands worked on removing his bow tie whilst the other flicked the bite he left on your inner thigh. Chuckling when you flinched and yelped in reaction, the wound still raw and tender.

Your gaze lingered lower as he began popping the first few buttons of his shirt open. “You know? Maybe I should eat that naughty tongue of yours.” When your gaze snapped back up his bones cracked, antlers reaching out like dead tree limbs. He fell onto his palms as his large body caged you against the bed.

A nervous smile crossed your expression as that similar fear rose in you. But it wasn’t typical fear, no, this feeling was something raw and instinctual. The fear a prey would feel when cornered by a predator, with a sprinkle of lustful anticipation. Your body tensed under him as one hand grabbed your jaw, fingers that somehow grew longer squish your cheeks forward. “You’d miss it.” You’d mumble out with your lips being forced to purse.

“I don’t know, my dear, you can still moan without one~“ releasing your face, his hand trailed down between your breasts and settling on the softness of your stomach.

Your breath caught in your throat as you heard it before you realized what he was doing. Goosebumps littered your skin at the sound of ripping fabric. “Alastor!-“ a gasp of his name left you. He tore your nightgown straight down the middle and sliced the remains of your underwear that clung around your waist.

“I would, however, miss that.” His eyes fell from yours and followed down the dip of your breasts.

Just as quickly as you went to cover your exposed chest did his shadow-y tendrils appear. Multiple jutted out from his back as they wormed their way towards you, slipping around your wrists and tangling all the way down your elbows. You fought against them at first but they were stronger than you, as they yanked your arms above your head pressing them into the bed. Your back arches as you weakly struggle against his hold, mostly just testing him. But your body freezes as you feel something hot and hard smack against your pubis area.

One hand holds his exposed cock at the base where it pokes out from above his pants. A toothy grin as he watches you jolt with each smack of his swollen tip against the hood of your clit. The mere sight of him had your arousal re-awakening, needy cunt clenching around nothing.

“C’mon.” He slowly pumped his cock, spreading the precum that eagerly dripped from his tip. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

Your jaw clenched at his vulgar request as you felt your whole body flush. Though your eyes never left the monster he held against you, swallowing nervously as your lips parted slowly. You found it difficult to ask for something so depraved. Not to mention you were growing more nervous at the realization that when his body grew larger, everything grew.

He saw your hesitation, and usually he’d take time to enjoy your dismay and embarrassment. But right now? He needed you completely and he was done stalling.

Lazily he rubbed his cock up and down your slit, mixing his pre-cum with your slick. When he saw your face contort he moved with more intention, his cock twitching in his hand as he rubbed against your clit slowly.

“Please..” you pleaded meekly as your eyes rose to meet his. The look he sent down to you sent a tingling feeling through your body. There was such a deep hunger in them that you were certain he was just as desperate for this as you were. The thought of The Radio Demon nearing a breaking point to have you? That had a small smirk forming across your face. You felt him twitch and throb against you as soon as you smiled.

“Alastor, Please.” His grin strained as he watched a cocky glint appear in your eyes. “You said you’d fuck me stupid. Aren’t you a man of your word?” You stretched as much as you could as you rolled your hips up against him. “Or is the scary Radio Demon a-“

A growl interrupted your taunting, a choking gasp leaving you. Without warning he thrusted into you with his hands shifting to grip your hips. Thankfully, you were thoroughly lubricated. However, you were not prepared for the burning stretch you felt as his thick member fought against your tight walls. Tears welled in your eyes from the overwhelming feeling and you were shocked to see he wasn’t even halfway in.

Trailing claws scratched down your tense thighs as his hands cupped under your knees. In one quick movement he had your knees pressed against your chest, ass lifting from the bed slightly. With this movement alone you felt him slip in just a little more, were you panting? “To think I ever planned on being gentle. You don’t want gentle, do you?” His glowing red gaze flickered as darkness flooded them. The air in the room began to tingle and prick at your skin as his filter grew heavier once again. Something that you were noticing indicated a strong surge of emotions coming from Alastor. As if what he felt was so heavy it practically oozed from him, sticking to your skin. You tried to control your breathing but he was making it difficult in more ways than one.

Tears slipped down the sides of your face as you tried to blink away the blur they caused. Trying to focus on Alastor who loomed above you like a monster. Body unnaturally large, grin spread tightly across his face and his dark eyes spun with red dials at their center. That confidence to poke the bear melted away quickly as you tugged at the tendrils around your arms. But they only responded by pressing your hands into the bed further. Your lips parted to try and frantically babble some weak reply. But any words you planned on saying were distorted into a yelp-like scream. With a sudden snap of his hips he buried his ungodly length into you, sinking to the hilt. Through bleary vision you saw the shape of him pushing up your stomach from where it reached deep inside of you. For the first time in your afterlife you thanked God you were dead, knowing well that Alastor did not intend on going easy on you.

Just as you thought, he did not give you the luxury to adjust. His claws dug into your skin where he held your legs. All you felt was the intense fullness, unaware of the small cuts his hands left as blood slowly began to drip down onto your chest. Gritting his teeth he fought against your tight hole to wrench himself out before snapping back into you. The force of it involuntarily rips a moan from you as your eyes roll back before slipping closed altogether.

Like a well trained dog your eyes snapped back open, missing their momentary rest already. Your obedience won, however, as you instantly looked up to him at the sound of your name. A sweet staticky purr rumbling from him as he spoke. “Eyes on me, Mon Cher, I want to witness your descent into madness.”

Your heart fluttered and he sucked in sharply as he felt you clench around him. How did he manage to be so alluring whilst being so demonically horrid? Perhaps that was a fault on your part and your questionable desires.

“Hm~? You like that?” His voice, the air, your body and his body on yours, everything felt heavy and hot. The heat of it all coated your skin in sweat as you felt your thoughts literally melt away into pathetic puddles. Panting, trying to will your body to grow accustomed to his size, you couldn’t do anything but look up at him with pleading eyes. “The thought of me corrupting you? Ruining you?” You felt warmth slither under your back as more tendrils worked their way to you. Pushing your lower half up from the bed completely as he contorted you. He shifted, sitting up on his knees as he buried himself deep inside you. The lifted angle had you seeing stars, swearing that he’d pierce through your womb completely.

You choked, spittle running over your lips as he rutted into you. He started a deep and focused pace. Laughing sadistically at the sounds of your choked out moans and the squelching of your cunt. Tendrils replaced the hold under your knees as they held your legs open wide for him. Talons now free to rake up your body as he enjoyed your quivering response.

“P-Please-“ you wheezed out between gasping breaths. “T-Too much-“ despite your pleas, you both felt how eagerly your walls twitched around him. Your cunt had a firm grip on him, making it difficult to even pull out for a shallow thrust. Even with the slower pace you felt that coil begin to twist in your stomach.

“What do you mean, darling? Did you not say you wanted to be stuffed?” You bit your bottom lip, trying to hold in the cry you wanted to let out. Your own hubris has come to bite you in the ass, like it often does. All you could do is whine, meekly shaking your head. “You poor little thing. Have you gone stupid already? Because despite what that mouth says- down here?” Another deep thrust rocks your whole body but he doesn’t pull back. Grinding his hips down into yours so roughly you swore your bones were bruising. “Down here is begging for the exact opposite.”

“F-Fuck- please-” Somehow he managed to grind right into your sweet spot. His breathing became ragged above you as he felt his last little bit of restraint leave him. A static hiss left him as he drew his hips back only to drive his cock roughly back in. Frantics pleas tumbled from you as you were begging for your second release.

“Say it-” his thrusts were hard and fast as he fucked into your cunt, chasing his own pleasure. “Say my name- fuck,” his filter dropped as your ears were blessed with his raw voice. At some point more and more tendrils leaked from him as they wrapped around you, their warm grip flexing with every thrust.

He had you completely bound by his tendrils, forced to be nothing but a hole for his cock. His hands were so tight on you and right now he could care less if it hurt. Alastor watched you wheeze under him as he grew frantic and sloppy with his thrusts. As one of the shadows slithered between your bodies to lovingly rub against your clit, you felt your orgasm come to its cusp. You screeched his name like a dying animal as every muscle in your body tensed. His thrusts became shallow and deep as your cunt spasmed around him. Your second rush of dopamine settled over your body in waves as he continued fucking you through your orgasm.

His hips stuttered as he panted out a laugh and brought a hand down to grab your face. Keeping your head still as he bore into your fucked-dumb eyes, watching them widen as he reached his peak with a grunt. Your legs spasmed and a deep warmth flooded your abdomen as he pumped his cum into you. Your release tipped into overstimulation as he didnt stop fucking into you even after cumming. “My sweet girl.” A long moment passed before he finally slowed his assault. Coming to a full stop once he saw your eyes fully glaze over as he knew he was losing you again. His chest rose and fell rapidly as each tendril slowly left your body, gently lowering you back onto the bed. “Youre my sweet girl, right?” He wanted to see if you were still listening.

You blinked through tears as you watched his body shrink back to its original size, albeit still large compared to you. You nodded up to him slowly and winced when he removed his claws from where they dug shallow cuts into you. His smile was soft as he slipped himself out from you. He couldn't stop his eyes snapping down to watch his seed seep from your lips.

A silence fell between you as you laid there trying to lower your heart rate. Your eyes watched him as he cleaned himself up before tending to you. His touch was much gentler on you as he scooped you up to tuck you under your blankets. As your mind began to clear you began to worry- was your deal just for one night? “Alastor?”

He hummed a response as he looked you over. He saw that familiar fear, the fear of him leaving. An amused sigh left him as he settled into the bed beside you. “Hush now, dear, you need to get some rest.” He snapped his fingers to turn the lights off before pulling you into his chest. “Afterall, I intend on sharing many more meals with you.”

You felt him bury his lips into the top of your head as your anxiety melted away. Within the dark you wore a soft smile as you let your eyes close. “I’ll hold you to that.” All you felt was comfort and warmth as you let yourself drift to sleep to the sound of Alastors heart.

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[Tags for those who asked for PT. 2 <3: @saturn-alone @lustylita @karmakillz @saint-altruist ]

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #the radio demon #alastor x reader smut #alastor x reader #alastor smut #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader

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surielstea · 1 month

Text

Sunshine in the Shade

Based on this request

Pairing: Azriel x DayCourt! Reader

Summary: Reader can't stay in the night court for long when she's bound to day. Azriel and her have to share a goodbye.

Warnings: minimal angst but mostly fluff

A/N: sorry this took me so long to get out, I was struggling figuring out the concept of the original req, I'm still not very happy with it but I hope you guys enjoy nonetheless :) p.s I had to repost cuz my tags weren’t working, sorry if you were notified twice lol.

2.9k words

"That's a lie!" I throw a piece of popcorn at a giggling Morrigan. "Nuh-uh," She shakes her head with a big grin. "I'm The Morrigan I only speak the truth," She shrugs and I roll my eyes, clutching my bowl of popcorn to my chest as she claims 'I'm the prettiest girl she's ever seen'.

"Shut up," I scoff as she wraps her arms around my shoulders and hugs me close. "I mean it," She croons. "Azriel's a lucky male, don't you think Fey?" Her arms slip from around me as she turns to look at the High Lady. "She gets it from her Father," Feyre intoned with a mouthful of chocolate cake and I rolled my eyes at the mention of the High Lord of the Day Court.

It was late in the afternoon, so late that it'd be night soon. I shake my head, trying not to think about when the moon meets the stars. I stifle a sigh and lean on the railing of the roof atop one of Rhysand's many estates, staring out at the three males who were flying around each other like boys again.

When I was seven, my father was an apprentice for spell cleaving. He had been practicing warding spells when I had come into the room with a bright grin on my face excited to show him my new drawing. In a moment of distraction, his spell had shot straight into my heart, the effects irreversible. We hadn't found out the full extent of the spell until we had been traveling to different courts for meetings and as soon as the sun slipped from the sky and night began to rule, my heart stopped beating and I was hospitalized for weeks.

So I was only allowed to leave during the day, as long as I came back right before sunrise. A rule that made it impossibly challenging to see my mate, who happened to be darkness incarnate.

I take a sip of my wine as I watch Azriel soar with his brothers, a rare smile on his face that makes adoration bloom in my chest. "That boy loves you," Amren hums from beside me and I roll my eyes, tearing them away from my mate to look over at her. "No shit," I scoff and a snarky smile curves her lips. "No, he loves you," She murmurs, eyes on the three boys as they laugh amongst each other. "I've never seen him so happy in all the years I've been around him, don't ruin that," She looks at me and it's as if she can see straight through me to my bare soul, past the flesh and bone and to my inner core that held the truest version of me. "What do you—" I begin but I'm cut off by a gust of wind as a figure lands on the railing that I leaned on. "Fly with me," A familiar voice says as Azriel bends down and cups my face in his hands, forcing me to look up at him. "You won't pretend to drop me like last time?" I narrow my eyes on him, forgetting about Amrens words now that he was here, cradling my face. "Nope," He bites at his bottom lip like he always does when he lies to me. "I know you're lying," I sing and he grumbles a curse, leaning in and pressing a kiss to my lips. "Ok, promise I won't." He smushes my cheeks together. I can't help but put every ounce of my trust in him and believe what he says. I nod and he doesn't need any further consent than that.

He swoops me up into his arms and with a few beats of his wings, we were soaring up into the blue sky. I tighten my hold around him with a small squeal. I had a horrible fear of heights, it was foolish to be terrified of a few hundred feet in the air when literal monsters were walking amongst Prythian but it's something that's always affected me. With Azriel, though it was different, he loved flying so much, and that smile on his face beat any fear I had.

"I won't drop you," He promised. "I know, but," I look down, dread filling my stomach at the long drop. We were higher than mountain peaks. He pulls me closer to him. "Hey, look at me," He said and I obeyed, eyes pinned to his. "Don't look down, keep your eyes on me," He hummed and I nodded. "Feels nice, doesn't it?" He tilts his head I swallow thickly, still thinking about the ground that was so very far away.

"Hey, look at me," He repeats with more stress on his words and so I do, I look into his eyes, at the smile on his lips, the dimples on his cheeks. I feel the summer breeze on my skin and hear the laughter of my friends still on the rooftop. "I love you," I confess, hands loosening around his neck and running them through his hair. He smiled, beaming at the words. "I love you more," He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to my cheek. I grin, then giggle as he dips down onto my neck, his nose tickling it. Cassian soars by with a large smile on his face. "No kissing and flying!" The Illyrian shouted over his wingbeats and Azriel's lips halted on my neck while I threw my head back in laughter, remembering the last time Azriel got too lost in kissing me and stopped flying momentarily, putting all of his attention to my lips instead. We dove for only a second before he regained consciousness. But ever since then, Azriel wasn't allowed to put his lips anywhere near mine while flying.

My head lifted back up and I looked at him with a loving smile, fingers coiled in his hair as he stared at me like I hung every star in the sky.

My breath hitched as the sun began to melt into the horizon. My smile faltered and morphed into a frown. "You've gotta go?" He asks and I nod with a pout, looking at him with saddened eyes. "The daughter of the sun can't stay in the night court for long," He murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple as he navigates us back to the rooftop, leaving Rhys and Cass.

"I'm sorry Az, I want to stay," I say. "I know, it's okay my love," He places my feet down onto solid land and even if I am afraid of heights, I'd much rather be up in the air instead of down here, signaling my exit.

"It's only for the night," He shrugs, settling down onto the railing of the rooftop though despite his reassuring words, something in his gaze told me he wouldn't be sleeping until he saw me again. "Oh, Az," I crash into him with enough force to knock us both over the railing but he doesn't falter, only embraces me back as I hug him tightly. "Why don't you come with me?" I ask and he tilts his head down at me with a frown. "You know your father will kill me," He shakes his head. "I don't care, I'm nearly four hundred years old, I can do what I want," I say. "And I want you," I cup his cheeks, analyzing his features as if I'll forget them. "Except you can't," He murmurs with a sad smile on his face, his thumb pulling slightly at my lower lip.

My shoulders slump and I wrap my arms around him yet again, nuzzling my nose into his shoulder. "Fly me back?" I asked softly into his neck. My fear of flying was outmatched by another moment with him.

"I was planning on it," He pressed kisses atop the crown of my head but neither of us backed up, just staying in that warm, comforting position until the sun got too low in the sky and I knew it was time to go.

"Bye, guys! See you in a month!" I wave to the others with a fake grin across my features. They all bid their farewells with pitying smiles on their faces. "I'll miss you," Mor tangles her arms around me, tearing me from a disgruntled Azriel. "Not as much as I'll miss you," I sing, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Well now I’m sun-kissed," She holds a hand to where my lips were and I giggle, pulling away and going back into Azriel's arms who was grumbling something about the joke being dumb, but I knew he was just jealous.

"Alright, alright, let's go," Azriel swoops me off my feet and carried me bridal style before Mor could get another word in— then took off to the skies, the cool wind nipping at my cheeks as we rose above the mountain peeks and begin navigating south, in the direction my mate's flown me countless times. "Bye Rhys!" I wave to the High Lord as we pass him. "Awe is it that time already!" Cassian whined, soaring to his brother's side with an apparent frown on his face. "I'll be back don't worry," I grin over at him. "I have no doubt you will," He sighs then turns back without another word and joins a waving Rhys.

About twenty minutes of flying later I knew the sun was too low in the sky to be excusable any longer.

"Az I gotta winnow," I say tiredly, hand cradling the side of his neck. "You have to be tired, plus you still have to fly back," I explain and he shakes his head. "I could fly you around for days." He reassured and I frowned up at him. "You know I have to leave," I huff. "I know," He nods. I lean upward and press a gentle, yearning kiss to his lips.

"No kissing and flying, remember?" He mumbles onto my lips. I smile at the recollection, pressing my mouth harder to his. "I'll see you soon, okay?" I whisper and he nods with creased brows and an aching heart.

His scarred fingers dig into my thigh, searing his touch into me in case I ever forgot it. "Don't miss me too much, yeah?" I ask and he smiles weakly before uttering, "I'll try."

"I'll see you tomorrow," I sigh. "I'll be there to pick you up," He reassured and my grin faltered, then as a silent goodbye, I pressed my lips to his, holding his face with enough delicacy you'd think he was made of glass. His lips press harder onto mine. It wasn't lustful or hungry, but it was passionate and full of pining. "Love you, Az," I whisper into his mouth, and before he can reply I winnow away, leaving his arms empty with only the weight of my absence, the bond between us wearing thin as I return back to my native court, a place that no longer felt like home when every element I had of a real home was in Night.

I had winnowed right into the dining room of the Day Palace, my plate already on my spot at the table. "You're late," My father grumbled, I tossed him a glance. He sat at the head of the table, a girl half-dressed in his lap. "Gods, seriously Dad?" I shield my eyes as I grab my plate, deciding not to eat in front of something that would easily make me lose my appetite. "In my defense, I didn't think you were coming home," He shrugs sassily and I roll my eyes at his behavior. "Yeah whatever, goodnight," I mutter, getting to the large doors leading to the hall. "Will I see you tomorrow?" He asks before I can slip out. "Probably not, Az is coming to get me in the morning," I mutter and he utters a curse. "I never see you anymore," He whines childishly, making a small smile spread across my lips. "I'm sorry but my days are promised to him," I open the door wider. "Unless you're willing to let him join us for dinner sometime?" I offer and he scoffs. "I'm not feeding someone who stole my baby girl," He grumbled. "That's what I thought," I nod. "Night, Dad!" I call before slipping out the door, closing it behind me with a soft click.

I travel down the halls of the palace made of sunstone and opalescent glass, taking bites of my food occasionally but I wasn't all that hungry since I ate with Rhysand's inner circle less than an hour ago. I breathe a deep sigh as I finally arrive at my room, entering then kicking the door shut as I make my way over to my desk, setting my plate and fork down before going over to my armoire and pulling myself out of the lightweight dress I wore, slipping into a nightgown instead as I prepared myself for bed, light still in the sky.

My sleep schedule had been all sorts of messed up, I had the sleeping habits of a five-year-old. Waking up at dawn and going to bed at dusk. It was unfair of me to have Azriel spend every waking hour with me during the day but it was the only time I got to see him, I couldn't spend nights with him, and couldn't sleep in the same bed.

I huff as I slide onto my mattress, pulling the covers up to my chin as my black-out curtains do the best they can to block out any remaining sunlight.

I rubbed my eyes tiredly and attempted sleep for at least an hour before I was finally able to drift off into a light slumber, knowing the sooner I fell asleep, the sooner I'd see my mate again.

——

I wake up to a light sound of thudding outside my window, then a drumming on the glass like someone was tapping against it. But I was on the highest point in the palace, the most protected and secured part of the entire court.

I sit up slightly panicked, but the tapping stops and I suppose it's my imagination, running my hands through my hair and blaming it on being overtired. But as soon as my head hits my pillow once more the sound returns. I spring up and crawl over to my bedside window, pulling up the blackout curtains with a confused expression.

My brows shoot to my hairline as I spot a familiar winged figure on the other side of the glass. I immediately open the window, pushing it to its highest point. "What are you doing here?" I question. "I missed you," Azriel shrugs and I facepalm. "Now scoot over, my wings won't fit with you right there," He gestures to me towards the end of the bed. "Are you insane? You're not coming in," I whisper shout and he frowns. "Why not?" He murmurs sadly. "My dad will kill you if he sees you," I grit out and he shrugs. Gods, I felt like a teenager sneaking my boyfriend in.

"C'mon sunshine," He sighs, his wings slowly flapping as to keep quiet. "We'll be gone by dawn," He reasons and I stifle a curse before moving out of the way and allowing room for him to enter. Shadows protect his wings as he pushes himself through the large window that he made look small.

As soon as he through I tackle him into a hug, pressing kisses along the side of his face. He chuckles, hand coming to the back of my neck. "Thought you didn't want me in here?" He taunts and I move away, looking down at him with a wide grin. "That was before," I shake my head, leaning down and wrapping my arms around his neck, lying atop him as if I couldn't get close enough to him. "Before what?" He scoffs. "Before you were in my bed," I reason. "But now you are and I don't ever want you leaving," I say into his shoulder and he grins brightly. "Have you slept?" I ask, twining my fingers into his hair. I feel him shake his head no and I internally sigh at his insomniac habits. "Alright, c'mon," I pull him up by the collar of his shirt, towards the pillows of my bed. He follows with a content smile, flopping down onto my mattress as I slip in beside him, pulling the blankets over us as I cuddle into his side, head on his chest, arm slung over his torso while he tucks me in close between him and his wing.

"How'd you get past the guards?" I perk up, looking at him puzzled. "I'm the spymaster, aren't I?" He smiles tiredly and I return it. "Not even the pegasuses noticed?" I say with a frown. "How are you so awake?" He asks, his hand coming to my cheek and I shrug. "I'm happy you're here," I explain and his grin widens, his scarred thumb pulling at my lower lip. "Go to sleep, I'll still be here in the morning," He reassured and I believed him.

I hadn't realized just how much I wanted this until I had it. His arms around me, shadows settling over us. We've cuddled before, on couches or daybeds, but nothing like this, not with the intention of sleeping. There was something so intimate about it, how he trusted me enough to fully fall out of consciousness with his arms wrapped around me.

I smile, a warm fuzzy feeling blooming in my chest. I lean up and peck beneath his jaw. "Goodnight, Az," I murmur. "Night sunshine," He softly replies and that was all I needed to hear before I faded into that familiar embrace of sleep.

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xxsabitoxx · 1 year

Text

Needy

Warnings: Cunnilingus, unprotected sex, overstimulation, praising, creampies, the usual lol

A/N: I said Geto was next, so here he is! Next Drabble should hopefully come out soon but I won’t jinx myself lol. Expect to see Tengen next followed by Kishibe!

Word count: 1.5k

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You’d never get enough of him. Your fingers tangled in the inky mess of his long hair, tugging at the roots as his nails dug into the flesh of your thighs. You always pulled it out of its bun, whether it was intentional or not. You just needed to pull on it.

Suguru would never complain, he’d never deny you the opportunity. He enjoyed the feeling of your fingers threading through his hair, tugging so harsh that it felt like you may just rip the strands straight from his head. It was addicting.

The harder you pulled, the better he was doing. The chills that spread through his body were endless, accompanied by your sweet noises he was convinced there was truly no better experience out there for him.

Face buried between your thighs, your fingers in his hair, his name falling from your lips over and over. “A-Suguru please…” you wailed softly, thighs trembling and threatening to close around his head if it weren’t for his hands keeping them spread.

He hummed, sending vibrations straight through your cunt. Your back arched off the mattress, tugging his hair again in the process. You’d lost count of how many times you’d come at this point, too blissed out to even care. So long as Suguru was enjoying himself.

Which he was. He couldn’t get enough of you, the feeling of your throbbing cunt under his tongue, the taste of your arousal. His hips jerked against the mattress ever so often, relieving a bit of the ache and edging himself slowly.

You loved watching him, finding it almost too lewd to bear. It only edged you on, observing meticulously every movement he made. “Suguru…d-don’t you wanna cum…” somewhere in the back of your mind you had to assume at least an hour of this had passed.

He hummed again, something that sounded faintly like “no”. You wouldn't settle for that, thighs trembling as yet another orgasm crept up on you. “S-Suguru please… let me do something f-for you.” His answer was lapping a little more vigorously at your clit.

His eyes shot up your body, locking with yours. There was a silent command behind his gaze, something that was telling you to shut up and let him do as he pleased. You broke his gaze, head falling against your pillow as you came again.

Your hands fisted his hair again, tugging as you cried out from overstimulation. It was warm, too warm, almost. All you could think about was the warmth of his mouth on your cunt, his arms hugging your lower half to his face. It was enough to leave a sheen of sweat on your brow.

“Suguru please…” you tried again, pulling hard enough on his hair that he finally left your cunt alone. “Kiss me.” You pleaded softly, aching to feel his lips elsewhere. He stared at you for a moment, pupils blown wide and chin shining with your release.

“So needy, even while I’ve been satisfying you.” He chuckled as warmth spread across your face, your eyes unable to maintain his gaze a moment longer as he moved back up your body. The kiss was gentle, his lips easily parting for you to sweep in.

He pulled away just as quickly, hovering over you to observe you once again. “Is that what you wanted? To taste yourself on my lips?” He muttered, hand coming up to wipe the saliva present on your lower lip. “N-no. Fuck Suguru I want more.”

You were still aching, despite all of your overstimulation you were still aching for the man above you. “More? How so?” He was bending down again, placing kisses along your jaw and trailing to your neck. “Tell me, what more are you looking for?”

“I want you… all of you.” Your hips lifted, pressing further into him. Suguru smiled against your skin, sucking softly along your pulse point. “That so?” You were wet enough to take him, it was nearly impossible not to be at this point. “Very much so.” You sighed.

“Well, I guess I should give you what you want since you’ve been so patient with me.” There was a shit eating grin on his face as he straightened, pushing up on his knees to tower over you and put on a show. “Even after the amount of times I’ve made you come, you still want my cock?”

You watched as his hand wrapped around his base, tugging softly. Of course you wanted it, it was just as pretty as the rest of him. The perfect length, the perfect girth, the way it curved ever so slightly. It was flushed, needy looking, dripping with precum just for you. Of course you needed it, never mind wanting it.

“Fuck yes.” You smiled, spreading your legs a little further for him. You watched a blush spread across his face, painting his golden skin a pretty pink. You opened your mouth to comment on the blush only for him to cut you off “not…a word.” He was turning more red by the second, it didn’t take much for you to make him crumble that was for sure.

As much as Geto Suguru loved to tease you, edge you and overstimulate you, shower you in praise and degrade you at the same time. It didn’t take nearly as much to get him flustered, to get him worked up until his emotions clouded his judgement. Sometimes it was as simple as admiring him in a particular way.

Like you just did, smiling gently, spreading your legs a little more, telling him that you were just as needy for him as he said you were. His failed degradation attempts always backfired into the best outcome. “C’mon Sugu… fuck me… I wanna feel you so bad.” Your arms outstretched, motioning for him to return to you.

That was more than he could handle, any self restraint that he had left went out the window. Suguru was on you again in an instant, toned body pressed flush against your softer one, cock aligning with your entrance. He pushed inside of you as his lips slotted with your own, swallowing up your gasp easily.

He bottomed out, not giving you time to adjust because he knew you could take it, you always could. He only paused for a moment to relish in the feeling of you fluttering around him, warm and wet and so damn addicting. It was as if you were built just for him, no other man would ever be enough for you. No other partner would ever be enough for him, either.

No one could pull his hair, call him sweet names, fit him as perfectly as you did. “Can I move?” It was hoarse, pressed to the shell of your ear as your hands found their home in his black strands again. “O-of course.” Your thighs trembled as you hooked your legs around his waist, hands fisting his hair to keep yourself grounded. Suguru began moving, hips drawing back slowly before pushing toward again.

It was a steady movement, one that built in intensity as he found his rhythm. His tempo depends on the noises you made, gauging your reaction based on the way you pulled at his hair. It was enough to send goosebumps throughout his whole body, littering his skin and pulling the chills through him. He couldn’t get enough, completely and utterly engulfed in you.

“Ah fuck… Suguru…” you whined, the familiar build in your gut coming easily with the overstimulation he dealt you. Like a cord tightening and waiting to snap, his hips didn’t slow, if anything they picked up on speed. “Gonna cum, pretty girl?” He cooed, sweat sliding down his temple as he focused on not coming before you… not that you’d care.

“Yes…but I want you to cum with me.” You whined, walls clenching down around him as if to prove your point. You wanted to feel him cum when you did, you didn’t want him to pull out like he typically did. “Y-you…are going to kill me ya know… making requests like that… so innocently.” He was going to cave before you did, body betraying him with each thrust that he couldn’t slow down.

His hand slotted between your bodies, finding your clit easily and rubbing harshly. “Fuck!” You yelped, far too sensitive for the way he was stimulating you. It didn’t take much more than that, your walls spasming around him as you gushed, liquid spraying his hips and dripping onto his mattress. For a moment you swore you were seeing stars, barely able to process the feeling of Suguru filling you.

“A-all that and you can’t even focus enough to feel me cum in you, huh?” He choked out, limbs feeling like jelly as he worked himself through his own high. “I-it’s your fault… Sugu you’re the one that…” you couldn’t be bothered to finish, shockwaves of pleasure cutting you off as his hip’s seemingly couldn’t still.

“What was that? M-my fault?” His hips had come to a shallow rock, fucking his release deeper into you. He couldn’t bring himself to still, even as he began to go soft. “Y-yes your fault…making me come like that…” you teased, body still trembling as his weight finally settled on you. Like your very own weighted blanket.

“Well then… I guess we’ll have to try again.”

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moondirti · 1 year

Text

7. PROPOSITION

CHAPTER SEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter six / chapter eight ⇀

summary: a proposition is made in hope for new beginnings

mature | 4.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, apocalypses, death, decay, blood, injury, sexual tension, angst, no use of y/n notes: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL. anyway repost lol

During the liminal period between detonation and your understanding of it, you’d been convinced of your own fatality. Dead girl walking; the shell-shocked mantra playing in an unremitting loop as you navigated the flattened planes of your once-home.

New York was a ghost town. Or – town isn’t exactly the proper verbiage, not when it comes to describing the hollowed locale. It’d been flushed of all its previous pomp; skeletal buildings with their windows blown to bits, light posts bent at the root, central park a glorified bonfire pit for skyscraping flames. In truth, when you’d awoken, you couldn’t recognise your whereabouts.

That was the basis for which you told yourself it was a dream. Everything existed as a distorted reflection of what you were familiar with, a fucked plane capable only of occuring in feverish delirium. The bite, you’d accepted – nodding to yourself grimly. You must’ve gotten sick again and passed out before the speech, transported to some stuffy hospital that pinned you with needles full of hallucinogens. How else could you have explained your occult ability to phase through walls, or the complete absence of people?

(In hindsight, it was denial more than anything.)

Yet time progressed on a tortoise’s shell, marching with all the leisure of reality. It didn’t jump like it would’ve had your consciousness been in charge, with its aversion to the mundane and grotesque. No; you’d started to see the faults in your logic when the substance that perpetually fell from the sky proved to be human ash, or when – the further down you travelled – maturating flesh increasingly marked your path. You’ve never known your mind to be so cruel.

So, dead.

If so, then you’d settled on purgatory. A state where souls atone for their unforgiven sins and are purified. It was an interim solution; you weren’t the religious type, anyway. But maybe that'd been it. Maybe you’d been given a last hope at redemption, thrust in a distinctive nightmare to comprehend how much worse hell could be. At least you lacked pain, at least you were dressed – clad in the silk of your gala gown. But the sky had been red, covered in a sheet of dismal smoke, and you couldn’t see the stars at night.

It was a sign; you’d failed at reaching them.

The notion had paralysed you for days, tearing at the false comfort you’d wrapped yourself in up to that point. You’d weeped, and tested the limits to your intangibility with lacking enthusiasm. Blotchy faced, snotty nosed – passing your arm through rubble, succeeding, then trying the same with your feet, which abraded against the rough surface instead. The inconsistency was hard to keep up with, but the task at least distracted you from a profuse existentialism.

You’d heeded no patterns; some days, you were completely nonphysical. Or, parts of you remained that way, while others shifted back to palpability. It’d been a tug of war, dependent entirely on your mood and a greater scheme you had no part of. With your limited comprehension, it’d only guaranteed the purgatory hypothesis. Not mortal, nor spirit. Stuck in a great between.

(What heaven was worth this? Who deemed it so?)

The guessing game got old. You’d needed something else – more than water, or a fresh change of clothes; good, honest science. Truth. You couldn’t move on until you’d had reason to believe the outcome could justify this.

You turned to the cosmos then, impartial as ever, despite their discernible absence. They were still there, you knew. Just beyond the firestorms, the sun burnt bright enough to penetrate smog. Its hazy glow provided an alternate reminder of something for you to still pursue – wherever it was, wherever you were. You couldn’t be sure that an afterlife meant nirvana or elysian fields, yet fulfilment looked to be the common denominator. An underscore.

To you, that would only ever be one thing.

Deep space, your stars – your Sol.

(It was hope in the one way you could define it.)

The threads started to converge in an instant of poetic cognizance. The Phoenicians had done it, and so too had ancient sailors. Stars for navigation, for reasoning. Of course. All that entailed for you was to certify you were worth it.

You’d started by cleaning. Little things, far from where you’d originated. A neighbourhood of collapsing houses, nested in beds of fine porcelain and dust. The times where you could use your hands, you’d sweep the debris onto them and deposit it in a hole, harrowed from a singed lawn at the end of the row. When you were immaterial – a state that had begun gaining rarity the better you were able to cope – you’d focus on mentally tallying inventory. Some to set aside, for whatever poor individual would visit next, and the rest for you. A diet of canned beans and bottled water was better than nothing.

Then, you’d dealt with the bodies.

There were none within the city, nor the suburbs. It was only when you’d ventured outwards did they start to crop up; thin corpses with leathery skin still stretched over their frames, starved or burnt or both. The smell had been putrid, reeking of pure rot, and you’d surmised that perhaps they’d taken too long to find salvation. It’d motivated you to keep working, burying them in marked graves with a plug fastened over your nose. You didn’t want to end up like them, as a chore for the next.

It was near impossible to keep a timeline of it all. Now, you estimate it as months, though it had felt longer. You’d gone through it with no milestones, or any inclination as to whether you were finally getting close. Cleaning the entire expanse of purgatory seemed too big a task to ask of anyone, immortal or not. Yet as the weeks crawled by, you’d started to reckon that was exactly it. You’d felt nothing special, no sweeping message from God alerting you of your success. Just more devastation, more labour.

(Were you wrong?)

You’d started to get sick again. Irritated sinuses, a scratchy throat. Every breath you took was more useless than the last, oxygen unable to circumvent your system. Smoke inhalation, likely. You’d searched for ventilators to help treat the symptoms, alongside pain relief for the sores spotting along your palms. There’d been nothing, and that wasn’t to say it had always been that way. Empty, orange bottles decorated every barren street, purged by apocalyptic gluttons.

(You couldn’t trick yourself – the dead had no use for medicine.)

Some fate must have willed it, though. It was there, in the seventh hospital you’d scavenged, that it’d happened.

A… being, no taller than five foot four, decked in a bright yellow suit and a hazmat mask. Loitering the entryway with a trash bag full of salvaged goodies. It hadn’t noticed you, preoccupied with routing the way back home – so you rushed into a nearby room to change into your gown. It was wrinkled and torn in places, having been the outfit you’d initially spent weeks in, but it was far better off than the grimy cargoes you’d adopted in its place.

You’d kept it for this; your day of judgement.

It – he, as it turns out – lived in a bunker, deep beneath the catastrophic surface of the state. You’d followed him there. A perfectly normal thing to do, candidly, for someone who’d forgone social interaction since death. It couldn’t dawn on you that he was surely in the same boat; isolated, cornered like an animal on its haunches. If it had, you would've made an effort to approach him with caution.

So, it certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise when your ecstatic hello was met with an axe to the face. Naturally, it’d phased right through you, a feat which only furthered the old being’s terror.

God had turned out to be more skittish than you’d expected.

(“Blimey, whit the hell are ye supposit tae be.”

“I’ve been waiting so long–”

“Ye're gonnae get yourself killed wearin tha’ flimsy thing, lass.”

You’d felt so stupid. You should have surmised that the occasion called for modesty.

“Forgive me,”

“Whit is it ye want? I don’ have any food for sharin’.”

“Redemption, if you please. I promise I’ve been good, I just want to see the stars.” But of course he’d know that. “Sir. Lord, sir.”

“Is somethin wrong wi yer head?” He’d huffed. “It's tha’ radiation, I'm tellin’ ye. Or maybe I'm dead an’ seein’ things.”

Dead? Another lost soul?

“Are you not God?”

“God? Ha!” The human scoffed. “Trust that I wouldn’ be livin’ in this rat’s ass if I was.”)

It turned out that he did have food, and plenty – stuffed cans stacked in rows atop rows of nourishment. Medicine too, an age old ventilator that he’d tapped with a knuckle to spur into function. He’d agreed to let you replenish if you’d take a gander at his malfunctioning radio, of which you had limited knowledge on but were willing to give a try. You’d no idea what he needed a radio for in the afterlife, anyway.

(“The battery contacts are corroded, I think.” You had spit through a mouthful of corn. It’d tasted like pure sugar to your neglected tongue. “If it matters to you this much: baking soda to neutralise the acid, then a bit of vinegar over it to help wipe off the gunk.”

“Smart one ye are,” He’d pulled a cigarette from one of his various pockets, lip curling at your inquisitive gaze. “Don’ give me tha’ look, I ain' got none for ye.”

“I’m okay, thanks.” After a bit of deliberation, you’d added, “I’m afraid I don’t understand something.”

“Whit is it this time?”

“Why’d you set up permanent camp here? Don’t you want to leave?”

“An’ where wad I go?” His lighter had taken several starts to sputter a flame.

“Heaven. Hell – if that’s your thing. The cosmos?”

He’d barked another one of those sturdy laughs. “Ye one o’ them fanatics? That say wha’ happened wis for good cause?”

“Huh?” Tentatively, you’d placed the radio back on its rickety stool. “What happened?”

And all humour had drained from his face, his pupils hardening to flat beads. If it hadn’t been for the sudden shift in mood, you’d have gone forever traipsing on a fantasy. No; it was the tremor, the breaks in his once haughty inflection – idiosyncrasies that could’ve only been described as sympathy-triggered. It’d built upon your doubt, your already wavering faith, to strike you out of your mental regression.

“The Alchemax bomb, lassie.”)

He had a bucket for you to throw up in, slick with panicked sweat, unable to hold on to anything as your body oscillated between materialities. He’d made no comment on how your hands fell through the floor, or the knees that started to sink alongside them. Your fault, your fault. Any thought besides blame hadn’t time to develop, recycled for fuel to keep the cognition running. Your fault. Your fault. All this time.

(Who could you have turned to? You’d been praying to deities who’ve long since left.)

Night bled, and the man had retired. You’d stayed plastered to the ground, crouched over a slosh of your purged innards. The foulness hardly moved you; it’d felt good to punish yourself in that way. You’d taken to being your own arbiter, and such was one of the many reparations to come.

(You’d shunned the voice that insisted you deserve none of it. If you hadn’t been so ambitious, so blind to the flaws–)

You’d wanted to leave. So desperately that the wish had seized every cell in you, shaking them with a vigour unparallel to even celestial fury. You’d wanted to leave. There’d been nothing for you to divert your efforts to after learning the truth. Nothing you could have done to fix it. You’d wanted to leave. To anywhere but there.

Please. Please. Please.

Just this one thing.

The air warped.

You hadn’t noticed it immediately, still wrapped in your own misery. Scratchy skin accredited to grief, you kept rocking in place, bathing in muggy sobs. But it’d only grown worse, like a fraying fabric chafing along every appendage. Your dirty nails dug into your palms.

The friction peaked, rubbing you raw. You’d heaved in large gulps of oxygen, pulling at your flesh like it could’ve stopped it. Your jaw had unhinged, teeth clamping down on your thumb to muffle the overstimulated scream that’d threatened to break. Tears sealed your lash lines shut.

Almost a second later, it stopped, interrupted by the blare of car horns.

And, when you’d opened your eyes, you found that you were someplace else entirely.

Your fingers graze along something rough. At first, it’s easy to mistake as your jeans, the denim hardened in places with lack of care.

The space seems to have shrunk since Miguel fell asleep, slumping inwards, its rock walls poking your elbows and curved spine with a clinical brutality. It’s difficult to imagine how he feels; twice your size, unused to fitting those muscles through tight squeezes. Disastrous still, the low creak of the steel arch above puts a timer on your misfortune. The topic of your demise is of increasing relevance.

Perhaps he drifted off for that exact reason. To hinge on ignorance; an avoidance of this waiting game. Or, more credibly, to force you into a figurative detention. Think about what you’ve done, and what I’m asking of you.

In any case, it’s working. The trauma you’ve tried repressing thus far rushes through your conscience, carving gaping canals of remorse, lapping at its banks to keep it fresh. You’re convinced your heart could give out, wrenched in innumerable directions, the only respite afforded being the glitches that rip through you. You deserve to stay here, but he doesn’t. He’s always only sought what was right.

(You can fix it, do this one thing.

Though you can’t grasp where to begin.)

You pinch the fabric, tugging at it in a nervous tick. You don’t feel the tension across your calf, an observation that grows stranger the harder you pull. Reaching over with your free hand, you smooth over your pants. They’re still level with your shin bone, unmoved.

Huh.

There’s a mortifying moment where you fear that it’s Miguel’s suit you’re fiddling with, before taking into account that it’s impossible to twist the nanotechnology.

And it’s too close in to be a wall.

You delicately trace the surface with your pinky, searching for any discernible edge, intent on mapping out the overall shape to deduce its origins. Your arms wave about in a frantic fashion, but to your bewilderment, you find no real boundary. Weirder yet, it appears to slice through your shoe and a portion of Miguel's thigh.

Feels like–

Your stomach lurches, broiling in a bold concoction of thrill and trepidation. It throws you off guard, your brain lagging behind the reality your body already accepts. You know what it could be, having undergone the phenomena in several situations similar. An answered prayer during your lowest points – back at the man’s bunker, a few times since then.

Nerves humming with electric fervency, you tamp your hope into something more manageable, unable to handle another blow should this turn out poorly. Or – comparably – should you succeed; if this is, indeed, a portal. Your resolve trembles with the strength of a baby bird's wing, missing the survival instincts that once bolstered it.

(What would it mean for you?)

Biting your lip, you plunge your fist through to the other side.

It comes in contact with something cold, unlike anything in your little cave. Cold, glossy and… crinkly. A plastic bag of sorts, packed full of a pulpy filling. You’re tempted to draw away, disgusted, but redirect that intensity into inspecting instead.

The bag rests upon an uneven floor, marred by pebbles that lend a sense of ruggedness to the place. Outdoors. Downright filthy, too; judging by the clammy residue that sticks to your knuckles. Bile nudges up your oesophagus, inspired by the unidentified refuse you’re granted access to. Squalid; a dumpster, probably. Decorated in bursting trash bags.

But then–

Mooring yourself upon Miguel’s abdomen, you dip your forearm further in. The static off the portal’s perimeter sings with discordant vibrations, its intensity bordering on painful. It prickles the fine hairs along your limb, scouring any goosebumps raised with a grating ferocity. You stifle the whimper that arises as a consequence.

Your fingers dip under the trash, grazing something that makes you pause. Rubber. Ring-like.

The day pass?

Swallowing, you jerk it towards you. It doesn’t budge, stuck under the refuse.

(It occurs to you to give up. The moral dilemma its purpose poses is abundantly clear.)

Hooking all four digits around its circumference, you pull harder. The portal eats at you, hostile to the foreign intrusion. Any longer and you’re afraid it’ll cut your arm clean off, right under where that gutter almost did the same. Your adrenaline had been enough to numb the torturous incident then, both physically and in memory – and though you lack that direct threat to your life now, the setup is much the same. A situation where you’re finally in control, a reclamation to the morality you’ve long since lost. It’s personal – the scolding he’d given you like a knife to old wounds.

The prospect fuels the surge you need, distending through your biceps, reinforcing their efforts as you finally yank the bracelet out. The portal makes no noise when it zips back shut, but you feel the lull, its energy abandoning you to wallow, alone again. Or, not alone; you gently settle between Miguel’s legs, careful not to disturb him.

There’s a stark silence that passes afterward, a line of astonishment keeping it intact. You allow it, needing time to process the staunch implications of the day pass sagging upon your lap. Its lilac hue gives a faint light to your surroundings, illuminating the cranny you’ve only been able to picture so far. It’s about what you expected – save for the resting face of your companion.

He looks good. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t usually, but the peace that graces his features compliments him, rounding out any harsher edges. You trail your gaze up his neck, to the jaw that points to a pronounced chin. Lips that pout even over retracted fangs. An aquiline, masculine nose. It fits him, you think. Lends itself to the fluffy hair that frames his sharp cheekbones. You linger on it probably longer than you should.

That is, until you catch sight of the blooming discolouration marring his temple.

It’s partially obscured in shadow, yellowing along the ends and purple in places you don’t have the advantage of properly observing. Yet, the bruise communicates all it needs to, loud and explicit. You’re not in a position to procrastinate any longer; you’ve already spent a year running from fate. It might make you sick, your organs tying together in a nauseating knot – and every impulse in you might scream against it. To run away; to leave him here for dead. Live the rest of your life in peace – it’s only right, it’s only right.

Then, you remember what he’d said to you.

(“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?”

“It’s not fair.” He didn’t skip a beat, tone laced with a hard understanding. “But it’s fact.”)

You really hate him sometimes.

Bracing yourself, you shake his shoulder. He’s up in an instant, snatching your wrist in one warm palm. You wait for the tired mist over his awareness to melt, a stone lodged in your throat.

“¿Qué es?” He whisper-shouts. “What?”

“I–” Your voice warbles. Pathetic. “I have something for you.”

He squints.

(Rightfully so.)

Breathing through the hesitation that strikes the rungs of your ribcage, you hold up the day pass.

He doesn’t realise what you mean immediately, flicking back and forth between the bracelet and your furrowed brows. Realistically, his doubt can’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, yet you’re eternally paralysed within the anticipatory dread – a fossilised mosquito captured in amber. Even when he does eventually catch up, you stay still, letting him pilfer the key to your freedom and watching as his drowsiness sharpens into a pointed resolve.

And you don’t stray, not for the entire stretch during which he tinkers with its components. It’s not his aforementioned allure that encourages it, nor the sudden flashbacks to your earlier breakdown. Ridiculously enough, it’s satisfaction – a contentment at having finally defied your self-interests. You look to him like you had the sun back home. For validation on the path you’re headed towards, a small hint of a job well done. You’re too cautious of your own pride, betrayed by it more often than anyone else, but he–

He knows what it means to be a true spider-hero.

You hope that one day, you will too.

“Lyla?” Miguel demands into his watch, testing to see whether the spare parts of your contribution resolved its issues.

“You’re alive! Huh,” A miniscule projection of his LYrate lifeform approximation blinks into existence, tilting her heart-shaped glasses down as if to punctuate her disbelief.

“I came across a few obstacles, but I’ve got the Wr-” He catches your wince. “Our target. Set coordinates for 928. I’m coming home.”

“Gotcha. Can you wait until Reilly coughs up a twenty, though?”

“You bet on my survival?”

“Silver linings!”

“Lyra.”

“Okay! Alright. Home it is, boss.”

“And tell Jess to be on stand-by with an empty cell,” He adds, lowering his pitch to one more understated. You can’t lie and imply your appreciation – no matter what he does to soften your circumstance, it retains its somberness. You’re going back to that desolate wasteland, and this time, you have no will in ever leaving.

“Figured you’d want to get her in the go-home machine as soon as possible. No?”

“No.” He asserts, the decision rumbling from deep within his chest. You steel yourself against the shiver that wobbles through you. “I’m not done with her, yet.”

“Explain something to me, would you?”

You smell of lemon antiseptic and dirt, arms wrapped in fresh bandages from shoulder to wrist. It’s an unpleasant combination, exacerbating the headache that gnashes on your skull under these fluorescent lights – darkness having been an ally to your concussion. The acetaminophen they’d given you at the med-bay has done nothing to aid your pain, and you’re convinced that the only thing that would work is a long, hot bath.

That is to say, you’re not ready to have this conversation.

When you don’t respond, Miguel stands from his seat, exercising the prominent muscles in his legs. His sweats do their best to conceal them, but you’d been in close quarters with him for far too long to have forgotten the way they bulge and shift with every move. If you focus, you can sense them now, pressing against your ass, pinning you in place.

He huffs. You doubt your glassy-eyed ogle is doing you any favours.

“Can’t make any promises.” You murmur, before deciding against it. It probably isn’t the best time to test him. “I’ll try my best.”

It’s the first time you see him in casual clothing, which changes him – much like sleep does. Outside of his suit, he looks younger, on a pedestal closer to common man. A white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, loose pants. Lighter colours, in complement to his bronzed complexion.

Get a hold of yourself.

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of responsibility.” He starts. Wrong, you want to say, because your breakouts have always been based on pure luck. “You threaten falling into floors, to phase through walls. Except, when we were trapped back on 15. You silently accepted our fate, despite having every means to prevent it. It’s telling, in my opinion.”

You nod, already aware of what he’s getting at. “Sounds like you don’t need me to explain, so–”

“You can’t control your powers, can you?”

“Bit late in figuring that one out.”

“Then how’d you come about the day pass?” He presses, not so much questioning anymore.

As it stands, you have two options:

To lie. It’s easy, natural after a full year of it. Your interrogator doesn’t need to know the truth if all he’s going to do is send you back, and with his newfound revelation about the nature of your abilities, it could prove advantageous to keep their full scope from his knowledge. You don’t owe him shit.

That’s Wraith talking, of course.

The you you want to be, however, beckons for candour. There pervades the confessional once more, a box drawn around you, prompting you to relieve yourself of all your secrets so you can be cleansed. Religion – a fickle thing, but it feels right, here.

Besides, who knows when you’ll be able to talk to anyone again.

“I’m not… entirely sure.” Your frown tucks underneath your teeth, and you suck on your lip while trying to formulate a coherent answer. “It’s happened previously. It’s like a portal, except it’s invisible and appears on the irregular occasion. I was thinking of ho– my earth when it materialised by my hand.”

His forehead creases, drawing in incredulously.

“You can create gateways into other dimensions?”

“Not quite. My working theory is that, somehow, the boundaries between worlds are thinning. I think I mentioned how my intangibility works?” He gives an affirming blink. “My atoms find the quickest way through something, so maybe they’re able to do the same through, ya know, the literal fabric of space-time.”

It really does sound idiotic to put out loud.

Miguel cups his face, rubbing away the weariness gathered in his wrinkles. There’s a plaster over the contusion on his forehead, overcast by rowdy tresses of wet hair. You do your best to suppress the image of him in the shower, steeling your expression into one of indifference.

“That holds up. This started a year ago?”

“Yeah,”

“There was a thing with a super-collider.”

“A… thing.” The scientist in you cringes. Though, you have no room to talk.

“All I’m getting from this is that, if I were to send you home, you could just high-tail out of there whenever the opportunity arises.”

His distrust shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. You ponder the best way to go about this, yet your tongue betrays you, speaking before you can lasso it back under command.

“In theory, yes.” You pause, waiting for it to sink in. “But I won’t.”

Some grand gesture of faith that was, you imbecile.

“Sure.” He stresses, unconvinced.

Taking a step forward, you crane your neck to meet his eye. Patchouli catches the office draft, clouding your head until all that comes from you is unintelligible nonsense.

“I’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. I don’t want to be the bad guy any more.” Your thunderous heartbeat drowns the effect of your proclamation. It’s hard to tell whether you come across as genuine or not. “All my life, I’ve only ever done what was wrong, what was selfish.” You rephrase his earlier reproach. “Let me be right, just this once.”

Your conviction sways when he tenses. No; this doesn’t feel honest, not even to you.

You want to be good. With all the fire of every star in this goddamn universe, blazing hot and colliding to expel devastation upon its neighbours. It shrinks up in your core, skyrocketing in temperature. It verges on explosion; a supernovae, life-giving. You want. You want. You want.

But, you’re afraid you don’t know how.

“We can make a deal?” You offer, plummeting to new depths of uncertainty. A deal requires mutual credence; for every skipped vow, you’ll lose out on something too. “Let me stay, just until I learn how to be the hero you need me to be. After that, I’ll go home – I swear it. And you’ll never have to worry about me again.”

He gives no blatant indication as to whether he’s seriously considering it. His head dips, and he turns his back to you, likely calculating collective factors to form the best solution. The way you perceive it, though – this elongated reticence:

He sees no other choice.

chapter eight

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chelseeebe · 5 months

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the luck you hold

this is very simply a rehash of fiona and jimmy/steve from shameless sksksks, especially steve’s occupation and readers family life lol. it is also essentially just smut- but i am interested in writing this dynamic further bc it’s so fun!

18+. mdni. smut, like really just smut. steve is a baddd boy but it’s so sexy so who cares.

✧ ✦ ✧

the club is loud, strobe lights flickering onto the crowd of moving people.

steve hadn’t even wanted to come tonight, much favouring his bed. it had been a shit day already, made worse by the thumping music filling the room.

his eyes wander the crowd, detesting the fact that everyone seemed so ecstatic to be here.

and then, he spots you. perfectly illuminated by the purple light. hips moving in time to the beat, clearly unbothered by the drunken stupor of the people surrounding you.

you’ve got something to prove, swaying to the music, dress riding up your thighs. there’s a message there, steve thinks, you’re trying to tell everyone or maybe, someone, that you don’t care.

he has to know. leaving the comfort of the balcony to descend on the crowd, eagle eyed for the girl in the black dress.

something takes over, wrestling his way through the hoards of people until he spots you, still wriggling your hips, away in your own world. somebody elbows him in the ribs, earning a quick glare before continuing his mission.

steve typically carries himself with much more composure, he wouldn’t dare to do this on any other night but his hand finds your waist, pressing his body to your back. moving to your rhythm.

you’re not bothered, still moving along to the music, steve’s not even sure that you know he’s there until an arm snakes around his neck, fingers knotting in his hair.

he takes that as a sign to move closer, pressing against your ass, almost howling into your ear when you grind against him.

his breath is strained, he wants to kiss you, hoping you’ll spin around and feel the same.

it’s only when the song changes that you do, stood in such close proximity that he can see the smudged eyeliner lining your eyes and the tiny curve of your lips. you’re studying him, examining his face but for only a moment.

and then your arms snake round his neck, keeping your chests to one another. as he leans in, your finger comes to press against his lips, not allowing him to kiss you. he scowls, throat rumbling in protest.

“what’s your name?” you say, just loud enough for him to hear you over the noise.

“steve,” muttering under your finger. honestly he’d appreciate if you’d just slide it between his lips, he needed to taste you some way, some how.

“steve,” you echo, running your delicate finger down over his bottom lip, pulling the plump skin with you.

the corners of his mouth turn, without sounding like he was crazy, he was sure you were made for him. something had drawn him into coming tonight, and now he thinks he knows what, or who.

“d’you wanna get outta here?” trying his luck, steve wasn’t interested in the long game.

and neither were you, nodding before you slide your hands down his chest, making sure to cop a feel before you ultimately leave with him.

by the time you reach your house, guided by your unhelpful directions, you’re ravenous. pulling him by the hand into your building, ready to jump his bones.

it’s not as if he wasn’t feeling the same, he’d been eyeing your dress riding up the entire journey. his hands find solace on your waist, gliding down to your ass, squeezing onto any and all flesh he could get his paws on.

you’re barely in the corridor, groping and grinding like some fucking high schoolers. steve’s lips brush against yours, appreciating the beauty in not-quite and nearly. it wouldn’t last long. not with the way his pants were already strained.

“you gonna kiss me then?” panting against his soft mouth, arms already hung around his neck.

“maybe if you ask nicely,” wanting to drag it out just a little while longer.

a laugh catches in your throat, gazing into his eyes with pure lustrous intentions, “please kiss me.”

he indulges, connecting your lips at long, long last. immediately overcome with the urge to just fuck you here against the wall. the kiss is messy, the kind he loves. all teeth and tongues, colliding in a haste, soft grunts fill the echoey hall.

breaking free just long enough to instruct you to, “jump,” large hands supporting your thighs as you do so, wrapping around his hips.

he’s not a clue where he’s going, deciding that your bedroom was far more appropriate than right beside your front door.

“on the right,” you pant into his mouth, there’s a sickly sweet taste on your breath. it’s addictive, steve wants to keep you attached to him at all times.

he clumsily backs through the door, struggling with keeping you upright while also not tripping over his feet and smashing backwards into the floor. grateful to drop you onto the mattress, immediately poising himself above.

“you live alone?” he asks, well aware that your bedroom door was wide open and anyone else would be subjected to performance he was about to give.

“no.. just me,” latching your lips onto his stubbly jawline, brushing your fingers against his belt buckle.

“good,” he grunts. working your dress up, exposing your delicate panties. if he’d known what was waiting for him underneath, he’d have just had you in the car.

your body works with him, hips canting as he removes the thin fabric, chest pressing to his while your hands work their own mission. the metal clinks, his pants unbuttoned, tugged down his thighs.

he wants to grab and squeeze every inch of you, fumbling his way down to your panties, tender and gentle but also rushed, like he needs to be inside of you right this second.

his shirt comes off with the help of your skilful fingers, sliding off of his arms and onto the floor. “you’re beautiful,” making a point to tell you as he gawps at your soft thighs, the way they’re spread so for him.

you shy away, shrinking into the covers. steve towers over you, kneeling on the springy mattress, “y’gotta look at me baby,” hands bringing your legs up onto his shoulder, held together by your ankles.

he can see how wet you are, slick and ready for him. your eyes find his even in the dark of your room, lip tucked between your teeth. he fists his cock, pre-cum leaking from the pink tip.

sliding between your sticky folds, teasing himself, teasing you as you whimper in anticipation. “can you..” you speak, trailing off into the air.

“hmm?”

you grumble, “please?” hands grabbing at his arms, clinging onto anything you could reach.

he teases the tip into your cunt, exhaling deeply as you envelop him, “shit.. you always feel like this?” he pants, sinking into your heat until he bottoms out. the long game wasn’t over, waiting for your response before he can give you what you need.

“i don’t.. i don’t know,” whining from underneath, your fingernails starting to sting as you urge him to move.

“so wet.. hm, perfect,” unable to resist any longer. his hips slam against the backs of your thighs, the intense sound of skin colliding with skin fills your night-lit bedroom.

his movements draw a long mewl from your lips, all glossy with spit and shared kisses. the angle is just right, stretching around him perfectly. like you were made to fit together.

“fuck,” you whine, turning into a wreck right in front of him. steve’s not one for meaningful sex but this feels different. he repositions your ankles, balancing them either side of his neck as he presses his chest to yours, finally able to kiss those plump lips, catching the sounds that tumble out with his own mouth.

he’s buried even further inside with this new position, slow thrusts that have you squeaking with every move. it’s music to his ears, spurring him on further.

you’re folded up under him, knees to your chin, pressing your tits together. steve wishes he had the capabilities to have his mouth in a hundred places at once, biting down on your bottom lip to stop himself from growling.

“yeah.. right there,” affirming his pace as your eyes roll back, dissipating into a cock-drunk mess.

you squeeze around him, he doesn’t have to be told what’s next. your breathy gasps are doing enough, drawing his own orgasm to a high. “is that good? yeah, baby?” nudging against your sweet spot, every pump of his hips had you in even more of a daze.

words fail to form on your tongue, a babbling mess of hoarse moans and barely audible mumblings of his name. christ, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to leave now.

your palms spread out on the white blanket, fisting the fabric as you teeter of the edge, calves trembling around his neck. you squeal, squeezing around him before descending even further into your pleasure.

“where d’you want me?” he rushes, tempo faltering as your cunt pushes him to his own orgasm. there’s a split-second thought, an amorous feeling even, to just cum inside. it’s quickly pushed aside when you mutter something about your stomach.

he pulls out, the shlick sound of your cunt making his head spin as he releases his load into your quivering stomach, moaning some chorus of your name as he does.

his breaths are laboured as he lets your legs fall, chest heaving as come back to earth. steve collapses onto the bed, stretching his stiff legs when the lamp flickers on, brightening up the room.

“hold on,” he ushers, climbing off the bed to grab something, anything, to clean the mess he’d made.

he picks up some old towel, clearly discarded from earlier this evening and wipes the stickiness from your skin. re-dumping it on the floor before sitting on the other side of the bed.

you’re even prettier in this light, mascara slightly smudged, hair tousled with wisps all over the place. he’s even more sure that he’s never gonna be able to walk out of here, at least not with his dignity.

“d’you want me to..go?” well aware that he’s stood fuck-ass naked in the middle of your room as you busy around with a t-shirt. god he hopes you say no.

“no,” shaking your head, sliding the shirt over your head, an unwelcome addition.

he smiles to himself, pulling his boxers back on, at least for his own dignity before laying back down on the other side of the bed. in the heat of the moment, he hadn’t actually taken any notice of where he was.

using the opportunity to peer around the bare room, a small vanity in the corner and a slightly cracked full-length mirror was all there really was. maybe you were a minimalist or some shit?

“where the hell did you learn that?” you ponder, pulling his attention from the lack of your belongings and back to you.

“what’re you trying to say?”

your lips twitch, turning over to turn the light off again, encasing the room in a familiar darkness. “goodnight, steve,” his name curling off of your tongue in that tantalising way it had all night.

he scoffs, burying himself beneath the blanket while his arm searches for you aimless, catching onto your waist to pull you into his chest.

maybe it’s just his brain or maybe it’s because he already thinks he knows you so well, but he’s sure he can feel your smile, your heartbeat rippling through your skin.

he could get used to this.

when he wakes, you’re still sleeping soundly beside him. eyelashes fanning out across your cheeks, an image to behold.

he wills you awake for what feels like hours, eventually growing tired of your soft snores and nudging his knee into your leg, pulling you from your slumber.

“you’re still here?” you groan, eliciting a sudden laugh from his throat. brutal or what?

“well shit, and here i was thinking of buying you breakfast,” he doesn’t take any offence, nestling his face into the nape of your neck. pressing soft kisses to the warm skin as he drapes his arm around your waist, running his hand underneath your t-shirt.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” you sigh, still groggy as you relax into his hold. the back of your head comes to meet his shoulder, “d’you usually hang around for breakfast?”

“no,” steve smiles in between kisses, “but you’re different,” walking his fingers over the curve of your waist, inching higher and higher.

you really were. and he’d known it from the second the dizzying club lights had perfectly illuminated you to him.

“different, hmm?” sighing softly into the morning air.

“mhm,” he hums, palm meeting your breast, drawing a sharp breath out of your mouth. “i think i know what i want for breakfast,” teasing your nipple, loving the way you shudder in response.

“what’s that?” you breathe, placing your hand atop of his.

“you.”

he’d been gagging to taste you, pretty sure he’d dreamt about it last night too. he climbs on top, hovering over your sleep-laden body, making the descent down between your legs.

peppering kisses between your plush thighs, savouring the feel of the soft skin encasing his ears and cheeks. his hands hold you steady, keeping your hips pressed into the mattress as his mouth attaches to your pussy, licking strong lines between your folds.

hand travelling upward, grabbing at the too-big shirt, palming at your breasts. this’d be enough to get him off too, he’s sure.

his phone buzzes repeatedly, the nightstand shaking with every message, he groans into your core, sending your head back into the pillow. “ignore it,” you whisper, urging him to continue.

he tries, only for a brief second before sighing, “i can’t,” he frowns, kneeling on the mattress before reaching over for the fucking thing.

he really can’t.

shit.

“fuck, i’ve gotta go,” he swallows, glancing back at you, really, really not wanting to leave.

“are you joking?”

“no,” clambering off the bed to find his discarded clothes, god he wishes he could stay. “it’s.. work, if i don’t answer, i’m dead,” his eyes fall to your barely covered chest, he’ll have to fight the stiffy on the way over to the yard.

you’re pouting now, trying everything to get him to stay. and he knows he’s an asshole, getting you riled up and soaked before disappearing. but he also knows his dad would wring his neck if he found out he’d ignored him for some girl he’d barely met.

steve leans over, planting a kiss to the corner of your downturned mouth, “i’ll be back,” nodding as he gathers his things from your nightstand, shoving them into his pockets.

“what?” you exclaim, brows furrowed as if you weren’t understanding him.

“i’ll be back.. later, so be ready,” before sliding out of the door and down the hall. fingers already re-dialling his dad as the sunlight hits his face. god, he wished he’d brushed his teeth, or at least asked for some gum.

“where the hell are you?” his dad barks down the phone, steve holds the thing away from his ear. it was far too early for him to get his ear chewed off.

“i was.. with a friend, sorry,” not exactly a lie. he assumes this makes you friends or more.

“friend my ass,” his father scoffs, huffing out a deflated, “just get down here,” before the line goes dead.

he rolls his eyes, finding the haphazardly parked car and jumping in. he had approximately twenty minutes to get rid of the boner in his pants and the taste of pussy in his mouth.

steve’s knuckles rap against your door, he’s a little later than he had hoped to be, but he’s here, just as he said he would be.

the door swings open, revealing a very obviously not-ready you, brows furrowed.

“you’re not ready,” he says flatly, eyeing the large sweater and shorts you had on instead. hey, you look great but not for where he wants to take you.

“i thought you were joking,” half-laughing at him and the fact that you’re stood in your pajamas in your doorway.

“i don’t joke,” shaking his head, “go on.. we’re going out.”

“where?” you question. couldn’t you just get ready without all of these questions?

“it’s a secret,” tapping the side of his nose inconspicuously.

you look baffled, mouth hung open before you disappear into the dark hallway, leaving the door ajar which steve takes as an invitation inside.

he closes the door behind him, knows the way to your room already, following the faint sound of your voice coming from down the hall. who the hell were you talking to?

“no he’s here nance,” speaking in hushed tones, not intending for him to be eavesdropping. “we’re going out.. no, no i don’t know where,” he nears the door, lurking behind to listen to whatever else you might reveal about him to nance. “okay.. i’ll call you later.. yes, i fuckin’ hope so.. okay bye.”

you go silent for a minute, steve hangs back, stood beside the door like some creep. until you come rushing out, holding two dresses. startled to see him you freeze, staring at him like you’d seen a ghost.

“that one,” he nods towards the one in your left hand, a little red number, “definitely that one,” he’s not even going to acknowledge the fact that he was listening to your conversation.

“uh- okay,” walking back into your bedroom, leaving the door open just a crack.

steve decides against going in, making his way to your living room to peruse your personal belongings there. he wasn’t doing it to be weird or intrusive, he just wanted to know more about you.

the decor is.. interesting. pictures of kids that he assumes are your siblings, hang all over the walls, the couch is clearly second hand, his eyes drawn to the peeling leather.

he doesn’t mind, in fact he’d buy you a new one tomorrow if you asked.

there’s something sweet about it all though, that even after you’ve moved out or away, you’ve still got their pictures hanging on your wall. sometimes he wished he had siblings, at least then his dad might not be so hard on him.

his self-pitying thoughts are interrupted when your clatter into the room, still brushing lipgloss over your lips. “is this good enough for you?” you ask, as if he’d ever disagree.

his eyes linger on your figure, “perfect,” deciding to now meet your gaze, “you ready?”

you nod, glossy lips curling into a smile. he hopes you’ll share some of it with him later.

he leads the way, holding the door open for you like any gentleman should, opening the passenger door of the shiny new bmw, closing it gently as you sit inside.

“i thought you had a different car last night?” you ask as he slides in, eyeing the pleather interior.

“i did,” is all he replies. he’ll tell you some point, he’s sure. “nice day?” filling the car with small talk as he drives.

the restaurant isn’t far from your place, he’d called giovanni for a table earlier, assured that it’d all be set up before he got there.

and it is, his favourite table laid out on arrival. nodding towards the young waiter who just wriggles his brows in response.

steve doesn’t like how quiet you are, obviously not accustomed to anyone going the extra mile for you. “so, tell me about your family,” nudging the conversation along.

“it’s a long story,” you sigh, sipping the overpriced wine he’d bought for the table.

“i’ve got time.”

your eyes narrow slightly, deciding whether to trust him he supposes.

but you do. tales of younger siblings and working three jobs, deadbeat mothers and a dad that couldn’t have cared less. it’s like nothing he’s ever heard before and it’s no surprise that you’re not used to being so looked after when all you’ve ever done is look after other people.

“so what about you, pretty boy,” poking your shoe into his shin, a question he’d hoped you wouldn’t ask.

“oh you know.. the usual,” pouring the rest of the wine into your glass, “i.. sell cars with my dad, he’s an asshole too but you’ve got me beat there,” sipping on his own glass of the bitter liquid.

your nostrils flare, scoffing at him from across the table, “ohh.. i get your schtick now, it all makes sense,” nodding at your own apparent revelation.

“you think so?” tilting his chin toward the ceiling, quirking his brows. enlighten him, please.

you hum, smirking to yourself, thinking you’d got him all figured out. “yup.. rich kid, lives off of daddy’s money but hates him anyway and now you fuck around, take girls to fancy restaurants,” your eyes glide around the extravagant interior, “maybe you’ll hang around for a couple’a months and then you’ll leave, run right back to daddy.”

you’re so smug about it too. so smug and so wrong.

steve can’t contain his grin. fuck, he likes you so much.

he doesn’t reply, keeping his gaze steady on you. he’s decided that tonight is the night. yeah it might be a little quick but you were obviously worthy of knowing.

“you know i told you i sell cars?” he asks, leaning over the table.

“what?”

“follow me,” he orders, the glint in his eye only meant one thing. it was probably stupid and his dad would definitely be on his ass about it tomorrow but it’d be so worth it.

you look baffled, eyes following as he stands from the table, throwing a couple hundred dollar bills down. his hand is extended, waiting for you to listen.

after a second, you oblige, taking his hand, following cautiously behind. he realises that this definitely makes him look like a crazed weirdo, but he can’t wait. licking his lips in sheer anticipation.

the street is quiet, thank god. so he pulls you over towards the shiny red porsche parked outside, muttering a hushed, “watch this,” before getting to work.

he’s done this a thousand times before, not usually with a pretty girl watching, but he still had it. fingers messing about with the keyhole, doing what he does best.

voices emerge from the alley, forcing him to think quick. instead of abandoning the car, he presses your body against the door, kissing your lips with a haste, keeping one hand over the nearly-cracked lock.

“ste-,” you start, only to be interrupted by his lips. eventually you relax into it, smiling against his mouth. it really was absurd, be he had to prove himself.

the couple from the alley turn off, disappearing off down the street, letting him break the kiss to check they’d really gone. you look at him in amazement, gormless and most likely wondering what the fuck was even going on.

“what the fuck?” you whisper, amused as you step sideways, letting him continue with the car.

“what? you didn’t enjoy it?”

“well.. i, i wasn’t expecting that,” shying away from him, your bashfulness isn’t necessary here.

the door pops open and he turns to you with a satisfied smile, “get in,” holding the bright red door open for you. he’d have to swing back and get the bmw tomorrow but if it meant you wouldn’t just write him off as some daddy’s boy, it’d be totally worth it.

“this is fucking crazy,” you remark but slide into the car anyway. watching intently as his fingers fiddle with the underwires, a process that was normally incredibly tedious but had him feeling like james fucking bond in front of you.

the engine roars suddenly, sending him back to his seat, pulling the seat belt over his chest before he speeds off.

it’s exhilarating, the rush never wears off no matter how many times he had done this. steve’s eyes peer over to you, your mouth hung open in what he can assume is a mixture of terror and thrill.

“you figured me out yet?” poking his tongue into his cheek, he could feel the cockiness exuding from his pores but couldn’t help it. you’d been so sure, so set on him being some rich asshole and now he was really anything but.

you laugh, a real, maniacal laugh, nails digging into the leather door handle, “no,” your eyes shining as the streetlights whiz by.

he pulls into some abandoned parking lot, the porsche stood out like a sore thumb surrounded by the bricks and rubble left behind.

“i told you i sell cars, i didn’t say it was exactly legal,” leaning over the centre console, goading you, smug as all hell.

you stare back, realising that he was no longer the man you’d expected him to be. his dad did have a lot of money, but hell, they had to work for it. he’d been doing this long before steve was ever born.

“what else don’t i know about you, steve,” inching closer in your own seat. god, he hopes you’ll desecrate this car with him.

“you’ll have to stick around and find out,” cocking his head to the side.

your smile is worth more than anything you could’ve said, smacking your lips together before reaching over and kissing his. it’s slow, worlds away from how you had jumped on him last night. he just wants to pull you over onto his lap, christen the car before it gets sold to some stuck-up prick.

steve takes that as a sign that you’re willing to hang around, god knows how long it’d last or hell- if it’d even ever work but for you, he’s more than prepared to wait and see.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve stranger things #steve harrington fic

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nonstoplover · 1 year

Text

flashes of silver ~ lewis hamilton (lh44)

my masterlist | my f1 masterlist

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!reader

summary: with the annual fia gala coming up, lewis decides to do something as a kind of thank you to his hard-working team, and invites one of the girls working for mercedes as his plus one.

words: 3.4K

warnings: cheesy fluffy stuff; a possible age gap if you squint your eyes but nothing actually mentioned; probably not accurately written shop scene (if you can't tell, i've never been in any fancy shop lol)

a/n: i had a dream. one simple dream that pulled me out of the past few months' writer's block. it was a bit of a struggle though to kinda get back into writing rhythm but whatever. i needed to get this out of my system before i go mad. first lh44 fic also!

please, don't be a ghost reader, leave a comment or rb!

"I don't have any dress that's good enough for a gala," she shakes her head ferociously, her eyes not leaving the man standing before her. She still can't fight the small voice in her head telling her that it's just a joke. A prank, probably for the team's social media pages. Why else would he approach her with something so ridiculous?

Under her curious, cautious gaze, Lewis just reaches into his pocket, and without breaking eye contact for a single second, pulls his card out and places it on the desk in front of her. "Go buy yourself something then. You deserve it anyway."

All words leave her mind, it's like her vocabulary has been completely erased. The only thing she can do is allow her eyes to widen in sync with her lips, as she tries to comprehend what she's just heard.

"Come on, take it," he encourages with a small smile.

When she still doesn't move an inch, the man playfully sighs, extending his arm to grab the card once more. With his other hand, he reaches even further, under the desktop to take hold of her hand resting on her lap. A gentle but still dynamic movement later he's pried her fingers open and placed the card in her palm. His own fingers stay there, flesh to flesh, for a second longer, before closing her fist around the plastic and retreating his touch.

As the air-conditioned, cool air hits the back of her hand again, (y/n) wakes from her trance. Her eyes flash up and down a couple times, from the driver to the card and back again. "I can't spend your money. I won't spend your money."

"I have more than enough, it's okay."

"That doesn't change what I said."

"(y/n), please. I already told the entire media team that I'm taking you. I told even Toto." Lewis presses his hands against the wooden surface and leans against it for support as he continues to stand at her desk.

The way he keeps on insisting this for the past five minutes makes her start to wonder that maybe, just maybe, he actually means it, and this is not a joke.

"Why?"

He can still hear the disbelief in her voice, and has to control himself not to roll his eyes as he giggles. "I already told you like twice since I came here."

"But it doesn't make sense. I mean, I get it, you wanna give something back to the team for their hard work or whatever, but why don't you take literally anyone else than me?"

"You're next in line," he shrugs.

Why do his eyes always have to be so kind and so lovely and so heartwarming and so–, she stops herself before she spirals down that rabbit hole again.

"You've been working here for years, having my back all the time, and so I figured it would be a nice thank you, from me to you."

"You know, an actual thank you would be sufficient," she smiles lightly up at him after a second of silent ponder – the first crack in her indevout façade, and the first tiny wave of relief in his body.

"Okay, you know what?" Lewis pauses, waiting until her eyes flash with pure curiosity, all caution forgotten. "We're going dress shopping together. Right now."

(y/n) lets out a chuckle that comes to an abrupt stop when she sees him hold his hand out, palm up and open, obviously waiting. For her. He means it.

"I'm working," her mind says the first response it can come up with – earning an imaginary slap when she actually realises what she's just said.

(y/f/n) would kill me if she heard this, she thinks with certain memories of her avid LH44 fan best friend appearing in her mind. Who in her right mind would find an excuse to say no to an offer like this from Lewis Hamilton himself?

"I'm sure your boss will understand if you tell him who you were with and why," he chuckles, the sound making the tips of her fingers tingle and her heart flutter.

"Oh, right," (y/n) lets out a laugh, cheeks turning red in slight embarrassment as her eyes flicker down to the keyboard sitting in front of her. Her boss, Toto Wolff definitely wouldn't mind if he already agreed to this crazy plan previously.

"So, you coming?" Lewis wiggles his fingers, gathering the girl's attention. She slowly raises her head, mentally preparing herself for what she's about to do, then as if the world has abruptly changed to slow motion, (y/n) watches her free hand move up and a long second later arrive into his still waiting palm.

Just in time with his fingers tightening momentarily around hers, she can hear her own laughter jingle loud. Is this a dream?

"You're beautiful," Lewis greets her as the chauffeur closes the car door behind her, his smile creating wrinkles in the corners of his eyes – something she's always found absolutely adorable.

"Thanks," she mumbles in response, struggling to keep eye contact when she notices the intense look in his gaze.

"Maybe you could give me your stylist's number."

Upon hearing this, (y/n) can't help but glance at the driver sitting next to her, lips curling into a wide grin, exactly how he wanted. "I don't know, I'd have to ask him first to see if he agreed," she answers and they let out a giggle at the same time, both of them remembering that one afternoon a few days back.

"We really shouldn't go in here," (y/n) stops short on the pavement, her heels pressing down on the asphalt.

"We really should, though," Lewis grabs her hand without even glancing her way, pulling the girl behind him right into the shop.

"Lewis!" she hisses, stumbling in her steps as she rushes to keep up with his relentless pace. "One dress here costs more money than all I've ever earned."

"Then it's good that I already told you I'm paying," comes his immediate, somewhat deadpan reply.

He doesn't stop and doesn't let go of her hand, not until she's in the spacious changing room in the back of the extremely fancy dress shop, along with a mountain of colourful, unambiguously expensive materials. "I'll be out here waiting," he announces, then leaves her with the shop assistant, drawing the heavy, thick curtain closed behind him.

What feels like a million dresses later, the young woman helping her dress lets out an approving gasp, loud enough that even Lewis can hear it from the other side, as he's scrolling on social media sitting in the almost overly comfortable armchair, the sound piquing his interest. With one firm push to her shoulder, the woman twirls (y/n) around until she comes face to face with the huge mirror.

The silver silk is still rippling around her legs from the sudden movement, reflecting the light and thereby making her practically shine. It's modest, with thin straps on her shoulders and the neckline not too revealing, a monochrome, bright silver dress – and (y/n) has to admit to herself that the material tightly hugging her torso is the most magical thing her skin has ever touched. She feels almost royal in it.

For the first time since they've arrived in the shop, she doesn't feel like a clown and all ridiculous when the curtain gets pulled back and Lewis raises his head to catch a glance at her. Her skin tingles and heart flutters as his eyes move down and then up again on her body just like they did several times in the past hour or so – but the nervous feeling finally gets replaced with something new, something exciting.

One simple, consenting inclination of the man's head in an upright motion, and time speeds up. The next couple minutes go by in a blur, and by the time she at last emerges from the changing room for the final time, now in her original clothes – that feel almost painfully too ordinary after the magnificent dress – Lewis has already arranged everything, and is simply waiting for her at the counter.

(y/n) thinks about the excitement she felt when she woke up in the morning, knowing that in a few hours, her dress will be delivered and she can feel the smooth, cool silk wrap around her body once more.

Now she allows her eyes to truly take in the man next to her, curiosity getting the best of her as she shamelessly checks him out. He refused to let her know what he's going to wear, only making her a promise that they're going to match. Now his body is wrapped in a suit, one that's seemingly made from the same silver silk that she has on, with something white peaking out from under it – but (y/n)'s just unable to look away from the suit itself, not even for a second. She can't help but think about how regal he looks, how he's so easily going to outshine anyone in the room. How the two of them are going to shine together. Silver, like the team they both work for. Like the Silver Arrows.

"Like it?" His voice breaks her out of her trance, and she blinks the thoughts away, hoping the makeup the girl Lewis was kind enough to arrange for her applied some time earlier effectively hides the flushed colour of her cheeks.

She nods. "You look amazing. As always," she adds, almost as an afterthought, eliciting the famous giggle from his lips, and thereby sending the flutters in her whole body into overdrive.

"We look amazing, love," he smiles, momentarily reaching over to squeeze her hand that's laying on top of her thigh, and she has to focus with all she has not to reveal in any way the effect him calling her that has had on her.

How on Earth did I get into this situation?, she wonders, eyes frantically searching for the familiar sight of Lewis in the crowd of people.

As soon as he's left her side, people flocked her like predacious birds. Not just some people, no. People who've been waiting to catch her alone ever since they arrived. People whose work includes creating drama with made up stories and rumours all too often. Journalists.

(y/n) sees no way out as they keep trying to make conversation with her, their questions whizzingly filling her ears and mind.

"Are you his girlfriend?"

"How long have you been dating?"

"It must be serious if he took you to a gala like this, is it?"

"How can someone like Sir Lewis Hamilton, dream of millions of women, who could have anyone he wanted, choose someone like you, plain, and really, a nobody?"

This is the question the driver hearswhen he gets back from the counter offering drinks, a glass each in his hands. His eyes widen, realising his mistake of leaving her alone even for only such a short time. He should've known better. He should've expected journalists here, who would come up with their theories, just because his plus one to this event is a woman they've never seen, at least definitely not with him before. He just assumed – mistakenly, as he can now see – that to a high prestige event like this, such vultures won't get invited.

This is the question that makes his mind cloud with anger. How could any person in their right mind say this to someone, anyone, but especially to such a gorgeous young woman that she is. Without a second thought, he pushes care out the window and behaves on instinct. With a softly spoken pardon, he pushes his way through the group of journalists, stepping up to her side. Even in his slightly foggy state of mind he can see – or more likely feel –the way her shoulder drop a little, relief obviously coursing through her veins finally as she moves just an inch closer to his body. Seeking for protection.

His arm moves next, on its own accord really, as he hands her one of the drinks he's brought, then using his now free hand to snake it around her waist, pulling her tight into his side. All this happens in one short second, and in the next one, he's turning his head to press a soft but lingering kiss on her temple.

Then, as if he's just remembered the gathering of people around them, looks away from her once more, searching non-stop with his eyes until he finds that one journalist who said the final question before his arrival, his stare turning cold and almost deadly. He can faintly hear the girl next to him stutter to get an answer out, but precede her with one simple sentence aimed mainly at that person his eyes are still trained on.

"You mean, how could someone like me get a woman so breathtaking as her, right?"

A beat passes when no one speaks, when no one seems to dare even to breathe, then he continues, his stare finally moving back to (y/n), gaze softening. "Because to be honest even I don't know, still looking for an answer."

Lewis smiles, sweet as ever, as if nothing like that death stare has just happened, before lifting the glass in his hand to take a sip. As the alcohol swirls around his tongue, a sudden thought pops in his mind, and within a second, he's reaching out, and with the backs of his fingers he touches her jaw, to make her turn her head towards him gently. Then, like nothing is more natural than this, he leans in and presses a kiss on her lips. To try and make what he's said even more believable.

The prior couple seconds have already left (y/n) completely bemused and speechless, but this one action of his tops them all. Her heart nearly jumps out of her chest, and she can feel her eyes being extremely wide from the surprise she's feeling, his words being on constant replay in her ears. As her mind slowly catches up to her and realises what he's most probably playing at, she pulls herself together to play her part, not wanting to ruin the act and thereby making a fool out of him – meaning simply melting into his kiss, which is really not that hard, to be frank.

As he pulls away, Lewis gazes at her a little longer than he was necessarily supposed to, then with a simple, murmured excuse us to the journalists and with his hand leaving her waist only to intertwine their fingers, he pulls her away from the spot. He keeps on moving until he's pulled her into an empty corridor, not stopping until he makes sure they are fully alone – leaving that one journalist to stand in shame, while the others can't help but think slyly about what the reason behind his hurried exit with his girlfriend could be.

In line with his abrupt stop, he drops her hand immediately, turning towards her in one swift motion with an unexpected shy, apologising look in his eyes. Before she can gather her thoughts and say anything, his voice already rings out in-between the walls of the corridor. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to make you uncomfortable – and I truly hope I didn't – and I definitely did not just use this situation for my own gains, to get some juicy stories of me in the papers or whatever, and I will never step over these boundaries again, I just wanted to stop that bullshit that journalist has started."

Thoughts finally start to make sense in her head again, but before she can get a word out, he rambles on. "And I want you to know that what they told was completely wrong. I meant it, what I said back there, word for word. Well, except the part about me getting you since obviously we're nothing like that, but I just wanted you to know that it's the truth."

He would probably keep on talking if it wasn't for her hand gently being placed on his forearm. (y/n) smiles up at him as echos of his last, firmly stated sentence still faintly ring out. "Lewis, it's okay." The driver stops and takes a breath. "You didn't have to do it though, it's not your job to... protect me from anything, especially not from what random people say."

"I know, but I wanted to. Couldn't bear it if I knew you lived on with these words in your head about yourself," Lewis replies with a small smile finally once more gracing his face.

Her eyes break the eye contact as they move down to inspect her shoes, her cheeks suddenly feeling quite hot. "Thank you. It was very lovely of you."

When he doesn't say anything, she takes a deep breath, and with that, looks back up again only to find him wordlessly watching her. Her glance flickers to his lips, noticing some residue of her lipstick smeared around his skin there. With eyes widening, she's fast to reach up and wipe it off, mumbling under her breath something about the deep red colour.

Those heavy brown eyes of his don't leave her face, following her every movement, and the same thoughts come back to his mind that he was thinking right after that very kiss. As if she could read his mind, she continues speaking, now a little louder, braver. "Especially the kiss," she says, though with an even darker red shade colouring her cheeks. "You definitely didn't have to do that, it was believable enough without it."

Lewis thinks for a second, eyes focused on her lips for a moment longer – something that she just catches when she finishes wiping the residue off –, then his glance moves further up her face to stare into her eyes, with an abrupt seriousness and determination gleaming on his face.

"And what if I say that it wasn't a part of that whole play pretend? Not really."

Her breath catches in her throat as her mind scrambles to comprehend his words and what he could possibly imply with them. "What do you mean?" she mumbles in the end, the tips of her fingers starting to itch in their sudden shaky state.

"What if I say I wanted to kiss you in that moment?"

Lewis takes a long second to pause, in which he examines her reaction carefully to know if he should continue or not. He looks all around her face, searching for clues – and easily finding them. In how her eyes sparkle in a way he's never seen them shine before, how her cheeks are flushed bright pink, how her lips slightly open in shock but their corners are curling up into the beginnings of a smile.

He decides he can safely continue.

"What if I say I want to kiss you in this moment?"

Her fingers twitch, her heart skips a beat. In that same second, his fingers reach out to grab hers, pulling them to his chest, only to press them down right there immediately. Through the cold to the touch silk, she can clearly feel his heart beating in a rapid rhythm, almost equalling hers.

(y/n) lets her eyes follow their hands, momentarily mesmerised by how beautifully their skins blend into the other, through the cracks in-between his fingers that are nearly covering all of hers. Then her glance moves higher, right to his lips, before slowly, eventually arriving to his eyes. She doesn't find it in herself to speak, doesn't trust her lips and her voice to be able to say what she truly feels and means, and so only moves her head in the tiniest of nods, careful not to break eye contact.

Lewis has been attentively waiting for her response for several long seconds now, being ready for whatever it might be. When it comes, he jumps on the opportunity like there's no tomorrow, like he's scared she might change her mind if he waits a second longer, and catches her lips with his own in a single movement, once more in the past five minutes, but this time with much more meaning to it.

notes: oh god the way i pictured this so vividly in my head following nothing but a freaking dream my mind came up with... ever since then i couldn't get it out of my head. i know i didn't do it justice with how i've written it, but honestly? i just needed to write it down before i go crazy. (and to think that i'm not even that crazy of a lewis fan... what this could've been if i was?!)

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if anyone wanted an idea about the dress i had in mind while writing:

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