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goodeapple · 4 months ago

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pedal to the metal (cregan s. modern hotd pwp o.s.)

pairing : Cregan x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : MDNI PWP, hate sex babyyy! cunnilingus (creg's a munch, let's talk about it), p-in-the-v, doggystyle, sex in a public place, misogynistic language/illusions, brat taming, general yummy stuff

word count : 3,500+

note : two updates? in less than two weeks? who is sheeee. but actually, i have a nasty sinus infection and i feel like a hot air balloon so any love from ya'll would cure me. all my love, always xx

"How much do I owe you?"

"Your money's no good here." Cregan rumbles, letting his eyes roam leisurely down the enchanting bends and blooms of Ysilla's body.

The dress she's slid into is nothing short of obscene- the silky caramel color a twin shade of her soft, supple skin. The entirety of her chest may be covered to the base of her throat courtesy of the halter neckline, but that doesn't account for the backless design that bares her down to the bounce of her ass. She's all leg and sky high heels, the hemline stopping short just below her cheeks. Her midnight hair is twisted up and off her shoulders, displaying the huge fucking diamonds decorating her earlobes.

She's a showroom car in the middle of his dingy garage. Untouchable. Unattainable.

Ysilla eyes him with a healthy sprinkling of mistrust, giving him a very unimpressed once over. Every speck of grease on his jeans seems to grow darker, the dirt under his nails thickening into a damning paste. Cregan grits his teeth, recognizing the look for exactly what it is- he's shit under her shoes.

"Just do me a favor, alright?" He goes on before she can't stop him, the perk of her eyebrow haughty and aching to rebuff him. "Lay offa Jace. Man's been through the ringer, he doesn't need you piling on all the time."

The look of gobsmacked shock on her pretty face is priceless. Cregan bets no one's ever talked to her like that before.

"You don't tell me what to do, Stark."

"Not telling you, I'm askin' you." He bites back, rolling his eyes. She picks Jace up sometimes, pulling up in her candy apple red Corvette- no doubt thanks to mummy's money- and doesn't even bother to get out and set foot inside of Stark & Son's Body Shop. She'll lay on the horn, harping at Jace to get a move on and stop wasting my fucking time.

Real classy gal.

"It's my brother's own goddamn problem that he wrapped his Ferrari 'round a tree while he was pissed. Now Mum's making him work off his house arrest in this shit shop, and I have to take time out of my day to pick him up from daycare? Bite me." Such vitriol seems unlikely to come from sparkly glossed lips but it pours like oil, easy and thick off her tongue. She's crossed her arms, cocked a hip, and is glaring at him something serious.

'Shit shop' eh? Cregan snarls, Northern pride burning through the tips of his ears. He stands, kicking away the rolling stool, all six feet and more of him swallowing up the Targaryen daughter in his shadow. Even with her heels, she still has to look up at him to give him her nastiest look.

"And where are your priorities exactly, Princess?" Cregan doesn't make a habit of talking to women like this but Ysilla gnaws at him like frostbite. Plus, he's got nothing to lose. His uncle is the one doing the favor for Jace's mum. Cregan doesn't owe anyone shit.

"You off to another club? Didn't I just see your photo splashed over every mag from here to Rook's Rest last week? Partying and gettin' sloshed, stumbling into limos face first and ass up." He chuckles, enjoying a little too much how her bronzed cheeks bloom rosy, the whites of her eyes growing frosty. She's positively fuming- he's surprised steam hasn't shot out of her ears yet. Cregan decides to push his luck, tucking a stubborn curl behind her ear, tracing the shell of it in faux tenderness.

"What're you searching for at the bottom of all those bottles? Who are ya looking for in the ones that end up in your bed?"

He expects the smack because that last bit was a little too far. Shit stings, he'll give it to her, waggling his jaw to dissipate the pain. He rubs at the skin of his cheek, the stubbled flesh hot under his hand.

"Struck a nerve, did I?" He laughs darkly, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. It's a valiant effort, one made in vain as another manicured paw sails through the air and attempts to get familiar with his face. Cregan catches Ysilla's hand, yanking her into him if only to limit how much destruction she can cause.

"You get one Princess, you don't get another."

Cregan watches the narrowing of her captivating indigo eyes, her little angry breaths hot along his chest. Maybe he'd laugh at the fact that her pissed off face is about as menacing as a pouting puppy if he didn't realize all of her is pressed into the entire front of him. He refuses to focus on the softness of her breasts pillowed against his ribs. Blocks out the rosemary of her shampoo drifting up his nose from the strands swaying under his chin.

He lets a traitorous thought drift into his head, a whisper of how fucking perfect she feels against him, how deliciously right she is in his arms.

"What dumb slag told you that you were hot shit enough to talk to a girl this way?" Ysilla spits, trying to yank free her wrists he still has locked in his meaty fists.

Cregan scoffs, releasing her and taking a step back- for his sake or hers, he won't answer, not even in his head. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She rubs at the tender skin under her Cartier bracelets, and Cregan argues with himself to not feel too bad. Considering his face still hurts like a bitch, he doesn't take much convincing.

"Maybe I would."

He almost misses it, Ysilla's voice dimmed down to a near whisper. But it's just the two of them this late at night, so she may as well've screamed it at the top of her lungs.

Of fucking course.

"Oh, I see. Does that turn you on? Guys treating you like shit?" It's his turn to cross his arms and look down the tip of his nose at her. "Or do you just want a man that won't bow down to you because of your last name?"

"Easy, big boy." Ysilla sneers. She spins on her heel, sauntering away from him and Cregan certainly does not stare at the beguiling jiggle of her ass.

She finds a seat, reclining on the hood of her Corvette, the same one he was doing a solid for Jace fixing up, faulty fuel sensor and a shitty transmission hidden under the shiny red hood. She may be a bit of a twat but she's still my sister. Can't have her skiddin' off the Long Bridge, Mum would have my ass.

"I've had enough night-outs to last a lifetime. Maybe… I should try out something different." She crosses her long legs at the ankle and the shop lights might be severely unflattering on most people, but of course that doesn't apply to her. The white glow bounces off her polished skin, illuminating her in a showcase display, enticing anyone who may spare a glance. Fuck, he wants to take a bite out of her.

"What? Wanna slum it?" Cregan can't believe this shit- maybe Ysilla knocked a screw loose when she swatted at him earlier and he's hallucinating like a bad fucking mushroom trip.

She giggles, an evil little sound that would probably make a baby cry. "Your words, not mine." Her fingers dance at the edge of her dress, dipping below the hem, raising it just so. She's got thick thighs, creamy and unblemished, and Cregan thinks of how easily they'd spread apart for his shoulders when he'd go face first between them. His silence stretches on and Ysilla takes it as an unspoken answer.

"No? Your loss." She shrugs, pushing to her feet.

"Bend over the hood. Keep your heels on."

He's somewhat proud his voice doesn't shake. He's no blushing bride but this is pretty ballsy. The shop door isn't even locked- he'd opened it for her once she arrived and expected her to walk right back out of it in a matter of minutes. His guys are all long gone for the night, probably already a few pints deep at the pub, but this isn't the best part of King's Landing. Anyone could try the door and walk into the porno he's apparently shooting in his garage.

He expects a fight, at least a snide remark or two but Ysilla is full of surprises. She gives him a sexy little smirk, staring him down like she's expecting him to back out. When all he does is raise an impatient eyebrow, she bites her lip in anticipation and spins around. She walks her hands up the hood of her car, positioning herself in the most alluring display of come take me now Cregan's ever seen.

He doesn't make his feet move but suddenly, somehow, he's behind her, nearly flush with the back of her thighs. He wedges his steel toe in between her stilettos and knocks them apart. Ysilla gasps as her legs spread, goosebumps peppering over the naked skin of her back.

He lets himself enjoy this, running his palms from the bare slope of her shoulders, down the sides of her covered breasts, and over the small of her back. She feels fantastic, all woman, and his cock pulses thickly behind his fly. He sees her fingers flex along the gleaming red metal she clings to before the sight drops away as he squats behind her, his face level now with her delicious derriere.

Ysilla peers at him from under her arm, a surprised little laugh escaping her. "Thought you'd be the kind to just shove it in."

Cregan shimmies the expensive silk of her dress over the swell of her hips, exposing the globes of her ass to the tepid night air. He smiles, the softest look he's aimed at her so far tonight. "Ye of little faith, milady."

She's beautiful, every inch of her. He suckles a string of bruises from the back of her knee to the swell of her cheek, stamping down the urge to sink his teeth into the lavish bounty of her body.

"Gonna kiss my ass, Stark- oh! Damn se Sīkuda, fuckkk."

He indulges a dip of his tongue into where her thong blooms a dark dot, her honey soaking through the delicate material. He sucks on it like a man starved, pulling the sweetness out and onto his ravenous taste buds. A treat before the main course, he shucks them out of his way roughly, before burying his tongue inside of her cunt with no finesse.

Ysilla startles forward, shouting out another curse but it falls on deaf ears, Cregan a man drowning in lust. Bitter she may be inside but between her legs is fucking sugar, the feminine musk of her arousal coating his mouth in a saccharin syrup. His eyes slip closed, losing himself in her decadent tang. He winds his arms around the front of her thighs and hugs her to his face, keeping her stuck against his insatiable tongue. He leaves her hole only to dip forward to wrap his lips around the pretty little pearl of her clit, enjoying how her legs quiver like jelly when he sucks too hard.

She's gonna have beard burn, he just knows it- he didn't have time to shave this morning. But he thinks of her tomorrow, sitting at the mile long dinner table he's sure they have at Dragonstone Manor, and how she'll wiggle and whine as the butlers pour her tea, working herself up as she rubs her tender thighs together. He yanks her impossibly closer, smothering his face in her pretty pussy. He feels her tighten, her hips arching backwards to ride his face, her moans echoing off the high ceilings and crashing down around them. He groans, mouth full, and the vibrations roll through her like a thundering bass.

Ysilla screams before she slaps a hand over her mouth, her orgasm sending a wave of sweet slick down his chin. He spears her on his tongue, dragging her on and off it, making sure to draw out her aftershocks until her legs kick. Cregan finally tears himself away, albeit unhappily, to gulp down air to fill his burning lungs.

"Don't tease, Stark." She whines, reaching blindly behind her to push at his head.

"Don't tell me what to do, Targaryen." He parrots back, his speech slurred, drunk from his feast. He relents though, rocking onto his feet, going to flick open the button of his jeans.

"Rubber." Ysilla commands, breathy and impatient, laid across the hood like a fucking Playboy spread. Her fingers have snuck between her legs and she rubs between her slick lips with unhurried small strokes.

Cregan pulls his wallet from his pocket, shifting through the bills before pulling out the foil packet (he keeps one handy, in case of emergencies and all). He tears open the edge and rolls it on, pumping himself once for assurity before lining himself up with her entrance. He snatches Ysilla's hand away from fondling herself, and he holds her sultry stare as he brings her wet fingers up to his mouth. He sucks them clean, her French-tipped nails curling loosely over his tongue.

"You're filthy." Long gone is her previous acrid tone, in its place a needy, erotic purr. He winks at her, releasing her hand. She lets it flop bonelessly to her side, weak with satisfaction. He takes a hold of her hips, raising her up so that she teeters on heels.

He catches her eye, raising a brow in an unspoken question. You good?

She answers with an annoyed miff of her mouth. Just get on with it.

Cregan's never claimed to be the smartest guy around but shit, he doesn't need to be told twice. He slides forward, his spit and her slick letting him in with no resistance.

"Fuck, that's good pussy." And he almost wishes he were lying- her ego could use a good adjustment- but he's currently sliding into the wettest, silkiest, hottest cunt he's ever had the privilege of being invited into.

He takes a moment to focus on not being a minute man but as soon as the temptation to cum in under thirty fades, he gives her just what she needs. Hard, fast, and rough. He's sure she'll bruise- he's a big guy, plus the way he's squeezing at her hips and the start of her thighs is anything but tender.

"Fuck it like you own it, Stark, come on." Ysilla slaps at the hood, meeting him thrust for thrust. Even with dick in her, she still thinks she's the one calling the shots.

"Do you ever not talk?" He bites back, fisting his grip into the roots of her hair. She flutters around him as he pulls, hard.

"Only when there's something in my mouth." Cheeky thing. She wants filthy? He shoves two fingers down her throat, bumping cruelly at the crowns of her teeth and scraping at the back of her tongue. She doesn't even gag, just hums and sucks on them like his work worn hands are a popsicle in July.

"Pampered little rich bitch. Fucken desperate for some Northern cock, eh?"

Cregan thinks that she tries to whine out something, thinks he might hear prick, but the digits shoved in her mouth and the drool slipping down his wrist stunt that. Her nails burrow into his foreman, Ysilla clinging to him as he fucks her like a beast. He's not gentle, pistoning in and out of her so harshly that the Corvette rocks beneath them, the tires squeaking.

She whimpers, her throat spasming around his fingers. A thought, unbidden, worms its way into his thoughts. What if she fakes it? And that pisses him the fuck off. Nah, if she wants to get down and dirty, she'll remember how hard she came when she was pinned underneath him. He rips his fingers free and only gives her a chance to cough once before gripping her jaw tightly.

"Tell me you like it." He rumbles into her ear, his Northern flourish thicker when he's turned on.

Ysilla moans, a broken, lovely sound that makes him grin like a fool.

"I fuckin' love it, oh my Gods." That's even better.

Cregan kisses her on instinct, planting one just below her ear, over the thrumming string of her pulse. She vibrates in a shiver, curling into him, the curve of her spine accepting the beating of his hips. Southern girls must not be used to good dick because Ysilla is fucking gagging for it. Her hood's gonna look like it just got a fresh wax from the way her wetness dribbles down her thighs.

"Fuck yeah, take it take it take it take it." His hand wraps around her throat, a mind of its own, and hauls her to his chest. She's shaking, wild gasps for air whistling from her lips. Her hand dives down her belly, her fingertips searching for the sensitive slip of skin that'll bring them closer to the end of their fucked up little union. And Cregan may not enjoy her company but he's certainly enjoying this. He catches her wrist, trapping her against her own beautiful body as he winds both arms around her.

"Un uh, you cum when I tell you to. Should make you beg for it. Should put you on your knees, with your pretty kitty aching still, teetering on the edge, and paint your face with my spunk. Think you're too good for me? When your pussy is squeezing the absolute life outta me?" Cregan thinks of putting a collar on her. Leading her around on a leash, tugging her forward to have her lap at his cock. "Cregan's Bitch" inscribed on a dangling gold charm that'd rest between her tits. She'd look good in pink- it'd make the rosiness of her lips glow lusciously.

Fuck, he's close. And for all the shit he may talk, he's not pulling out of her A1 snatch now.

"So do it. Beg me, Princess. Beg me to let you cum."

Seemingly past the point of acting blasé, the plea tumbles from Ysilla's mouth before he's even done talking. "Yes yes yes, please baby, let me cum. Let me cum all over your cock. Break me in half on it, unnfff. Cregan!"

There it is. "Only because you asked so nicely." And his callous raised fingertips glide down to strum at her clit until she sobs, her legs going out, the only thing keeping her up Cregan's thick arms around her. She shivers and shakes for ages, guiding him through his own release as he cums into the condom.

He presses his forehead to the center of her back, taking his time so that his knees don't buckle when he stands up. Pulling out of her sucks, leaving her warmth the last thing he wants to do but his back is screaming at him to straighten out and he's sure her legs must be at least half asleep by now. He ties off the rubber, tossing it into the bin behind them before he tucks himself back in his boxers.

He snags a clean rag out of a drawer- it comes with a few oil stains sure, but it's been washed a thousand times. He wipes Ysilla clean, gentle around the raw skin of her inner thighs and the swollen lips of her center. She sighs softly, whispering a soft thank you into her arm pillowed beneath her chin. He kisses the side of her hip in acknowledgement, sliding her sodden panties back to cover her up. He helps her roll onto her back and she squints up at the track lights glaring down at them.

He doesn't say much and neither does she, the afterglow fading until all that's left is the sweat sticky on their skin.

"Can I take you out to dinner? I'm fucking starved." It's not a proposal or anything, just good manners in Cregan's opinion.

Ysilla looks down at her dress, wrinkled from him rucking it up and spotted from where she'd sweated through parts of it. She looks at him pointedly, less attitudey than before but still with her signature sharpness. He laughs, unperturbed and lighter than fucking air. That's the best orgasm he's had in… shit, probably ever.

"I have a long sleeve you can throw on. Some sweats too." He ducks into the office and riffles through his gym bag, returning with the clothes that he'll sure will swamp her from head to toe. He tosses them onto the hood beside her.

"Couture, no doubt." She grumbles but she's already undoing the button at the nape of her neck that keeps the straps in place. It falls away like a bow off a present, revealing the one part of her he hasn't seen.

He'll need a few before he can go another round but even so, his dick twitches in interest. He may be an ass man but Cregan's positive now there's no piece of her body he doesn't want to lick. Ysilla notices his shameless staring, forgetting his shirt she'd started to shrug on in her lap. She smirks, cupping her tits, her thumbs and forefingers pinching the dusky rose nipples into stiff peaks.

"Like what you see?"

Cregan doesn't answer, not aloud anyway. He sweeps forward, coming to stand in between her lax legs. He cradles her face and that cocksure smugness melts like butter from her eyes, and she blinks big and wide up at him. Her lashes flutter, petals in a breeze, and Cregan takes his chance. He seals his lips over hers and swallows down the sigh she breathes into his mouth.

It's chaste, paling in comparison to the railing he just gave her but it doesn't make it any less nice. It's really nice actually, nicer than it has any right being. Ysilla wraps her legs around his hips, dragging him into glue to her front. Her breasts squeeze against his chest, her tongue demure as it traces his bottom lip. The scratch of her nipples against his work shirt sends her whimpering, and she clutches onto his biceps for purchase.

The growl of his stomach wins out over the tightening in his jeans, and with enough willpower to win a war, he pulls away. He gives her another peck, enjoying the way her face goes soft when she's not frowning.

He traces the beauty mark at the edge of her cheekbone, waiting for her eyes to slip shut before he yanks the long sleeve over her head. She pops through the shirt's opening like a bushy little groundhog, and Cregan smirks at the glare she daggers him with.

"So, kebabs or fish and chips?"

Damn se Sīkuda . Damn the Seven

#I'm actually pissing my pants #i love my moots 🥹

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