#apex drabble

[your-poetic-lifeline]

hiii my request box is open! would love to keep the writing momentum and help rejuvenate apex’s writing fandom

i have already scrolled down to posts from 2022 💔 so i want to provide and write as much as possible this year

[renji-rue]

Masterlist

Hey, hey!! You can call me Blake!! I'm a little bit of a writer but mostly for fun!! Asks + requests are always open so feel free!! I don't bite!! :> I can do most anything but I will not, I repeat, will not do smut or nsfw.

fandoms + works

Original works

Overwatch

Apex Legends + Titanfall 2

Dark Deception

SCP foundation

Destiny 2

Seven Deadly Sins

Pandora Hearts

Hunter x Hunter

Servamp

[metalfeather]

Carter doing a leap of faith can be something so personal

[demonwriterx]

“Book”

He arrived on Gaea for a personal visit to Ash's facility.

Two times a month, he fights training robots and practices his markmanship in her arenas while she watches and provides him with critiques and observations to improve his skills. Initially, he ignored her, only using her for access to her arenas to satisfy his own insatiable bloodlust. Until she fought him one on one. It was then that he realized he had more to learn from hand-to-hand combat. Ash offered him more of a challenge. Because they were simulacrums, they had unlimited endurance, so she could keep up with him. He would spend the whole day and night training with her before growing bored and deciding he had enough before, eventually, returning.

He had visited her for almost six months, and as she observed him, he observed her. He quickly noticed certain...quirks. If she wasn't practicing with him, she would be in her lab pulling up dozens of videos and documents of notes. She would be analyzing and re-analyzing data from their past combat or recent Apex matches. She rarely stopped. It was as if she was a machine. He chuckled at his own analogy but it was the only thing close enough to describing her habits. And if she stopped, her "other" would surface. It was small things, a slight touch to her temple or a rapid twitch of her head. He actually stumbled upon her muttering to herself at one point. He thought it was amusing.

Revenant silently walked through the long corridor before entering her private lab. On one wall, there was a red, dusty couch and a side table. In front of the couch was a coffee table with papers and files scattered. On the opposite side of the room, she had her monitors, decorating the large space. He usually finds her typing away as she writes down data and codes. Today, the lab was empty. It didn't concern him too much. He knew she had gone to the arenas. He had seen her there before, and once she starts, it will be hours until she returns to the lab. He walked to her monitor and looked down at her keyboard. He pressed down on the spacebar and a live video appeared instantly. He released a heavy sigh before muttering a curse. He was correct. She was in the middle of a training match. She didn't know about his visit. Or any of his visits. He came in whenever he pleased and Ash never gave him her personal number. But he never asked. And she did the same for him.

He looked back at the couch and decided to wait for her. He took a seat, immediately taking out his communication pad to delete a large array of requests for his services. He propped his elbow up on the arm rest, and accidently brushed against something solid, knocking it off the table. He heard the thud next to his foot and his eyes glanced down, making no effort to pick it up until he saw it was a book, the back had a yellow sticky note and written in black ink was "Property of Ash". He reached down and picked it up. He saw that the book was old, with yellowing pages. He could tell it had been read many times over, the spine was worn and the pages were slightly torn at the corners. He turned the book, reading the title aloud to himself.

"Under the Solace Sun...huh?" He opened the book and his eyes immediately widened. It was a romance book. He had never seen Ash read a book like this. He thought it would be something boring. He snickered, shaking his head at the thought of her reading the book in her free time. He was about to close it when he noticed a handful of bookmarks placed in certain sections of the pages. He opened one section of the bookmarks and read the page the bookmark was attached to. "And he gently laid her against the hot sand, unable to hold back his passion as he removed his-what?...Their lips found their way to-!" He immediately realized that the bookmarks were all in the love scenes. He stifled his laughter with one hand as he flipped to another bookmark, curious to see what else she had saved for her reading pleasure. He grinned to himself as he flipped through each bookmark, knowing Ash had to save each scene and as he read, his laughter grew.

He was enthralled in another chapter when Ash returned from the arenas. She had heard the laughter echoing down her corrido. She walked in, calling out, "Revenant? What on earth are you laughing-AH!"

Ash shrieked in horror as she walked in and saw him holding her book. Her pet rat flew out of her hood, startled from her sudden scream, scurring to its hole. Revenant looked up from the book and waved it at her.

"Is this what you do in your free time, Miss Perfect? Heh!"

She quickly ran over to him, trying to snatch it from his hands. "Give me that!" She exclaimed. Imagining what her face would have looked like if she had been human, he pictured a red face. He chuckled and held the item out of her reach. Her hands desperatly clawed towards the book.

"Now hold on, I'm in a real good part. Monica is about to choose if she wants John or Michello, hahaha!"

"Return that to me at once!"

He pushed her back, getting up from the couch. She lunged at him again but he managed to hold her back with his arm. He opened the book again and began to read it out loud to her.

"And as she looked at the two men she had loved, she felt her heart yearn for-"

"Stop!"

"Her one true love, the one who filled her with the most passion and warmth- hahaha! Oh! This is good!"

"Enough!" She snatched the book from his hands, throwing it against the couch. "Get out!"

"Now hold on..."He began, trying to stifle his laughter. "I..I got to know... which part was your favorite?"

"GeT OuT, NoW!"

"Because I really liked pg 62!" He released another roar of laughter, causing her to shove him out of her lab.

"Leave! Get out!"

He was forcefully kicked out of her facility. But for the next few weeks, whenever they played in the Apex Games together, he whispered lines from the book under his breath. Only loud enough for Ash to hear before she became flustered.

[trexdrabbles]

Bangawraith/Voidstrike for that couples thing if you're still doing it? Love all your stuff!

These ladies really need more love, so of course!!

Who's the one to initiate the relationship?

Honestly it just kind of... happens. Things calm down between them, they realize that they both have a lot more in common than was first realized, both in terms of likes, dislikes, and trauma, even if the causes may differ. They move very slowly from indifference to a tentative friendship to a very awkward something more and then very firmly set as girlfriends. It takes them a while to get there, but now neither of them are going anywhere.

What are their love-languages?

Both greatly enjoy simply spending time together and physical touch, though not out of the blue. At least not at first anyhow. Anita comes to learn the quiet, barely there footsteps that precede a chin resting on her shoulder as she drinks her morning coffee and scrolls through the news. The Void comes to recognize Anita’s presence as one of comfort and safety and Renee gets a preemptive and comfortable warmth almost just before a strong arm wraps around her waist.

How open about it are they?

Not at all, but they aren’t jumping over hurdles to hide it. There’s no public affection whatsoever (the sole exception being extremely bad days where one with brush the back of their hand against the other’s in their own little language just to say ‘I’m here’), and they certainly don’t tell anyone about it. Both like their privacy, and Renee does admittedly worry about Anita being used against her in a worst case sort of scenario. However, if someone does figure it out and denying it doesn’t work, they more or less let it be with just the request that whoever doesn’t spread the news.

Who's the better chef?

Anita is by miles. She grew up with it honestly. It's nothing gourmet or really even anything exceptional, and she doesn't know how to make a ton, but she's learning and what she does make always comes out tasting good. Renee on the other hand has more or less been living off of takeout and frozen dinners.

Who likes to be little spoon?

Depends on the day, but they both like to be held and it usually changes through the night. Renee will press up against her back when Anita's anxieties have been really strong that day only for them to switch places when Renee wakes up from a nightmare and vice versa.

Who flirts more?

Believe it or not, Renee does. Anita makes pretty little comments here or there out of earshot of the others or in the relative comfort of one of their apartments, but Renee is the one who gets a little more raunchy with it all. Once she's comfortable around someone, she can really be a teasing little brat and especially loves to get reactions out of Anita. She'll occasionally even do it during the games or events outside of matches when it's just the two of them to rile Anita up a little, who always manages to collect when they're home again.

Who's more protective?

They're pretty evenly matched here too. Anita is protective of her and tries to keep anyone from messing with her. That being said she doesn't pity her either. They have practically their own language together though and Renee gets to decide what battles Anita takes in that regard. Likewise, Renee is also very protective but tries her best not to be clingy. She always worries that one day someone will come for her and just see Anita as leverage. Neither want to be separated by this point.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

ANIMALS- L. HOWLETT

Pairing: Boyfriend!Logan x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 636 (quick drabble lol)

Summary: You and Logan play a game of hide and seek while you have the manor to yourselves…

Warnings: Smut implied, fingering, daddy kink, praise kink, a little degrading, size kink, Logan being a dommmm, priminalish? Logan, swearing, teasing, grinding etc

“baby i’m prayin on you tonight, hunt you down and chew alive just like animals, animals like animals… baby you think that you can hide, i can smell your scent for miles…”- animals, maroon 5

You counted your breaths, trying to steady them. A quick, sharp inhale.

One, two, three, four. Out.

You gripped the bannister of the oak headboard, squeezing yourself in a corner by the back of the bed. It wasn't long now before he found you.

It was a chase. A hunt, a hound sniffing out his prey.

You and Logan had made a deal- your agreement more a joke then anything, but nonetheless- you were here, in hiding.

“If I catch you, I get to fuck you.” He smirked , flipping his pocket knife in the air, fidgeting around between his fingers like the blade was nothing. You laughed, eyeing him up suspiciously.

“You get to fuck me, hm?”

“Yeah sweetheart. Anyway that I want.”

Well you had never backed down from a challenge, especially not from him. As your boyfriend it was his job to rile you up- and to get you going. You couldnt say you minded it though.

So now you were here, a hand gently held against your mouth, as you tried to slow your heartrate down. You knew he had heard you, there was no way he hadn’t. The manor was empty, everyone gone on either summer break, a mission or were just out for the day.

It was when you and Logan could have your fun. The real fun.

Your footsteps surely echoed down the grand hallways, bouncing off the oak furnishings and dozens of old paintings hung. It was only a matter of seconds now, before he found you.

You squeezed your thighs together in anticipation, wetness coating the apex of your thighs. Your skin turned hot to the touch, heart beating so loud you could hear it rattling as if it were a fly buzzing in your ear.

Sure enough, the clack of his boots stopped at the doorway, pushing it open slowly. It creaked so loudly you winced.

“Cmere pretty, pretty girl. Come to daddy.” he chuckled, tormenting you with his slow and stead stride.

You heard an armoir open, then slam shut. He was toying with you.

“I know you're in here baby. I can smell ya.”

One, two, three, four. One, tw-

You let out a loud yelp as two large arms caged you in, sweeping you off your feet as if you were a sack of potatoes. “Caught ya.” he whispered teasingly in your ear, throwing you on the bed.

You bounced with an oof, scrambling back as he pounced on you. “Mghm Lo-“ you whined as he tore your top off with such ferociously you feared his claws would come out.

“You like running from me baby? You like the chase hmm.?” You nodded, gasping as his denium clothed knee pushed your legs apart, leaving you to grind shamelessly on his knee “Yeah, yeah I know you do. Fuckin slut.”

“F-fuck..” you stuttered as he pinned your hands above your head, letting you ride him. “Such a needy girl.” he cooed at you, mocking your moans and whimpers as he tugged down your shorts.

“She’s so needy too. Should I give her what she wants?” he asked, eyes greedily taking in the wet patch on your underwear. You clenched at the mere sound of his voice, panties dripping wet. Soaked. “Please Lo- you have to-“

“I have to what hm? I don’t think I have to do anything. You’re not in control here, princess.” You sucked in a gasp as his hand slithered down your underwear, large fingers coaxing you as they lightly brushed your clit, pinching it.

“Pretty girl.” he cooed, sliding a finger down past your folds, to pump deep inside you, curling until he hit the spot that had you seeing stars. “Stretchin ya out baby, cause you’re too tight. Always so tight f’me. I’m gonna fill you up so good, just the way you like baby. Such a tiny lil thing, you just wanna get wrecked hm?”

You were beyond flustered, muscles tensing as he picked up the pace- your toes curling. “You’re doing so good princess. But you gotta take my cock now, m’kay?”

[dilftaroooo]

Request: True form Sukuna claiming his offering in front of her village.

im gonna write this as a drabble :3

★tags/tw: uhh implied cannibalism + cervix fucking + sukuna is pretty misogynistic + fem!reader + discrimination against humans(?) idfk + true form!sukuna + loss of virginity

You delicately sit in the middle of the stage, introducing yourself to the slew of men and women scattered about like spilled salt on a kitchen table. Your legs are spread to present to them your blooming flower--still pink and untouched. It twitches under the many watchful eyes of diverse emotions--horror, confusion, lust, envy. They all poured down on you amid a lethal storm, droplets pounding your skin and soaking you thoroughly. You turn your head to avoid the plethora of wicked gazes. The feeling is overwhelming.

Behind you lies a demon. A great being, an entity that holds more power than anyone close or far. His teeth are sharp, his eyes are beady, and his stomach is hungry for the innocence of a fresh maiden. The people of your village brought you here. They made sure your scent was pleasant and that you were garbed in the cleanest of silk--your uchikake was adorned in floral patterns reminiscent of the trees that bloomed near your home.

They knew you'd be deemed a perfect offering for Sukuna-sama, the King of Curses--you're a sweet girl with a pure body, your breasts are full and your thighs are plump. They were sure if their King ever grew bored of you, he could easily dispose of your youthful frame by savoring your flesh and keeping your skull as a precious souvenir. Innocents always taste sweeter than most.

Though your legs were spread, they weren't spread enough for Sukuna as he already gripped your thighs with a strict pressure you weren't unfamiliar with. The squelch that leaves your pussy parts as he further widens your limbs was a sound everyone managed to capture. You're wet and slimy and maybe somewhat aroused. Your King is an attractive beast with a chiseled chin and a beguiling grin. Intricate, onyx lines surface the apex of his taut muscles and the sight makes you clench around thin air. You ponder on what he'd look like if he were a mere human such as yourself.

"All of you!" He starts, his voice booms through the premises and you're surprised by how powerful the echo is despite not being in an enclosed space. As expected, everyone gears their eyes toward the four-armed monster in preparation for his next words. "I want you mortal freaks to watch me fuck this girl you were so kind to offer me. If it hadn't been for this young duckling I would've already slaughtered this putrid village and watched my militia of curses swallow you whole."

He's quick for his size as he brings you onto his hefty lap, and from there you already feel one of his cocks coat itself against your wet slit. He's huge and lingering at the back of your mind, you wonder if you would die at first thrust. His tip is an angry red, livid from the languid teasing performed by its heaving owner from rubbing it across the length of your weeping cunt. It isn't long before his playful ministrations are seduced into slamming inside you.

You weren't even spared a moment of reconsideration for your hymen was already snapped into two, disintegrating upon impact. It would have been a shame to experience your deflowering with a prominent tummy bulge if it wasn't for how much your mind and soul revere the beast overlapping your weak presence.

You were his and he was his own as he violently hammered himself down to the hilt. You bathed him in the blood of a former virgin while he hits that bruised cervix within you. Your back is against that sculpted chest you worship dearly and his sweat rubs off on you is strong with his pheromones.

"Sukuna-sama," You mewl because he's so deep in your pussy that you can't fight back the urge to call out his name. He responds with a finger to your clit and a hand on your breast, making it his duty to circle a thick finger around your nipple.

"I don't remember granting you permission to speak now, did I?" His tone is dark enough to make you believe you've done something utterly wrong but your apology comes out in a series of wanton moans. He chuckles at how the pathetic always act so miserably.

"But since you're clasping around me so tightly," Burgundy red orbs glare at the side of your left cheek, previously moistened with tears of pain and gratitude. "I'll let your sheer idiocracy go. I don't think any of the past wenches you humans throw at me grip my dick this hard. I assume they were used up til they were nothing but a gaping hole." Then he frowns.

"They must think poorly of me."

Sukuna cherishes the screams rushing out of your throat as you take him inch by overbearing inch, stretching you out to accommodate his length and girth. You're nothing but his plaything.

You practically forget the crowd casted in front of you once you hear subdued chattering coming from multiple voices, all laced with different tones with different perceptions. You feel like a common whore.

Throughout, Sukuna never kissed you. He believes he should not taste the lips of a revolting human for it'll taint his palate. He just fucks into you as you bounce like some ragdoll abandoned by a little girl. But if life has fated you with the opportunity to become Sukuna's, your King's, toy, then may you not change the inevitable.

[ap0callypse]

I've been getting back into apex legends since the newest season came out soooo

expect some apex legends on here as well now!!!

[ilyhaitanii]

baby it’s your birthday! ft. jing yuan, nanami, zayne & caleb

nsfw. it was my birthday a few days ago so i wrote this little drabble. also as a thank you for 400 <3

JING YUAN:

jing yuan is somewhat lazy when he puts his lips to your cunt. not to say he’s disinterested— far from that. the general simply prefers to take his time with you. he kisses every curve and crevice of your torso, hands smoothing over the expanse of your waist. his hands rub up and down the sides of your hips, squeezing the soft skin every now and then. his lips wrap around your nipples, twirling one bud at a time because he knows it makes the other so impatient.

jing yuan’s lids flutter shut, enjoying the feeling over your skin. he feels your try to climb onto his lap, but he keeps his hands on your hips sturdy. he doesn’t allow you to bend a bit to hold onto him for support. you stand between his legs, completely helpless. you squirm under his touch, trying to wiggle your way out of his grip, but jing yuan doesn’t back down from a fight quickly. he quickly turns you around, allowing his lips and hands to adore your back.

his kisses are slow, he almost sucks on the skin around your neck, watching the way you twitch at the ticklish sensation of his lips kissing up and down your spine. his hands smooth the dimples of your back, kneeding the plushy skin of your ass with his big hands. whenever you whine and complain, jing yuan is quick go hush you with kisses and slips his fingers into your mouth. his heavy fingers press down on your tongue, effectively silencing your noises.

“easy there now, little one. your patience will be rewarded.” his baritone voice booms through you. his free hand slides down between the apex of your thighs, feeling the hot moist skin. he has to stop himself from laughing at how wet you are because he sees how your shaking like a poor little lamb. he takes pity on you, spinning you around to face him finally. there’s an influx of tears brewing on your lower lashes that jing yuan cant help but smile at.

jing yuan takes your hand in his and guides you to the bed, finally away from his desk. he sits you down at the very edge, making sure to place your heels on his shoulders. with your legs spread thanks to his broad shoulders, jing yuan takes in the sight of your sopping cunt.

“so worked up over a few kisses,” the general teases, spreading your lips apart. you can’t help but whine as your head is full of cotton. he kisses your knees and the soft cut on your calf before kissing the innermost parts of your thighs.

his tongue is slow and languid, taking in every drop of your slick. he slides his tongue up your slit, gently prodding it at your hole. however, he’s quick to circle it around your clit. when his lips leave a soft kiss your clit, you jump. he laughs again, hands parting your thighs further.

“don’t be scared, little one. i won’t hurt you.” he finally encases your clit with his lips, sucking gently on the small bud. your eyes roll back, legs almost quivering at the sudden pleasure. your head dips back, hips being pulled forward. your back arches in this unnatural position as jing yuan presses on your lower back.

his free hand slides one digit into your cunt, making way for another to join it. in a matter of seconds, he’s able to find your sweet spot and bullies it. relentlessly rubbing and curling his fingers against the spot. with the stimulation from your clit and deep inside you, your body quivers. a soft whimper of the general’s name has him going crazy. he looks up at your through lidded eyes, driving you mad.

those gold eyes hold so much emotion. so much love, far too much lust. your heels dig deeper into his shoulders as he brings closer and closer to the edge. there’s a slight impatience in his behavior now. his fingers quicken their pace and jing yuan now uses the tip of his tongue to toy with your clit.

jing yuan curls his fingers a few more times before your stomach tightens. you’re so close to the edge you can almost taste it. pleas leave your lips in a whiny tone, making jing yuan’s dick twitch in his pants. aeons, you’re to be the death of him. he presses your knees to your chest, allowing his fingers to reach to an even deeper spot. within seconds, he has you creaming all over his fingers. he quickly replaces them with his tongue, licking up any all slick that falls from your cunt, needing to feel it melt onto his tastebuds. as you lay below him, legs twitching, jing yuan rests his head on your thigh.

“shall we go again, birthday girl?” oh lord.

NANAMI KENTO:

nanami’s always been so sweet and caring. never a moment in your relationship have you ever doubted his love for you. big hands rub your sides, melting kisses into the side of your head as you bury your face into his neck. a deep inhale of his scent has your mind going crazy, head feeling fuzzy. your sock cladded feet dig into the sofa, pushing yourself up off his cock. you shake your head fervently, fingers trembling.

“kento- i cant. oh god, i cant,” you helplessly moan, legs shaking at his hips. kento smiles up at you, taking his thumb to rub your bottom lip. your mouth opens obediently before pressing it on your tongue. you gingerly suck on his finger, allowing you to taste his skin as he sinks you back onto his cock. theres a thin gloss in your eyes as tears bubble at your lower lash-line.

“good girl, my good girl, arent you?” he shamelessly groans as he thrusts his hips up, keeping one hand on your hips. he pulls your chest flush to his, a hand racking through your hair. “sweet girl, you there?” theres not a single thought in your head besides how good he’s making you feel. he takes his thumb that was in your mouth out and watches as a string of saliva chases after it. with a low chuckle he puts his thumb on your clit, swirling it.

when you fall onto him, hands clutching onto his shoulders, nanami takes this opportunity to move you up and down on his cock. the added feeling of his rough thumb rubbing against your clit makes your head spin. you feel like the room is spinning the closer you get to cumming. that knot in your stomach refuses to stop growing larger and stronger. no matter how many tears fall, how loud you sniffle, nanami doesn’t relent.

“i know it’s a lot, honey. you can take it, yeah?” he lets out the sexiest moan, head rolling back when your cunt clenches around him. a string of curses fall from his lips, “oh fuck- honey, you’re so pretty you know that? pretty girl riding my cock,”

your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving long red streaks. however, nanami stands up with his cock still in you for a moment, only to flip you on your back. with you below him and your knees pressed to your chest now, nanami slides himself right back into you. at this angle, he can perfectly bully his thick tip into your sweet spot.

at this point you’re babbling, incoherent words replace your moans as you beg for some sort of mercy. yet nanami just keeps going. his thumb never leaves your clit, rubbing the bud up and down at a fast pace. with a few final thrusts and words of encouragement from nanami, your eyes roll back and your hips follow after his. you don’t even realize it by how quickly it came, but you cream all over his cock with the sweetest mewl.

nanami isn’t too far behind you, his fingers digging crescents into your plush skin. he throws his head back, groaning as he spills himself inside you, filling you with this warm sensation. there isn’t much you feel besides nanami’s lips pressing kisses into your cheeks, wiping the tears away.

“happy birthday, my love”

ZAYNE AND CALEB:

you stand between your two childhood friends, the bottom of your dress hiked up to your waist as caleb’s fingers find themselves buried inside your cunt. zayne’s lips find themselves occupied by your back. he kisses up and down your spine, hands busy with grabbing at your skin. caleb’s fingers wrap around your nipple, making you sqeual into his mouth. zayne lets out a low chuckle when you yelp at his cold fingers twirling your clit as caleb’s fingers curl and bully your sweet spot.

“look at you~” caleb whistles as he blows cold air onto your stiffened nipple. “you’ve grown so much over the years, pipsqueak.” he teases as his teeth lightly graze your other, neglected nipple. zayne’s nails rake down your torso, causing goosebumps to break out across your skin.

you can feel zayne’s buldge pressing against your ass, and you rocking against it isnt helping him too much. caleb guides your free hand to his hard on. your fingers rub and massage the area, making him groan into your mouth. he takes his fingers away from your chest, deftly unbuckling his pants.

zayne takes this opportunity to use his hands on your chest, massaging your tits. he has you flush to his chest, biting and kissing your neck and shoulders. all you do is grind your ass against him and helplessly whine. your mouth is wide open, begging for something to soothe your oral fixation.

“can’t go one moment without something in your mouth, huh?” zayne jokes, his fingers slipping into your mouth as they press on your tongue. his thumb and ring finger secure themselves onto your jaw, tilting you to face him. his intense eyes has your cunt gushing around nothing. you whine at the empty feeling, before caleb hushes you.

“shh. you’re a year older, yet even less patient. sometimes i think you grow more impatient as the years go by.” you pout at him, but you just look even more debauched. the tears rolling down your cheeks, mascara staining your under eyes, and lipstick smudged from an intense makeout sensation with the man behind you. “here, baby. come here,”

caleb puts his hand on your nape, pulling you closer to his cock, zayne pulls his fingers out of your mouth and places it on your lower back. your kneel in front of him, your face growing closer to caleb’s cock. you eagerly stretch out your hands, but zayne’s quick to restrain you with his belt — when did it even come off ?!

“there ‘ya go, pipsqueak. gently, don’t rush. we have alllll night, dont we?” he looks up at zayne, who doesn’t bother to look at him. instead, zayne’s eyes are focused on the way your ass looks pressed against his crotch. he takes this time to undress his lower half, unbuttoning his pants and pulling his cock out from its restraints.

you look up at caleb with these big eyes as you swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock. he groans, tugging against your hair. “fuck, you’re a tease, pup.” as you lap at his tip, you giggle,

“that’s what you get for making me wait this long,” your lips press kisses up and down his length, listening to his breathy moans. zayne finally presses his cock to your cunt, pushing himself in. instantly, you can feel the stretch of his cock, despite them both having three fingers in you at the same time.

you struggle to keep quiet, letting out huffs and mewls onto caleb’s cock. he guides his til to your tongue again, pushing your head down his length. zayne throws his head back when you push your hips against him. he squeezes your ass as he pushes your head down caleb’s cock. it takes caleb by surprise as well because the older man almost jumps out of his skin when his tip presses to the back of your throat.

zayne doesn’t let go tho, he puts his weight into his knees, sliding his hips back and forth. caleb also leans forward a bit, reaching under your body to rub your clit in mean, little circles. your muffled whines make both the men chuckle. how could they not tease the birthday girl, right?

as your tongue continues to swirl caleb’s cock, you heavily breathe through your nose trying not to gag. both the men finally let go of your head, allowing you to come up for air. zayne takes this opportunity to press your back to his chest. he whispers sweet words into your ears, cold breath tickling your skin.

caleb in the meantime, is back on your tits. his fingers tug and twist the swollen buds. he also guides his cock to your cunt, trying to fit himself inside as well. you panic, trying to move, but zayne’s arm wrapped around you middle doesn’t allow for any of that nonsense.

“you can take it, love.” zayne murmurs against your skin, pressing soft kisses to your nape and shoulders. you shake your head, watching the way caleb’s cock sinks inside of you. your eyes roll back at the stretch, legs quivering.

“fuck, pup. you’re so tight,” caleb and zayne groan in unison when you tighten up.

“i cant do it. too much, caleb, please no,” there’s more tears falling down your face, but caleb kisses those away.

“you can do it, sweetie. we’ve done it before, yeah? we can do it again,” a sharp sob falls from your mouth when you feel caleb sink in further. “let’s keep that mouth occupied, yeah? that’s why you can still worry, hm?”

zayne takes the hint and slips his fingers back into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue as caleb’s hand moves from your nipples down your body. for the millionth time, he touches your clit, rubbing the bud in harsh circles. muffled moans fall from you, eyes rolled back into your skull.

“atta girl,” caleb moans, finally bottoming out inside you. he watches the way the imprint on your stomach becomes more prominent the deeper he pushes himself inside you. “prettiest thing ever,” his lips occupy themselves on your neck. him and zayne find the same spot right below your ear.

their tongues rub against one another, caleb’s sliding into zayne’s mouth. you can hear the wet noises right beside your ear as well as their groans when you gush around them both. theyre both so careful with you at this stage, following an even rhythm, making sure you’re always full.

the angle at which theyre fucking you, the pace at which theyre touching you, and hearing the both of them groaning right into your ear has you keeling. your head falls onto caleb’s shoulder as your body twitches and shudders. the knot in your stomach is so intense, you think it might even hurt.

“i can’t- oh my,” your speak around zayne’s fingers that draw circles on your tongue. he presses them down your throat, borderline gagging you. your hips sputter as you cum hard. there’s something being sprayed onto caleb’s abdomen when he slightly gasps.

you feel like you’ve had the life taken out of you as zayne’s hand comes to rub up and down your back. you can hear soft coos from both the men as zayne tugs your back to his chest. your eyes are unfocused, everything is so bleary. in the process of you coming back down to earth, the two of them have already pulled out and laid you between them on the bed.

caleb finds himself between your legs again, kissing your thighs. his cheeks and jaw are soaked in your cum and zayne is quick to lay beside him, doing the exact same thing.

“pretty girl. you came so much, look at you. squirting all over me, hm?” caleb mouths against your clit, making your hips twitch. he presses a hand on your stomach as you weakly try to push them away. zayne’s cold fingers slide back inside you.

“no more, please!” you whine, hips unable to stop moving as zayne finds your sweet spot again.

“can you do that one more time, baby?” zayne asks so politely and his eyes catch yours. you can’t look away from him as he licks up and slick on the sides of your thighs while caleb enjoys the taste of you on his tongue.

this was going to be a long night.

© ilyhaitanii - do not repost, translate, plagarize or repost it to any other sites

[rinneverse]

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞? — 𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒋𝒐. ˒ ⊹

gojo pleads for your forgiveness the only way he knows how: making his baby feel good ♡

cw fem!reader / pet names used; baby, babydoll, princess, sweet girl / fingering / big dick gojo </3 / a crumb of unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it!!) / groping / just a quick little drabble to get back into the swing of things :3 NSFW CONTENT AHEAD, MINORS DNI

love, oak! hiiiiiii....... been awhile since i've posted any writing........... i've kind of been in the trenches w/ writers block !! and lowkey, i still am u_u. the only way i've been working through it is by writing little gifts for mooties !! lex, if u see this, yes this is one i've sent to u HAHAHA

"baby, you're really hurtin' my feelings here."

"hmph."

satoru frowns, pulling you further onto his lap. his broad hands cup the fat of your ass, teasingly squeezing. you bat at his shoulders and pout up at him.

"c'mon, baby," he coos. "what did 'toru do this time?

huffing, you turn your head away from him.

satoru clicks his tongue. "okay, if my baby won't talk to me, i'll just apologize in a different way. how's that sound?" he accompanies his words with a sinful roll of his hips, the bulge of his cock pressing against the thin fabric of your panties.

(satoru just loves when you wear skirts; not only do you look so cute in them, but the easy access is just such a bonus!)

"'toru," you hiss, hands clamping on his shoulders, you try to push him away to no avail - his grip on you is unforgiving and relentless. his hands grip your ass, pushing and pulling you against his hard-on to his whims. his slacks and your panties were the only barriers left and satoru was quite keen on getting rid of them.

"c'mon, babydoll," satoru grins at you, boyishly charming. "let me make you feel good. toru'll make it all feel better, yeah?"

disarmed by his sweet smile, or perhaps the way his blue eyes glimmer with want as he watches you keenly, you seem to crumble in his arms. just like that, you're putty in his hands, no longer fighting him as he pulls your panties to the side.

"m'kay," you sigh, running your hands over the hard plane of his chest. "you promise?"

"i promise."

he gives your ass another squeeze before he trails his hand along your hips, then down to the apex of your hips. he drags a calloused finger along your wet heat, circling your clit teasingly before he brings it lower and dips it into your hole.

you inhale sharply as he fingers you slowly, achingly, pulling you to the precipice but not quite letting you fall over. he only lets this go on for a little bit, at least until you're crying and begging for him to fill you up.

"alright princess, i won't tease you too much. c'mere, give me a kiss?"

and you obey, lips slotting to his in a messy kiss. his tongue slips into your mouth as you hear the telltale sound of a zipper being undone, fabric rustling as he pushes his boxers and slacks down just enough to free his cock.

he nips at your lower lip as he guides you to raise your hips. satoru's dick errs the side of too big; that's why he has to make sure you're soaking wet and ready to take him. so he pulls away only momentarily to smile up at you before he spits in his hand and fists his cock - he's sure you're wet enough to take him, but he likes to be thorough.

once he's satisfied, he guides the leaking tip of his cock through your sticky folds, slick with desire and aching all just for him. and when you're clawing at his shoulders, begging for him to just fuck you already, he chuckles deeply and finally, finally, he sinks into you.

and just like always, it feels world-shattering. he fills you up just right, pleasure erring just on the right side of pain as he stretches you out, pelvis flush to the apex of your thighs as he holds you there, letting you adjust.

you sniffle, looking up at satoru with that doe-eyed stare that he just can't get enough of. the thought that only you can feel satoru in this way - the only person he'll ever let feel him this way, you think - is enough to make the coil in your gut twist further. he raises an eyebrow at you, pressing kisses to your eyelids, kissing away the tears of pleasure that gather there.

"i haven't even started moving you yet, sweet girl. you're clenchin' so nicely around me. feel good? do you forgive me yet?"

"mhm," you sigh out, rocking your hips. his broad hands hold you steady, not allowing for much movement. when you nod your head up at him, pouting with those kiss-bruised lips of yours, he can't help but grin further and press his lips to yours again.

satoru is sure to make you feel him in every way possible; after all, it's the only proper way to earn your forgiveness ♡.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !! @houseofsolisoccasum + @interstellar-inn

[sundayiminlove]

sleep, pretty darling [ dallas winston x f!reader ]

synopsis : you're overworking yourself with studying in preparation for exams, and dally isn't havin' it. contains : academic overachiever reader, whipped dallas winston, mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, notes : first writing post on here, kinda (very) nervous!! think i'm gonna make a point to write for each greaser in effort to shoehorn my way into outsiders tumblr?? yeah??? okay, GREAT. 99% chance i post something different for dal tho. just a messy, silly little drabble. ironically wrote after not sleeping for 32 hours. i'm sorry if he's a lil ooc y'all, this is my first dal fic in give or take a year!!! he'll get there, i promise! mwah mwah hope u enjoy warnings : not proofread, we die like dally

i.

PALE BLUE EYES slant sideways, casting a brief look at you.

Your nose is scrunched in concentration over the comically large textbook laid open in your lap. You're hunched over, tracing under each printed word with your finger, thumbing down when you stop to take a note.

Dallas is preemptively annoyed. He's been leaning expectantly against the doorframe circa ten seconds ago, and you're yet to notice him. He takes one last dramatic drag from his cigarette before begrudgingly discarding it on the outsole of his shoe. The creases on on your nose tighten as you catch a whiff of the wafting smoke. Though a vehement anti-smoker yourself, you've spent enough time around the gang to guarantee your lungs at least a permanent char. Despite this, you always just have to make a big song and dance of your distaste for them, and Dally does nothing to curb the quirk of his lips into a slight grin.

You have him, hook line and sinker.

"(Y/N)," he speaks at last. His tone is firm yet without underlying aggression; one exclusively for your ears.

You perk up.

Dallas' fingers splay against his lips as if holding a phantom cigarette. "What're you doin' over here so late, huh? Was out lookin' for you."

He watches as your gaze darts to the window. Nightfall has long since kissed the apex of Tulsa, yet you hadn't a clue. You'd been there for hours, crunching equations and fruitlessly jotting down formulas. The encroaching weight of finals week had rendered both your circadian rhythm and measure of passing time nugatory.

"Borrowin' one of Darry's old textbooks," you explain, the corners of your mouth tugging into a frown. "Not exactly a monastery but it beats that old Soc-infested library, long as Two stays gone, that is."

He crosses the Curtis' living room in four smooth strides, plopping down next to you on the couch. The flimsy cushion sinks beneath him, forcing you closer to him, and for once, Dally's grateful for the pathetic old thing's lack of structural integrity.

He lifts the textbook, ignoring your whimper of protest and sets it on the coffee table. He spins the silver band on his knuckle, averting his gaze downwards. "You know, sweetheart," he pauses, choosing his words. Dally wears his worry uniquely, sparingly. "I'm not particularly likin' all of these.. these books, and.." he trails off, thumb tracing your newly-formed eyebag as if he could swipe it clean. "When's the last time you got any sleep?"

Things are different. You're his girl now. And not just his pretty skirt for the night and until 7am after; no, this is serious. You're his girlfriend. His lover. It's foreign. It's enthralling.

No one had told poor Dallas that falling for you would unwind a deep vortex in his brain that noticed the trivial things, like how suspiciously little you blinked or how the vibrant pink in your cheeks had drained.

You lean into his touch with an exasperated sigh. "Dally, c'mon, don't you start this. I know it's nothin' to you, but it's finals week!" you huff. "I'll catch up on the sleep, swear it! I just, I got so much left to do here, and,"

Your defense falls on deaf ears. This has been it for weeks now; and the you-sized hole burning in his chest is only getting deeper. Dally's arms encircle your waist as he taps gently on the small of your back. "Don't give me that," he sighs. "God, baby, you're worryin' me, alright? Don't like seeing my girl so..." he fans his hand outwards.

As you tense and start to fly into another excuse, he shakes his head, mind already made. He's sparing no more of your attention. "You're comin' back to Buck's with me, alright?" His timbre leaves no room for argument, but you squirm regardless. His grip on you tightens. "And I'm making sure you get some goddamn rest."

You pout, looking over at your textbook as if it would personify and save you. "But," you start, only to be hastily shushed.

"But nothin', doll. C'mon, up ya go,"

With that, he scoops you up, one arm hooking around your legs. Your series of half-hearted protests are nullified as he secures you into Buck's old truck, movements careful yet hasty. You inevitably surrender, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you lean back into the torn leather.

BUCK MERRIL'S HOUSE is as quiet as Buck Merril's house is capable of being. You've never been to Buck Merril's house, so you don't find it very quiet at all.

Running his hands over the blanket, Dallas spreads it out on the floor, smoothening out the crinkles and corners. They reform almost immediately and he sighs heavily, airing it out on the pummeled mattress in defeat. If he would have know he'd be conducting a full-scale kidnapping for the sake of your rest, he might have better prepared. Might have.

So, here's the thing, right?"

There have been girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been quite a few girls in Dallas Winston's bed before.

There have been zero girls in Dallas Winston's bed that he didn't bring into it with meaningless sex on the horizons.

You're no snob and he knows this, but now, it's the principle. Dallas Winston may sleep on a mattress deficient of ample springs and no top sheet, but Dallas Winston's girl should never. In spite his hazy, rose-colored, Y/N-centric world created under this roof, he knows he has to step it up.

As soon as he hears the faucet cut off, he's off his feet. He flings himself onto the mattress, hitching one leg up as he awaits the slow creek of the door.

And there you stand.

Dallas wonders what karmic debt is being paid off for him to deserve to see you like this. His lips part as he drinks in the sight of you like a man dying of thirst. You, in his lightly wrinkled grey tee that scarcely conceals your bare thighs. Your face glistens with renew, a few stray droplets racing down your forehead and cheeks. Even trammeled by exhaustion, you knock the wind right out of him.

You wear the moonlight beautifully. It traces each feature so delicately as you sit beside him on the bed. "I'm—," you start, but pause to let a little yawn. He practically melts beside you.

"I'm sorry I gave you such a tough time, darlin'," you continue, situating under the blanket. "You were right, I'm proper beat."

He smirks, propping his head up to look down on you. "As always," he notes, tucking a fly-away hair behind your ears. You roll your eyes and give him a playful jab, to which he winces in mock affliction. "Some nerve," he hums, thumb tracing your cheek.

You look at him, lips parting gently. This isn't Dallas Winston; that infamous, no-good hoodlum from the wrong side of the tracks. This is your Dally, someone you alone have the absolute pleasure of knowing.

"That's it," he whispers as you surrender to his side, nuzzling his neck. Your eyes are heavy, faltering by the second, yet your grip on him is unyielding. He's never felt a thing like this before, and he's quickly becoming putty in your careful arms. He's content to lay awake all night, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as slumber claims you.

His gangly fingers trace idly on your back, and he knows. He will never be the same.

[leclsrc]

decent incentives ✴︎ cl16, mv1

genre: this is. Smut, porn W plot, threesome, driver reader

word count: 6.9k

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs. Or: You’ve been a brat, and only two people know how to mellow you out. title from this

auds here… hi hi hi! scanned my reqs last week, found a max/charles threesome one, and wrote this out in half a day after a friend showed me the challengers trailer (i love tennis and it drove me to write abt a sport that was not, in fact, tennis) also i truly cannot explain the phenomenon behind me finding smut/these kinds of works easier to suss out these days (long form fic i talked abt in the last drabble is not this one fyi) but it’s just ???? like i don’t… i’ve no clue. i hope u enjoy this anyway!!!! love auds :)

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, double penetration, sexual tension, masturbation (f), teasing, praise central, reader is a MASSIVE brat, size kink, dirty talk, i don’t want to say brat taming but kinda kinda

Your first time in Max Verstappen’s hotel room happened after a tiring night of media and press, where you spent hours together smoking to calm yourselves down. You’d almost been caught by a manager, stepping on your sticks as soon as the back door swung open and your names were called out to do another interview. This was with ESPN, if you remember right. There’d been a muddled chaos of journalism in the venue, all the jumbled mess of the same questions. As young as you both are, do you feel intimidated by success?

It didn’t—and still doesn’t—help, you suppose, that both you and Max had stared, tight-lipped and deflated brows, and stated, with finality: no.

The afternoon stretched into an entire night, and by the time the clock ticked nine and everything had formally wrapped up, Max mustered up the courage and a half it took to invite you to his hotel room for a cig and half a Cuervo divided into three shots each. The conversation had progressed as he drove, the continuation of an otherwise unorthodox friendship between a Red Bull and Mercedes driver—a fact you’d both acknowledged but opted to ignore.

Drivers are friends all the time, you figure—you’re close with few drivers—but none of them are Max. You had made the lousy small talk, commented on how different the pre- and post-race processes have become since your entrance in 2018, which, back then, had seemed like forever ago. “It would seem like forever to a world champion,” he’d said, and his voice is all teasing and raspy and scruffed up. You had laughed, a scoffy little noise, and told him to shut up.

He obeyed, for two seconds, then added, “Do you mind if we meet someone there?”

The hotel room was what you might expect a high-level athlete to be bestowed with, wide and huge but not as wide and not as huge as yours a few streets over. There’d been a thing of cologne left uncapped on the table by the door, Adidas shoes on the floor next to Nikes, and then a low table housing a still smoking joint that left the entire living room smelling like grass.

Somehow, Max had managed to turn a neutral, sterile hotel room into a boy’s room. The scent of weed mixed with Tom Ford cologne. The rap music blending into the open balcony’s traffic noise. The socks on the floor, two pairs, both white. It’s a strenuous effort, you’d thought—and you were beginning to think this wasn’t the work of Max alone. “We have a guest,” he’d hollered when he managed to fiddle with the key card properly enough to leave the door alone.

No one had answered, or surfaced from the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom, so you followed Max into the bar area. Bottles of booze in varying states of empty, lemon slices and salt now cold—“Do you not call housekeeping?” You’d asked, amusement concealing curiosity as you accepted a poured-out shot. He said they do—they—and sometimes hotel staff are just a bunch of pricks. He asked more questions. How it felt to win at twenty-one, how it felt to be driving, to be the youngest winner, the first female driver. 

Ask me something I don’t hear fucking journalists say all the time, you’d replied back, half-jokingly. The August air nipped at your cheeks, chilling your warm face. He’d laughed, and explained that he re-asked the questions in case you have a more honest answer to give him. The most honesty you could offer is that you’d grown to hate your reputation because it precedes your skill. It’d been silent for a bit then, just the scent of the unclaimed weed. Then Max went, We have a new friend.

You turned to see who he was talking to. Charles was at the doorway, eyes on you already, raising a hand to say a silent hello. “H…” He trailed off. “Hey.”

He was shirtless, Calvins tight on his legs, his free hand scratching absently at his abs. Behind you, you had faintly picked up on Max introducing you and Charles rolled his eyes before replying, clipped, I know who she is, wiseass. He’d taken the weed and almost left, but you spoke next.

“Want to come sit?”

He paused, turned, and blinked. “I’m alright,” he rejected. “We have a meeting tomorrow, don’t forget.”

Then he was back in the bedroom area, leaving behind him a trail of grassy smoke. He was clearly rugged and fresh from sleep, the delicious sleep athletes have all grown familiar with: post-race, overcome with a terrible exhaustion. You’d only ever exchanged a few words with either of these two, and the fact that you were alone with them sent a warm, drawling thrill up your spine.

You were two and a half shots in when Charles reappeared, sans weed. “Any left for me?”

—

If you grouped the grid into years, you would be with Max and Charles—on the younger end, still at the ripe years of your careers. You entered first, though, then Max, thenCharles, which meant you were connected to, and friends with, relatively different people on the paddock. But the 2020 season and your many close calls with Max began the media and manager tirade of constantly lumping you and Max into the same interviews, press conferences, and media days, to maybe somehow elicit a bit of drama out (a tireless and unrelenting effort).

That’s how the rumors started. The rumor that permeates you most is one that asks about you, Max, and Charles. Some say you dated one then the other (a homie hopper, they’d branded you in 2021), others say they dated each other and you butted in. All of them were woefully untrue, in the same way all had some ring of truth to them.

And you suppose that’s what hotwired the beginning of your nights spent at Max’s hotel room, where Charles would nearly always be camped out, then eventually vice versa (Charles’ room, Max camping out; your room, solo, housing them for one night), drinking and/or smoking and/or playing some form of cards. And you suppose again that it was all this that radiated into everything else, all your wins and successes and bad days and near crashes, that just caused the entire universe to topple over, into itself, and creep up onto the three of you in Bahrain that year.

But that year is three years ago, and if you try to detail every last divot of it, you’re going to wind up rubbing a migraine out of your head. And you’re not interested in developing a headache—not when you’re celebrating the fifth race of the 2023 season.

It’s your fourth win this season. It’s all anybody ever talks about, how you had gone and secured a third championship for yourself last year, and how you’re gunning for four, the greatest the sport has seen in years. It’s all anyone can repeat and echo—you’re a fucking legend!—and you know from experience that praise does more than the most dangerous cocktail of drugs to get you high.

The afterparty is full and obnoxiously loud, dark and smoky and low-visibility. You’re wearing a flimsy dress and running a hand through your hair while you nurse a drink, feeling drunk on compliments and confused with certain absences. You can feel the bass through the tiled floor, heels clicking on it as you search, search, and come up short. Neither Max nor Charles have sent you a text, a play they always perform to break a routine you’ve become familiar with. You frown. Hey, somebody says next to you, you’re better than anyone else on the grid right now! You thank them, thinking to yourself—where the fuck is anyone else on the grid anyway? The relevant people, at least?

Half an hour later, you’ve ditched the party and are pounding with your fists at Max’s hotel room door in an effort to get them to open it quicker, after your knuckles didn’t seem to do the work well enough. You half—no, mostly—expect Charles to be the one who pulls it open. He’s more prudent. He gives in easier. He’s nicer and he can spare a thought for the other people on this floor (but the price of this room means there barely are). 

“What.” His voice is gritty.

“You told me you would come tonight.” Your voice is steady—you’d chosen not to drink much, and what little you consumed wore off on the ride here. Even with your heels on and even in sleepiness, you notice his presence towers over yours. “You both said.”

“We were tired.”

You scoff and gently push past him into the room, where evidence of their existence rags the furniture. “Every hotel room you ever stay in is turned into a fucking frat house.” Beer bottles, cigs, gifts from fans stored with precarious care but peeking out from suitcases. 

“We were sleeping. I am sleepy,” he says behind you, unamused by your sudden appearance. He shuts the door and stands still, looking as disappointed as he can. It’s unlike him. You’re buying time to find out what the problem is.

“Okay, I’ll go,” you say, relenting, running a few fingers over the mess of clothes strewn atop the armrest of the couch. “My driver’s downstairs, anyway. I wanted you there tonight, though.” You look up, meet his eyes. Tired and green and fed up. “Both of you. We could’ve celebrated.”

He pulls his lips tight and stands straighter. “I know, I know.” He softens a little. “I’m sorry, okay? Desolé. Just… tired.” You know he’s tired because his team is shit, and you know it has nothing to do with you, but you’re so wrapped up with everything that your irritance fails to quell.

“Where’s Max?” You ask roughly instead, thumbing at the strap of your minidress. He gestures to the bedroom. You’re quiet but stormy when you walk in, finding him, messy hair and tired eyes notwithstanding, fully awake, unlike what his roomie has been telling you since you arrived; you scoff out loud again. Des-fucking-picable. You sit yourself on the couch, crossing your legs petulantly.

They both stare. They’re mad, it occurs to you, which is weird because they had you in between them on that same bed less than forty-eight hours ago. You’d come thrice and begged for more, but they laughed and said you all needed sleep to get up for race prep. Race prep. Race prep.

“Okay, then.” You throw two hands up in a semi-shrug. “Let’s have it. What’s the matter? No use lying.”

They both look irritated. “Nothing,” Max says.

“Fuck nothing.” You trail a hand over the hem of your dress. “You’re pissed with me, but I didn’t do shit.” You try to rerack the race, but you hadn’t so much as collided with them in the slightest, apart from overtaking them a few times, but they weren’t man children to whine over that. You’d shared the podium with Charles, for Chrissake.

“You’re right. You just went and…” Charles blows a raspberry and makes an explosion gesture, opening his clenched fist. “Shat on us in your post-race interview.”

And there it is.

You huff out a laugh, momentarily losing control over speech, and it’s caught in between itself and a sigh, a breathy noise that makes waves in the quiet room. Okay, you think. I get it. Your eyes flit in-between the two men across you, your shoulders straight and eyebrows raised, posing a challenge. “What, are you jealous?”

They’re silent. And you know silence always means—

Your eyes relax, smug and a little teasing as you elaborate. “Because you know I’m better than both of you?”

—Yes.

Their silence is redeeming and rewarding and permissive and it speaks volumes louder than if they’d actually admitted to it. You stare back at them, eyes narrowed, amused, coy. You’d been joking around in your Sky Sports interview. Sure, you’re a bit of a tease, especially on the high of a win. But they should know that by now.

You know it annoys them more to leave the door wide open as you leave, than to slam it closed.

—

“Will you draw me a tattoo?!”

“I’d love to, but you are going to regret it,” Charles laughs, signing his name off with a heart on the frenzied fan’s outstretched cap. The busy, busy practice day had now worn into night, though nothing seems to be taking his mind off the fact that you’ve been giving him and Max the cold shoulder since last week. And he knows it’s stupid, he knows he and Max were being irrational and pissy—him especially—but now he just finds himself needing to apologize before anything becomes worse.

But his priority is getting to your hotel, which now seems like the journey of his lifetime. His bodyguard is a bulldozer and grips his elbow to traverse them through the sea of people who cheer him on, go Charles have faith in Ferrari and yeah, that’s been getting more and more difficult as the races pass without much good progress. There are flashes all around, noise and laughing and whoops and gifts he tries to receive, but he just—he needs to get to your hotel. Preoccupied, he remembers where he’d seen Max last, just seconds before leaving the paddock for the evening.

You spend a lot of time with a certain pair Ferrari and Mercedes drivers, says the interviewer in Dutch. Charles squints at the subtitles and waits for Max’s reaction.

He’s in the passenger seat, being driven around for a change, and maybe he’s a pessimist and he misses you and Max, or maybe the city he’s in is just. Dreary, so he opts to stare at his phone like every other person. The clip’s been posted by a fan on Twitter, and the caption is something jokey—something about a dream threesome. He can’t help but laugh as he watches. We are close, us three, Max says, nodding. In fact I will be meeting them later.

The media’s always speculated, rumors born out of a few close calls outside clubs where you’re tipsy and giggly and getting into one car. The fans, funny as ever, also make some fun of it—posting pictures of you three captioned with something like polyamory is real or her and the guys she told you not to worry about, but God if any of them knew the real picture, the whole three years of it, all the sex and hickeys and rumors.

He scrolls a bit more. There are a few photos of you leaving the paddock, hand poised atop your face to shield it from the paps. You get loads more of them wherever you are, loads morecompared to anybody else on the grid. You always attract the media, the press. He finds a picture with your face in it, smiling at your result during FP2. Fuck. You’re pretty, hair damp with sweat, lips stretched into a proud grin, suited hand raising a thumbs up.

“Where to?” The driver beside him asks suddenly.

—

“Fairmont,” Max says to his assistant as he pulls out of parking. “I’m hanging up, doei.” He presses the red button and sighs, shutting his eyes and driving the steady, increasingly familiar routes of the city. He’d called you this morning but you didn’t pick up. Last night he’d slept restlessly, which was no different from the nights before, anyway.

He gets to the valet parking of your hotel when purple is just settling into blackness in the sky, the beginnings of a civil discussion at the tip of his tongue as he exits the elevator and finds your room, opening it and finding it unlocked already. Charles must have done the brunt of it, or maybe you’d gotten an assistant of an assistant to pass an extra keycard to him. You always plan around them, thinking ahead. Both on and off track.

Like the hotel rooms he and Charles share or camp out at, your existence is terribly visible. Unlike them, though, it manifests differently.

It smells like your perfume, the pink bottle he’d found you spritzing on once, and everything is neat and tidy and gorgeous. A vase of white peonies on the low table, lipstick on the table by the mirror, even the pack of cigarettes you barely smoke is pretty and unassuming on the sofa. The only thing amiss—a pair of men’s shoes, those ones with stars on them that you bought Charles on a spur-of-the-moment shopping trip. He toes off his own beside them, eyes the alignment, and fixes it lest you scold them for it later.

Anyway. It smells like you. That’s the only thing he cares about right now. It hits him like a tidal wave, after being ignored the whole week and then some. Your perfume, your favorite linen spray—that black and white glass bottle you carry around like a rosary—your favorite lip balm, even. He swears he smells the vanilla, can recall the taste of it from kissing you ditzy.

It’s beginning to rain—it had been drizzling already, en route here—and the noise pelts the windows, an accompaniment to his footsteps down the hall. He’s familiar with the layout of a penthouse suite, but still he tries out the WC door, and then the closet with the ironing board, before finally he figures the bedroom should be at the end of the hall.

He’s reciting it. I’m sorry. Would you stop being a brat? No. No, just say you’re sorry and then he’s standing at the ajar door of your bedroom, pushing it open, and he can’t feel anything. The words have evaporated. So have his warm little sentimental feelings, and so the annoyance he’d come busting in with.

Max can’t even feel his feet on the hardwood floors because you’re on your bed, spread out, wearing one of Charles’ sweaters, two fingers at the apex of your thighs.

He opens his mouth but nothing leaves. His eyes find Charles, standing by the door, propped against the desk, arms crossed and fingers digging into his biceps. Max looks at you again. You have a pretty flush high on your cheeks, a slight sheen of sweat on your exposed collar. He blinks and realizes you’ve been talking.

“I said, you can sit the fuck down.” There’s a couch to his left.

He pulls himself together and stays beside Charles. “I’m good here, thanks.”

You eye the two of them. They look like stupid twins in the same way they look like Republican husbands. You roll your eyes and allow it; anyway, you’re not in the mood to order either of them around too much.

Charles has been watching you for a while now, watched you fake moans and exaggerate whines, feigning pleasure over two of your fingers. It’s almost laughable—he’d allowed a smile, in fact, because he knows better. Once, he’d pulled your hair so hard you teared up, nodding, hand at his wrist, whimpering more, harder, do it. Another time, he and Max had gotten you all riled up and edged for half an hour, so riled that all you could mutter out were please and their names when they finally stuffed you full. You’re evidently playing your games again. You love to play around with them. It’s almost—you could almost call it a hobby.

“I’m not going to stop just ‘cause you’re both here.” Your hand moves, two fingers fucking into yourself, pink lace pushed aside. Your cunt is so pretty, they’re both thinking. “Did you think I would?” When silence greets you, you decide to address them directly. “Max. Did you?”

His voice is thin and tight when he responds, “Yeah, actually—so we could suss this out, at least.”

Your laugh is patronizing. “I prefer it this way. And you know what?”

Max stares. Charles has already been told this, several minutes ago when he found you in the exact same position. It’s not any easier for him to hear it again, chaste and sweet out of your lips. You can’t touch me.

See, they would’ve been content without touching you, if they sit and think about it. Max didn’t walk in here thinking he’d even be kissing you, and he knows Charles thinks the same thing. Maybe touch you—innocently, that kind of way. Sure, they’d been pent up, heady with arousal, but that came second to talking things out. But now you’ve told them they can’t touch, and that’s worsened them to their limit. Charles imagines touching you, the same touch he gives when it’s post-race and he gets you alone, to himself, nobody else’s, quick fucks in a dim closet, whispering some dirty shit in your ear and getting you like putty in his hands.

Max thinks of nearly the same thing. Imagines running his hand over your hair, gentle but firm, the same way he does when he knocks at your hotel room after hours and gets you from high-strung and bratty to begging for more. You notice their eyes, darkened; you realize their minds have wandered. So, they watch hopelessly as the smirk spreads prettily across your flushed face, and they remember the events of a week prior, when childishly, they’d acted out, and think, for a second, that maybe they deserve this.

You all know what it’s like to keep them from touching you.

It was both easier and worse then, in 2020 when everything started—when everything was brand new and thrilling and exciting. Easier, because they were satisfied as soon as they got you to come, maybe kiss them both, and they were content with slow exploration. Worse, because you were all insatiable. It felt like none of you could go minutes without some form of touch, during, in-between, after practice, quali, fuck—it was worse, much worse.

As you all grew older and got accustomed to the drivel of racing, you all got better. It didn’t get much easier.

Charles recalls how insatiable he was—and thinks, with amusement almost, that if he was insatiable then, he’s worse now. Now he knows where, how, for how long to touch you to get you wide-eyed and warm in the face even in the most serious of moments. Max, too. He knows how you taste, bend, tease. They love touching you. Just skin to skin. And you’ve gone and put a great big X mark over that.

“So,” Max says, voice flat, the way it is when he’s unamused with a reporter, “we’re in a time out.”

“You can call it that,” you giggle, and it segues into a huffy whimper when you angle your hand just right. “You were acting childish, anyway.”

Charles sighs, long and deep. “We—fuck.” His eyes can’t unglue themselves from your fingers. He knows he could make you feel so much better, fuck real moans out of you until you’re crying. “We were being childish, oui, and it was—we were just tense. I was unhappy with strategy. I could’ve been P2 but they pitted me at the worst time, putain. I took it out on you, and I’m… I was… I was worn out, and you called us childish in your interview.” 

Ever the minx, you only smile. You’d been joking, you clarified that a day later; it was crass, spurred on by team radios of the two of them complaining in the latter half of the race. “It was a joke, Charles.”

“I know, baby, I know.” His lip curls and he breathes steadily, controlling himself. “It was unprompted though. You weren’t even asked about us. And yeah, a joke—but it felt shitty, love. I don’t mind it—we don’t mind it, but—” He needs to think about the phrasing, think about his intentions.

Your eyes are on fire, clearly still angry, but steadily softening.

“But in moderation,” comes Max’s raspy voice. “You’re running your mouth a lot in the media.”

“You’re one to—ah—talk,” you huff back, a futile argument.

“You need to understand that—that when you’re giddy, or angry, you can’t keep turning to interviews to express all that out. You need to sit with it. Just because we’re not…” your boyfriends, Max almost says, “…yours, doesn’t mean you can shit on us then expect us to be okay with it a few hours later. It’s a thing you do. A game you play. And it’s nice, it was nice then, but it’s annoying now, and it’s almost, like, do you even want this to keep going? To work—?”

You recoil. “You seriously think I don’t want th—”

Charles cuts in. “Well, when you play at us like this, yeah. Put in the work. If you’re high off a win, or mad for some other reason, just let it happen. Don’t fucking.” He exhales. “Call us names, then show up at our hotel acting like an angel.”

They’ve always looked out for you like this, known when to scold you or put you in your place for doing too much or not doing enough. They’ve never let personal things cross too much with business, which is a blessing of an ability when you’re three people having regular sex while balancing a ludicrous athletic career. It’s all sussed down to stupid ‘I care for you’ stuff that, frankly, they’re both too horny and angry to get into the grit of right now.

They don’t realize how quiet the room has grown until you eke out a noise, a thoughtful sound of agreement. You’ve pulled your fingers out, both hands playing with a loose thread on the hem of the sweater, rolling it into a ball. Your hair falls in waves. There’s a crease in it from the ponytail you wear when driving.

Your expression is still murderous, but much softer now; you cough, “I—I get what you’re saying. And I know I play… I have these games, or—but, honestly, I could say the same to you both.” You stutter through your totally shit explanation.

“How do you… mean,” deadpans Max. 

“I mean, when I’m acting out, you two just take it.” Having them at your mercy like that is satisfying in its own right, but pragmatically, it’s unhealthy. “You don’t ever tell me off. Even now. I need you to tell me… to fucking,” you’re warm and spluttery now. “Fuck's sake, okay? I know I can be annoying. I know I say stupid shit when I don’t finish and I’m way less diplomatic than Mr. Il Predestinato,” you breathe. “But you two just let me be annoying!”

“Then don’t be annoying,” Charles says, diplomatic as ever—his voice rises, though, nearly matching yours.

“Not like that!” You huff, folding your legs and sitting straighter, and they catch a glimpse of your pink panties again. “When I’m out of line, you”—you point to them—“need to correct me.” They’re nearly blindsided by your request to… be told what to do, which is so different from how sex usually works. From how this whole dynamic usually works.

But Max remembers your manager, and Toto, and your teammate Lewis even, and your engineers, who have all, at one point or another, had to talk you down and tell you to calm down and correct your behavior. So he says, “People do that all the time, but it only works for a second.”

“Because th—” You suck in a lungful of air. “They’re not you two, you daft fuckers!” You’re at the centre of the bed now, sweater drooped over your folded thighs, eyes matching the rain outside. “Every time, I need to be talked down, and you never. Do it. So do it. Fucking—do it. I have to tell you everything.”

“You don’t—-”

“Oh, I do.” You say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“This is despicable,” Max says. “We need to sort this out properly.”

“So what? This isn’t”—you raise violent air quotes—“putting in the work?”

They glance at each other for a minute. They feel you thinking you’re winning, thinking they’ll grovel and say okay we’ll do that next time, can we fuck you? Like all the other semi-resolved fights before. You’re sitting straight, eyebrows raised, defiant. But for them to do that—you just said it wasn’t what you needed. 

And they’d have to be caught dead before not giving you what you need. If you want to be bossed around a bit, then they’ll do it.

“Sit down,” Charles goes. Unmoving. 

“What.” You’re deadpanning, eyes narrowed.

“Sit the fuck down,” he repeats. You open your mouth, but he’s quicker. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You pout, leaning against the headboard and unfolding your legs. He rounds the room, sits at the foot of the bed. It’s a big bed, so even if he’s on it, he still needs to reach over a bit to be able to touch you. The distance is good, though, keeps them in control. Max sits opposite him, both of them on either side of you, and they’re so close, so scrutinizing, so handsome. 

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” he says. You take a second, spreading your knees and obeying. You find a way, though, to make their little challenge all your own—you make a show of it, peeking your tongue out and licking your bottom lip all shiny before hollowing your cheeks. You stare at them the whole time and you don’t blink. It’s hotter than it has any right to be. “Suck on them.” You continue doing it, lips slightly curled.

“You’re a brat.” You try to conceal the whimper that leaves you but it fails pathetically. Charles presses on. “A spoiled brat.”

He’s the nicer of the two. Your whole threesome situation had began three years ago, and in almost every tryst since then, he’s been nice. In fact, if any of them were to ever ‘tell you off’ like you so desperately wanted, apparently, it would have definitely been Max. He’s firm, yeah, but he’s sweet. And he’d hate to boss you around too much, even if it’s something he wants. So he thinks, and he pretends he’s back to quali day of last week. It was a slow morning because of weather problems, so everyone was in a mood, and you were absolutely no exception. You come off as quiet to the public and to some of the grid, but to your friends, you’re anything but.

In an effort to lift the mood, you’d been mouthing off the entire day to your close circle of driver friends, in particular retelling the story of how you had teased Charles post-DNF in Saudi, and even gotten Lando to laugh about it at the time. What a season starter, you said when you were recounting it. You left out a detail: that night in Saudi, he’d fucked you and refused to let you cum, soaking your pillow with tears and goading a sobbed apology out of you.

Watching you joke about it again, even if it was a fucking joke and even if it was because you were mad at him and Max—got him all red hot, pissed off. Seething.

“Do you remember last race weekend when you joked about my DNF in Saudi?”

Cheeks hollowed, you nod.

“Fucking brat. That whole day. Ignoring me, ignoring Max. Didn’t listen to our apologies. Just noise all day.”

Your brows knit defiantly.

“I’m serious. You weren’t being funny. Just a brat. And if you were bored or pissed, you could’ve said so instead of making me look stupid.” You nod.

He glimpses at Max; the latter speaks next. “Open yourself up.”

You spread your legs out farther and sneak your spit-slick fingers down, pushing the flimsy material aside to rub at your cunt, two fingers sliding right back in. You breathe out shakily and wait for them to talk again. You’re still fussy, high-strung, not totally calm and mellowed down yet.

“When Charles and I aren’t here to fuck you into behaving, who’s going to make sure you’re acting proper?”

“Carlos,” you grit out in between thrusts.

They seethe. “Again,” Charles says, unamused.

“Nat,” you name your manager. “Lewis, or something. Fuck. Lando? I don’t—”

You asked to be told what to do, but you never said, they suppose, that it would be an easy job. “Guess again.”

“Toto.” You look delighted at that last one, knowing the implication. They’ve always been a bit jealous there. You thrive off disobedience, getting your two favorite boys all angry and flushed red with it. You open your mouth to try smartassing your way out of their orders, but Max beats you to it. “If you guess wrong, you’re not cumming. We’ll fuck you tonight, but no cumming.”

You whimper out loud, sinking your fingers farther in, adding a third.

“Don’t add another. Answer Max,” Charles says.

“Fuck,” you seethe, slipping the third out on your next thrust. “Me. I’m supposed to keep myself in check. When I’m mad. When I’m giddy and fuck—yeah. Me. It’s me.”

“Good girl,” he rasps out. “Good girl. You have to practice. How does it feel?”

I know, you mouth, eyes fluttering. You scissor the two fingers you’re thrusting in and out, wet with slick. “Feels good.”

“Not your fingers, love,” Max says. “How’s it feel hearing what we just told you?”

“Good, better,” you say in-between breaths. “I’ll practice. I like it. You’re not… letting me push you around. You’re—you can punish—fuck. Me.”

“Yeah? How, then?” 

“Fuck me,” you repeat breathlessly. “Both of you.”

“Add another,” Charles orders, and you nod, quick and pliant, fucking yourself open. They’re both so hard, cocks heavy and uncomfortable in their jeans. You can see the thick shapes of them through the denim, and you thrust harder, a futile attempt to replicate how it feels when they’re fucking you.

“You remember how it feels, having both of us in you?” Max sounds amused.

“Yes,” you moan. Your pathetic imitation of moans and gasps earlier pales in comparison to this, voice dry and thick with pleasure and raw desperation. “Yes, pl—fuck, yes.”

“Why aren’t you feeling it now?” They need to hear you verbalize the reason why, admit it one last time before they give you what you want. You whine, rutting your hips up against your hand, catching your clit on the heel of your palm. 

“Because I was being a brat, and I—you were being childish, but I didn’t want to talk things through either—and I’m always taking out my emotions on you guys, and I’m sorry, okay, would you just fuck me already?”

They’re on you immediately, all words and whispers, fingers at your chin turning you both ways to slot kisses on your mouth. Your free hand palms over Max’s bulge; he’s the one to your right. It’s hard and thick and heavy and you need it, need them. Charles’ hand takes over yours, thrusting deep and you’re whimpering into his sweet mouth.

“Feel my cock?” Max asks, “Could make you feel real nice, baby.”

“I know,” you sigh, breathless. “I want it.”

“When's the last time you took us both?” Charles asks, smile wicked. “Little thing like you.”

You grit out a moan, fuzzy and floating, letting them lift you up to straddle—one of them—you open your eyes and see Charles staring up at you, wonder and green eyes. “Got this, love?” You nod, yeah, I’ve got it, you say, little sighs. Both of you. Now.

This space you’re in, where it’s pleasure and fuzz and nothing else, is comparable to the high of winning. And you know you prefer that to sex, at least now, because racing is your life. It’s the slow satisfaction of being the best on the entire grid, despite everything. It’s the cheers, the raised fists when you climb atop your car and bring the crowd to a crescendo. The even louder screams when you pull your helmet and balaclava off and smile, trophy and all, champagne shiny and glowy on your face. All that shit—it’s addictive, and it feels just like this. So similar, in fact, because when you win, you finish on top of Charles and Max, and—

—Max is behind you, jeans tugged just enough for his cock to be pulled free, slick with lube and prodding at your ass—

—it feels just fucking like this.

“Like Max’s cock filling you up?” His cockhead is breaching your tight entrance and you moan out loud.

“I missed it,” you say, muffled by Charles’ free thumb at your lips, swirling it on your tongue. You flip him off for cutting you off and he laughs. “Give it t’me,” you goad, turning slightly. You want it so bad, missed being fed with their cocks. A week is too long. “I need more of it, all of it. In me, fill me up,” you beg, whimpering, desperate.

Max stares at your ass, grabs at the flesh there, at the string of your thong. You suck him in so hungrily, like you’re challenging him to not thrust in fully; you’re canting your hips backward too, and Max has to hike the too-big sweater up to watch the muscles of your back flex to meet his dick.

“So pretty, princess,” Charles says, because with them you really are a princess. Max begins to thrust into you from behind and you’re getting little moans fucked out of you, watching Charles unbuckle his jeans to tug his cock out, thick and pretty and you want—if you could, you would suck on it, let him fuck your throat, but you’re in the business of being filled to the point of blank thoughts right now.

You feel Charles at your cunt then, your slick making the slide easier, and Charles bucks his hips up and you—this is what you needed, to mellow you down, get you all loose and ready for more. “Take it, baby,” Max says, “all of it, all of us.”

“Ah,” you gasp out. “Ah.”

“Come on,” he grits, voice hardening. “You’re ruined. Pretty little girl. Come on.”

“Maxie,” you call out weakly, your fond little nickname for him. You remember Charles whining about how he doesn’t have one, so you save baby for him, had sussed that out on a night where they took turns fucking you. Your hips torn between the two dicks stuffing you, face sweaty and the sweater doesn’t help, gets you hotter; Charles gets the hint, and with effort, pulls it off you. Your skin is shiny underneath, matching bra sticking to your sweaty, sheened out skin.

“Love it,” you say, voice strained. “Split—fuck—me open.” Your holes clench around them and Jesus, they could have you all flushed and pretty and spread out like them, like this, forever. Charles grabs at the flesh of your ass, slaps you once and you’re tightening around them, breath impossibly still, thighs shaking. Max’s hands hold your hips tight, hungrily traveling up, groping at the wire of your bra to press at your tits. You’re pressed against both of them at a delicious angle that gets you dizzy.

“I’m gonna cum, I,” you breathe out, moaning, “I haven’t touched myself since…”

They both moan at that, delirious. Fuck. The thought of you holding it—for them—fuck. 

“You’re so perfect, so—fuck—slutty,” Charles says, and you can’t hide the moan fast enough. “Feels good, having us in you, yeah? Getting you all noisy and… fucking—shit. I know how much you needed this, love. I know how much you love it. Us.”

From behind, Max snakes a hand up your abdomen, the column of your throat, and wraps there. You see white from the sensation of it alone.

“Tell me—I can’t—please, I—Charles—Maxie—” You’re increasingly incoherent, slick running down your thighs, twitching vigorously. You try to comprehend everything but you’re losing coherence and they get it, they get it, wiping your tears and sweat and coercing you to cum, yeah, pretty little pussy so fucking wet for us, cum hard, come on, you’ve been so good, baby, the best girl for us.

There’s no way either of them are lasting after that, after watching you fall apart and finish on top of them, stuffed full, stuffed pliant, stuffed fucking docile.

It’s your turn, then, to praise, your favorite boys, always so good for me, thank you for letting me cum, come on, let me taste it—and you’re stained with their release after a few minutes, Max biting on your shoulder, Charles’ thumb indenting your hip.

—

What. A. Podium, ladies and gentlemen! Max Verstappen of Red Bull, from P6 in the last race to a stunning P3 drive—Charles Leclerc, braving the team’s dismal strategy to get P2! What a knockout. Of course the Mercedes legend, gunning for four championships now, had crossed the flag first to claim her fifth P1 of the season.

What a legendary race, absolutely proper podium. They showed us what driving is, real driving.

The season is heating up. 

Makes you wonder what happened over the weekend for them to get such good results.

This is F1. I’m sure they keep each other motivated.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Oh Those Romance Novels

ship: Azriel x Reader type: drabble warning(s): explicit content, f o r word count: 920 words summary: Azriel decides it would be a fun idea that you read one of your smutty books to him while he…

-all rights reserved -

"And then his tongue circled her—Gods Azriel!"

Your head lolls back, eyes falling shut. Your thighs squeeze his head, but Azriel has none of it. He hums in disapproval, sending vibrations throughout your whole body. Lifting his head, the skin around his mouth coated in your arousal, he clicks his tongue. 

"None of that, baby, keep reading." He groans a little as he gives your thigh a gentle squeeze, wanting you to look at him.

And you do — lifting your head the tiniest bit, opening your eyes and meeting his eyes through a heavy lidded gaze that is clouded by desire. You could barely make out the words you were reading and now, the heat radiating from every fibre of your body makes your vision blurry anew. 

Still, you try to hold your mate's gaze. He has a vicious, almost cruel laugh on his face as he watches you, a smirk on his lips.

"Be a good girl and keep reading. Instruct me on what I have to do." He grins, and lowers his face, placing a searing kiss to your sex. You feel something in your lower belly squeeze, your toes curling. He has your legs thrown over his shoulder, the tips of your toes nearly brushing his majestic wings. 

"Azriel, I can't…" you whine, so far on the edge you can already feel the release coming. You can't focus on reading anymore, but Azriel does not like that. He does not like it when you don't behave like his good girl. And he loves to tease you. Loves to edge you, until you are a sobbing and pleading mess beneath him, begging him to give you the release you so desperately crave.

"Yes, you can." His voice is like a growl, his nose already brushing your skin. He inhales your scent, your sweet arousal beguiling his sense — he feels delirious from your scent, drunk on the feel of your soft skin against his and he can't wait to devour you, to drive his tongue into your slick cunt and like you dry. But now he waits, although he needs to call upon his restraints to hold back. He loves to hear you beg, hear you trembling, needy voice, it makes him damn hard, but it is worth it.

"Read!" His voice reverberates through your body, making more slickness pool between your thighs. 

And you decide to give it another try, trying to focus on all the words that melt into one another.

"His t-to-tongue circled her c-cl-clit and he licked—Fuck!"

Azriel flicks his tongue against the tight bud at the apex of your thighs, chuckling lowly when he hears you curse and feels you shudder beneath and around him. "Baby," he purrs, dragging his broad tongue over your slit. "Continue."

"His broad hands grab her l-le-egs and he forces them to open w-wi-wi-ider." And Azriel does exactly this. He lifts your legs off his shoulders, placing them on the bed and forcing your hips to fall open wider. And that is when his restraints are loosened and he drives his tongue into you with a force that nearly overwhelms you. The book falls out of your hand the moment the back of your head hits the pillow and you cry out in pleasure. Azriel's scarred hand grabs your thighs tightly, finger tips digging into your skin as he growls against your wetness, his tongue driving deep into you. He savours every drop that lands on his tongue, devours you fully, fully revelling in you and how you ride his face, your butt lifting of the bed. Your hand fists his hair, and he groans, his thumb coming up to toy with your clit, rubbing and pressing down to add just a bit more pleasure. 

Flecks of white and black appear in your vision as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your breathing ragged. You ride his face, grinding against his tongue, fisting the pillow beneath your head, your other hand still tangled in Azriel's silken strands. 

You tug and pull and it only fuels his passion more, feasting on you like a starved male until he pushes you over the edge, letting you ride out your high as he continues to lick you softly and places gentle kisses to your sex.

Your limbs spasm as he comes up to you, kissing up your torso, licking over your hard nipples, taking each into his mouth, suckling and tugging. He groans in delight, kissing up your neck until his lips meet yours. 

"More," you breath, body exhausted but the desire still there. "I need you again."

"Then get on your hands and knees, baby." He grins as he meets your gaze. "And this time, you do as I tell you because what you need now is a little bit of punishment." A pout graces your face and Azriel clicks his tongue once again. "You did not finish the chapter, baby and you know that I don't like it when you don't behave like my good girl."

Leaning in, he nips at your lower lip and then pushes himself up. Sitting back on his heels, he lifts you up with his strong hands and flips you over. 

You turn to look at him over your shoulder. There is a vicious glint in his eyes, he grins from on ear to the other, his shadows dancing behind his shoulders, swirling and curling and sliding down his arms. "And my bad girl deserves a little bit of punishment tonight."

~~~~~~~~ tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict

[tallulah477]

Pretty, But Not Stupid

Extra of Hunting the Tawtute

Kinkmas Day 10: Breath Play

Pairing: Lo’ak x Fem!Human!Reader

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: AgedUp!Lo’ak, Dark!Lo’ak, ***NON-CON***, Dub-Con, Breath Play, Choking, Size Difference, Alien Genitalia, Oral (male receiving), P in V, Belly Bulge, Creampie, Scenting, Mention of knots (but no knotting yet), Slight threesome (and Dark!Neteyam), Mentions of death/dead bodies, Reader is not having a good time (although idk...i think she’s having a great time), Mentions of war

A/N: Guess who’s back, besties!! Been MIA, slacking on prompts, and about to lose my fucking mind with all my family around, but I somehow got this done and I’m about to read as many fics as I can before someone else demands my attention.

A/N 2: This was not intended to be a full Part 2 yet, but it's way too long to be called a drabble. So I’m calling it an extra for now until I decide what to call it lmao. Hope y’all like it 🧡

A/N 3: DEDICATED TO @oakbuggy AND THEIR AMAZING ARTWORK (Everyone stop reading and go look at their art rn, all of them are god-tier but the one for Hunting the Tawtute definitely holds a special place in my heart. Thank you again, Buggy! You're amazing!)

Summary: With their father’s impending retirement as Olo’eyktan, Neteyam has more responsibilities to the clan and less time to see his favorite human. Thankfully, Lo’ak is there to pick up the slack.

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**

Translations:

Vrrtep - Demon

Tawtute - Human

Sevin - Pretty

Palulukan - Apex predator resembling a lion or panther

(Mountain) Banshee/Ikran - Large, dragon-like aerial predators

Mawey - Calm

Narlor - Beautiful

Tam tam - Calm, be content, there there

Srane - Yes

Yawne - Beloved

Paskalin - Sweet berry (term of endearment)

Their father is stepping down as clan leader - at least that’s what Lo’ak tells you when he comes to visit you in the isolated hut the brothers have set up for you on the side of a cliff face. It was for your own protection, they told you. You couldn’t stay in the village yet, their father would never allow it, and you clearly couldn’t be trusted not to run away if they built you something on the forest floor. 

“Tawtutes with their tiny brains are stupid,” Neteyam had sneered as he hauled your combined weight up the cliff side. Your arms locked around his neck tightly, legs wrapped around his lithe torso as your eyes squeezed shut, determined not to look at the insane height you were being pulled to. “You might think to run away and then become the next meal of a hungry Palulukan.”

“Nah, bro,” Lo’ak said, the grin on his face audible in his teasing words as he climbed up the cliff behind you, ready to catch you if you decided to end it all right there and try your hand at plummeting to your death, no doubt. “Our little vrrtep would never run from us. Right, sevin?”

The hut they built for you was as cozy as it could be. Assembled further into the cave and away from the treacherous cliff side, thick material wrapped around sturdy posts to keep out any harsh weather that the cave itself couldn’t keep out. They’d given you plenty of blankets, assuring you that even though your human nose can’t smell it, their scent is all over them.

“To keep you smelling like us, when we can’t be here to do it ourselves.”

But they’re always around, day after day they come for you. Lo’ak grinning a deceivingly sweet smile and Neteyam’s amber eyes burning holes into your face as they grab at you, pulling you towards them as they all but rip off the loincloth and chest covering they gave you, baring your marked up body to their hungry gazes. They spread you open, fucking you and fucking you until you’re a crying overstimulated mess, drooling and teary under your mask as they fill you up. 

They know exactly how to touch you, where to press, where to rub, where you’re most sensitive. They learned how to play with your body better than you could ever know how, dragging orgasm after orgasm out of your trembling, exhausted body until your left limp and they’ve decided they’ve had enough for the day. 

Your body still struggles to take their cocks (although they love to tell you that you were made for it - “made to be our little cocksleeve”). Your only saving grace is that they’re still not sure if they can knot you. They’ve gotten close to trying, instincts desperate to push that large ball of tissue at the base of their cocks inside your already stuffed to the brim pussy. You feel how they test the resistance, pushing juuuusttt a little deeper, the swollen knot stretching you even farther than you ever thought you could stretch before they back off. 

When they fill you full of their cum, it’s with their own hand squeezing tightly around the knot. 

Usually, it’s both of them. This time, you’re shocked to see only Lo’ak climbing over the edge of the cliff. 

“Neteyam sends his regrets,” Lo’ak says, kneeling down to wrap his arms around your body and press his face into your neck. His flat nose presses against your rapidly increasing pulse point and breathes in your scent. “He said to tell you that he’s sorry he won’t be able to visit you today, but that he’ll make sure to come see your pretty face and fill your tight pussy tomorrow.”

Your face flushes hot at his words, shivering when his nose slides up to nudge just behind your ear, but you stay silent. 

“But that’s good news for me,” He continues. “Because that means I get you all to myself for tonight.”

Neteyam isn’t coming to visit you today because their father is stepping down as clan leader, which means increased training, more hours at council meetings, and less time to sneak off with his captive human. 

“What does that mean?” You can’t help but ask. Lo’ak’s hands smooth down your sides, large palms dragging over your bare skin until they’re squeezing your ass. Your voice cracks at the feel, but you push on, your eyes doing their best to keep contact with his bright amber ones. “Your father stepping down? What does that . . .” 

What does that mean for me?

“Nothing you have to worry about right now,” He says.

Without warning, he stands, pulling you with him so your legs wrap around his torso as he supports you with a hand on your ass. A loud yip rips from his throat, echoing through the cave as he walks you both towards the cliff’s edge. The responding roaring shriek makes you cower against him as the large dragon-like animal lands on the platform behind you, wings flapping hard against the wind. 

“We’re going on an adventure,” Lo’ak says as he walks you closer to the banshee. You whimper, arms locking around his neck so tight you’d think you would be choking him if you could think straight. But you’re not, head whipped around staring wide eyed at the monstrous creature as it turns its head sideways to stare back at you. 

“Lo’ak, no,” You beg through gritted teeth, but he ignores you as he approaches the banshee, his hand settling lovingly on its snout. 

“Mawey,” he coos, carefully rubbing along the blue leathery skin on the banshee’s snout, but you’re not sure if he’s trying to calm the large animal or you. “Mawey, narlor,”

“Lo’ak, no,” You plead, still clinging to his upper body. Tears pool in your eyes and a panicked whimper escapes your lips when you feel the puffing breath of the mountain banshee on your back. “Please, please, no!”

But you’re ignored again, even when your body goes rigid at the feel of that rounded snout pressing against the curve of your spine, hot exhales practically burning your skin as the banshee sniffs at you. Fuck, fuck–you could die. Right now, you could die in a second, that snout pressing into your skin could disappear, replaced with dual rows of long curved teeth that would take only a second to open and bite down and rip you clean in half. 

You can hear the smile in Lo’ak’s voice from where your mask is digging into his collarbone, his soft murmurs of encouragement loud even through your terrified thoughts. “Srane, tam tam. Look at my two beautiful girls, getting along so well.”

He moves swiftly, not leaving room for any more pleading as he bonds with his banshee and climbs on, bringing your clinging body with him. The rush of air as the large animal takes flight makes you squeeze Lo’ak tighter, desperate for safety as you feel the wind bat at your back as the banshee cuts through the sky like a bullet from a gun. 

“Is this all it takes for you to cling to me, sevin?” Lo’ak teases as he rests a secure hand on your trembling figure, all five fingers spread so wide that they nearly span the entirety of your back. “A little ikran ride and I get you all cuddled up, nice and close?”

You ignore his dig, teeth clenching together as you fight to find your voice around the wind rushing around your ears. “W-where are we going?”

Lo’ak nudges his chin against the top of your head. “You’ll see,”

The flight feels like hours. Hours of watching miles and miles of trees and forest thousands of meters below from over Lo’ak’s shoulder. Logically, you know you’re exaggerating. It hasn’t been hours, and even though you’re still high enough to die as a splat on the ground if you were to fall, it's probably not as high as it feels. But heights have never been your friend, and frankly, neither has time management. 

It’s only when the banshee lowers to the ground and Lo’ak dismounts, depositing you on your own two unsteady feet, that you realize where he’s brought you on your ‘adventure’. 

Your mouth opens in horror at the remains of your old home. The RDA outpost, a once tall and strong fortress that housed the lives of hundreds of humans, now practically nothing more than a heap of rubble. The walls once meant to provide safety to those within them have crumbled down, victims of their own explosives used against them by the enemy. Debris lines the paved ground, thick boulders and metal platings that were once walls, bullet shells glinting in the sunlight. There’s a few AMP suits scattered around the battlefield - you can’t see inside them from your vantage point, and you’re terrified of what you might see if you get too close. 

“This way, tawtute,” Lo’ak says, reaching for your hand, but you yank it away before he can grab it. 

“No,” You say, but the firmness in your voice is overshadowed by the shakiness. “No, I’m not going in there.”

“Yes, you are,”

Another headshake. “No,”

Quick as lightning, his hand shoots out and grabs the bottom of your mask, gripping on the valve at the bottom as he bends down so his face is level with yours.

“Demon,” He growls, fangs on display for just a moment. A warning. “You are pretty, but not stupid. You do as I say.”

Fear claws at your throat and your hands immediately latch onto his wrist, silently begging for him to not pull your mask off. He never does, and neither does Neteyam. Not as a punishment at least. When they use your mouth, there’s always a warning - a “hold your breath, yawne,” before the air is cut off from your lungs and your mouth is full of alien cock. But the fear never leaves, the possibility is always there at the forefront of your mind, and you cling to his wrist like the lifeline it is. 

Lo’ak’s face softens at your expression, grip loosening from your mask as his hand slides to cup the back of your neck. “You know I would never hurt you. You need to trust me,”

Hesitantly, you shake your head again. You’re pushing your luck, you know it. But you’ve learned Lo’ak is the more lenient of the brothers and will tolerate more ‘disobedience’ than Neteyam will. “I can’t,”

“Yes, you can. Nothing in there will hurt you. If anyone is left in there, they’re dead,”

And that’s the problem. The terror of facing the place where life as you knew it was ended in a heartbeat. If there’s still people in there, people you once knew, people you talked to, some people who were good, lying on the ground . . . lifeless . . .

In the end, it’s not a choice. Lo’ak sighs, pulling you back in his arms and cradling you to his chest like a toddler. You sniffle, eyes sliding shut, determined to not watch as he walks you towards the remains of the outpost. 

It’s hard to admit, but being carried by the brothers can be really soothing if you let it. They move swiftly, with grace and confidence in every step, careful not to jostle you despite the usually uneven terrain of the forest. It’s even smoother now as Lo’ak walks across the flat pavement of the base. If you close your eyes, it can almost feel like you’re floating.

There’s a loud chu-chunk sound followed by the rapid hiss of air and the loss of sunlight behind your closed lids. You open your eyes to see that Lo’ak has found a still intact entrance, the airlock working to adjust the oxygen levels to whatever lies beyond the interior door. He smiles when the pressure stabilizes, opening the door and stepping into the inside of the base. This time, he doesn’t warn you when he pulls off your mask, the sound of escaping air hitting your ears, but you don’t choke. Instead you can breathe, deep complete breaths without the need for a mask covering your face. 

Lo’ak wastes no time nuzzling his face against yours, sliding his cheek across every new inch of face and neck that he can comfortably reach, a deep content rumble vibrating through his chest. 

Scenting you. 

“I can smell you,” He whispers, lips pressing against your cheek. “Not just you right now, but where you were, where you’ve been, here, within these walls.”

“W-what?”

His feet carry him, guided by an old scent that you can hardly believe is here after so long. But it is, it has to be - you know the journey, have walked it hundreds of times during your time on Pandora, but you can’t imagine that Lo’ak would. You don’t think he ever went inside the outpost during the attack. He shouldn’t know that it's the second hallway instead of the first, shouldn’t know it’s two left turns and one right, and that your door is the 3rd on the left. But he does. 

He even knows which bed was yours and which was your roommate’s, only confirmed when he drops you down onto the thin RDA issued mattress against the far side wall. You land with a yelp, bouncing slightly from the force of the drop, but your noise of surprise is cut off by Lo’ak’s lips against yours.

“Stupid humans,” He growls against your lips. “Can't even breathe air without help. Wish I could teach you, so I wouldn’t have to go without your pretty lips on mine every day.”

You whine into the kiss, his big lips nearly twice the size of yours as they capture your mouth completely. It’s not the first time he’s kissed you, but it’s the first time you can breathe while it happens. 

He pulls away after a few more kisses, his breathing shallow as he reaches for something tied to his loincloth. It’s only then that you see the CO2 mask that’s been attached to his hip this whole time. He pulls the cross strap around his body, the mask hanging low on his chest and the CO2 canister hanging around his hip. He brings the mask to his face with one hand, taking in a few deep breaths, while the other hand works at the ties on his loincloth. 

The material of his covering falls to the ground and he drops the mask in favor of gripping your chin, thumb rubbing soothingly across your cheek. 

“Someone wants to play with you,” He purrs. “Be a good girl and invite him out, okay?”

Your breathing is shaky as you rise up on the bed, knees pressing into the mattress as you come face to face with the flat plane hiding Lo’ak’s cock. His hand moves to the back of your head, guiding you forward until your lips press against the smooth space between his thighs. 

Experience has you knowing what to do now, how to hold onto his thighs with both hands to keep yourself steady as you pepper gentle kisses along the hidden slit. Lo’ak tips his head back at the feel of your tongue sliding along the seam, little teasing kitten licks against the engorging slit that are always from him demanding them, demanding the slower teasing buildup, rather than you being coy. 

He pushes your face harder against him, hissing a ‘yeah, good girl. Like you fucking mean it,’ as he urges you to lick him deeper. When his slit opens, puffy and dripping, you can’t help the moan that falls from your lips as the sweet taste of his slick coats your tastebuds. It controls your body, whatever is in the slick. You feel it, making your body heat up, making you want things you definitely don’t - and you’re in the thick of it now, no mask or breathing breaks to cut whatever effects it usually has on you. It sets your body on fire now, making your thighs clench together as wetness pools in your core, and your brain fuzzes as the first touch of Lo’ak’s cock teases your lips as it starts to slip past the slit. 

You don’t know how long he keeps you there, sucking his cock. He’s dragging it out, taking advantage of the rare opportunity he has now of you without your mask. He drags your mouth along his cock, staring down at you with hooded eyes and letting you suckle gently on the lavender tip. Sometimes he’ll growl, pushing you down harder on his length just to hear you gag when the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. Other times he’ll pull you off completely, twisting your head so that your lips wrap around his girth from the side, before sliding you slowly back and forth along his length, tongue running over each and every bump and barb along the hot cerulean skin, the bright bioluminescent freckles decorating his cock practically shining under the layer of slick and saliva. 

When he’s finally used you to tease himself enough, he pushes you back flat on the bed, large hands wrapping around your calves and pulling you closer so your ass is just barely hanging off the side. You whimper when he pulls your legs apart, ripping the soaked loincloth from your body, hungry amber eyes staring at your swollen, wet cunt.

“Such a pretty girl,” He moans. The tip of his cock slides along your folds, nudging against your clit before sliding back down and positioning at your entrance. “You ready?”

Your brain is fuzzy and your clit is throbbing, hole clenching with the need to be filled. You close your eyes, looking away from his intense gaze - you don’t want it, you try to remind yourself, you don’t, he’s making you. But a swift smack on your thigh makes your eyes fly open again, Lo’ak’s hard gaze seeming to cut into your very soul.

“Say it, demon. Wanna hear you say it,”

A small cry escapes your lips, body unconsciously trying to bear down on his cock even as you shake your head. He shifts forward just the tiniest bit, lavender tip just barely pressing against your drooling hole enough for it to start to stretch before stopping again. 

“‘Need you, Lo'ak,” he recites, brow cocked, expecting you to repeat it. “Say it.”

“Fuck!” Is what comes out instead - a whiny, frustrated curse, that has your eyes tearing up again and Lo’ak’s ears pinning back against his skull.

His hand is quick to wrap around your throat, fingers digging into the blood vessels at the side of your neck as he hisses down at you. Your hands wrap around his wrist again, fingernails digging in and no doubt leaving red crescent shaped marks in the blue skin. He’s not squeezing your neck, not crushing your windpipe out of anger. You can breathe, the gulping breaths your gasping for are making it into your lungs, but the fingers pressing into the blood vessels make it feel like you can’t. Your head is clouding again, fuzzing like TV static, vision going blurry as his hand doesn’t relent. 

“Fine,” He grunts. “You don’t wanna talk? Don’t.”

You want to scream when he pushes forward, cock bullying its way past your entrance and inside you, stretching you and filling you up. It’s slow and torturous as he fills you impossibly full, the barbs along his length scraping ruthlessly against your slick walls. He sighs, ears flicking in pleasure as your heat envelopes him, stretching around his girth so perfectly he swears you were made for him. 

You can feel the bulge in your belly, the pressure disappearing and reappearing again as he begins to move inside of you. Long, purposeful strokes meant as a punishment, meant to make you feel every agonizingly blissful inch of him as he fucks into your soaked cunt, harder and harder with each thrust. Your mouth moves trying to form words, sound fleeting save for the barely there whispers of ‘fuck’, ‘oh my god’, and ‘please’. Lo’ak hears them anyway, leaning down to silence you with a filthy kiss. His hips pound against yours, unrelenting in their mission to completely fuck the soul of your body, and the sound of slapping skin against skin mix with Lo’ak’s groans and your barely audible breathy whines. 

Lo’ak’s fingers find their way to your swollen clit, rubbing persistently at the sensitive nub until you're crying into his mouth, thighs trying desperately to close together but can’t because of his body between them. The thick press of his knot against your entrance is what pushes your oversensitive body over the edge.

At the first suffocating clench of your pussy around his cock, Lo’ak releases your throat letting all the air it felt like you weren’t getting back into your lungs in a rush of oxygen. You gasp, crying against his lips as you arch up against him, creaming pussy fluttering around him as you cum on his cock. He growls when your teeth latch onto his bottom lip, blunt teeth digging in enough to draw blood, but the way he immediately grabs your hips, shoving his knot against you as hard as he would dare without actually penetrating you, tells you that it was a lust filled growl this time, not an angry one. 

He moans when he spills himself inside you, face pressed against your neck as he fills you up. You swear it feels almost scorching hot, heating you up from the inside and then out as it spills from around Lo’ak’s still buried cock and runs down the curve of your ass and onto the bed sheets. 

Someone clears their throat from behind Lo’ak, and you gasp at the sudden sound, frantically trying to look around Lo’ak’s hulking body to see who it is. 

Lo’ak sighs, undisturbed by sudden intrusion, even going as far as rolling his eyes before slowly pulling out of your used cunt - more of his cum spilling out onto the bed now that he’s not still inside you to keep it in. “Wasn’t expecting you today, bro,”

Your eyes widen when he moves out of the way, revealing a smug looking Neteyam in the doorway, still very much dressed up in his warrior’s gear. 

“I had to make time to see our pretty little demon,” Neteyam says, bright amber eyes sweeping over your exhausted form. He crosses the room with three long strides, one knee pressing into the bed as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “That was a nice show. I know you’re tired, paskalin,”

His eyes meet yours, amber irises practically swallowed up by the blacks of his pupils. A hand presses against your belly, sneaking down towards your oversensitive pussy, his pointer finger reaching out to tap against your clit as you whine. 

“But it’s really not fair that you smell more like Lo’ak than me now, is it?”

**Special thanks to @neteyamsyawntu for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @anastasia1777-blog @localjasmine @tsewtx @skywonder @neteyamswillow @luvv4j4ybe11 @pandoraslxna @avatarwifey

[fayes-fics]

Neck [Drabble]

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Warnings: None

One word prompt: Neck from @queen-of-the-misfit-toys. Hehe, I know who you wanted here ;) Thanks for this, my dear. Not too dirty sorry, still easing back into smut writing 🧡

You are captivated by the play of tendons under freckles, a solidity there that almost seems at odds with his slim frame. Unable to resist, you trace the lines of his neck, muscular movement under your delicate touch as he swallows slowly, his skin still damp and tacky.

Large hands sweep up your back, long, elegant fingers lingering on each notch in your spine under the silky sheet. Shared lazy smiles, a bone-deep satisfaction and a tell-tale dull ache at the apex of your thighs telling the story of what has transpired.

“Again, Mr Bridgerton?” you suggest, tone intentionally coquettish, a flutter in your belly as you feel his strong pulse quicken under your fingertips at his throat.

You squeal as the world tilts, and you find yourself pinned to the bed, those large hands bracketing your wrists so effortlessly on the soft pillow, warm, solid, lightly fuzzed thighs sliding between yours as he bears you into the mattress.

“I thought you would never ask….” he chuckles richly, lips finding yours in a searing kiss.

Taglist: none, as this is a short drabble.

One-word drabble challenge

[ellaa-writes]

The Beast Wíthin

authors note: Part 4, part 5 here. Had to cut the last part in half as Tumblr wouldn't upload it. I'll be taking a break from this series, maybe doing small one shots, drabbles and headcanons but no big stories. Will be working on other stuff as well. Also if anyone as any requests or ideas please send them my way! masterlist

summary: Omegas are rare, in a world full of Alphas and Betas. Being a Omega was not only dangerous but they were highly sought after. After living your life has a Beta in disguise, you meet a scary Alpha, but not any normal alpha. But a gaint Apex Alpha who won't stop at anything to make you his.

tags: Alternative Universe. Female reader. Female anatomy. SMUT finally some smut. PinV, knotting, rutting. König is kinda an asshole but he doesn't know any better. More The Beast lore. Reader is feisty.

His fingers pulled you into position. His hot mouth was heavy against your core, the obscene noises you were making coming from under the blankets.

You were gasping and clawing at the covers, nails digging into your surroundings. Finding König short hair against his scalp, pulling on it hard.

He found your bundle of nerves and began sucking on it. Wrapping his lips around your clit, using his fingers to slowly coax open your entrance.

“Oh God.. König please.” you didn’t know what you were saying. If they were words or not, or just sounds.

You knees were pushed to your chest, flush against your tits. You didn’t know how or when you became naked. Your skin was hot fire, burning through everything.

König couldn’t get enough of you, if he could he’d dive right inside your pussy. He feels like a dehydrated man lost in the desert for years, and your pussy was like water. His hands like magic plucking sweet sounds from you. He could easily spend every waking minute just like this.

Fighting back his urge to shove himself right in and also fighting back The Beast from taking control in this moment. The snarling getting louder and louder inside his head, too the point he felt it crushing everything inside. Until his vision went black.

Before you knew it you were being flipped onto your stomach, König’s big hand twisting you into position. He dragged your hips up and over his crotch, your bare pussy making a mess of his boxers. “Woah, big boy.” Is all you could get out before he was shoving your head into the pillows.

You felt his heavy cock against your ass, König dragged his boxer all the way down his legs and kicking them to somewhere in the room. You tried coming back up for air but was shoved down again followed by a serious of growling coming from König.

He gripped his cock, running it up and down your glistening folds. Making your hips buck forward anytime it caught on your sensitive clit. You tried looking back to get a good look at his cock but stopped when König growled out at you, a warning if you could call it that.

After lining himself up with your entrance, he began slowly pushing himself in. The stretch knocking the air from your lungs. All you could do was grip and claw at the blankets. A whine caught in your throat, making it way up to the surface. König pulled out a tad bit before he was pushing himself in again, inch by aching inch. He didn’t stop until he was mostly sheathed inside but leaving his knot out. Stopping to catch his breath and for the whine to rip out from your throat.

You tried wiggling your hips a little, to help with the odd angle. König’s hands came down on your ass, loud and stinging. Causing you to yelp and push forward, König cock slipping out a tad bit. But he was quick to follow, bullying his cock back into your sensitive and too tight of hole.

“König, please. It’s too much.” your muffled voice could barely be heard. But he still heard you, inhaling a deep breath before he began pumping in and out of you. Slow and deep but the more he rolled his hips into you the faster they became. His grip on your hips became bruising. You could feel the slight bulb of his knot, it was trying to make its way inside.

The force of his thrusts causing you to fall even more forward in the blankets, until your stomach was completely flush to the ground. König thighs anchored for leverage on either side of you. His heels digging into the ground. The Beast was fucking you just like you should be, like a bitch in heat. Breeding you like an Alpha should breed an Omega. Wishing he was in his true form but this human suit will do for now.

Your pussy was taking him so well, swallowing and squeezing his length. Gripping onto his cock, trying to hold it in place. At this point you were seeing stars, head spinning and mouth dry. Nothing but gasps, whimpered and moans leaving your mouth. You tried to push back on him a bit but he only grabbed your hand and held it to your lower back. Using it as an anchor to you, his grip on your hips loosened and using his other hand to rest near your head. Your mouth found his wrist, sucking on it lightly. König took the opportunity to shove his fingers in your mouth, making you suck them, tasting yourself.

König adjusted his position, resting on his feet instead of his knees. Using all his force to pound into you. Rutting his cock deep, hitting your poor cervix over and over. If you weren’t so turned on and in a bliss you would have noticed the building pain setting into your uterus. But you didn’t want it to stop. Pushing you hips back to meet König’s eager thrusts.

König pulled out, leaning back on his heels, flipping you around and pulling you to his cock. You sucked in so much air, filling your aching lungs. You were happy to not be face down anymore. Finally having a good view of the giant Alpha in front of you. König lifted your ass up and over his knees, still leaning back on his heels. Lining himself up again and pushing inside. Using your whole body to shove down on his cock. You got s good look at his size, you didn’t know how to fit inside you. The girth alone making you shake with panic.

You were squeezing him so tight, your pussy trying to milk him dry. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. You looked up into his eyes, your own glassy and hazy. And his, well his were completely black. It scared you a bit, taking you off guard. Which only made your pussy squeeze him even more. All the animalistic noises coming from his chest. It sounded like a pack of dogs trying to break out. You reached up and held onto his face. Causing König to relax a bit, he let go of your aching hips and leaned over you. Using his own hips to push yours further over you. His mouth found yours, all teeth, nipping and licking.

His kisses were messy and sloppy, his eyes shut closed hard. Causing small wrinkles to form across his face. All you could do is hold on, while König pounded you into the floor.

König wasn’t going to last long, The Beast began to tire. His movements became a tad sloppy, he was so close. Gripping onto the floor, using it to help thrust into you harder. Your legs were shaking, and your muscles pleading for a break. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” It was the first time he spoke since he began eating your pussy. The Beast resided back into his mind, allowing König to finish the job. And it didn’t take long.

He nearly forgot about you under him, his orgasm hitting him like a sack of bricks. Popping his knot fully inside you for the first time. You could feel it inflating and plugged your hole. He leaned his head back, letting it wash over him. A growl ripped from his throat, deep and guttural. Causing the windows and doors to shake. His seed was hot as it flooded you, König was still slowly rolling his hips, chasing his high. His knot blocking any cum from leaking out, making sure it soaks into your womb.

His nose found your neck, sniffing in your scent. His tongue dragging over the scar, teasing the sensitive skin around it. You ran your fingers up and down his back, feeling every bulge of muscle. König let his teeth sink into your scar, opening it up again. It caused his own to tingle and burn. Fully bonding you together. He let his head completely fall, resting against the soft blankets below you. You still cling onto him, his cock buried to the hilt inside of you. His knot solid as a rock, not letting up one but.

Your slowly drew circles on his back, until you became overpowered by exhaustion and sleep. Letting your eyes close and your mind going blank.

König felt you drift off to sleep below him, his knot softening enough for him to pull out of you. He didn’t want any of his cum to go to waste. He moved you over in the nest, pulling the warm covers over your sleeping naked body. He rose from his feet and went to take a quick shower. Returning in nothing but a towel to dry his body off. Leaving his hair wet as he climbed back into the nest with you. Pulling you into his chest, the low pur that your like so much reverberating in the quiet room.

Days with König were long, you found yourself spending most days alone. You caught up on all your shows over the week you had off from work. You even read a few books. But none of that sated your desire to do something. When König was home he’d have you on your back with your legs around his shoulders. Making sure to service you anytime he could.

You enjoyed it but it got tiring fast. He wouldn’t let you leave but you had no intentions on it. After the first night in bed together, your first peak at The Beast. König apologized in the morning, running a hot bath for you to enjoy while he made breakfast. He tried so hard to keep him at bay but he took over which was alarming to him.

Unbeknownst to you König had your dingy little apartment packed up, and he broke your lease. Moving what he could into a storage unit for you to go through later and getting rid of the rest. He also took it upon himself to call up for place of work and put in your resignation letter. He saw no need for you to work, he made enough money to keep both of you happy.

All while you were tucked away in the penthouse. When you woke the next morning you found the place as clean as when you first walked in. Again it made your skin crawl, it didn’t feel like a home. You stayed away from the windows as the look down made your stomach roll. Most days when König arrived back home he’d find every curtain drawn closed.

He was giving you time to adjust, to get comfortable in your new space. You still weren’t allowed on the other side of the house. He kept all the doors locked, specially his office. After waking in the middle of the night a few days into your heat. You heard a few voices coming from that room,you could smell the scent they left when they walked in.

By now your heat was nearly gone, and you were feeling almost back to normal. You were eager to go back to work the next morning. You sat in the livingroom, watching another rerun of your favourite show. Waiting for König to arrive from where ever he leaves to. You didn't know much about him, he didn't talk about himself a lot. Any question you did have were met with vaugr short word answers. You guessed it was for the better.

It was very late into the night when König finally got home. Hearing the door open and click closed. Followed by his heavy footsteps and his delicious sent wafting into the penthouse. "What are you still doing up?" his accent was thick tonight. "I was waiting for you." you said while yawning, stretching you arms out. "Well wasn't that sweet of you." König came to the couch, picking you up and setting you in his lap.

"I wanted to talk." you were playing with his necklace he wore, dog tags, he called him once. "About?" König stopped your fidgeting hand and brought it to his mouth, giving each finger a little kiss. "Well tomorrows my first day back to work. And you still haven't replaced my phone. I've already been stressing about all the missed calls and emails I've been-" you began but were cut off. "Your not going back to work." he said it so casual, taking interest in the dumb show you were watching instead of what you were saying.

He felt you still in his arms, looking down to see you glaring at him. "What?" he asked. "I'm going back to work." was all you said. König rolled his eyes, he hated when you picked fights. And you did it often, over small things he found irrelevant. "I said no, Omega. Plus I already let them know." he tried to play with you hair but was met with a slap to his hand. "You what!" you pushed yourself off of him, shoving his hands away that tired to stop you. "Please tell me you joking. Haha, funny!" you were panicking now.

Pacing back and forth in front of him. Your scent turned sour and it stung König's nostrils. "You don't need to work love." he tried to stop you, to make you sit but you kept moving just out of his reach. "I can't believe this." you threw your hands in the air. "And you didn't even answer the question about my phone." you pointed at him. "It's on the way, don't worry about it." he didn't understand your reaction.

You should be happy that you didn't have to work, he's your Alpha, he's supposed to take care of you. "König, you can't just change my whole life without telling me." you stood in his way, blocking his view of the TV. "I guess this is a bad time to tell you that I broke your lease." he knew it was a bad time but better than later. "What!" you screamed. You hands coming out to try and hit him but he just grabbed you and oulled your skirming body into his. "It's good Omega." he was trying to calm you down, releasing the our from his chest. "Oh no you don't." you managed to break free. "Your crazy, fucking crazy. How could you think that was ok to do, and not tell me." you were fuming. "I did tell you-" he tried to explain. "Shut up." you yelled back.

You stormed off towards the hallway that led to your bedroom. König got up, leaving the TV playing as he followed you like a lost pup. Before he could make his way to the bedroom you slammed the door in his face, turning the lock quick. König sighed in frustration, knowing that it was going to be a long night. And all he wanted to do was cuddle and maybe play with your pussy a bit. But now he's sitting outside his bedroom door, like a dog thrown out.

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