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mv1simp · 6 months ago

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Vegas, Baby (I Wanna Ride) ♥️

Max Verstappen x Friend!Reader

welcome to vegas baby, give me money, give me diamonds, give me rubies baby (get on your knees and beg me please to let you in me)

Tonight's a big night for the Redbull team in Las Vegas. Max Verstappen just won his 4th WDC, and you, his good friend, just won your first F2 race. After months of rising sexual tension, the line between you and Max starts blurring during a wild Vegas afterparty. Nothing beats crowning a 4th championship than passionate celebration sex, right?

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dom! Max, sub! Reader who’s playing mind games to seduce him, size kink, praise kink, cream pie, morally dubious relationship status but no cheating, drunk passionate sex with max post WDC is literally the epitome of my dreams, 5.3k WC

Max! The blonde Dutchman’s concentration shifts from one of the many post Las Vegas Grand Prix interviews he’s been coerced into to hear your familiar voice excitedly calling for him. His cute smile turns into an even more gorgeous grin as he spots you making a beeline across the media pen, long curls flying behind you. The cameras rapidly start stuttering as you practically leap into Max’s arms when he tightly hugs you back, lifting you up off the ground easily. Congratulations, Maxie! you gush excitedly, beaming up at him with genuine emotion. I’m so happy for you, you deserve this win so much!

Pink dusts the cheeks of the now 4 time world champion from your attention as he looks down at your shorter frame, his muscular arms snugly around your waist. You couldn’t care less about the sticky champagne drenching his suit, because your own RB suit is wet from your celebration of winning the F2 race earlier that day. You too, schatje, Max returns warmly, the paparazzi completely ignored. Winning your first race, in Las Vegas too, from P11? I’m so proud of you! Now you're blushing as he tousles your hair affectionately. You two are just good friends, of course, and Max is in a relationship with a model - even though it's a rather turbulent one. But the F1 gossip mill is always running rampant with rumours about your relationship with Max - especially with the overfamiliar touches you're both now leaving with lingering hands on each other.

The interviewers flock at the chance to interview the F1 and F2 champions together, who provide them with entertaining answers fueled by the 3rd G&T that Max has already started drinking from his Redbull bottle. You smirk and raise your own bottle to cheers against his, making Max’s icy blue eyes twinkle with amusement as he realises you’re very much on the same wavelength of starting celebrations early. Great minds think alike, right Maxie? you wink conspiratorially, making him laugh. The media reps are basically forgotten as the pair of you end up in your own conversation of excited yapping about adrenaline fueled moments from your races, littered with inside jokes lost to the viewers.

When his PR manager calls Max's name, trying to prevent anymore dubious scandals, the blonde looks apologetically towards you, promising that the two of you would have to celebrate properly tonight, okay? You nod eagerly as you watch him go for the rest of his media duties, your smile so wide that your cheeks almost hurt. You’re still buzzing with adrenaline of your own win, and know that your own manager won’t be happy with the pictures of you practically climbing Max to hug him, not an inch of space between you as he pulls you against him. After all, the tabloids love to speculate that there’s something more between the Redbull 3 time - now 4! - world champion and you, the rising talent in F2 with your Redbull Academy seat, and one of the very few women on the grid.

That’s how you and Max had met - on the Redbull practice circuit, the two of you the only ones wanting to practise in horrific conditions of rain and hail. He’d been curious to see another car with the familiar Bull logo out on the track, and then found himself even more curious when the helmet came off to reveal your cutely flushed face and pretty curls that fell down your back. You became fast friends, after you got along your initial awe of 3x WDC Max Verstappen casually giving you driving pointers. He was actually an incredibly humble and loyal friend, and you appreciated how much time he'd spent out of his busy schedule to help you. Meanwhile, Max found your conversation and humour so refreshing compared to other junior drivers who would suck up to him, and you were never afraid to give Max a piece of your mind with your fiery, passionate personality - similar to his. For the first time in months since he'd started dating his demanding girlfriend, who always told Max off for being too loud or making immature jokes, Max found himself genuinely relaxing and speaking freely.

So with all the time on the practise track, and then off the track when you moved to Monaco and began attending the same parties, padel games and hungover brunches with Max, it was no surprise the two of you had become good friends - with a lot of speculation from the public. Many of his fans and friends disliked his current relationship with the pretty model who constantly used Max's name for her own clout with little interest in his passion for racing and e-sim gaming. In comparison, the easy laughs and witty banter seen frequently between you and Max had many conspiring that you'd be a far better match for the F1 champion. Especially in today's Las Vegas interviews, where the growing electric chemistry was palpable to viewers even through the screen.

Of course, you'd never admit to anyone that you secretly agreed with all the gossip columns. You and Max were perfectly suited for each other - but you would never be able to tell him, especially as you didn't have the slightest idea if Max liked you back or even found you attractive since he was so outgoing and touchy with all his close friends. For the past couple of months you'd been secretly pining for him, eyeing his moody girlfriend jealously as she yanked him from celebrations to go home early. You'd starting catching yourself staring up at the gorgeous blonde with heart eyes when he'd patiently explain some new racing tactic to you. No guy could come close to Max in your mind, and you're becoming increasingly sexually frustrated as the object of your desires stayed out of your reach but you aren't hook up with anyone else. So much so that in the week before Las Vegas, you'd started having some very dirty dreams involving a tall, muscular, blonde ending training early and bending you over the hood of his car as he whispered accented Dutch in your ear. Gonna let me fuck you now, baby? You'll take all of my cock, just like I taught you, right?

You knew it was so, so wrong to secretly lust after your friend and teammate like this - especially since he was taken. But tonight, with the thrill of winning your first ever F2 race in frickin' Vegas of all places, at the same time as Max taking his 4th WDC...Well, let's just say you were feeling especially wild tonight. Taking another shot of gin as you got ready in your spacious hotel bathroom, you admire the sight of yourself in the mirror. You're lot more dressed up than usual, out of your racing suit for once . Smokey eyeshadow compliments your wide, doe eyes and long hair you’d blown out in loose curls, all to show off the main view of a tight, sparkly red minidress that pushed up your tits perfectly. You certainly looked the part of a winner out on a hunt for the best way to celebrate tonight, and your best friend agreed as she whistled when walking into the bathroom. Girl, goddamn, that dress looks insanely sexy on you! she gushed, making you shoot her a pleased smile. Trying to catch a certain someone’s attention tonight? she added with a teasing look. Don’t worry, Max won’t be able to keep his eyes off you!

You let out an embarrassed yelp and tell her to shut up, you were not into him like that! Used to your denials, your friend rolls her eyes fondly and tells you you’d been practically moaning his name when you’d been napping earlier, you little slut! She puts you out of your misery when your face goes as red as your dress by adding in that she’d heard his girlfriend wasn’t here tonight to celebrate - apparently, she was pissed he hadn’t flown her out on his private jet and he’d decided to take a break. Winking, she tells you that Max is all yours tonight! You shoo her away but your heart’s nervously skipping a beat with the news. Slipping on your impressive six inch stilettos with glittery straps circling around your legs, you make your way to the after party downstairs.

The bass is thumping, drinks easily flowing and the crowded hotel nightclub buzzing with energy tonight where many of the racing drivers and fans have come to celebrate tonight. You’d meant to go find Max when you got there, but are pulled into excited hugs by lots of your own friends and team members to congratulate you. Soon enough, a few hours have passed and you’re very pleasantly tipsy, giggling and twirling around on the dance floor with your girlfriends and quite a few guys who are running appreciative looks over your pretty figure. But when your wide doe eyes finally meet icy blue across the room, all other men are forgotten and you're making your way over in a heartbeat.

Schatje, Max greets you easily, interrupting the conversations people crowding around him were trying to start. You give him an adoring smile as you wrap your arms around those ridiculously wide shoulders of his when he pulls you into him. The alcohol you’ve both been drinking lowers your boundaries as you giggle into his ears you’ve been looking everywhere for him! He chuckles, telling you that he’d been right here, but you’d been too popular with everyone else tonight. Too busy for me now that you’re a F2 winner? he teases. You playfully push his broad chest, admiring how toned his muscles are under your freshly manicured palm. Maybe, you tease back. I only enjoy the company of drivers who are five time world champions, at least. Seen Lewis anywhere?

Max’s gorgeous blue eyes crinkle in amusement as he tips his head back to laugh, and you're staring up his thick neck, enjoying the sight of his angular jaw and plush lips with a cute freckle you wanted so desperately to kiss. Reminding yourself not to get too carried away until you had some idea how Max felt, you tugged at his biceps to indicate you wanted him to follow you. He easily took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together as you pull him towards the second floor. This was a pretty frequent for you two, breaking off from a crowded party to yap and gossip about some drama or catch up without all eyes on you. Just as you reach the stairs, one of your team’s engineers calls out to you, giving you a tight embrace that lasts a few seconds too long to be a friendly congratulations. You don’t really notice though, too relaxed and happy, and gush your thank you’s to him as he compliments how well you drove today. He’s pretty cute, and you’re starting to get carried away in the conversation until a warm, large palm curls possessively around your curvy hips. A shiver runs up your spine as Max’s deep voice drawls out behind you that he was bored, can you two go upstairs now?

You immediately turn your focus back onto the attractive blonde, assuring him Of course, Maxie! Your arm wraps around his bicep to steady yourself as you two walk upstairs, your high heels clicking against the marble floor. Your abruptly forgotten engineer receives a rather smug smirk from Max. When you’re finally alone in a tiny powder room, small enough that you have to stand close together with the locked door but well lit by an illuminated mirror atop the counter, Max can’t resist a snarky that engineer seemed very into you.

You dismiss Max’s claims, telling him to stop joking around as you leaned into the mirror to repply your lip gloss. No, he was definitely checking you out, Max responds behind you. His already deep accent you’d always had a thing for turns even huskier. Can’t blame him though…you look fucking incredible tonight.

Desire curls in your gut as you gasp at his unexpected compliment, glancing to see Max’s blue eyes locked onto you through the mirror. The Dutchman’s gaze is sharp despite the tipsy flush on his cheeks as it wanders up your lush thighs, accentuated by your stilettos, over your juicy ass and hips before coming to meet your pretty eyes. There’s no denying the hungry expression he wears, especially as you slowly finish applying your lip gloss, drawing his attention to your tempting pink lips. He looks like a lion starving to sink his fangs into his next meal.

You swallow, suddenly feeling a little shy as you avoid his gaze, even though you'd dolled up tonight just for him. You should be saying something like that to your girlfriend, you say suddenly. Where is she, anyways? Max rolls his eyes at the reminder, unamused with the change of topic. Fuck knows, he says exasperatedly. I don’t care anymore, we’re taking a break. You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow as you coyly ask Just a break? What, she’s trying to find a billionaire because a F1 millionaire just isn’t cutting it?

Max chuckles at your not so subtle dig, knowing how you felt about his rather superficial girlfriend. But instead of letting it go, tonight you decide to continue and ask him why he was still with her? He shrugs, telling you it was just easier at this point to stay with her instead of the drama of a messy breakup, and dating hot but 2D models was what everyone expected of F1 drivers anyway.

You narrow your eyes, a little annoyed now, and step closer to Max to announce that’s stupid, since when did he do what others expect of him instead of what he wanted? Besides, he deserved a girlfriend who actually cared for him as a person, who celebrated each of his wins and losses, and on a night like tonight - well, he should be getting whatever he wanted from her, you added playfully. You’ve ended up so close that Max can feel the warmth of your soft tits pressed up against his chest, the heels you’re wearing helping your height. He can't resist admiring at the way your cleavage bounces every time you passionately speak.

Whatever I want, huh? Max murmurs lowly, his blue eyes dark with desire as he suddenly leans down, making your eyes widen and thick lashes flutter. His thumb softly brushes across your cheeks to press against your lower lip, parting your mouth slightly. He’s silent for a moment, choosing his next words carefully, and then - What if all I want is you?

You gasp, both with excitement and shock at the realisation that Max returned your feelings. A coy smile appears on your lips as you press your hands to his firm chest, leaning up to whisper into his ear that he was lucky, then, because you'd been looking for a way to congratulate him properly.

He grins wickedly as you return his hungry look, your normally sparkling eyes now sultry with desire. Oh yeah? he says lowly, large palms skimming your waist. And what were you thinking would be the proper way to say congratulations?

There’s no going back to friendship after this, the blurred line well and truly vanishing. Thank god, because you couldn’t take the sexual frustration any longer. You’d heard that the sex after winning in Vegas is really good…and since he’d ended up winning the championship, he deserved to fuck you long and hard, right?

Max’s breath hitches at your offer, his already semi erect cock hardening. Fuck, schatje, he breathes, his lips so close to yours they’re almost touching. That mouth of yours…I didn’t know it could be so dirty. Makes me want to ruin it. You smile with faux innocence, batting your lashes up at him. Why don’t you, Max? Ruin me, then.

That’s all it takes for his lips to lock into yours, a gentle first kiss between friends quickly turning into a sloppy, heated make out that has you drooling against him. Been wanting to do this forever, Max groans in between deep kisses. You giggle, asking him what his girlfriend would think of that. Who? Max says, looking genuinely confused as he leans in again to slide his tongue in to explore your mouth. Oh, the ex? You laugh into the kiss, knowing any other woman would be out of the picture by the time you’ve shown Max just how he deserved to be treated tonight.

Suddenly you’re being lifted up easily to sit on the marble counter, squealing at his impressive strength. He greedily presses against you, your lush thighs parting easily around his narrow waist. It’s a good thing the club’s bass is so loud, otherwise any passerbys would hear the wet, sensual moans of you passionately making out. Max’s bear paws of hands squeeze your thighs and plump ass firmly, making your minidress ride up so he could feel your dampening panties as you start grinding against his impressive bulge through his jeans. Fuck, schatje, you’re already this wet? Max breathes, blue eyes blown with desire when he pulls back for a second as you both pant. Only for you, Maxie you say adoringly, running manicured hands along his broad shoulders and into his soft, blonde locks. Whatever you want tonight, remember? So tell me, what would the world champion like next?

Max inhales sharply at your obedient words, at how you’re looking up at his darkened blue eyes with so much devotion. It fills him with an inexplicable need to have you all to himself, not just tonight but every night from now. You decide to give him a gentle nudge, guiding his large palms to cup your full breasts through your dress. You keep looking at my chest, Maxie. Do you want to see what’s underneath my dress? Max’s jaw drops open as you help his fingers tug down your neckline, letting it fall to your waist and leaving you half dressed in a lacy navy blue bra.

My favourite colour, Max says absentmindedly, too distracted with the heavenly vision in front of him. When you giggle and tell him you know, that’s why you wore it! he groans lowly, yanking the lace down so your full breasts lay exposed to his hungry gaze. So fucking pretty, he breathes, you look so good in my colours, schatje.

You can’t respond because you’re moaning again from his thick fingers squeezing your bouncing tits, circling your sensitive, hard nipples before latching his mouth over your areolas. Oh, Maxie! Mmm, feels so good! He hums with your tits inside his talented mouth, enjoying your sweet moans in his ears as he leaves a trail of hickeys over your chest and neck. You’re getting wetter by the second, and judging from the large, hard bulge you’re desperately humping, you’re certain Max is just as turned on as you are. But tonight’s about congratulating him, and you can’t get too distracted, tugging at the white t-shirt he’s wearing. Your turn!

Max smirks, and yanks his shirt off in half a second. Now you’re temporarily short circuiting at his broad pecs, ogling his thick upper arms and shoulders that taper down to his slim hips. You can’t resist tracing a path down his defined abs with your manicured fingers, making Max tease you with like what you see, schatje?

You shut him up as your hand comes to rest just above his belt buckle, brushing his blonde happy trail but going no further. Hmm, I’ve seen better, you tease back coyly. His jaw hardens as you come tantalisingly close to where he really wants to feel you. When he wraps his hand around yours to stop your games, you surprise him again when you bring your joined hands up to your lips. Curiosity piqued, he watched you intently as you press the pad of his pointer finger onto your swollen lips like he’d done earlier…and then part your lips to slide him inside till the knuckle. Oh, fucking hell, Max hisses lowly.

You don’t miss a beat, staring right into his eyes sultrily as you swirl your tongue around his thick finger, letting him imagine what else your drooling, wet mouth could do. He swallows when you release him with a pop, only to oh so innocently bat your lashes at him to say did he have anything bigger for you to lick?

Max has a hand tangled in your curls instantly, pushing your all too willing body down onto your knees as he swears, saying if he’d known you were going to be such a good girl for him he’d have fucked you months ago. You whine desperately, making him completely entranced as you press soft kisses to his clothed erection. He unbuckles himself for you, the small room silent except for the clinking of metal making both of you impatient. You gasp when his generously sized cock emerges from his Calvin Klein boxers, his pink tip resting right in front of you. He almost cums right there when you look up at him with those wide doe eyes, the very picture of innocence but your filthy words anything but. It-it’s so big, Maxie. Even larger than what I’d dreamed about.

And then you’re messily kissing up and down his engorged shaft, smearing your lipgloss all over as you pant and drool over his length. Oh my fucking god, Max groans, head slamming into the door behind him. That mouth of yours, baby- Jesus fucking Christ.

He’s rendereded speechless when you begin suckling on his hypersensitive tip, circling it with full concentration just like you’d done with his finger. You don’t break eye contact, pulling back slightly to pump his base with two hands and blow air over his angry, swollen cockhead. Tastes so good, Maxie. ‘M gonna worship your cock tonight, just like my world champion deserves. Your throat goes completely lax as you take his impressive length all the way to the base, gurgling and drooling messily as you hollow your cheeks to suck firmly.

Fuck! Jesus, schat, baby, I’m gonna - Max is panting heavily, cheeks adorably red and flushed as he tangles his large palms into your curls. Go-gonna fuck that insane mouth of yours now, okay?

You hum in agreement, sending vibrations running down his shaft. He doesn’t waste any time then, dragging your face forward and roughly thrusting himself into your wet, slack mouth. Loud, obscene sounds of the dirty blowjob you’re performing for him are filling the air, and there’s no doubt anyone listening in the hallway would be able to tell exactly what going on behind the door. But the both of you couldn’t care less, too far gone. And if your mindblowing deepthroat hadn’t been enough, you’re whimpering in between thrusts that he’s so big, you bet he could fuck your tits at the same time as your mouth-

He doesn’t even need to process that sexy mental image because you’re now using your free hands to cup your bouncing breasts and wrap them snugly around the base of his cock, his leaking tip still thrusting in and out of your mouth. Like this, see Maxie?

Max roars in approval at the filthy display, the warmth of your soft tits sending him over the edge. Gonna cum now, he pants breathlessly. Open your mouth for me, baby, you’ll swallow it all, right?

You follow his command immediately, desperately saying please, please Maxie, wanna taste you so bad, you can cum wherever you want-

He slaps his heavy cockhead against your chubby cheeks first, and then onto your pink tongue as you poke it out, collecting drops of precum from his angry red tip. He’s meanly chuckling as you go cross eyed from his cock whacking your face, squealing with excitement. Guess the only thing that shuts you up is my cock in your mouth.

You nod eagerly, panting with your lips wide open expectantly as you stare up at him, your pretty makeup completely destroyed from the messy blowjob. The sight of you so desperate for him is what tips him over, and with a silent moan he jerks himself off to flood your mouth with a generous, creamy load. So much that you struggle to swallow it, some of it leaking out the corners of your lips to drip onto your heaving tits. But you take most of it just like you promised him, licking your lips rather sluttily before opening your mouth to show him. See, Maxie? Drank it all for you.

He yanks you up off the floor, pressing your soft jiggling chest up against his hard pecs as he rewards you with a deep kiss. Did fucking amazing, sweetheart, he sighs into you. That was definitely the best head I’ve ever gotten. You flush from his compliment, sultry eyes turning shy now from his praise. But the Dutch Lion’s appetite isn’t satiated tonight. He pulls your dress back up, wiping away your smeared gloss and smudged mascara before redressing himself. But we aren’t finished just yet, schatje, he croons as he gently untangles your curls from your dangly earrings. You bite your lip, hanging onto his each word as he says After all, you’d won in Vegas too. He’ll have to show you how good the sex is, now.

Desire darkens your bright, dazed eyes at the thought of Max finally fucking you. You bury your face in his thick neck, wrapping your arms around him as you plead for him to please take you upstairs, you needed him so bad, you couldn’t take it anymore.

He chuckles at your cute begging, discreetly leading you down the hallway that’s thankfully empty while keeping you firmly pressed to his chest. As much as he’d wiped away the streaks of mascara, any of your friends would only have to take one look to know what you’d been upto. The ride up the discreet service elevator is another test of self restraint, the camera in the corner stopping the both of you from outright debauchery. But you can’t stop weakly grinding against Max’s muscular thigh that separates your plush legs, clinging onto him as he whispers dirty things in your ear with that Dutch voice you loved. Tell me what kind of naughty dreams you’ve been having about me, he demands. And of course, you oblige, turning his ears pink and voice huskier when he finds out just what you’d been secretly pining for.

He lifts you up, your legs straddling his waist easily when you finally reach your floor, an carried you down the hallway. After you’re clumsily swiping your room card with Max’s very distracting lips leaving kisses to your throat, you find yourself inside your dark hotel room at last. The Vegas city lights stream in from the floor to ceiling windows, illuminating Max’s handsome form as he looks down to drink in the pretty sight of you. Fucking finally, Max groans, ripping his shirt and pants off in one go and kicking his shoes to the side. He wraps an arm around your waist to pick you up again and gently toss you onto the king sized bed, making you giggle excitedly as you land with a bounce. And then he’s on top of you, eyes dark and a cocky smirk on his face as he presses his warm length against your soaked panties. See what you’ve done to me, schatje? I’m already hard again. Completely ruined me for anyone else with this perfect body. He finishes his sentence with a slow roll of his hips, making you moan breathily at the contact, with your panties so wet they’re practically stuck to you and you can feel all of him.

He unzips you out of your dress, leaving heated kisses all over your body as he admires the sight of your navy lingerie set, telling you he’d buy you ten more so you could wear them for him after every race when he fucked you. You keen at his attention, at the thought that Max wants you again and again, eyes teary as you start to try and grind your hips against him. You’ll have to be patient, schatje Max says in an amused tone, sounding much more in control than the moaning, dripping mess he’s turned you into. You teased me so much after all, it’s only fair that it’s my turn now, right? He kisses your ankles softly as he unties your strappy heels, letting them fall to the floor. And then, with a strong hand on each of your delicate ankles, he hungrily takes in the sight of your dripping pussy. Your tummy flutters almost nervously in anticipation of what’s coming.

Turns out Max, just like you, always held true to his promises. You’d had to be very patient as he had his turn of teasing you mercilessly, making you cum all over his thick fingers that stretched you out and skilled tongue that found your sensitive clit almost immediately. And when he’s finally ripping the condom packet open and slapping your core with his heavy cock, you’re practically crying.Your aching pussy finally gets what she needs when you’re stuffed impossibly full as he slides in to the hilt.

The sight of you completely ruined underneath him, tits bouncing with each powerful thrust he delivers, your nails burying into his strong arms to steady yourself, unlocks a carnal desire in Max. Whatever I want, right schatje? He hums, bending down so your sweaty foreheads touch, and you nod quickly through your deep pants. Even if I wanted to fuck you raw? You’ll let me cum inside your tight little pussy, hmm?

He knows he has you right where he wants as you squeeze down on him instinctively when you imagine him inside you with no protection. Ohmygod Maxie, yes, please, fuck your cum into me, please! The Dutchman’s outright filthy request has your head spinning with desire and you’re babbling half incoherently. Pulling out momentarily and making you whine, he yanks the condom off before sinking back into your creamy hole. You both moan in pure ecstasy at the euphoric feeling of skin to skin sex.

Max fucks you in multiple positions that night, passionately into the soft mattress, meanly up against the cold window, and roughly on the plush sofa chaise with your face buried in the cushions and your red asscheeks up in the air for him to slap. Next time I win you’ll let me fuck you here, too, okay baby? he demands as he fingers your winking back hole while still thrusting into your dripping cunny. You can only let out a high pitched whine, jiggling your hips back onto his cock in approval, too fucked out to respond with words at this point. And when he finally cums, his impressive stamina outlasting yours on his second orgasm, he makes sure to sink in deep and flood your heavenly walls with his thick white release. You give him an open mouthed lazy kiss as a silent thank you for the best fuck of your entire life, hoping he got the message.

You’re pretty certain he did, because the next morning you’re awoken by a heavy length pressed up against your ass. You’d both passed out in the (thankfully clean) spare second bed after running through the shower together for five minutes to clean up the sticky mess last night. The 4th championship celebration sex was definitely record breaking , Max murmurs into your ear playfully. But it’s not complete without the slow morning after sex. You’ll let me show you now, right schat?

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A/N: WAR IS OVER THE CHILDREN ARE OUT, BIRDS SINGING CAUSE MAX IS RIGHTFULLY 4 X WDC 😭😭😭 the way all the haters were silenced. Everyone’s trying ride his dick now including skysports I love to see it, as they should

Also guys 10 followers away from 2k?!? Wtaf 😳 I’m so sorry for the delayed post, thank you for being so patient. Work has been really busy this month but going on Xmas break in a couple weeks so will have more time to post!!!! Keep sending me ur saucy asks yall I love reading them <3

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 driver reader #max verstappen x oc #18+ mdni #formula 1 #smut #mv1

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honeyblackberries · 21 days ago

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The world you left behind

Sylus died but what about the people left to miss him? What of the boy who’ll never know what lies beyond the shadow of his father’s wings?

sylus x reader (reader referred to as mother but no pronouns) 1.8k

cw: angst with a (maybe) happy ending, hurt with (maybe) comfort, mentions of blood and physical injuries, lore inaccurate, unnamed son pov.

basically a 'what if' au where mc/reader has sylus's kid after he dies in their dragon myth times. *sylus's son and the transformation scene was inspired by this art by @/napanewt (whole thread makes me sob) | also on ao3

The first time your son wished for his father happened when he was just a child.

He was born hearing tales of great dragons, of love in bloodshed, of kindred spirits and souls bound together for all eternity. Legends whispered throughout the cities were his bedtime stories, a requiem for the deceased was his lullaby.

Oh how exciting it all was to a young boy. What incredible adventures you’ve had! He wished to know more, desired to always hear of the man who's name stoked the flames of Tarus city.

“When can I meet him?” He’d asked you one night as you lay beside him in bed.

He was seven summers old, practically grown up. He would like to meet his father soon. Sylus was familiar yet completely unknown to him. A fiend that strikes fear into the hearts of the strongest warriors. Yet someone his mother speaks of so fondly, with a voice always gentle.

“I’m sorry love, your father has gone far away,” the words were ones he’d grow used to hearing. Ones he would come to resent.

But not yet.

Your son wondered if he looked the same as Sylus, as he stared at his own reflection in a chalice atop one of the many piles of treasure in your cave. You’d told him that regardless of how much he might look like you now, his silver hair and ruby red eyes come from his father.

“What about the horns?” he asked while pointing to his head. Where yours are and where his own should be. “And the tail, and… wings?”

“I hope you never grow them.” Those words confused him.

“Why?”

“Because they are a curse.”

Back then he didn’t understand what you meant. They would make him stronger, fiercer, more dragon-like. They would make him the same as the man he caught glimpses of in the shadows on the wall. The same as the man he saw in the twinkle of your eyes..

“Well, I hope I do.”

And hope he did, wished and prayed to every shining star. Desperate to be even half the man his father is. He had to be since Sylus was gone.

How else could he protect you from those who wanted to do you harm; fight off all the monsters that curse your existence and hunt you down. Men with wicked intentions and venom on their tongues. How else could he get rid of the sadness that would creep into your gaze when you think he isn’t looking. Stop the heartache that would overcome you sometimes, when you reminisce on the dragon who left you behind.

Your son was stuck with Sylus’s stories and nothing more.

The second time your son wished for his father was when the transformation started. It came suddenly and it tore him apart all at once.

The scream of pain he let out as something began to grow through the bone of his skull, tearing delicate skin. The way his own blood thickly trickled into his eyes from the open wounds. The sickening wet sounds of his body unwillingly shifting in ways it wasn't used to.

That’s how you found him. Curled up in a heap on the floor, body convulsing as if it didn’t know what to do with itself. Crimson staining everything around him.

“Mama—” he sobbed, something he hadn’t called you in years.

His voice sounded broken to his own ears, but he no longer cared about being weak. Not when it hurt so much that he wished death would save him. What a foolish child he had been to dream of this. And what a cruel father Sylus must be to let it happen. How could a father who didn’t even know him curse him so—give him what he so desperately wanted but at such a horrible cost.

He blacked out not long after, cradled in your shaking arms.

You told him later on that the same thing had happened to Sylus when he was still a young dragon and your son wondered if it would have been less scary with him around. If his father would have held him through it like you did, if he would have known what to say to make it hurt less.

He can almost imagine it.

‘Bite down on a cloth so you don’t bite your tongue.’

‘Slow your breathing, don’t panic. The adrenaline will only make it happen faster.’

‘It'll be over soon.’

‘I’m here for you.’

The next few years were hard on your son. Having to learn how to exist within his new body. He always moved wrong. Would trip over his own tail as he walked, cut his mouth with his fangs, tear flesh with his talons.

But all of that paled in comparison to the challenge that was his wings. To the humbling experience of learning to fly.

A part of him yearned for the skies yet he was wet behind the ears with the way his wings would allow him to rise for only a moment, before plummeting to the ground. Always two steps behind spring’s baby birds who could soar past him.

He learned a lot about himself during this time. That he was impatient, easy to anger, easier to lose common sense. It’s good he supposes, looking back on it. The way he was forced to prematurely clip the hubris that was growing within him. Lest he fall just as bad as Icarus.

It was during each failure—in the moment just before the crash—where he would find himself wondering if his father would hold his hands as he taught him how to take flight. Show him how to follow the wind above mountain peaks and along the edge of the horizon. Go with him to the edge of the sea beyond where the datura flowers bloom.

He remembers you asking him once, years later, if he regretted wishing to be like Sylus. If after what had to be done for it to happen, he could still want to be like him.

His answer then is the same as it would be today.

Even if the pain was once unbearable and the struggle seemingly never-ending, it chipped away at his rough edges. Honed him like a blade. He could now fight his own battles; win against those who started ones against you. He could hear the joy in your laugh as he picked you up and flew off towards the dawn. Could see the look of pride on your face.

You were proud of the man he grew to be.

It was worth it to get a step closer to his father.

The last time your son wished for his father was on the day you left him. Dragons live long but not forever and you only had half the soul of one.

It had been lifetimes since he was a boy but he felt more helpless than ever before. He could do nothing for the mother who kissed his bruises and loved him twice as much to make up for the absence of his father.

He could only lay you to rest in the field of flowers you cherished. Could only fix your hair and cover you in the softest fabric as he buried you. Lay by your grave as long as his body would let him. Through tears he cursed the heavens, cursed whatever deemed it fit to take you away. Cursed the father who was never there.

Where was he when you needed him?

…

He wondered for the last time what Sylus was like. Not as a myth or a father, but as a man.

A man beloved enough to have a son with. A man you hoped to see again in the next life.

A man you'd to turn yourself into a monster for.

Your son never came back to visit you. Never came back to the home that held nothing except bittersweet memories. He left for the farthest corners of the world and still sought to go further.

Without the father he never knew and the mother who was his everything, he was truly alone.

Centuries passed but your son never forgot you. Everywhere he went the wind and the wings of birds carried your presence. In the people he met he saw your kindness. But time was a gentle mistress to him. It healed wounds, altered him in ways never expected.

He was different. Changed to fit the new life he was living—one with towers that reached beyond the clouds, new monsters, and so many people. There was a maturity to him now. A quiet patience. Gone was the boy who would dream of dragons.

Actually, he hadn't been him for a long time.

Then it happened one day.

He was out in the city centre—waiting in line for a new cafe—when he saw you. It was only in passing but he knew it was really you. Knew it in that innate way one can recognise their mother.

Feet moved on their own and he was following behind you before he even realised. You were younger, closer to how he remembered you looking when he was a child. And where were you going? Home? Or to meet up with friends, maybe even a lover?

He just wants to watch you for a bit; won't approach you. You were different, you wouldn’t remember him and that’s okay.

You cross the street and stop, seeming to reach your destination.

He watches curiously as you sneak up behind a man with his back facing the two of you. Sees you throw yourself onto him, hugging his neck. The man turns suddenly and lets out a deep laugh, arms wrap around your waist and he leans down to smile at you.

His breath catches when he sees the stranger's face.

This man is someone he'd recognise from the very marrow of his bones. Hair silvery white like the flash of light that would hit his eyes when he used to fly too close to the sun. Eyes like the rubies that littered the floor of the cave he once called home, a perfect twin to his. And his gaze is fixed on you, much like his own. But there’s something there, a depth of love and longing he’s never seen.

“Hey!” a voice calls out to your son.

“Where are you running off too?” his lover chides out of breath, as they run up to him. “You just suddenly disappeared, I thought you were waiting for me.”

“Sorry,” he smiles apologetically. “It’s nothing. I just… I thought I saw someone familiar.”

They talk his ear off and drag him back to the main street, but the warm feeling bubbling in his chest stops him from hearing any of it. What are the chances that his wish would finally come true. He got to see his father. On top of that, he can tell from the way he holds you that the man loves you with depths beyond time.

Across the street Sylus watches the retreating figure of a man. His gaze drawn to him with a pull he can’t quite explain.

“Sy, you know him?” you ask as you tilt your head to see who he’s looking at.

“No,” it’s true, and yet—

“He just seems familiar.”

a/n: this only exists because i was listening to epic and had sons never knowing their fathers on the brain. also tysm for 200 followers! kissing each of you on the forehead *muah*

#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus angst #dad sylus #sylus x mc #lads x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace angst #lnds #l&ds sylus #sylus qin #qin che #sylus x you #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace x reader #lads oc

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daddyslittlecrow · 2 months ago

Text

“Do you hate me?”

Summary: Basically what I WISH happened after MC finds Sylus’ brooch.

Warnings: VERY smutty but with plot (I'm not an animal….yet) MDNI PLEASE 🙏

Pairing: Sylus x reader/MC

A/N: I'm sorry if this is in any way bad. This is the first time I've properly written in years. Please ignore all errors!! I'll cry!!

I've never written anything as spicy as this though so if you’re questioning my logistics or anything, please bare that in mind. Hope you enjoy x

You didn't understand him.

That's what frustrated you the most about the leader of Onychinus. You were usually quick to pick up on a person’s motives towards you. Whether it was a lingering gaze, a twitching hand or a forced smile there was always something they wanted. You didn't just use that power to survive, you used it to always stay ahead. But with Sylus? You could barely even tell if he hated you or was impressed by you.

“Have I underestimated your determination or overestimated your intellect?”

His words this evening echoed in your head, stoking a fire within you. You still hadn't forgiven him for the cruel hospitality during your first few days together. The dark circles under your eyes served as each night as you tried and failed to stop the sound of his gun plaguing your dreams.

Every morning since, you sprang from the soft silk sheets, a scream stuck in your throat and the ghost of his blood splatter on your hands. It felt like he wanted to punish you. Not to mention the horror you witnessed as his right eye blazed through you. Your brain only accepted it as a fucked up hallucination whenever you thought about it too hard.

Even if he wasn’t behind the explosion that killed your best friend, you feared he was capable of far worse. His Evol was violent and forceful, the pain it caused when he wrapped those black tendrils around you was only a fraction of what it could do. You were relieved he couldn't resonate with you and make his power stronger. It would be utter chaos.

Maybe that was his sole motive - to use you to make himself unstoppable. But you knew deep down that wasn't what he was after. Too many questions were left unanswered. His ruby eyes had searched for something far deeper within you, coaxing something that made your stomach clench.

What shamed you most was how the tension travelled lower, heating you up and liquefying your core. He was undeniably attractive but that was it. You just had to play along and get far away from him so you could find someone to quench your long-neglected thirst.

You sighed heavily as you scraped your hair back into a ponytail, aggravated when it got in your way. It didn't matter what Sylus was after. You had your own mission to deal with and you wouldn't let anything or anyone get in the way. That man was not your motive.

A glance at your phone screen reminded you that time was running out for the game Sylus dared you to play. 30 minutes more and your chance to attend the auction and look for the Aether Core slipped from your grasp. He seemed to be losing faith in you with every slam of his bedroom door but fuck it - quitting was never an option for you.

Slowly advancing down the long worn path to Sylus’ door, you opened it silently. You crossed the threshold, cautiously walking further into his elegantly furnished bedroom. The silver-haired monster sat upright in his bed, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He was fast asleep.

You smirked, pulling out the Evol-sealing handcuffs and tranquillizer gun the Twins had offered you. Time to put an end to this childish game once and for all.

————

A war raged within Sylus, threatening to drag him to utter despair. Or madness. He didn't have a preference so long as it dulled the ache that suffocated his heart. No one had ever made him feel threatened or weak since he first arrived in the N109 Zone. Fear was the default response from anyone unlucky enough to meet him face to face and he liked it that way. Power wasn't given. It was taken.

That belief had caused a fatal error when he finally found you. He expected to pull you into his world, where he knew you belonged. You were his. How could you forget that you were the sole reason his heart kept beating? Without you, he was only a shell of a man. He would burn down everything he had carefully built just for you to look at him right now without flinching.

Sylus devoted his life to finding you. It was no coincidence that you found yourself before him. As soon as you put yourself on the line, he tracked you down and took to him before anyone else got their hands on you. Your determination and strength were admirable, but your stubbornness made you reckless. It clouded your judgment and turned you into an easier target than you realized.

And now, nothing could make him let you go.

The shock of you not remembering him made him lash out in the only way he knew how. But that type of force wouldn’t work this time. No, this time, he would have tried something else.

The brief hint of your desire did not go unnoticed. He felt it, like an ache that worsened the longer his eyes locked on yours. As soon as he recognised it, he had to use every ounce of restraint not to claim you. He wanted to consume you in every way you’d allow him to. Replace the ache between your thighs with his hands, mouth and cock. Over and over until the only thing you could think about was him.

If you did not respond well to pain, maybe pleasure was the answer.

————

With his hand securely cuffed to the bed, you wasted no time. It surprised you how easy it was to sneak up on such a well-guarded man. Maybe it was because he didn't see you as a threat? A quiet huff escaped your eyes and trailed down his bare chest. You'd show him just how wrong he was.

Before your fingers could reach him, your wrist was captured in a strong grip. You gasped, snapping your head up to meet the epitome of arrogance. Sylus smirked at his uninvited visitor. The finale of his game couldn't have been more thrilling if he planned it. He welcomed the slight pinch of the handcuffs as he slowly looked you up and down, savouring how close you were.

“What do you plan to do then, since I've become your prey?” His taunt didn't deter you, in fact - it spurred you on. The brooch was yours. With his offer to help you, you finally made contact with his body. Your fingers caressed the expensive robe he wore, hunting for your ticket to the auction. You could feel those piercing eyes on you as he complied with your thorough inspection.

His scent - like spiced leather - made you painfully aware that you were in Sylus’ bed, alone with him. You felt his hand graze your leg, momentarily freezing your body. The thought of swapping places with him, you handcuffed and him towering over you flashed in your mind.

It burned your cheeks but you pressed on, knowing he could do nothing to you in this position. This stupid game had gotten to your head. That was all this was. Still, you couldn't stop yourself from voicing the question that consumed your mind.

“Do you hate me?”

You silently cursed yourself as you pulled your attention back to your mission. Why did you care whether he did or didn't? You swore you would never let anyone make you question your worth. That’s why you only relied on yourself. Never accepted any man’s advances unless it was for a single night of pleasure.

Then it was back to being alone. It was easier that way. You were more than capable of looking after yourself. You refused to look at his face again, your heart pounding furiously. No one had ever gotten under your skin like he did.

“Does my answer matter?”

The unexpected softness in his voice would've made you pause if you hadn't found the brooch that very moment. Your face broke into a triumphant smile as you stared at the sparkling red jewel in the centre. Thank f-

Your eyes widened in horror as the handcuffs holding Sylus hostage disintegrated with his Evol. He assured you he wouldn't go back on his promise. The air grew thick. His eyes darkened, hinting at a new game that had just begun. Neither of you moved. In an instant, Sylus had turned you into his prey. Revenge for assuming he could be yours.

Panic bloomed in your chest, desperately trying to launch yourself away from him. His arm quickly snaked around your waist, throwing you effortlessly into your back. Fear and arousal fought for dominance within you as Sylus gripped your hands, pinning you to the bed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You spat, trying to grasp some sense of control over yourself. His grip was strong but not painful. Sylus didn't respond immediately, savouring the beautiful sight of you beneath him. A violent shiver hit you as he trailed his gaze from your blushing face, down your thin tank top and shorts, to your bare thighs. Then his eyes moved to lock on yours.

“You look so pretty like this for me, kitten.” His words did something unexplainable to you, a dark promise that made your thighs clench. Noting your sudden reaction, his bare knee slid between your legs, pushing them apart. You were trapped, completely at his mercy. You hated him, didn't you? So why did your body want him closer? As if reading your mind, Sylus let out a low chuckle.

“You aren't usually this quiet, care to indulge me in your thoughts?” The only thing you could do to retaliate was remain silent. Maybe then he would get bored and finally let you go. You struggled against him, trying to slip from his grasp but he only pushed you further into the mattress. “I see. You want to play by your rules? I'm only happy to oblige.”

You didn't need long to guess what he meant. He removed the space between you, claiming your lips with his. The kiss was like a bolt of electricity that coursed through you. Sylus was gentle but firm, moving his mouth as if to savour every moment. It was a stark contrast to how he treated you first.

You felt yourself be dragged down, melting against him. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, a silent request. You accepted it eagerly, your mind refusing to focus on anything but him.

Sylus was a patient man. After all, he had waited for you all this time. But kissing you, feeling your tongue dance with his as he tasted you? He was close to becoming feral. He had to slow down, not wanting to force you anymore. This was your choice. As much as he didn't act like it, you were still in control. Slowly, his grip on your hands eased until you were free.

He reluctantly pulled away to look at your face, trying to identify what you were thinking. You were panting, lips swollen from him. He was rock hard and straining against his briefs just by kissing you. The loss of his lips released a small whimper as you opened your eyes to look at him. Your teeth bit your bottom lip to stifle the moan that threatened to escape.

No man had ever looked at you like that before. Hungry, possessive, depraved. It made you so wet you could feel your panties start to soak through. You needed him all over you.

But there was also a silent promise in those beautiful eyes. He was not going to continue unless you wanted to. You were worth so much more than that. That alone gave you the security you needed. With your arms now free, you used them to prop yourself up. He watched as you turned over, placing the brooch that was still in your grasp onto his nightstand. His heart quickened but he remained still as you turned back to face him.

“You wanted to know whether it mattered if you hated me?” You began, raising your body to straddle his thigh. Sylus placed his hands on your hips, supporting you, eyes never leaving yours. Afraid that if he moved too suddenly you would run away. Your hands slowly glided across his chest, taking a moment to feel his muscular build.

His pulse pounded against your fingers. The corner of his lip quirked as you grew more bold. Gravity pulled you down, your aching core resting on a hard thigh. Not giving yourself time to think, your body takes control. Instantly you started to move your hips, seeking friction on your throbbing clit.

Knowing he was watching you shamelessly use him to get yourself off was too much. You grew slicker with each thrust and you moaned softly. It was the sexiest sound Sylus ever heard. Your right thigh brushed against his erection and you clenched with need. A low growl and his grip tightened, halting your movements.

“Y/N…” His voice was laced with a warning. Desperately wanting to punish you for teasing him. His cock already leaked with pre-cum, imagining how wet you were for him. Fuck he could practically smell your arousal. But still, he waited.

You leaned towards him, lips against his ear. One of your hands reached down to the belt of his robe, pulling it loose. Sylus - and now the relationship between you both - still confused you. You weren't sure what would come of this. All you knew was that you wanted to stop thinking, just for a while.

“Even if you don't hate me Sylus.” You opened his robe to reveal the outline of his erection. His hips jerked as you palmed his dick through the fabric, getting more lost in your desire for him. “I want you to fuck me like you do.”

That was the undoing of him.

He understood the underlying plea in your words. You weren't ready to face the truth, to acknowledge what existed deep down. Not ready to accept his feelings for you. Not now. But, he hoped, not never.

For now, you needed something else - something raw. And Sylus would do anything to give you what you craved.

You gasped as he threw you back down onto the bed, stealing all power from you. His robe was gone in seconds, puddled on the floor. He smirked at you before he placed his hands on your tank top and roughly ripped it in half. His attention was on your exposed breasts.

“Beautiful.” He murmured before kissing a path from your neck to your chest, stopping just above your left nipple. The compliment squeezed your heart. He looked up at you as you waited, your eyes hazy with lust.

With a flick of his wicked tongue, he caressed the sensitive nub. It hardened instantly. Your back arched, forcing your breast to his mouth as he feasted on you. His hand reached up to grab your other breast, clutching like they were made for him.

Oh, he was going to ruin you.

The pleasure of his mouth made you whine in ecstasy. You felt hot but your body shivered with need. Your hips bucked, seeking relief for your aching pussy. Sylus whipped his hand to your hip, stopping your movements.

“You were brave kitten, teasing me earlier.” He moved down your body without haste. Your impatient moans amused him. “Too bad I don't let bad behaviour go unpunished.” Without warning, he ripped your shorts off, exposing your soaking panties. He admired the patch of wetness that darkened the fabric. He took great pride in knowing he was the one that did this to you.

“You’re already a mess and I haven't even touched you yet.” He slid a finger up your clothed slit, rubbing a lazy circle over your clit.

“Shit.” You sighed against his touch. Hearing that delicious voice speak so filthily made you desperate for more. He chuckled darkly, enjoying watching you squirm from his touch. Let's see how you react to a different kind.

He hooked his fingers onto your panties and slowly pulled them down your legs, revealing your glistening slit. The cool air of the room against your wetness made you acutely aware that you were now fully bare before him. It somewhat sobered you. You moved your legs, in a weak attempt to hide from him.

“Don’t be shy now, kitten.” Sylus hummed in disapproval, pushing your legs even farther apart. You stopped resisting, submitting yourself to his touch. He paused, bewitched by the sight before him. You were magnificent already but when you were like this? Fully spread, eyes pleading. Fuck.

He wanted to release all restraint, free his straining cock and claim you right then. With a shaky breath, he centred himself, needing to see how you fell apart without distraction.

“Is this where you want me to touch you?” His large hand slid up your thigh, grazing the soft lips of your pussy. The teasing touch was agony. Your hand covered your mouth to stop your pleading whine. Sylus huffed, displeased you would deny him your sweet sounds.

Then you yelped.

With perfect precision, Sylus lightly slapped your clit. The attack was a sharp surprise but made your body hum with excitement. He was showing you who your body belonged to right now. With his hand raised again, you immediately brought your attention to his glowing eye. One word filled your head.

Obey.

“Let’s try that again kitten.” Sylus cooed, planting a kiss on your knee. “Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers?” You learnt your lesson quickly.

“Fuck Sylus, yes!” Your words came out in pants. Sylus noticed you practically gush at his words and he used it to coat his finger.

“Good girl.”

His praise was immediately followed by his finger thrusting hard into your pussy. Your arm instinctively rose again to muffle your scream. Immediately your wrists were captured by the black smoky tendrils of Sylus’ Evol.

He fucked his finger into you slowly, adding another once he knew you could take it. It was like he knew every spot that made you arch your back in pure pleasure. His pace was brutal - you never wanted him to stop.

“Do you like that, beautiful?” He purred, coaxing your pleasure like he put on this earth just to please you. He curled his fingers, finding your g-spot. The sensation caused your eyes to roll back, his name the only word you could spill from your lips. Sylus groaned at the sight of you, loving how you fucked his fingers. You were so tight. He couldn't stop thinking about how you’d feel squeezed around his cock.

“That’s it Y/N. Good girl. You're taking my fingers so well. God, you're so fucking wet for me.” You couldn't function, let alone reply to him. All you could do was moan as you rode his fingers.

“You feel…so fucking good.”

All he cared about was having you unravel for him. He kept up the pace of his fingers, driving into you. The wet lewd sounds of your pussy drove you both crazy. His mouth watered as he lowered it to your hard clit, leaving little licks that made you clench around his fingers. You tasted better than he could've imagined. He would gladly spend the rest of his life buried between your thighs.

“I’m not going to stop until you cum all over my mouth and fingers, okay? So be good and give me what I want.” The second his mouth devoured your clit, your release was coming fast. He sucked and licked like he had been starved of you, groaning into your pussy as your hands reached for his hair, pulling you closer. It gave you leverage as you rode his face, desperately chasing your release as the pleasure grew higher and harder.

“Please Sylus. Please I’m so close. I’m-” You came so violently that all you saw were stars. You screamed, not caring if anyone could hear. Your cum gushed out of you, soaking his chest and dripping down onto the sheets. Your pussy milked his fingers as they fucked you through your orgasm.

Sylus lapped at your dripping pussy, savouring your juices until you whimpered his name. You loosened the grip on his silver strands, heart pounding, face flushed. Your whole body buzzed as Sylus reluctantly left your pussy and withdrew his fingers. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he brought them to his mouth, sucking you off them with a smug grin. His actions made your core ache for him all over again.

“One could get addicted to the taste of you.” His voice was thick with lust. You glanced down at his tented briefs with anticipation. Sylus bit back a laugh at your excited gaze. With a glance at the clock on his nightstand, he sighed. Hovering over you he kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You were disappointed when he withdrew, pulling you up to sit on the edge of the bed.

“As much as I’d love to continue this, sweetie.” He brushed back the hair that clung to your clammy face. He loved how radiant you looked after you came. It was a sight he wouldn't mind seeing again soon. Your lips were captured one more time in a quick kiss.

“We have an auction to attend.”

—————

If you want a part 2 pls let me know!! I’d hate to leave my man blueballed hanging. I have no confidence in myself to think this is good anyway lol 🤪

-Elle 🫡

#sylus x mc #sylus #sylus smut #lads #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x you #daddyslittlecrow

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writerslittlelibrary · 1 month ago

Text

Sharing a safehouse

masterlist

summary: after a mission gone wrong, you and Natasha are forced to lay low in a small safehouse somewhere in the countryside of England. It’s small, uncomfortable, and you’ve never been able to really connect with Natasha during your time on the team. what happens when you and Natasha are basically forced to connect?

pairing: Natasha x teen reader

warnings: none

genre: fluff

words: 1645

a/n: I would like a standing applause for the fact that I am posting another fic in the span of a month. it has happened. the apocalypse has struck

also, have I written this trope before? yes, yes I have. will I be writing this trope again? yes, yes I will

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

|——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

The silence is unbearable. It’s not like you were against the quiet, on the contrary. You liked a calm, quiet environment to work and relax. No, it was the quiet with Natasha that you couldn’t bear.

You and Natasha never were the best team, mainly because it seemed Natasha just didn’t want anything to do with you.

You didn’t blame her, truly, you didn’t. You weren’t afraid to admit you were a pretty odd kid. You liked stuffed animals, cartoons, and sometimes, when you were certain no one was watching, you’d open your drawer and take out your dolls.

It wasn’t like you got to have any fun things when you were a child, and something as simple as a doll would have been harder to acquire than literal gold.

You weren’t shy about admitting you had a fucked up childhood, and you weren’t shy to be watching Winx Club in the living room of the Avengers compound. It was funny, really, how at first Sam made fun of you, yet slowly started to get more and more invested to the point he would ask you when you were going to start the next episode.

He was a total Winx Club fan now.

The rest of the team seemed to pretty much ignore your childish side. Not in a rude manner, but rather in an uninterested manner. They didn’t think you were weird, and you liked it that way.

Natasha, however, wasn’t at all holding back when she saw you watching a cartoon or coloring at the table.

It wasn’t like she’d get angry, but she would walk away, or give you a look like you were vermin.

You never quite understood where her disdain for you came from. She was your favourite superhero, yet she treated you like dirt under her shoe. She wasn’t gentle when making her comments, either.

Sometimes, when you were drawing, she’d make a comment about how you were far too old for such things, and while you were watching a cartoon she’d scoff like you were insane.

It was a literal cartoon, not the end of the world.

You had gotten pretty good at ignoring her antics over the past year, but you couldn’t deny that they still stung. Why did she despise you breathing so much?

At the moment, Natasha was caught up in writing her mission report while you were curled up on the couch, which doubled as the bench for the table and the bed you would be sleeping in.

Tony was fucking loaded. Why the hell was this safehouse a literal trailer?

You were reading Rainbow Magic; Ruby, the Red Fairy. Occasionally, you’d glance up from your book, and you’d catch a glimpse of Natasha’s disapproving stare before she’d continue working.

Okay, fine, maybe bringing the Rainbow Magic series wasn’t the most strategic plan with such a fairytale hater, but who could blame you? Those fairy books were actually very enjoyable.

You ignored Natasha’s judgement, finishing your book before you got up, walking to the small cupboard and pulling open the doors.

Expecting for some form of entertainment in this trailer was clearly too much to ask.

The cupboard didn’t hold much, safe for a few spiders and a bucket of cleaning supplies that looked to be at least two-hundred years past their expiration date.

And then, at the far top shelf, you could see a chessboard peeking out amongst the shelves.

You had to stand on the tips of your toes to reach it, but you got it.

By now, Natasha had finished her mission report and was studying your every move. Of course, you caught up to her staring almost immediately, and you turned to face her while holding up the chess board.

“Do you play?”

Natasha frowned, before sighing and giving you a singular nod. Well, more excitement was clearly too much to ask.

Natasha leaned forward, clearing the table of her papers and reaching for your book. She half expected her to just throw it on top of your bag in the corner, and you were more than surprised when she picked it up gently and handled it with much more care than you thought her to be capable of.

When the table was cleared, you put the chess board down, handing Natasha the box that the white pieces were stuffed in.

“I’m always black,” Natasha said while frowning at the colour of the pieces in the box.

“Sure.” You passed the box with the black pieces to Natasha while arranging the white pieces on your own playing field.

Once all the pieces were put in place, Natasha made the first move, to which you immediately responded by putting her piece back in its place.

“White starts,” you mention as you make your own move.

Natasha huffs but doesn’t protest, instead moving her own pieces to defend against your attack.

The game continued far into the night, and after playing for nearly three hours, you finally made your last move, trapping Natasha in a check-mate.

“I let you do that,” Natasha says before rearranging her own pieces.

“Sure you did,” you respond before placing your own pieces back on the board.

“Don’t you have to go to bed? It’s far past your bedtime,” Natasha asks, glancing at the clock on the whole.

“I don’t have a bedtime,” you remark, making your move with the chess piece.

“You act like a child, yet you don’t go to bed on time?”

To your surprise, you didn’t hear any judgement in Natasha’s tone. Just pure confusion. A genuine question not meant to insult you. You didn’t expect that.

You look up at her, frowning before shrugging.

“Can’t sleep. Nightmares,” you say, counteracting Natasha’s move by blocking her piece. “And even if I wanted to, we’re sitting on my bed.”

As if the evening wasn’t surprising enough, Natasha lets out a huff of amusement.

“We can share the big bed. It’ll help with the nightmares,” she suggests.

“Why?” you ask, keeping your eyes on the game in the hopes of preventing awkward eye contact.

Natasha shrugs. “I dunno know. Another presence helps with preventing nightmares or something. There’s a study on it.”

“No, I mean why are you so nice? Why offer to share your bed with me when you normally can’t even stand to share the same room?”

At that, Natasha looks up, a hint of guilt mixed into her usual calm facial expression.

“It’s not personal,” she says, moving her chess piece.

“Then what is it? You’ve barely shared one conversation with me since I joined a year ago.”

“You’re a child,” Natasha suddenly says after a moment of silence. There’s venom in her voice, yet you can feel it isn’t directed at you.

“You should be able to play with your dolls without having to feel the need to hide, and you should be able to go to school and make friends and stupid decisions. You shouldn’t live in a compound with superheroes and fight super villains weekly. You are a child, and you should be able to be one.”

You fall silent for a moment, shocked at her revelation of knowing about your dolls, and shocked at the amount of emotion hidden under her confession.

“You don’t hate me?”

Natasha’s head shoots up, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Hate you? What ever gave you the impression that I hate you?”

You shook your head. “You avoid me, you scoff wherever I’m drawing or watching something in the common room. It feels like you judge me, daily.”

At that, Natasha’s facial expression softens, and her expression turns glum.

“I never meant for you to feel like you were in the wrong, and I am so sorry for that. I wasn’t judging you, I was judging the situation you’re in.” Natasha inhaled a sharp breath, turning back to the chess board and making another move.

“Fury gave you a choice. Either prison, or joining the Avengers. You never even did anything wrong. You were just a child, graced with powers that no one understood and everyone feared. You didn’t deserve prison, and you didn’t deserve the threat of prison. You deserved a family.”

You sighed.

“And in a way, I got a family. The Avengers are nice-”

“They’re not your family, they’re your team. There’s a difference. Sure, they care about you, but if they were your family, they’d want you to live a life, rather than become a superhero.”

Natasha fell silent, and at her words, so did you.

Was she right? If the Avengers were your family, would they want you to live a normal, domestic life somewhere else, rather than the superhero life you were living right now?

“I didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, it’s not like I hate my life. Just the paperwork,” you remark, moving your queen to once again trap Natasha in a check-mate.

“I want to work something out, if you’ll let me,” Natasha then said, pouting when you took her king.

“Like what?” you ask.

Natasha shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Something that’ll put you off missions, at least until you’re twenty-one or something. Maybe older. Something legal. I mean, you’re not even allowed to drink in the United States. Why the hell are you allowed, or better said, forced, to risk your life daily?”

At that, you snort.

“You make a good point.”

“We’ll figure something out, I promise,” Natasha states, helping you clear the chessboard and standing up from the bench.

“Now, it is time for bed. Tomorrow we’ll see if there’s a bakery or something in this god forsaken place.”

You snicker, taking Natasha’s hand and allowing her to lead you. Maybe she doesn’t hate you as much as you thought she did.

Bonus a/n: rainbow magic; Ruby the Red Fairy is the first ever book I read in English.

Edit: I lied. I found the Rainbow Magic book yesterday. It was Erin, the Firebird fairy

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @papimapileon @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @l1kepeps1cvla @lorsstar1st @superlegend216 @ravensinthedaylight

#black widow #marvel #mcu #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #avengers #marvel reader insert #reader insert #natasha romanov #avengers x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x you #young avengers #x reader #marvel cinematic universe

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madaqueue · 4 months ago

Text

FALL FROM GRACE

do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes. put to death that which is earthly inside you.

pairing: priest!sunday x succubus!f!reader

themes/content: dubcon (char!receiving - he says "stop" and it's basically ignored, and there's some heavy coercion/corruption stuff going on here), somno depending on how you look at it (succubi technically visit people in their dreams, so he's asleep ? sorta?), lots of religious guilt around sex, heavy catholic religious imagery (literally straight up bible verses). smut. handjobs, fingering/masturbation, p in v. i wanted to explore the rigidity and internalized shame sunday feels so uh . here's this ! (wk: 3.6k)

a/n: me when he's burdened and tormented (also i had to put my religious trauma somewhere ! hope it's yummy) :3333

The first night is always the most fun.

They never wake, not on this visit; the mind is a simple thing to trick, eager to make excuses for the gentle touches trailing over one’s torso, down their chest. A dream, they call it, a ready and waiting path to forgiveness.

The second night is usually the same - feather-light hands, breathy kisses - but you find Sunday to be a near-impossibly light sleeper when he begins to stir beneath you. Pinned under thighs that straddle his waist, his eyelashes flutter, nearly roused; his lips part, almost a sigh. It’s an uncanny thing to be so beautiful and so unaware; you wonder if he’s grateful for this gift. With a quick peck, you send him back into the waiting arms of slumber.

The third night you visit him, his eyes open slowly, still clouded by dreams. It’s rather obviously unexpected to be found in this position, with a stranger resting over him, smiling, trapped beneath their weight.

“Who are you?” he breathes, barely above a whisper. There’s no fear behind his gaze, only shimmering curiosity.

“Who do you think I am?”

Your fingers trail lower, tracing circles into his abdomen. It’s a fitting pattern for what you’ve seen of him: controlled, precise, predictable. No hard edges or uncertainty, just smooth and calm. Something about a vow, you think, has made him like this. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. A promise to a power too self-righteous for your taste.

His eyebrows furrow as he attempts to focus upon you, vision still blurry. The most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, curves casting shadows under the fading starlight, black lace and soft skin. Then, there’s a flash of horns, a flicker of your tail, the markings below your abdomen pulsing through the dark. He swallows. “What are you?”

Ruby lips spread into a grin, one that veers sinister - he’s such a cute little thing, a chocolate covered strawberry, all sweet and flesh and blood. “An angel.”

The silk pillowcase rustles as he shakes his head, too innocent, too naive to do anything but be truthful. “No, you’re not.”

“No,” you lean forward, feeling his pulse thrum below your palm. “I’m not.” You kiss his cheek, and whisper a goodnight.

The fourth night, he’s more awake, but less verbal. Instead, sun-bright eyes follow your movements, the crackling fingerprints that travel his skin. He lets you touch him, lets you trace out the muscles lying below the surface, feel the nerves and arteries that quicken under your touch. Drowsy little whines leave his throat, barely a sound, as you work. Up wrists, over shoulders, to collarbones, counting ribs and diving into his hips, along his thighs, and back again. It’s a beautiful routine, just light enough to keep him half-slumbering.

From there, it’s mostly the same - you touch and trace and tease him, and he watches, silent and mostly unconscious. A week passes, maybe two. The time doesn’t matter, not to you, not really. What matters is the way his skin sparks beneath your fingertips, the way his eyelashes flutter under the moon’s silken glow.

You aren’t granted the privilege of visiting him awake, not yet, at least. There’s no way for you to see the way he pours over text, books with cracked spines and dusty pages, to find the source of these…dreams, of the being that visits him and steals him from the respite of sleep. The word succubus is heavy in his mouth, more bitter than communion wine, with no unleavened sanctity coming after to dull the taste.

On the seventeenth night (you think, if your count is right), he wakes in a notably different position, no longer cradled by the mattress upon which he put himself to bed. Under the mottled moonlight, he finds himself sitting upright, the bare skin of his back resting against something much warmer than the wooden headboard.

“Good morning, Sunday,” you purr into his ear from behind.

He murmurs something, slowly turning over his shoulder to face you. For the briefest moment, you think you catch the flicker of a smile.

“Good morning, demon.”

“Oh?” you let out an airy chuckle. “So you’ve figured it out then. Good, I was worried all you priests were nothing more than fools.”

The lightest laugh brushes past his lips, allowing his eyes to rest for a moment. “I’m no fool. Now tell me, why are you here, demon?”

Through a feigned pout, your hands make their way back to his chest. “What, are you sick of me already? You don’t like me, is that it?”

“I have no particular feelings towards you.” He’s quick to respond, quicker even to remind himself of his place, of his duties, as your palms threaten to burn through his skin. Poverty. Celibacy. Obedience. Important ideals. Good ideals. Holy ones, at that.

Through a hum, you travel lower over his body. It’s a test, really, to see if he’ll stop you, grab your wrists and yank you from behind him and banish you from this place forever. It would take so little: a splash of holy water, or even a simple curse, and he’d be rid of you. Surely he found that little fact in his readings.

And yet, he simply follows your path downward with his gaze (you can’t say you’re truly that surprised - it has become your routine, after all. And Sunday cherishes his routines).

“No feelings for me, you say,” you say, pensively. Lower, and lower, and lower.

Just as his lips open to speak, to throw some calculated retort, your fingertips brush between his legs and the sound twists into something else, something needier, a noise he couldn’t have controlled with all the constitution in heaven.

You gasp at the response, too, awe bubbling inside your cheeks.

“Oh, Sunday,” you breathe. “You poor thing, you must be so pent up.”

“I- mmm.” With a second run of your palm over his hardening length, his eyes dance shut, his entire body shuddering.

“Don’t they allow you to touch yourselves here?”

It’s evil, this touch, coursing with sin and dark, dirty blasphemy. He ought to shut his mouth, rip out his vocal cords if that’s what it takes, and wait. Perhaps a blood smear above his lips would protect him, make you pass him over tonight and all nights thereafter.

“N-not in the monastery,” he chokes out. “It’s against the rules.”

He grants you the privilege of grazing his warming skin, before letting out a shaky breath. Thou shalt not covet. Dispel desire.

“You…you should stop.”

“Stop?” The absurdity leaks into your voice. “You’ve given up so much for this silly church, don’t you think? Why give this up, too? Don’t you deserve it?”

A pause, a steadying breath, to quiet your dissatisfaction disguised as rage.

“And besides, look how badly you need this. It feels good, doesn’t it?” An angel, caught in your trap; to think you may not even have to clip his wings. “Don’t you want to feel good, my dear Sunday?”

Eyelashes delve into the creases of his eyelids as he tightens them closed, lips pulled into a gasping frown. Everything in his mind, in the years of his training, of memorizing verses and teachings and sermons and rules and rules and rules, tells him to say no, to force a stop to this nonsense.

“And,” you perk up at his hesitation, “it won’t even be violating your so-called ‘rules’ if I’m the one touching you, right?”

Even through the feather-light touches, Sunday worries he’s losing his mind, like your fist might as well be piercing through his chest and ripping his soul from it, dragging it into hell with you. The thoughts that make it up his spine are too blurry with lust to let the more sluggish Reason through.

“Right.”

Smiling into his neck, you feel his carotid jump under your teeth. “Good, good. So just let me do this, okay?”

So put to death the sinful, earthly things lurking within you. Have nothing to do with sexual immorality, impurity, lust, and evil desires.

He says the words over, and over, and over in his mind.

Do not be greedy, for a greedy person is an idolater, worshiping the things of this world.

He knows better than to make idols.

And yet, all he can do is nod his head.

He doesn’t face you, of course, buried under the shame of it. If the church was any older, he’d worry the brick would collapse in on him at any second, to punish him for the sin he was too weak to avoid committing. Perhaps he should be turned to salt, a fate befitting of his pathetic disobedience.

“Okay.”

It’s immediate, the way he relaxes when you finally reach below his boxers. The heat of your touch melts him, his throat craning as it releases strained whines. He’s heavy in your hand, a weight his so-called gods would surely commend, if they could spare such thoughts. Soft skin, unsoiled, untainted. Utterly holy.

As you stroke him with a tenderness only known to the clouds of salvation, he looks nothing short of angelic, the arch of his spine making space where wings ought to be, the tickle of his hair soft like a crowned halo. And you, wrapped around him like a flame, carry him through the air. Lower, and lower, and lower. To soften the blow when one falls from grace.

It takes so little for him to shake, to shudder and cry and bend, until you worry his shoulders may snap if you weren’t caging his torso against yours. His head falls back, slack-jawed and awe-struck, as he releases into your palm, pumps of white coating your hand.

It’s a beautiful thing, the sounds he makes, the purity of it. White and cream and gold, just as you’d imagine heaven to be.

There’s waves of pleasure, his stomach clenching with each one, pushing him further and further into you, and you swallow him whole, welcoming with open arms.

Slowly, you press your lips to his cheek, scalding hot.

“Goodnight, Sunday.” And he falls into your chest.

It grows increasingly difficult for him to hide the dreams (at least, that’s what he would convince himself they are). It’s been months now, although truthfully, you’ve stopped counting.

Every night, he falls into a troubled, humid sleep. Every morning, he wakes to a mess, still half-hard and panting.

And yet, he’s more relaxed, his shoulders less tense. When he turns to the parish, his neck moves more easily. As a well-educated (well-trained) man, he assumes he hides it well, but his relief is palpable, a taste too thick to anyone who knows him.

“You seem different lately, Sunday,” Father Wood observes casually.

With his back facing him, Sunday conceals the way his spine tightens. “How do you mean, Father?”

Pensively, Father Wood lights the altar’s candles, an honor given only to those most highly ordained, an honor Sunday used to dream of performing (now, of course, his dreams are consumed by other desires).

“Just…different, is all.”

Sunday’s attention falls to the flames before him, to the way they dance nervously despite the still, stagnant air inside the church. Perhaps they know something he doesn’t.

“I’ve been spending more time in the library lately. Perhaps my reading has enlightened me.”

“Perhaps,” Father Wood echoes. With quiet purpose, he lights the final candle. “This church is your home, my boy. You had nothing before you came here. I remember the day we took you in, the day you were saved.”

There’s a pit in his stomach, one that grows and grows and grows; he’d expect it to taste like acid, but all he gets is honey. “I remember it, too.”

Father Wood hums, facing away. “‘If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.’” A pause, a flickering flame. “Sunday, I trust you not to forget the oaths you swore.”

A shiver runs up his neck. Poverty. Chastity. Obedience. “Of course not, Father.”

That night, you meet Sunday in bed. Normally it’s little trouble to untuck the sheets, to find the welcoming skin of his thighs, but tonight he seems determined to bury himself within the blankets.

“Sunday,” you say. He fails to respond, but his ears twitch. “Sunday, I know you’re awake.”

One eye slowly cracks open, revealing the sun behind his eyelids. “Go away.”

“Excuse me?” you choke a laugh. “You want me to ‘go away’?”

Closing his eyes, he hums in affirmation.

Within your chest, your heart flutters - he’s so cute when he thinks he’s in control. Perhaps that’s why you chose him (the chase is always the most fun, the tension of it all; you think Eve’s first bite of the apple must have been underwhelming compared to its weight in her palm).

Perhaps your routine will bring him back. Slowly, you trail a finger along his collarbone - before he pulls away. Curling himself onto his side, he tucks his knees to his chest and shuts you out.

This is certainly a novel development. And it certainly will not do.

“Fine then,” you state, leaning back to the corner of the mattress.

In response, his left ear twitches, but he gives no other response. So be it.

Against the wooden footboard, you open your legs, visible if he were only to turn towards you. With well-practiced hands, you easily slide the black lace panties down your knees, letting them fall at your ankles and leaving you bare (it requires few garments to do your work successfully, after all - they’re made for this).

Silently, you spread your ever-wet folds open. With your other hand, you draw circles around your clit, slowly, tauntingly. Delving into your own heat, a sound of relief comes as an exhale, one that finally has Sunday’s gaze peeking from between his eyelashes.

“What are you doing?”

“If you don’t want me to touch you, I guess I’ll just have to touch myself instead,” you say. The words flow easily, thick like milk and honey, something sweet, something to help him sleep.

This time, his eyes remain open.

His mouth does, too.

Silent except for the ragged breaths coming past his lips, he watches you pleasure yourself, the way your fingers curl, knuckles disappearing only to reappear shining. The inky pattern adorning your womb morphs and glows; a spot of saliva catches in the dim light, and he makes no move to wipe it away.

With an arch of your back and a tilt of your head, you beckon him closer - always such an obedient little thing, your Sunday (he was praised for it, once); he slowly rises. The mattress shifts beneath his weight, holding it unsteadily, as he crawls towards you. Unwavering attention held raptly between your thighs.

“Sunday,” you say, to snap him out of the trance that pulls him towards you. He says nothing, a small trail of drool spilling from the corner of his perfectly eager lips. “Sunday.”

His eyes snap up to yours, the sun eclipsed behind the growing shadow of his pupils.

Your palm cradles his jaw, thumb wiping away the glistening desire. “Are you going to behave now?”

A blank stare.

A fragile nod.

“Good.” Your grin splits the earth open with wicked flames, poking between your teeth. He drinks in the heat with a starving throat, ignoring the way it burns (or reveling in it).

A sparkling star shines in his eyes, nearly glowing. You pull the two fingers from your cunt, still warm and sticky and sweet, and hold them before his face.

You don’t even have to tell him to open his mouth - obedience is such a lovely thing.

When your taste lands upon his tongue, he releases a moan like molten gold. His lips close around your fingers and he sucks and licks the essence from them, hungry and gnawing. Your fingertips glide over his molars and he fights the urge to bite, to claim (a well-trained dog is still just a dog, after all).

There’s a half-hearted whine when you remove your skin from his, one that makes your cheeks ache.

“Tell me what you want, my dear Sunday. Anything you want.”

If our minds are ruled by our desires, we will die.

Perhaps dying here tonight, with your taste still lingering in his throat, would be a graceful demise. A martyr of his sacrilege.

Already, he looks ravished, his cheeks dusted red and eyes wild and unfocused. The pretty ones are always the most fun to ruin, to dirty with desecration; they look so beautiful as they fall.

“I want-” there’s a lump in his throat where his servitude lives, where the years of holiness coalesced and stayed. He swallows heavily. “I want to feel good. I want you to make me feel good.”

“Ah,” you breathe. “I suppose I can do that.”

“But-” he catches himself. Rules, and rules, and rules. They clog up his esophagus, his vocal cords straining to get past them.

With a gentle finger, you hush his worries. “Just let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good, okay?”

He exhales, a shaky sound. “Okay.”

It takes little pressure to recline him onto the bed, the sheets already dampening from the sweat collected in the hollows of his back. He lets you undress him, lets you place scalding kisses into his skin, soft and sweet as a fig. Ripe like one, too.

Only two pumps of your fist up his length and he’s already leaking, twitching and aching.

“So eager,” you coo when his hips rut into the air, chasing your touch.

“M-my apologies,” he says weakly.

“Nothing to be sorry for, my sweet Sunday. Pleasure is a thing to be worshiped, don’t you think?”

They’d bury him for this. The other priests would crucify him and leave his body out to rot. He’d deserve it, he wouldn’t even complain, he’d be perfectly obedient until his very last breath.

As your thighs encase his, as you line his tip to your entrance, as you sink down, slowly, slowly, slowly, until you’re flush with him, until you’ve swallowed him whole and nestled him inside of you, his vision goes white and he feels the warm smile of forgiveness.

“Yes.”

From behind, your tail twitches into his peripheral vision. A cruel reminder, a crash and burn. Melted wings and the sea. But then your hips circle, once, twice, and he forgets himself again, he enjoys the fall.

His hands fly to your waist, before they’re swatted away with a click of your tongue and a sparkle in your eyes. “Ah, no touching me, remember? Those are your rules, after all.”

“Right.” Instead, his fists dig into the sheets, knuckles turning white.

With each plunge of your warmth up and down his cock, he’s reborn, fresh and gasping, each breath burning like the first. Crescent moons carve into his palms, and he groans.

“Is this…is this real?”

A chuckle bubbles from your throat. “Do you want it to be?”

He hesitates for a moment, lets your hand rest on his unsteady heart, lets your skin stick to his. Just below it, a knot forms, the strings tightening and tightening and tightening under years of strain.

“Yes.”

You fill his vision, all-consuming, eating the space between you with sharp teeth. When you speak, it’s a low sound, a rumbling purr. It makes his stomach clench. “Good.”

His breaths come in faster, now that he knows it’s real, that the heat creeping up his neck and down his legs is real, that this is happening. That something exists that feels this fucking good.

And then, all at once, the knot unties itself. The moans he releases are holy, more beautiful than a choir with all its ordained voices.

Damp palms grab at your hips, and you let them. With greedy fingers he holds you in place, fucking himself up into you. Tears well in his eyes and in the blurry haze, he thinks he sees heaven. It opens itself before him, warm and beckoning, in the space between your thighs.

“God, fuck,” he exhales, and you grin.

“How blasphemous, Sunday.”

If he hears you, he gives no indication. Curses tumble from his lips, raw edges cutting his lungs.

He chases a high with urgency, with uncoordinated thrusts and a too-tight grip. His dedication is truly a virtue.

It’s only a moment before he stills, eyes widening, jaw falling open to release an angelic cry. Truly beautiful as he falls, as he comes undone. In the space below his arched spine, you swear there’s a momentary flutter of wings.

Eyelashes open and close, as if to prove that this is not, in fact, real. But the heat still encircling him is proof enough. He shivers.

“Fuck,” he whispers, more to himself than anything.

“Oh Sunday,” you hum, fingers tracing ribs that rise and fall unevenly. There’s a twinge of something mixed into the pride, something sadder, something longing. “This certainly has been fun.”

“Fuck,” he says again. Dread settles on his shoulders, heavy, heavier than duty or scriptures or a grave, than a cross. “Will I…?”

“Be excommunicated for this? Probably not,” you smirk.

Weakly, he shakes his head, sweaty strands of hair sticking to the pillowcase below. “Will I see you again?”

The question makes your heart flutter. How cute.

“If you’d like to, my dear.” With a gentle hand, you brush the fringe from his forehead. “Anything you want.”

At that, he relaxes, his shoulders sinking deeper. With heavy eyelids, his blinking slows. “Good.”

How beautiful he looks like this, half-conscious and spent, utterly debauched. Utterly holy.

“But for now, get some rest.” Warm lips press into his cheek, and he leans into them with a hum. “Goodnight, Sunday.”

#q writes #oneshot #sunday #sunday x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #sunday hsr #sunday honkai star rail #hsr smut #sunday smut #cw dubcon #cw religious imagery #cw religion #<- if i am missing any tags PLEASE do not hesitate to let me know and i will add them!!!!!#cw sacrilege #cw blasphemy

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