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champagnefountains · 8 months

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LUCIFER MAGNE - H.H.

Prompt: Lucifer continuing to wear his wedding ring despite being in a relationship with you.

Genre: Angst and hurt; somewhat fluffy (but only for a brief while). Warnings: Swearing. Unhealthy relationship/coping mechanisms (?). Word count: 2.2k+

Lucifer had been courting you for a couple of months already, the King of Hell finally deciding it was time to make the two of you official. The tension was so incredibly thick, that even the hotel’s patrons were growing sick of having to watch the two of you dance aimlessly around each other. Charlie included.

The past couple of months were more than delightful – Lucifer treated you like a Queen, taking you out almost every other night, having nice candle-lit dinners, and dancing the night away. And if you weren’t really feeling the glamour, the both of you would stay cuddled up against one another whilst watching some cliche rom-com. It was like a dream. It was perfect…well, almost.

The very source of your concerns was the golden band that remained in Lucifer’s ring-finger.

You knew about the heart-break and torment that Lucifer underwent following his separation with Lilith. Understandably, having been together for many decades and centuries, the King had a difficult time trying to move on. Even in the earlier stages of your relationship, when he had been comfortable confiding in you, it was evident that he still deeply cared for Lilith, despite her absence.

You tried to be understanding – you really, really did. But every time you held his hand, the cold metal feeling against your fingers set a painful reminder that maybe he still hasn’t moved on completely.

It filled you to the brim with self-doubt. Perhaps he was just keeping you around just to fill in the void she had left. And if that were the case, were you even doing a good enough job in that? Hypothetically, if Lilith were to waltz in front of the hotel’s doors one day, was he going to throw you off to the side and run away with her? What if he’d grow bored of you all of a sudden?

Questions such as these would linger at the back of your head constantly, and as they did, you would cast a longing gaze in his direction. When he catches your eye, he would automatically send a smile your way, pearly-whites in full display. It would make you smile without fail, because how could it not? You loved that dashing smile of his. But everyday, you wondered if you could continue to maintain that smile in your life.

One night in particular, during dinner at one of Hell’s finest establishments, Lucifer noticed that something was off. Your smile hasn’t been reaching your eyes, and you seemed like you were anywhere but here. Your eyes had a distant look to them and whenever he’d ask if something was wrong, you would become dismissive. It concerned him a lot.

“Darling, are you alright?” Lucifer carefully asked once you both made it to the front porch of the hotel. “Was it the food? Was it not to your liking? Because the chicken was a bit off to be honest, it could’ve been a bit more seasoned–”

“Luci,” you intervened and grabbed his hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “The food was great, really. It’s just…” As your voice trailed off, you were quick to feel that damn ring around his finger. Because, of course you did, and it didn’t help your mood at all. You force out a huff and pull away, causing the demon’s frown to deepen, “I’m feeling a little under the weather tonight – probably just lacking a bit of sleep.”

Lucifer scanned your face all over, his brows furrowed in worry. “Well…I guess you have been working harder for the hotel recently.” There had been some truth in that – after all, there had been an influx of sinners in the hotel since the cancellation of this year’s extermination. But he didn’t seem to stop there, not fully convinced by your reasoning, “...But are you sure that’s all, my dear?”

You looked at him, surprised, as if suddenly caught red-handed. He was quick to pick up on that too, confirming his suspicions and making him all the more nervous.

“What are you trying to say?” You ask.

“Well, i-it’s just that I noticed that you’ve been acting a bit off recently,” he splutters. “And not only tonight. You’ve become a bit more…I don’t know, distant with me. And it worries me, y’know? I just…I really, really care about you. A lot.” He almost looks defeated as he rubs anxiously at his nape, “And if I’m being honest, it scares the absolute shit out of me that what I’m doing now isn't right."

Your brows crease in confusion, “...What are you talking about?”

Lucifer closed his eyes, dragging a palm against his face as an exaggerated groan leaves his lips. “Look, I’m not exactly experienced with all…all this – the one woman I’ve ever been in a committed relationship with left me. Just like that!” He lets out a humourless snort. “A-And I don’t know what I did to make her leave and I for sure don’t want to make that same mistake again. I…I want to be assured that I’m making you happy.”

Lucifer looks up at you, eyes filled with warmth, as he places a gentle hand against your cheek. He breaks the distance between you to press his forehead against yours. You automatically lean against him out of habit. “I don’t want to lose you. And if I’m doing something wrong, tell me. Please, don’t shut me out.” He pleads, his voice almost falling into a whisper. The unexpected confession left you speechless, your chest feeling all the more tight. It was making you feel worse than you already did.

You let out a shaky sigh, trying to keep the pending tears at bay. “Luci, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…I-I didn’t mean to make you feel that way. Trust me when I say that you’ve been nothing more than a gentleman, and every moment we’ve spent together has been magical. I appreciate you so, so much, and I could never, ever ask for anything more.”

You shut your eyes tight, shame filling your very core. “I’m just being a little silly–”

“No, no. Don’t say that, darling. Please tell me what’s going on. It’s okay,” Lucifer encourages softly, his thumb rubbing reassuringly against your cheek.

You grab his wrist and gently pull your face away from him. With the hand on his arm, you slide it down to grab at his own, bringing it up into view and in-between the both of you. Almost instantaneously, both your eyes lie on the golden band on his finger – to Lucifer, it suddenly clicks. But he couldn’t help but feel an internal conflict brew within him.

“I-I know how much that ring and Lilith means to you. I really do and I feel awful having to feel this way, but I just…I can’t help it,” you mutter, finally allowing the first couple of tears to fall, “I-I often find myself counting the days and hours when you’ll suddenly realise that I will never be good enough for you. It feels like I’m constantly having to compete with her–heck, what am I even saying? I know I’ll never be able to compete – because, I mean, come on. I'm a nobody!” You chuckle tearfully whilst gesturing to yourself with a free hand.

“And I don’t think I’ll ever understand how you’d ever settle for someone like me. I’m not nearly as important, nor am I the best-looking demon out there. I’m just me.”

“But Lucifer, whenever I’m with you, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. I smile more. Laugh more. I even enjoy the little things more. And I don’t want that to go away. And I’m just hoping– Satan, I’m fucking hoping that it’s the same for you. And if it is, then how long is that going to last with me?”

Completely shocked, Lucifer watched in silence as his love sobbed their heart out in front of him. He wanted nothing more than to go and wrap you in his warm embrace, and whisper reassurances and hush down your cries. Because, you were right – you did make him happy. So unbelievably happy. You had been the light that casted away the shadows in his darkest times. And yet, why? Why did he remain where he stood, unmoving as tears pathetically poured from his eyes? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

There was a brief, stagnant moment of contemplation where the both of you just stood there. It was the realisation that Lucifer didn’t make any effort to formulate some form of response, that disappointed you even further. It only made the doubtful voice in your head louder.

It was you who ultimately decided to make the first move, wiping tiredly at your reddened face as you glanced at the hotel’s door. “I’ll be heading off first. I’ll be in the guest room tonight – it’s been a long day,” you raspily say, hiccuping as you pushed through the doors and disappeared into the hotel, leaving Lucifer alone outside.

As you entered the hotel, you immediately noticed Husk’s presence by the bar, who had been polishing some glasses by the counter. In front of him was Angel, who was making some sweet, small talk with him. They were both alerted by your entrance as the doors flew open, and as Angel was about to greet you in his usual playful fashion, his voice fell flat when he saw the depressed state you were in.

“Woah, there. What the hell happened to you? You look like shit,” Angel asked, standing to meet you half-way, “I thought you and Short-King were out on a date. Did something happen?”

“We were but we had a fight or something,” you tiredly shrugged as you walked past the arachnid and plopped yourself down on one of the bar stools. You swirled yourself on the seat to face Husk. “Give me the strongest shit you have. And make it double,” you waved absently at the feline-demon, who raised an incredulous brow at your bluntness. “Damn, it must be that serious considering you don’t even drink,” he grumbles as he turns to start brewing a glass of something, “...do you wanna talk about it?"

You contemplated his offer for a second and realised that you did. For the next five or so minutes, you ended up recounting everything that happened earlier tonight, all the while shedding even more tears. Angel was kind enough to supply you with a mountain of tissues to cry into.

“Well, it sounds to me that your man’s got a whole lot of thinking to do,” Husk clicks his tongue. “But what you’re feeling is completely valid.” “Yeah, who the fuck wears their ol’ wedding ring while dating someone else? What an asshole,” Angel hisses.

“S-So you guys think there’s a possibility that he might consider ending things with me?” You question dejectedly. Husk and Angel share a look of uncertainty, suddenly feeling the need to be careful of their words. Because they genuinely weren’t sure.

“I–Look, that’s not something we should be focusing on at the moment– I mean, of course, let’s hope that that’s not where this is going. I just think he needs some space to think things through properly,” Husk says.

“And I know I was talking a whole lot of shit before but let’s take the benefit of the doubt and look at things from his point of view. He was in that boat for more than a couple thousand years. And shit, that’s a lot of fucking years.” Angel points out. “It might take him a while longer to adjust to that, y’know?” Angel places a hand on your shoulder, grinning at you reassuringly, “But there’s one thing for sure that myself and everyone else knows: the guy loves yah, toots. Anyone with eyes can see it, and you guys are really fucking disgusting about it too–ow!”

Angel suddenly lunges forward against the counter as one of Husk’s wings swipes down to slap the back of his head. “‘The fuck was that for?! It’s true, ain’t it?!” Husk rolled his eyes at his dramatics, before turning back to you. “He’s right, though. Just…just give him a bit more time. I’m sure in the end, the both of you will be fine.”

Meanwhile, Lucifer decided to head back to his own castle, wanting to be alone to sort through his cluttered thoughts. He was beyond upset with himself for making you cry like that, because it was the last thing he wanted. But he was more upset at the fact that he didn’t know how to navigate through his emotions, despising that he found himself second guessing his feelings.

As you explicitly implied, was he really still unconsciously longing for Lilith? Was that why he kept wearing his ring? Why was he still wearing it? Was it just for his own comfort? But why would he need it anyways? You were there, weren’t you? All he had said to you tonight, he was contradicting himself, wasn’t he? Perhaps he’s scared. Maybe he isn’t ready yet. But, why would he be with you if he didn’t think so? What exactly were you to him? And what exactly was Lilith to him now?

Lucifer was a complete mess, and that night he couldn’t find a single blink of sleep as these thoughts plagued him. And neither could you, as you scrutinised every aspect of your relationship, thinking of what this could mean for the both of you, moving forward.

Yeah…perhaps you both needed some time.

Chapter II [x]

#lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 2 months

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Tear Down My Reason

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x niece!reader Warnings: Canon typical incest, dubious consent with allusions to no consent, smut. Word count: ~4.6k

Summary: When Rhaenyra returns to King's Landing to petition Lucerys's claim to Driftmark, Aemond is eager for revenge for the loss of his eye. However, what he does not anticipate is the object of his ire becoming his niece instead of his nephew.

Author's note: For @targaryen-dynasty's milestone celebration. Congratulations, Laura! Read the rest of the celebration fics. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

Aemond sits in his chambers, beside the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other. His eyepatch is discarded on the table in front of him, his index finger absentmindedly running the length of the scar that ravages the left side of his face.

It had itched incessantly since he had learned the news that his half sister, Rhaenyra, and her family would be arriving in King’s Landing to defend Lucerys’s claim to Driftmark. His scar always grew irritated at the mention of Luke, a reminder of the boy who had permanently disfigured him and left him without an eye. It was a crime for which Luke had never been reprimanded, and so Aemond had spent almost a decade allowing his anger and resentment to fester, thinking of all of the ways he would seek revenge should he ever see him again.

He knows exactly when they have arrived the next day as he spars in the training yard with Cole; he spots the two dark haired boys circling, and takes a moment to lean against the table of weapons before him, steeling himself. He imagines grabbing a blade and carving out one of his nephew’s eyes in exchange for his. Luke had taken his left, perhaps he’d take his right, a fair exchange.

Snapped out of his reverie by Cole beckoning him forward, he picks up his blade and advances towards him. He knows that Jace and Luke will be watching, and so he works hard to put on a display that will show he’s no longer the sullen, little boy they used to torment. He is a man grown, a warrior that they should respect and fear. He ducks and weaves against Cole’s morningstar, throwing away his shield as it splinters under impact, until finally he seizes the advantage, the point of his blade directed towards his opponent’s neck.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Criston tells him, “you will be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I do not give a shit about tourneys,” he utters, turning to face the two dark haired boys who stare up at him in shock. “Nephews, have you come to train?”

He is unable to stop the malevolent smirk that tugs at his lips, seeing fear in their eyes as they gaze at him. There is revenge enough in knowing that while he has advanced in training with the sword, transformed himself into a foe which any man would find themselves unlucky to cross blades with upon a battlefield, they have remained frightened, sniveling little boys that still cling to their mother’s skirts for protection. It is not enough to satisfy him though. Not yet.

Having bathed and changed, he joins his family in the throne room, as the court gathers to hear the petitions for the succession of Driftmark. He stands tall and proud beside his brother, sister and mother, as his grandsire sits the throne in his father’s stead.

His eye sweeps the hall, seeing Vaemond Velaryon, Rhaenys Targaryen and her granddaughter, Baela, standing to one side. On the other is Rhaenyra, Luke, Jace, Joffrey, his uncle, Daemon, and his daughter, Rhaena. And then he spots her.

Aemond had utterly forgotten of her existence; born a year after Jace, and a year before Luke, his niece. She is as tall as her mother now, and has her father’s hair - her real father’s hair - long, dark curls that, despite being half pinned up, fall almost to her waist. She is soft featured, with Rhaenyra’s striking blue eyes. It baffles him that a Strong bastard could be so pleasing to look upon, and he purses his lips in disgust, forcing himself to look away as he reflects back upon what she had been like as a child.

She never joined in with the relentless teasing that Aegon, Jacaerys and Lucerys had subjected him to. She had spent all of her time with Helaena, from what he can remember, the two of them sat side by side, Helaena holding up insects and describing them to her, as she flicked through the pages of books trying to see if records of them already existed, so that they could learn more about them.

The night that he had lost his eye, she had remained next to his sister, looking on with concern as he had his wound stitched closed. He remembered thinking it odd at the time that she was not with Luke and Jace, but his mind was so addled from the effects of milk of the poppy that nothing is clear, beyond the image of her mother bursting into the hall of Driftmark and tugging her away, back to her own family.

As the petitions are heard, even when his own father arrives unexpectedly, announcing he will sit the throne today, he finds his attention drawn to her, unable to focus on anything else. She appears to be a meek little thing, keeping her eyes downcast, seeming ashamed of her own presence in the room. A trait that all Strong bastards ought to possess, in his opinion. Yet as the moments pass by and she does not look up, he finds himself growing increasingly irritated that she won’t look at him, despite how desperately he wills her to.

“Her children are bastards!” Shouts Vaemond, before turning to Rhaenyra, his voice lowering, “and she is a whore.”

Elation spreads like a warm glow through Aemond’s body, his attention finally pulled away from his niece to look upon the horrified expressions of his nephews and half sister. Serves them right. Finally someone is saying it out loud.

When he casts his gaze back upon his niece, her eyes are still fixed upon the floor. However, he sees the subtlety with which her bottom lip trembles, the light flush of her cheeks. She is about to cry.

Look at me.

The room falls silent as Daemon’s sword slices through Vaemond’s head, and it is only then that her head snaps up, her eyes tear filled and wide with shock, meeting Aemond’s. He finds himself smirking again, a quiet victory. Not only had the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s children been brought loudly into question once more, but now he had the attention of his niece. He had forgotten her in the passing of so many years, but now she is within reach again, he will ensure she certainly never forgets him. The next time tears fill her pretty eyes he wants to be the cause of them.

Aemond groans when his mother informs him that the following evening they are to dine as a family, a request from his father to unite them all, having reestablished Luke’s inheritance. He resents the idea of breaking bread with people he does not like, that do not like him, to have to sit at the same table and make pleasantries with the boy who half blinded him.

But she would be there. He wonders where she is now. Her mother had been swift to hurry her from the throne room after the decapitation of Vaemond Velaryon, and he is unsure of which apartments within the Keep she now occupies.

He finds himself stalking the corridors of the usually unoccupied quarters of Maegor’s Holdfast, his eye scanning every closed door, wondering which is the room that she occupies. He pulls to a stop at the top of a staircase as he sees familiar long, dark curls flowing down slender shoulders, disappearing into a doorway before it closes behind her.

Her chambers are unguarded, and before he has a chance to stop himself, his feet carry him down the steps towards them, his knuckles rapping at the wooden door. It’s only when he hears the rustle of movement from the other side that his mind begins to race.

What if she is not alone?

What did he even intend to do if she was unattended?

He briefly considers turning on his heel and leaving, however, no sooner has the thought occurred to him than his niece is opening the door, startling at the sight of him, lips parting in shock. She is even prettier up close, despite her reddened eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“Aemond?”

Despite the confusion that laces her voice, it is soft and dulcet toned. He wants to hear her say his name a hundred times over, for it has never sounded sweeter than coming from her lips.

He inhales deeply through his nose, preparing himself to speak. “You are understandably upset by that business with our uncle and Vaemond. I have come to check on you, to make sure you are alright.”

Her eyebrows raise for a moment, blinking a few times as she regards him carefully. “Oh…that is…kind of you. My mother has said I ought to rest.”

“Perhaps you might welcome some company?” He offers. “It would be unwise for you to be alone after witnessing something so bloody.”

She draws back a little at the suggestion, her mouth opening to speak before closing again, her brow furrowing.

Aemond fights the urge to smile at her hesitation. Reaching forward, he crooks a finger beneath her chin. “Do I frighten you so much you cannot bear to be in the same room as me?”

Gasping, she shakes her head fervently as his hand drops away. “N–no! It is just…it has been such a long time, and the last time I saw you, you…my brother…your eye…”

He cocks his head, pushing down the resentment that bubbles to the surface at the mention of what had happened to him. “But have you not heard? My father is hosting a dinner for us all tomorrow, to unite our families once more. There is no need for you to be so cautious, allow yourself to be reacquainted with your uncle.”

Her gaze lowers for a moment, as she appears to consider his offer. “Yes, I suppose that would be nice,” she finally says, looking back up at him.

She steps to the side, allowing him to enter.

Too easy, he thinks to himself as he steps inside. There would be almost no sport in this if the fight she means to put up is so feeble.

He strides into the room, hands clasped behind his back, noting the lack of personal effects within the space, a reminder that she is a visitor. This is his home, not hers. He has the upper hand.

“Apologies, Uncle,” she utters nervously, shifting from foot to foot as she fidgets restlessly with her fingers. “I had not anticipated your visit, this room is ill equipped for guests. I have no chair to offer you.”

“That is quite alright,” he tells her amicably, forcing a soft smile before sitting upon the edge of the bed. “We are family, are we not? Such formalities are not necessary.”

He pats the space beside him. “Come, join me, we have much to catch up on.”

She hesitates a moment, before sitting next to him. There is something about the feeling of the dip in the mattress beside him, combined with the floral scent of her filling his nostrils that sends the thrill of a shiver through his body, and he turns to look at her, eyeing her much like a cat would a mouse.

Such a pretty little thing.

“I am truly sorry, for what Luke did to you,” she begins, “I—”

He waves a hand dismissively, forcing down the anger that threatens to burst forth. “Let us speak no more of it. It is in the past. Tell me, how is life upon Dragonstone treating you?”

She chews her lip, hesitating a moment before she speaks. “Truthfully, it is lonely. I miss King’s Landing. Jace and Luke have one another, and mother is preoccupied with her pregnancy and Joffrey and the babes. Daemon pays me no mind, and while I am grateful for Rhaena’s company, I can tell she misses her sister. I am a poor substitute for Baela.”

He hums with faux concern, allowing a moment of silence to present his next words as thoughtful. “You could never be a poor substitute for anything. And I expect you will soon be away from there anyway. I can imagine you have no end of suitors all vying for your hand.”

The hint of a blush turns her cheeks pink as she casts her gaze downward. “No, not yet. I have overheard Rhaenys talking with my mother. They wish to betroth Baela and Rhaena to Jace and Luke. There are no such plans for me. What about you? Are you to be married?”

“Not yet,” he says softly, meeting her eye as she looks up at him. “I have been waiting for the right woman to capture my interest. Perhaps it is fortuitous that we both find ourselves unattached?”

“What do you mean, uncle?” She asks, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Baela and Jace, Rhaena and Luke,” he shifts his hand across the bed, entwining his fingers with hers. “You and I.”

She gasps softly, though she does not wrench her hand away as he had anticipated. “Is this some sort of trick, Aemond?”

“Not at all,” he reassures her, moving closer. “What better way to unite our family once more?”

“We hardly know each other,” she utters softly.

“And yet you have scarce left my thoughts all these years,” he lies. “Let me kiss you.”

Before she has a chance to respond, he is pressing his lips to hers. She stiffens at first, taken aback by his forwardness, but soon responds, her supple mouth moving against his. He brings his hand up to her cheek, cupping it softly, the skin soft as peach fuzz beneath his calloused fingertips.

She sighs softly as he deepens the gesture, her inexperience showing as her tongue retreats from his as it slips into her mouth. It serves only to stoke the fire that rages within, tightening his breeches as the sensation of her saliva causes his cock to swell.

Pulling away from her mouth, he moves his hand from her cheek, sinking it into her silky curls, anchoring her in place as he places hot, open mouthed kisses to her jaw and neck, making his way down towards her clavicle, relishing the way her head tips back slightly and her eyes flutter closed.

Tugging down the neckline of her bodice, he fights to suppress a groan of desire at the sight of her bared breasts, the hardened peaks ruddy and inviting. She is putting up so little resistance that it emboldens him to press forward, capturing a rosy bud between his lips and suckling as his tongue flicks against it, causing her to arch and mewl.

A whore, just like her mother, he thinks, shifting his attention to the other and repeating the same motion. His blood feels like liquid fire in his veins as her breaths turn to soft pants. One hand massages the breast that he is currently not latched upon, while the other creeps beneath her skirts.

It is only when his fingertips ghost upon the top of her stocking that she suddenly pulls free of him, eyes wide and breaths ragged as she hurriedly readjusts her dress.

“We should not have…forgive me, I…” she stumbles over her words, flustered and looking on the verge of tears again, before hurrying from the room, leaving Aemond alone on the bed.

He growls in frustration, smacking his hand down upon the edge of the mattress. “Ilibītsos,” he mutters angrily. Little slut.

When he returns to his own chambers, he comes harder than he ever has before, such is the force with which he fists his cock, imagining the entire time that his niece is splayed beneath him, sighing softly with pleasure as she had for him earlier that day.

As his pleasure induced haze wears off, a feeling of shame settles over him. He does not quite understand how his infatuation with her has taken hold so quickly, but now that it is, he is unable to shake it. Worse still, when she ran from her bedchamber, what if she had gone straight to her mother and told her of what he had done to her? It would be a disgrace from which he would never recover if his own mother were to be privy to such information.

He hides himself away the next day, embarrassed to face any of his family for fear they will know of his transgressions, until finally he is summoned to the feast that he has been dreading.

Much to his surprise, the entire day has passed without angry confrontation or a tongue lashing from his mother, and as he enters the dining hall there are no looks of shock or disgust to be met with, simply the shy smile of his niece as she looks up at him from her seat between her two brothers.

She has not told anyone, and she does not appear to regret what had transpired between them.

Aemond settles into his seat at the head of the table with a smug sense of pride. The dinner is a tawdry affair, musicians playing tunes he does not care for are stationed in the corner, while endless trays and bowls of food are brought out to them all.

He listens to his family toast to each other with a sneer, watching with barely concealed anger as Jace invites Helaena to dance. His only reprieve are the shy glances and smiles that his niece directs his way across the table. Perhaps all is not lost.

It is not until a suckling pig is brought out and settled before him that he is no longer able to contain his temper. Seeing Luke smirk at him, a reminder of the pig he had been taunted with in place of a dragon as a child, is too much. Is it not enough that his nephew has taken his eye, but now he continues to mock him too? He will not stand for such an insult.

Abruptly, he slams his first upon the table, halting the music and chatter within the room, as he rises from his chair, raising his wine cup.

“Final tribute,” he announces, eye scanning the room, careful not to include his niece in his speech, lest he foils the plans he has especially for her. “To the health of my nephews; Jace, Luke, Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…strong. Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

The ensuing scuffle passes by in a blur for Aemond, resulting in him pushing Jace to the floor before they are all dismissed to their quarters. He hangs back, out of sight, waiting for Jace and Luke to disappear from sight, before striding after his niece.

She whips around, looking angrily up at him, eyes blazing with fury. “Why would you do that? You’ve ruined everything!”

“Forgive me,” he utters gently, taking her hands in his, “I lost my temper, but you have to know that my anger was never directed at you.”

She sighs, her shoulders sagging. “Jace and Luke’s betrothals were announced tonight. I was hoping we could announce ours too. Now my mother will never agree to it.”

Pride and satisfaction swell within his chest as he gazes down at her. He raises an eyebrow. “You wish to marry me? I had thought you were refusing my proposal, considering how quick you were to flee from me yesterday.”

“It all happened so fast. I have never been touched in that way before, and I allowed it to frighten me, I am sorry for it. But having had time to think on it, I do want to be your wife.”

He smiles down at her, seeing eye shining malevolently. “Then let the news of our betrothal be the balm that soothes all hurts upon the morrow.”

She smiles happily at him. “Then I shall bid you goodnight, Uncle.”

“So soon? I thought perhaps we might pick up where we left off yesterday.”

She flushes a delicate red. “Would it not be better to wait until we are wed?”

“I will not push you further than you wish to go,” he whispers, before kissing her deeply, walking her backwards into her bedchamber.

He is quick to cover her body with his own as she topples back against the softness of the mattress, kissing her fiercely as his hands push her skirts roughly up and over her hips.

“I thought you did not wish to push me?” She whispers breathlessly, pulling back from his lips.

“I shall not, talus,” he reassures her, his fingers absentmindedly stroking her the bare skin of her thighs, “but that does not mean I will not make you beg for it.” Niece.

Kissing her deeply once more, he shifts down her body, dragging her small clothes down and off of her leg in one fluid movement, before spreading the plushness of her thighs, his single eye drinking in the glistening sight of her cunt spread out before him.

He smiles to himself as he drags the tip of his tongue through her folds, hearing the way her breath hitches, his hands forcefully holding her down, keeping her still, as she attempts to buck her hips. He almost groans at the tart taste of her, his mouth quick to envelope her, alternating between sucking messily at her pearl and laving the flat of his tongue against her.

She writhes, pinned to the bed by her pelvis by his forceful grip, wanton sounds of pleasure escaping her as she clutches the bed sheets so tightly her knuckles turn white.

Lapping greedily at her as she falls apart against his tongue, he almost spends in his breeches taking in the sight of her arched back, tousled hair, ruddy cheeks and trembling thighs. But he is not finished yet.

The moment she settles back against the bed, her body spent and pliant, he begins his assault anew, this time crooking two fingers inside of her, rubbing urgently against the rough patch inside of her as his tongue focuses purposefully on her sensitive nub. The desperate sounds she makes are music to his ears. She is impossibly tight, he wonders how he will ever fit inside, but is all the more determined to find out as he sends her hurtling and crying out once more into the throes of another torturous release.

“Stop, stop!” She whines, attempting to back up the bed away from him, as he attempts to settle his face between her thighs a third time. “I cannot take it anymore.”

“If I am inside of you, it will not feel quite so intense,” he whispers, not moving an inch from where he lays between her legs, his chin shiny and sticky with her arousal.

“We are not yet married, Uncle, we should not,” she protests feebly.

“But we will be,” he insists, “so what does it matter? And I am afraid I have not had my fill of you, talus, so we shall have to continue as we are if you do not wish for me to be inside of you.”

“Gods…please…no…anything, just no more of that, it is too much.”

He smirks at her ruined state, bringing himself up towards her face, his voice dark. “Beg me for it.”

“Please, Aemond, please,” she cries, “put it inside, I cannot stand anymore.”

He grins wolfishly, as his fingers move to the lacings of his trousers, untying them and shucking the material past his hips.

Sucking in a steadying breath, he places the swollen head of his cock against the wetness of her opening, his eye flickering to her face for any signs of hesitation. She still looks utterly wrecked, her expression one of hazy bliss, her eyes glassy. Taking this as silent permission, he presses forward, hissing through his teeth at the resistance he is met with.

She whimpers softly, in clear discomfort, as he continues to push inward slowly, looking between her face, her brow furrowed and lips parted, and where their bodies are joining together.

He feels something give way, before he is fully rooted within her.

Her maidenhead.

Aemond fights the prideful grin that wants to spread itself across his face. His nephew had taken his eye, now in turn he had taken his niece’s virtue.

He stills, waiting for her to adjust, before moving slowly, dragging his hips back before pushing softly forward, repeating the motion. He desperately wants to snap his hips against hers, to make her cry out in pain, to disregard her comfort, but he is not a monster, he reasons. Her innocence soaking his length is payment enough.

Remembering how her body had responded so positively to his affections the previous day, he tugs down her plunging neckline with two fingers, freeing the softness of her breasts, leaning down to press gentle kisses against them, before suckling a nipple into his mouth.

She moans quietly, her body loosening up, becoming less tense beneath his, making it feel more pleasurable for him in turn. He means to be gentle with her, he really does, but feeling her grow wetter around him makes it impossible for him not to speed up his thrusts, driving into her faster, harder, causing her to whine and whimper as he trails his mouth across her chest. So lost in the sensation of her, he barely registers her delicate fingers clutching desperately at his hair and shoulders.

He knows he is done for when she squeezes around him, he knows he ought to pull out, to spill himself across the creamy white skin of her lower belly and thighs, but she is so warm, so wet, so tight around him that he cannot bring himself to leave her. He finds himself chasing his own end inside of her, his hips moving of their own accord, until finally, with a blinding white heat that tingles at the very base of his spine, he groans loudly, pulsating and spending inside of her in hot, powerful spurts.

Allowing himself a moment to settle against her, he basks in the warm afterglow of his peak, before pulling slowly out, disentangling his limbs from hers as his breath comes in shallow pants. He kneels up on the bed, pulling his trousers back over himself and fastening them. He allows himself to drink in the sight of her, her dress and hair in utter disarray, the sticky mess between her legs, her kiss swollen lips and faraway stare. Utter perfection.

It is not until he stands from the bed, smoothing over his clothing and hair with his hands that she finally comes back to reality and pulls herself up to rest upon her elbows. “Where are you going?”

“Back to my chambers,” he says coolly, “I have gotten what I wanted.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, worry lacing her tone, her eyebrows knitting together.

“Your bastard brother took my eye. Now I’ve taken the only thing that makes you worth a damn.”

Her voice wobbles, tears rimming her eyes as they widen in realisation, pulling at her dress to cover herself. “You said you would marry me…”

“I lied.”

“Why?! Why me?!”

He shrugs. “You made it easy. You might want to have the maester brew you a tea though, unless the bastard also wants a bastard.”

“I will tell my mother,” she whispers tearfully.

“Go ahead. I will deny it. Who will believe you? If you birth a silver haired babe, there is nothing to suggest that it is not a result of my brother forcing himself upon you, or perhaps our uncle. Your mother was younger than you, I believe, when he first started to show an interest in her. So if I were you, I would have the tea brewed and keep quiet, unless you wish to be branded a whore as well as a bastard.”

“You are a monster!” She spits, shoulders shaking as she sobs.

“Drīves, talus,” he utters, turning to leave her bedchamber. “Ñuha drīva issa.” Justice, niece. I have justice.

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dilvei · 3 months

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 ( y! emperor x m! assassin reader )

yandere! emperor x male! assassin reader

warnings:

attempted murder

attempted poisoning

mentions of torture

some dubcon tumble & kissing in the sheets ey

directory: part one, part two [ coming soon ]

this definitely could've gone to a much, much darker route but instead it turned out kind of cute(?). i once had a similar idea to this one but as like a longer fic but i don't have the time for that so eat this instead y'all 🌈🌈

requested by @n4muqr

✾ | much is unknown of the current reigning emperor, dimitri, and what little is known about him is all rather rudimentary, really—merely the common knowledge shared and repeated by most already.

✾ | for instance, it is often said by the masses that dimitri is akin to a sleeping lion. a calm and quiet presence... until a single misstep is made in his presence, prompting his unbridled fury. the emperor does not merely desire perfection, he demands it with an almost relentless, crazed fervor. the emperor will not— cannot simply stand by when something in his vicinity does not reach that impeccable state.

✾ | another topic, oftenly brought up, is his cruelty. the amount of enemies dimitri has amassed on his path to the throne is not few, and those who remain are, well, tortured and tormented inside the cold dungeons for as long as they draw breath.

✾ | but none of those rumors are the ones that pique your interest in the emperor. no. what fascinates you about dimitri is the fact that he has yet to marry, and has remained so for several years of his reign, much to the utter bewilderment of his own people and his own court.

✾ | and the reason for it is so ridiculous that, the first time you heard it, you nearly topple over from laughter. the emperor is unmarried not because he is unattractive or ugly—the opposite really, if the rumors are to be believed—but because he deems that there is no one perfect enough yet to stand by his side. ridiculous, really. but what is an emperor if he is not arrogant?

✾ | still, the fact that there is no direct heir to the throne due to this is utterly hilarious to you. even more comical is the moment when, one day, you are given the task to assassinate said emperor.

✾ | you hold no loyalty for powerful men like dimitri, especially when they are reputed to be arrogant fools. and yet, curiosity stirs within you as to who issued such an order, for you are certain that you are not the only one sent to assassinate dimitri. his little brother perhaps? he is, after all, next in line to the throne.

✾ | a day after you receive the task, you simply... wait, and you remain waiting even as news of failed assassination attempts after another reaches your ears. not one assassin has succeeded, and it baffles you, really; it is either due to the emperor's extreme luck or, perhaps, his perfectionism has extended to other aspects of his life—namely, the protection that surrounds him.

✾ | so, you plan. disguising one's self to infiltrate the palace would take too long, and the likelihood of success is slim, especially given dimitri’s vigilant eye monitoring everyone’s movements. in the end, only one course of action comes to mind.

✾ | in the dead of night, you silently scale the towering walls of the palace—walls too high for most, surely, but easily surmountable for someone like you. with a mask covering the lower half of your face and more daggers than one should be permitted to carry, you ascend with ease.

✾ | landing on the balcony with barely a sound, you smile as you successfully arrive at the chambers of the arrogant emperor dimitri.

✾ | lock picking the door inside is awfully easy, and as you step into the bedroom that is almost suffocating with its golden splendor, you finally see him. you see the emperor.

✾ | dimitri is in bed, unguarded, with eyes closed and lips parted, so breathtaking to behold that, for a moment, you forget you are here to kill him, to murder him.

✾ | as you edge closer to his still body, you observe the gentle rise and fall of his chest with each soft breath. how his golden eyelashes flutter as the cold night air sweeps in from the open balcony window. it seems almost a waste to kill such beauty.

✾ | and just as you brandish your cold dagger to his neck, your other hand ready to silence his dying cries, dimitri's eyes shoot wide open, an icy gaze staring directly into you.

✾ | despite only just waking, the emperor is fast, sharp and alert, and in a blink, dimitri has already swiftly caught both your wrists with his hands in a vice-like grip, rendering you motionless as you both stare into each other’s eyes in tense silence.

"You shouldn’t be up at such an hour, Your Majesty,” you slowly quip with narrowed eyes, breaking the silence between you as you struggle to free your hands from Dimitri’s grip. Your efforts are futile; his hold on you tightens further.

No doubt, that bruises will soon bloom like dark flowers on your skin, assuming, that is, Dimitri ever lets go of his grip.

With an almost empty sharpness in his gaze, Dimitri inches his face closer to yours, his expression thin as he responds, “And you, should not wander as you wish in your emperor’s chambers. Wherever did you learn your manners, stranger?”

"Well, certainly not around here, Your Majesty.” You let out a sharp laugh before kneeing him in the stomach. But, to your surprise, you flinch instead of the emperor. It feels as though... you just kneed a solid rock.

At your failed attempt, Dimitri merely raises a brow and sighs, shaking his head in disappointment. “I must admit, this is a first. No assassin thus far has attempted to climb my palace walls only to knee me in the stomach. I must say, you do make a memorable first impression.”

"I'm flattered, Your Majesty," you say with a faux smile as you continue to struggle against his grip. Another sigh escapes the Emperor's lips.

Suddenly, perhaps finally finding himself tired of your antics, Dimitri pulls you towards him with a firm grip, effortlessly throwing you onto his bed, pinning you under him with only a hand as though you weigh nothing.

Well now, this is bad.

Dimitri hovers above you, his warm breath caressing your neck, his gaze piercing you with a cold, steely silence. Then— he rips off your mask, revealing your complete face, twisted with frustration; Dimitri's eyes seem to gleam as he notices it.

"Must you really rip it off?"

"It obscured my view of your face, oh assassin. Your mask was a hindrance to us both," he answers, voice as smooth as velvet. With his free hand, and an empty gaze that all but screams danger, Dimitri’s fingertips softly caress your face before slowly, but surely, descending to your neck. You gulp.

Before he can act in a way you do not desire—specifically, choking you lifeless beneath him—you lean forward, rising to press your lips against his in desperation.

Not for his mercy, no—heavens, no. Your lips are coated in poison, a venom strong enough to probably lull a lion into instant slumber, and soon, will render Dimitri paralyzed as well.

Unsurprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly—because you’ve seen it, seen the hint of desire brimming inside his eyes, a flicker that escapes the mask the Emperor puts on—Dimitri kisses you back. And if your swift brush of lips could ever be labeled as a kiss, then what Dimitri unleashed upon you could only be deemed a ravage.

He wastes no time slipping his tongue past your lips, savoring and exploring your mouth as one might indulge in a delectable, forbidden fruit. Despite your efforts, you find yourself drawn into his passion, grappling beneath him as he intensifies the kiss with each passing moment, as though melding your bodies together.

There is no room to breathe, and your head reels from the lack of air.

A bruising grip is placed on your waist as Dimitri somehow deepens the kiss further, his tongue exploring every inch of you, and as you attempt to pull away, he presses forward, biting your lip almost as a form of punishment.

A low whine escapes your throat, seemingly satisfying Dimitri as he hums softly into your mouth. Then, finally, ever so finally, he ends the kiss, leaving you gasping for air.

Tears well in your eyes as you gaze up at him, a half-smirk playing on his lips while he hovers above you, still gripping both your wrists firmly in his single hand, still unaffected by the poison after how much time has passed. How... is this be possible? Is Dimitri perhaps immune to such poison?

As realization washes over you, the half-smirk on Dimitri’s face transforms into a full one. "The poison on your lips is sweet, oh assassin," he whispers, "but in my opinion, the kiss is far, far sweeter."

"You...!"

As you prepare to kick the Emperor in his groin out of extreme frustration, he releases his grip on you, rising from the bed before straightening his attire. "You have passed, my assassin. And henceforth, you will serve me, and me alone," he announces, voice ringing clear inside your head.

You blink, letting his words sink in before narrowing your eyes at Dimitri, who is now sitting languidly on one of his many comfortable chairs in the room. “Just what are you talking about?” His words make little sense, and you feel an undying urge to hurl the nearest object right at his face.

"Who do you think orchestrated the countless assassinations on my dear self, oh assassin of mine? I seek only the finest, and while I knew no one could truly ever succeed in killing me, thus far, your attempt has been the closest."

You push yourself off the bed, striding towards him with your fists clenched. "This is all beyond ridiculous. Do you have any idea how many of us were tasked to end your life?"

"I do."

You cross your arms with a sigh. "So, what now? Is my task over?" The room is far too cold now after you have tasted the warmth that is your Emperor, and your job is clearly over, now that you have, somehow, been forcefully given a new one instead.

Dimitri responds, "You are to be my assassin. I will point the way, and you will obediently follow, with no questions asked. To kill whomever I send you to kill, to dispose of their bodies with no witnesses in sight, and to return to me when I have need of you. Is that clear?"

You roll your eyes at his arrogant tone but then nod obligingly upon seeing the slightest hint of anger in his expression. "Yes, yes. Is there anything else you require of me, Your Majesty? If not, I will be taking my leave now."

"Remain still,” he commands, and a distant part of you screams in frustration as your body effortlessly complies. He approaches you slowly, offering a small smile before placing your mask back over your face.

"When we are alone, just the two of us, I expect you to address me by my given name, my assassin.” He pauses then, lifting your chin with a finger. You tense.

"And...?" you ask back, your voice shaky.

The Emperor’s gaze flickers towards your lips, concealed beneath the mask, as he issues his last command. “That last method of yours. I forbid you from employing it on anyone else,” he muses, tightening his grip on your chin, almost painfully so.

“Your lips are reserved solely for mine.”

#dilvei.writes #yandere emperor #yandere x male reader #yandere male x male reader #x male reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere x reader #banner by cafekitsune

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hoshifighting · 4 months

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— Synopsis: Nerd!Jeonghan is invited to a frat party by the jocks, but it was just a bad joke, because they didn't like seeing you with the nerd. They just didn't expect that on the same night, you would fuck your good boy. — WC: 5.3k — WARNINGS: Tricking, slight angst, smut, fingering, oral (m. receiving), cock riding, overstimulation, wap, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, penetrative sex, protected sex, Jeonghan teases reader without noticing and etc. — This is a part 2 of Nerd!Jeonghan – Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

The cafeteria was buzzing with the usual chatter and clatter of trays and cutlery. You were surrounded by your friends, laughing at a joke someone had made, when suddenly a tray was placed in front of you. The food on it was from the most expensive selection in the canteen, a treat you rarely indulged in. You glanced up and saw Jeonghan's retreating figure, leaving no room for argument.

"What's this?" one of your friends asked, eyeing the tray curiously.

"Looks like someone's got a secret admirer," another teased.

You chuckled, shaking your head as you picked up an apple from the tray. "It's nothing like that. Just… a thank you, I guess."

As you ate the delicious lunch, your mind wandered to Jeonghan. You decided to find him after you were done. Finishing the meal, you took the apple and headed out, searching for Jeonghan around the campus.

Eventually, you spotted him sitting alone on the grandstand, eyes focused on the field. You walked over and sat down beside him, taking a bite of the apple. He turned his head slightly to acknowledge your presence.

"Are you going to buy lunch for me without lunching with me?" you teased, nudging him playfully.

Jeonghan gave you a shy smile. "I just wanted to thank you for the glasses. I'm going to buy you lunch till the end of the year to pay you back and–"

You placed a finger on his lips to shush him, causing his eyes to widen slightly. "You don't need to do that, Jeonghan. The guys broke your glasses, so I needed to do the right thing. And… because I think you're a good boy."

Jeonghan's cheeks turned a deep shade of red, and he bit his lip nervously. The sight of you up close, with your unbuttoned white shirt revealing a hint of your chest and your skirt riding up your thighs under the hot sun, made his heart race. Your perfume lingered in the air, making him take a deep breath, trying to memorize the scent.

"Good boy?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, your eyes sparkling with sincerity. "Yes, a good boy. You're kind, and you don't deserve the way they treat you."

Jeonghan couldn't help but feel aroused by your words, if only you knew the effect you had on him, you'd probably think he was a pervert. He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself.

"Thank you," he managed to say, his voice shaky. "It means a lot coming from you."

He watched as you took another bite of the apple, the simple act somehow feeling incredibly intimate.

"So, lunch tomorrow?" you asked, breaking the silence.

Jeonghan chuckled, finally relaxing a bit. "Sure, lunch tomorrow."

Jeonghan already thought you looked gorgeous, and now that he found out you were this kind, you looked even prettier to his eyes. He now had a friend—someone outside of the geek club. The jocks noticed the change. They saw how he now lunched with you, how you chattered with him excitedly, how you hugged him when he arrived on campus, and how you two shared dessert after lunch. Their curiosity got the better of them.

"What the fuck is going on?" one of them asked, bewildered.

One afternoon, you hadn't arrived in class yet. Jeonghan was nervously fiddling with his pen, wondering what kind of torment the day might bring, when James, one of the jocks, approached him. Jeonghan tensed, preparing for the worst—another broken pair of glasses, a stolen lunch, or a demand for homework. Instead, James placed a card on his table.

"Be at the frat party tonight. Y/N will be there," James said curtly before walking away.

Jeonghan looked at the card in his hand, not too confident but filled with a glimmer of hope. You would be there.

[…]

It was Friday night, and Jeonghan had always heard about the infamous frat parties. He had often wondered what they were like but never had the guts to seek an invitation. Tonight was different. He dressed in a white shirt paired with a black leather jacket—an ensemble suggested by his mom through text messages. She assured him he would look handsome like that.

Jeonghan glanced at his phone, following the map to the party's location. But as he arrived, his surroundings felt wrong. The map indicated he had reached his destination, yet he found himself in a wasteland—dark, empty, and desolate. He looked around, searching for any sign of a party. There was nothing. No movement, no lights, no sounds of laughter or music. His heart sank as the realization hit him, he had been tricked.

Jeonghan's footsteps echoed loudly against the pavement as he briskly walked away from the supposed frat party location. His mind was a whirlwind of frustration, embarrassment, and anger. How could he have been so naive to think that someone like him would be invited to a party where someone like you would be present?

As he made his way down the bustling avenue, he heard his name being called. Initially, he ignored it, hoping to avoid any further interactions that would only add to his already sour mood. But when the voice persisted, he reluctantly glanced over his shoulder, only to see you standing there. You were dressed in your office attire, looking professional and put-together as always, with a leather bag slung over your shoulder. Your brows furrowed in concern as you called out to him, and you reached out to touch his shoulder gently. Seeing Jeonghan ignore you was so out of character for him.

"Jeonghan, wait! What happened?" you asked, your voice filled with genuine worry.

Jeonghan stopped in his tracks, his jaw clenched as he turned to face you.

"What happened?" he repeated, his tone sharp with irritation. "What do you think happened, Y/N? I was tricked. Played for a fool. Just like always." he snaps, immediately regretting the harshness in his tone.

You blinked, taken aback by his sudden hostility. "Jeonghan, I… I don't understand. What do you mean you were tricked?"

Jeonghan let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I thought… I thought maybe things were finally looking up for me. That maybe, someone like you actually wanted to spend time with me." he breathes in. "I was invited to some stupid frat party, and when I got there, there was nothing. No party, no people, just darkness."

His words came out in a bitter rush, his emotions raw and unfiltered. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and he hated it.

You looked at him with concern, trying to piece together what he was saying. "Jeonghan, I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't invite you to any party. I… I would never do something like that."

Jeonghan scoffed, his disbelief evident. "Come on, Y/N. Don't play dumb. I saw the card. James gave it to me himself, said you would be there."

Your eyes widened in realization, and you shook your head vehemently. "James? That jerk! Jeonghan, I had nothing to do with that. I swear."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, searching your face for any hint of deception. But all he saw was sincerity and genuine concern.

"Why would James lie about something like that?" he asked, his voice softer now, the anger slowly ebbing away.

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Because he's an asshole, Jeonghan. He probably thought it would be funny to mess with you. But I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

Jeonghan's shoulders slumped as he processed your words. He felt relief and embarrassment wash over him, along with a twinge of guilt for snapping at you earlier.

"I… I'm sorry, Y/N," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn't have lashed out like that. It's just… it's been a rough night."

You take Jeonghan's hand in yours, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. His thumb draws soothing circles on the back of your hand as you look into his eyes, filled with gratitude for your understanding.

"Let's go," you say softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I was actually going to pass by a convenience store. We can pick up some snacks and drinks, and then we'll head to my place. We can have our own little party there."

Jeonghan's lips curve into a hesitant smile, the tension slowly melting away from his features. "That sounds… nice," he replies, his voice tinged with relief.

You start walking together, the weight of the earlier misunderstanding lifting from your shoulders.

The atmosphere in your room was cozy, the soft glow of the lamp casting warm shadows against the walls. You and Jeonghan sat side by side on your bed, beers in hand, watching a variety program on the television. Your thigh rested comfortably over his, his hand resting on your skin as if it belonged there.

You had ditched the frat parties long ago, opting instead for chill nights like these, where you could actually hear each other talk and enjoy each other's company without the chaos. And right now, with Jeonghan so close, it felt perfect.

The alcohol had loosened both of you up, making conversation flow easier and nerves dissipated. Jeonghan seemed more relaxed now, his touch becoming almost absent-minded as he reached for his beer can or adjusted his position on the bed.

You couldn't deny the way his touch was melting you into the mattress, stealing the air from your lungs and flooding your senses with horniness.

But no matter how obvious you tried to make it, Jeonghan remained focused on the television, seemingly unaware of your growing need. It was frustrating, maddening even, to be so close to him and yet feel so far apart.

Occasionally, your hips would shift involuntarily, seeking some kind of friction to alleviate the growing ache between your legs. You clenched around nothing, as your nipples hardened on your tank top.

As Jeonghan reached for his beer can once more, his hand unconsciously squeezing your thigh further up, a sudden surge of pleasure shot through you. Before you could even stop yourself, an involuntary moan escaped your lips, echoing in the quiet room.

Jeonghan froze, his hand still resting on your thigh, his eyes widening in shock. Did he just make you moan? Or worse, did he hurt you?

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice filled with genuine concern as he quickly withdrew his hand.

You bite your lip, feeling a rush of embarrassment flood through you at your own reaction. But before you could respond, another moan escaped your lips, this time his name falling from them like a plea. "Hannie…"

The sound sent a jolt of arousal coursing through him, his own desire spiking at the realization that he had caused you to moan like that.

He looked at you, sprawled out on the bed, your eyes heavy with desire, your skin flushed and hot to the touch. Your lips were parted, your breath coming in shallow gasps, and your legs were parted ever so slightly, inviting him in.

Jeonghan stopped, his mind racing with uncertainty. What should he do? There wasn't enough time to think. His hand moved a little further up your thigh experimentally, not quite touching your crotch, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from you. He caught a glimpse of your hips rolling slightly in his hand's direction, a silent plea for more.

"Kiss me," you whispered, your voice breathy and filled with need.

Oh.

Jeonghan froze for a moment, taken aback by your request. He took a moment to compose himself, slowly removing his glasses and placing them on the table beside the bed. Then, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

But if you left it up to him, the two of you would be content with simple pecks. You needed more. Parting your lips, you gently made passage inside his mouth with your tongue, feeling his wet muscle gently caress yours as he gasped in surprise.

You leaned into him, your hand finding the way to his hair, gripping it softly as you deepened the kiss. Jeonghan's initial hesitation melted away as he responded, his hands roaming up and down your thigh, drawing you closer to him.

The kiss grew more passionate, your tongues dancing together, exploring and tasting. You could feel Jeonghan's breath quicken, matching your own, and the electric connection between you intensified with every passing second. Your hips moved closer, seeking the friction you so desperately craved, and his hand inched higher, teasing innocently.

Your body was practically vibrating with need, and you couldn't take the teasing any longer. Grabbing Jeonghan's hand, you guided it to your clothed pussy, under your loose shorts, pressing his fingers against the wet fabric of your panties. He let you lead him, his uncertainty evident, but the touch was enough to make you whine.

Jeonghan's breath hitched as he felt the heat and dampness beneath his hand. His jeans suddenly felt unbearably tight, and he realized he was suffering just as much as you were.

He wanted to make you feel good, but he wasn't entirely sure how to proceed.

Taking a deep breath, he started to move his fingers tentatively, exploring the shape of you through your panties. His touch was hesitant at first, but as he felt you react, he grew a little bolder, pressing more firmly and rubbing small circles over your sensitive spot–that he have found based on your moaning frequency.

You moaned softly, the sound making Jeonghan shiver. He could feel your hips moving against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure. His own arousal was becoming almost unbearable, but he was focused on you, on the way your body responded to his touch.

"Jeonghan," you breathed, your voice thick with desire. "Don't stop."

Encouraged by your words, Jeonghan's movements became more confident. He pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, while his fingers teased along the edges of your panties. Each touch makes you gasp and arch your back.

Jeonghan's eyes were locked on your face, watching the expressions of pleasure that played across it. He wanted to make you feel good, to see you lose yourself in the sensations he was creating.

"Please," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I need you."

That was all the encouragement Jeonghan needed. With a newfound determination, he slipped his hand inside your panties, his fingers finally making contact with your wet, aching core. You let out a shuddering moan, your hips bucking against his hand as he explored your wet cunt, flipping the folds, and the clit with his fingers.

You had always noticed Jeonghan's hands, often daydreaming about how they might feel pleasuring you. And now, here you were, living out that fantasy. You murmured against his lips, "Put your fingers inside me."

Jeonghan moaned softly at your words, the sensitivity in his voice making you even more aroused. He gently slid a slender finger inside you, your pussy immediately clenching tight around him. The sensation made you clap a hand over your mouth as your hips shuddered involuntarily.

"Can I put another one in?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity.

You moaned in response, clenching around his finger to let him know you wanted more.

So he took this as a yes.

He carefully inserted a second finger. You sobbed with pleasure, grabbing his arm and burying your open mouth against his shoulder. The fact that Jeonghan looked so innocent and focused while doing this made you even hornier.

"You're doing so fucking good, Jeonghan," you panted, motivating him to continue. "Your fingers feel so amazing inside me. Keep going, just like that."

His cheeks grew red at the lack of filter in your words, but he continued, determined to make you feel as good as possible. When his fingers brushed upwards, hitting a particularly sensitive spot inside you, you let out a loud, pornographic moan.

Jeonghan froze for a moment, realizing he had hit a good spot, making it clear he needed to do that again.

He repeated the motion, and your reaction was immediate, your body arching with pleasure. You grew impatient, quickly taking off your shorts and panties, spreading your legs wider for him.

Jeonghan's eyes widened as he saw your pussy, wet and throbbing, his hand already soaked from your arousal, and the creamy sound of your juices nearly overwhelmed him.

"Jeonghan, I need more," you gasped, your voice dripping with need. "Please, keep doing that. It feels so good. You’re making me so wet."

He continued to move his fingers, now more confidently, brushing that sensitive spot again and again. "Like this?" he asked, his voice husky with arousal.

"Yes, just like that," you moaned, your hips rocking against his hand. "You’re so good at this, Jeonghan. I’ve wanted this for so long. Your fingers feel so perfect inside me."

His blush deepened, but he didn’t stop. If anything, your words spurred him on, making him want to please you even more. The intensity of your arousal drove him wild, and he couldn't help but marvel at how your body responded to his touch.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice shaky. "I can't believe this is happening."

"It is," you panted, your eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "And it's even better than I imagined. Don't stop, Jeonghan. Please, don't stop."

He nodded, focusing on the rhythm that made you moan so deliciously. The room filled with the sounds of your pleasure, the creamy wetness of your pussy.

"God, Jeonghan, look at how wet you make me," you moaned, your voice dripping with need. "I want you to fuck me with your fingers until I can't take it anymore."

He swallowed hard, his eyes wide with arousal–and awe.

He felt you were near. Your breath hesitated, your fingers clenched around his arm, your pussy tightened around his fingers, and your mouth fell open in a perfect 'O'.

You came back from your orgasm with a shuddering moan, squirming and closing your legs together as the waves of pleasure rolled through you.

Jeonghan waited for you to compose yourself, slowly withdrawing his fingers. A line of cum connected his finger and your pussy, and the sight made your breath hitch again. You raised your hand and palmed his cock through his jeans, causing Jeonghan to tremble and a whimper to leave his mouth.

"Are you going to let me touch you?" you asked, your voice low and seductive.

Jeonghan nodded, lowering his jeans and boxers to his knees. His cock sprang free, landing against his thigh. Your eyes widened in awe at the sight. His long cock was flushed a deep pink, almost red, with pre-cum dripping from the tip as if he had already cum. His balls looked full, heavy with need.

Seeing you almost 'appreciating the view' Jeonghan blushed and said shyly, "Y/N-nie, don't look at me like that."

You teased him with a smirk, "Like what, Jeonghan? Like you're the most delicious thing I've ever seen? Because you are. Your cock is so beautiful, I can't wait to feel it in my mouth, to taste you."

Jeonghan's blush deepened, but his cock twitched in response to your words. "R-really?" he stammered, his shyness evident.

You leaned in closer, your hand wrapping around his shaft, feeling the weight and heat of him. "Really," you purred. "I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel. Do you want that, Jeonghan? Do you want me to suck your cock, to take you in my mouth and make you cum?"

His eyes fluttered closed, a soft moan escaping his lips. "Yes, please," he whispered, his voice trembling with anticipation.

You leaned forward, your breath ghosting over the head of his cock, making him shiver. "Good boy," you whispered, before taking him into your mouth. The taste of his pre-cum was salty and sweet, and you moaned around his length, the vibrations making him gasp.

You worked your mouth up and down his shaft, your tongue swirling around the tip before taking him deeper. Jeonghan's hands clenched the sheets, his hips bucking slightly as he tried to control himself. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and the sight of you with his cock in your mouth made him groan.

"Y/N, that feels so good," he panted, his voice rough with need. "Please, don't stop."

You hummed around him, taking him even deeper, your throat relaxing as you swallowed around his length.

His reaction was immediate, a choked moan spilling from his lips as his hips jerked.

"You liked that, didn't you?" you teased, pulling back to lick a long stripe up the underside of his cock. "You like it when I take you deep, when I make you feel so good."

"Yes," he gasped, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. "I love it. Please, more."

You took him back into your mouth, your hand pumping the base of his cock as you bobbed your head. Jeonghan's moans grew louder, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. You could feel him getting closer, his cock twitching in your mouth, his thighs trembling.

"I'm gonna– Hm!" his voice was strained. "Y/N, I'm so close."

You didn't stop, your mouth working him faster, harder, determined to make him cum. Jeonghan's body tensed, his moans turning into desperate whimpers as he reached his peak. With a final, shuddering gasp, he came, his hot cum filling your mouth.

You swallowed every drop, savoring the taste of him, before pulling back and looking up at him with a satisfied smile. Jeonghan's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.

He was fucked. That was the only thought running through Jeonghan's mind as he lay there, his body still trembling from his orgasm. The way you were looking at him right now, with a burning gaze that promised so much more, was driving him wild. The kind features you normally wore had given way to a predatory look, and he found it incredibly arousing.

You pushed him gently, making him lie back on the bed. You helped him take off his shirt, your hands gliding over his smooth skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Your eyes never left his as you moved lower, and lower, until you were level with his chest.

Jeonghan's breath hitched as you licked around his nipple, your warm tongue sending jolts of pleasure through him. Your other hand slid down his ribcage until you reached his other nipple, pinching it weakly. He was hazy, his mind clouded with desire, and he couldn't stop the moans that escaped his lips.

"Do you enjoy that?" you teased, your voice sultry and low. "I love hearing you moan like this."

Jeonghan sucked in a breath, trying to stop himself from moaning–like it was something bad.. The effort made him tremble, especially when your teeth grazed his sensitive bud.

"Jeonghan," you murmured, your voice a tantalizing whisper. "I want to hear you. Don't hold back."

He looked at you, his eyes wide and filled with submission. "Please," he whispered, his voice shaky. "Don't stop."

Your smile was wicked as you continued your ministrations, licking and nibbling on his nipples, alternating between the two. Jeonghan's moans grew louder, more desperate, as you pushed him further into a haze of pleasure.

"Good boy," you purred, your breath hot against his skin. "Just let go. Let me hear how good I'm making you feel."

Jeonghan's head fell back against the pillow, his body arching into your touch. "Oh, God," he moaned, his voice breathless. "It feels so good."

You felt a surge of satisfaction at his words, your own arousal intensifying. You moved your mouth lower, kissing and nipping at his skin, leaving a trail of love bites down his torso. His body was like a live wire beneath you, every touch sending shivers through him.

"You're so sensitive," you murmured against his skin, your tongue dipping into his navel. "I love it. I love making you feel this way."

Jeonghan's hands gripped the sheets, his knuckles white from the effort. "Y/N, please," he begged, his voice a raw whisper. "I need you."

You paused, looking up at him with a teasing smile. "Need me? How do you need me, Jeonghan? Tell me what you want."

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but his desire overpowered his shyness. "I want you," he breathed. "I want to feel you. Please, Y/N."

You moved back up his body, straddling his hips and leaning down to kiss him deeply. His hands found your waist, holding you tightly as he returned the kiss with fervor.

"You're going to get everything you want," you promised against his lips. "But first, I want to hear you moan again. Can you do that for me, Jeonghan?"

He nodded, his eyes dark with lust. "Yes," he whispered. "I'll moan for you. I'll do anything for you."

With that, you resumed your teasing, your hands and mouth working together to drive him to the edge once more. And true to his word, Jeonghan didn't hold back. His moans filled the room.

You reached into the drawer beside your bed, picking up a condom and ripping it open with your teeth. The sound made Jeonghan's breath hitch, and his eyes followed your every move. You slid the condom onto his cock, smiling as you felt his stomach tremble at the contact.

Straddling him, you positioned yourself over his length, teasing him by sliding the head of his cock in and out of your dripping entrance. Jeonghan's whines grew louder, his hips bucking slightly as he tried to push deeper into you.

"Please," he begged, his voice strained with need.

You tilted your head, pretending not to understand. "Please what, Jeonghan? What do you want me to do?"

He blushed, his shyness momentarily overpowering his desperation. "Please, put it in," he whispered.

You continued to tease him, moving just the tip of his cock in and out of you, creating a delicious friction. "Put what in, Jeonghan?" you asked, your voice dripping with seduction. "I want to hear you say it."

Jeonghan's cheeks flushed even deeper, but his desire was too strong to hold back. "Let me slide inside your pussy." he finally whispered, his voice shaky and embarrassed.

You smiled wickedly, loving the way the dirty words sounded coming from someone as innocent-looking as him. "Good boy," you murmured. "That's what I wanted to hear"

Slowly, you sank down onto him, taking your time to savor the sensation of him filling you up. Jeonghan's eyes fluttered closed, his mouth falling open in a silent moan. His hands gripped your hips, holding you tight as he tried to keep from thrusting up into you.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice raw with pleasure. "You feel so good."

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear. "You feel amazing too, Jeonghan," you whispered. "I love how you fill me up. Do you like being inside me?"

"Yes," he groaned, his hands tightening on your hips. "I love it. I love feeling you around me."

You started to move, rocking your hips slowly, savoring the way his cock stretched you. Jeonghan's face was a picture of pure ecstasy, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure, his lips parted as he panted for breath. Every thrust made his stomach tighten, his muscles quivering with the effort to hold back.

"You look so beautiful like this," you murmured, your hands sliding up his chest. "So vulnerable. I love making you feel good."

Jeonghan's eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting yours. "Y/N, please," he whimpered. "I need more. Please, fuck me harder."

You smiled, picking up the pace, your movements becoming more urgent. "You like it when I fuck you hard, hm?" you teased, your voice low and seductive.

"Yes," he gasped, his head falling back against the pillow. "I love it. Please, don't stop."

You rode him harder, your hips slamming down onto his with a rhythm that drove both of you wild. Jeonghan's moans grew louder, more desperate, as he felt himself getting closer to the edge.

"You're such a good boy," you purred, your hands sliding up to his shoulders for better leverage. "You take my pussy so well. Do you want to cum for me, Jeonghan?"

"Yes," he cried out, his voice breaking with need. "Please, let me cum. I need to cum so bad."

As you rode him harder and harder, he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. His body tensed, his breath hitched, and he could barely form coherent thoughts as pleasure consumed him entirely.

"You're going to cum again?" you asked.

Jeonghan tried to answer, he really did. But when he felt the waves of pleasure crashing over him, all he could do was surrender to the overwhelming sensation. His eyes rolled back, his back arched, and he came inside the condom with a primal moan, his entire body trembling with release.

Your name fell from his lips over and over again, like a mantra, as he rode out his orgasm. He felt like he was floating, as you continued to move above him, drawing out every last drop of pleasure.

When the intensity finally subsided, Jeonghan's body relaxed, completely spent. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath, his body still tingling with the aftershocks of his second orgasm.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. "You were amazing, baby." you murmured, your voice soft and tender.

Feeling Jeonghan's sensitivity beneath you, you decided to shift your focus. You didn't want to push him too far, especially after the intense release he just experienced. So, you brought his thumb to your lips, spitting on it to moisten it before guiding it down to your swollen clit.

His touch was tentative at first, but as you encouraged him, he grew more confident, his finger tracing circles on your sensitive bud. You could feel the pressure building within you, your body responding eagerly to his touch despite the softness of his cock inside you.

As he continued to stimulate you, you could feel yourself squeezing around his cock, your walls clenching involuntarily as pleasure washed over you. Your orgasm approached rapidly, fueled by the dual sensations of his finger on your clit and his cock filling your cunt.

You guided the rhythm of his finger, matching it to the pace that drove you wild. With each circle, each stroke, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

"Right there," you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don't stop, Jeonghan. Keep going."

His movements became more urgent, more insistent, as he worked you towards your peak. Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps, your body trembling with anticipation.

And then, with a shuddering moan, your orgasm crashed over you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being. Your muscles tensed, your back arched, as you cried out his name.

Jeonghan continued to finger you through your climax, his touch gentle yet firm, prolonging the intensity of your pleasure until you were completely spent.

Feeling Jeonghan's finger continue to work you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, you couldn't help but laugh softly at the oversensitivity coursing through your body. Sensations danced along your skin, making every touch, every caress feel electrifying.

You gently guided his hand away from your clit, needing a moment to catch your breath and revel in the lingering waves of pleasure. With a satisfied sigh, you reached down, taking his cock in your hand and sliding it out of your pussy. It was still slick with your arousal, and you couldn't help but admire the sight of it, flushed and spent.

Turning towards him, you captured his lips in a sweet, lingering kiss, savoring the taste of him on your tongue. As you pulled back, you met his gaze, a playful glint dancing in your eyes.

Leaning in close, you whispered into his ear, your breath hot against his skin, "You know, Jeonghan, I still need to fuck you with your glasses on."

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nitewingbabi · 1 year

Text

↳ please respond…I showed you my cock ⚤ ghostface x female!reader 【 18+ ONLY — Minors DNI 】 ✉ taking requests part 2 ▻ a pretty mouth

2023 was a different year for everyone. Covid was 2020's big killer, and now ghostface seemed to be claiming 2023 as his year. You were one of his taunting targets. Text messages, phone calls, notes in your locker or mail. He had even been in your room once to leave a message on your mirror.

‘I like the red ones’ which was referring to your panties that you were trying on the other day after doing some much needed retail therapy with some friends.

Your group was getting smaller and smaller as more students were murdered, kidnapped or not heard from in weeks. Curfew was getting shorter that soon enough school was sure to be cancelled until the police solved whoever was running around killing everyone.

It’s Tuesday night and you just finished showering, you had been blowdrying your hair for the last 20 minutes. The recent news far from your thoughts, the truck load of school work that was due was giving you a migraine. Finally your hair was dried and you were ready to slip into bed and start your assignment. You turned your TV on, immediately putting on your current Netflix show that you were binging.

Eyes flicking back and forth from your laptop screen to your TV. You hadn’t checked your phone since you started to shower and noticed you had multiple messages from an unknown number. But it wasn’t unknown to you. You knew exactly who it was.

Unknown Number +1**********

➤ quiet night?

➤ parents aren’t home.

➤ neighbours are out of town.

You had only had one actual physical contact with ghostface which was two weeks ago. He chased you around your house until your neighbours came barging in and he ran away. Ever since you had your parents change the locks and debate whether or not to send you across the country to live with your aunt and uncle until it was all over. You pleaded that they didn’t and instead they paid for a self defence class for you.

Your phone buzzed again, drawing your attention away from the TV.

Unknown Number +***********

➤ i liked the little show you put on for me the other day.

➤ wish i had been there to ruin those little red panties

You weren’t sure what to write back, you sat there debating if you should even write anything back and entertain this creep.

Just as you put your phone down, the screen lit up and the room echoed from your ringtone.

Unknown Caller

You weren’t sure if you should pick up, but something inside you made you do it.

“Hello?” You hesitantly asked as you held the device up to your ear. Waiting to hear that deep voice that you couldn’t recognise.

“Hello y/n. Enjoying your show?” Your eyes met your TV screen to see your show playing still on low volume. You turned the TV off, quickly standing to your feet to look out your window. It was barely lit outside from the streetlight and nothing seemed to stick out like a sore thumb.

“Who is this? Why are you tormenting me?” You had asked the question too many times that it was just routine, you’d hope that one time he would budge and just tell you.

“The question isn’t who I am. the question is where I am.” You heart began to race, eyes searching endlessly out your window, he had to be close by. You suddenly felt the booty shorts and crop top that you had slid into wasn’t the best attire to be wearing at home alone whilst being stalked by a psycho.

“Look asshole, you wanna play games. I can play.” You weren’t sure what you exact plan was, but it was the first thing to pop into your head. Were you terrified of ghostface? Yes. But did it also arouse you how much he called you, texted you, the fact he had probably seen you naked countless times, even possibly pleasured himself to the sight of you.

“Oh yeah? In the mood for monopoly?” He chuckled darkly on the other end, you could only hope he was still watching you from where he was. With your free hand you danced your fingers down your torso, dipping into the waistband of your shorts and panties and itching your way to your centre that was throbbing. You could hear a deep growl on the other end.

You chuckled into the phone, knowing he was definitely watching you now. You breathed a soft moan as your fingertip circles your juicy clit, using your arousal as lube to slick your finger around the bundle of nerves. Your moans grew louder and your mouth fell agape as you began walking backwards onto your bed, allowing yourself to fall back into the plush mattress and send yourself into a bliss.

You had forgotten about ghostface, your phone falling from your ear to beside your head.

“Hey!” Your eyes popped open as you remembered he was still on the other end. You quickly grabbed it, slowing your circles to keep yourself on edge.

“I want to hear your pretty cries when you cum, I want you to cum to me and only me. You got that princess?” His words were sharp and threatening, just like the blade he used to murder your friends. God you were getting turned on and touching yourself to a psycho killer. The unexpected happened next. A snapchat notification came through.

Gfce23 added you on Snapchat!

It was him. It had to be. You accepted, still working yourself and slipping a finger inside your dripping cunt to get more arousal on your clit.

Immediately a video came through, along with a few photos. You bit your lip as you thought about what could possibly be on the other end. You had to take the chance though, you were too far down the rabbit hole.

“Open them, I want you to see what you fucking do to me.” His voice was hoarse and breathless, you could tell he was jerking himself on the other end or something. You clicked on the purple square. Your eyes met a hard cock, veiny and thick. The tip an enraged red with a slight purple tinge. A single drop of precum oozing out the slit and his black leather glove wrapped around his cock.

The video began playing and his hand jerked his cock slowly, throaty moans echoing as the video continued to play and that drop of precum dripped down his pinkish shaft. A small bush of pubic hair that led to a faint snail trail and a set of what you could only guess were abs.

His hand got faster and his moans got faster as he pumped himself hard in his hand, but before you could view more you heard your parents car pulling into the driveway with their faint music blaring.

Ghostface was in the back of your mind as you quickly closed your phone and got settled into bed. Ghostface didn’t call you back, didn’t text you and didn’t send anything else to you that night. But that does’t mean he let you off easy.

It had only been a few days since you last heard from ghostface, but when you did you were surprised to see the message he had sent through was not his usual taunting, threatening approach.

Unkown Number +**********

➤ i want to see that pretty pussy spread out tonight

➤ leave your window unlocked

➤ i know your parents wont be home

➤ hope you like it rough princess

#ghostface smut #ghostface #scream #scream2 #scream3 #scream4 #scream5 #scream6 #screamsmut #mickey altieri #mickey altieri smut #billy loomis #billy loomis smut #ghostface x reader #smut

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seresinhangmanjake · 5 months

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Respect

Feyd-Rautha x female!reader

Summary: Your betrothed is a son from one of the Great Houses, an awful man who has enjoyed threatening and scaring you since you were children. Feyd makes it known he doesn't appreciate such disrespectful treatment of the woman he loves.

Notes/Warnings: SA (mention of past unwanted touching. Not by Feyd). Violence and blood. Implied or mentioned sexual situations. Feyd is soft for reader and reader only. Typos, im sure. I think that's it. Feel free to correct me.

Words: 1900

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You told him stories of the youngest son of House Kenric. As you lay in Feyd’s arms, you recounted your meetings with your betrothed over the years. The ways he teased you as children, pinching your skin, tugging on your hair, spitting in your face, calling you worthless, stupid, pathetic. Then in the years before coming of age, how he would mock you alongside his brothers. How he would smack you if you defended yourself and force you to tell your father you’d fallen. How he would grope you over your dress when neither your parents nor his were paying attention. But you’d kept one story from him; the most recent of them.

Feyd had met you at a party for a handful of influential Great Houses, and it wasn’t long before he found himself rather attached to you. Over the course of six hours, you’d met, talked, flirted, snuck off, kissed, fell into bed, fucked, and returned to the party with no one the wiser. It was that same night you were able to convince your father of a budding interest in Harkonnen ways, and that if the Houses were aiming for peace and unity, there would be no harm in you spending a few months on Giedi Prime.

At the time, Feyd knew the “Harkonnen ways” you so appreciated didn’t extend far past the attachment the two of you shared and his ability to make you see stars when his cock was inside of you, but it eventually developed into more. Much more. Though never said aloud, he loved you. So much so that when you finally informed him of your betrothed’s treatment of you the week preceding the party—his cornering you, touching you, telling you of his intent to control and use you as he pleases once you become his wife—Feyd struggled to swallow his rage.

“I’m scared, honestly,” you told him, your hand sliding up from his abdomen over his chest to the curve where his neck met his shoulder, gently squeezing the toned muscle. “How do I become the wife of a man like that? And what about producing his heir? I’ll have no choice but to let him have me.”

It made Feyd sick to think of another man so close to you. Another man’s hands on you, his lips marring your body, tongue between your folds, sweat staining your skin. Even screwing his eyes shut couldn’t make those images disappear. They only grew stronger, tormenting him. She’s not yours, a little voice whispered. Not your woman, not the mother of your child, not your wife.

But, fuck, you should be. You should be all of those things. You would make a perfect Baroness; the only one Feyd could imagine himself wanting. You would face hardship with a sturdy backbone and not shy away from what Giedi Prime would request of you. You would be respected as the ruler by his side, as you deserve. Respected most of all by the man who loves you.

“Would you rather marry me?” Feyd asked, lazily running his fingers up and down your bare spine. He felt a sudden uneasiness, like nerves wiggling throughout his limbs. Such an unfamiliar sensation. Unwelcome, but not misplaced he supposed.

“Yes,” you replied to his relief. “But we both know that’s not how this works, Feyd. It’s just not that simple.”

You were right. It wasn’t simple. Your father made an arrangement with House Kenric, but there was no chance Feyd was going to let that old Duke take you from him in two weeks and ship you off to marry an abusive, unworthy pest of a man. If your father wouldn’t permit simplicity for the sake of your happiness, then Feyd would just have to make it simple.

—

“Why is it again that I’m not allowed to see?” you ask as Feyd guides you down a dark corridor with his fingers covering your eyes.

“I told you it’s a surprise,” he teases. “Don’t you like my presents?”

You chuckle. “Of course, I like your presents.”

“Then that’s all you need to know,” he tells you. “We are here, anyway.”

Coming to a stop, Feyd removes his hands from your eyes and places them on your shoulders, kneading out the tension that has only worsened in your body as your wedding day grows nearer. You blink once, twice, still curious as to what sort of present could possibly be this far from your rooms, but when your vision adjusts to the onslaught of bright light illuminating the small cell, you gasp at the sight before you.

“What do you think?” Feyd asks, pressing a kiss to your neck as you take in the badly beaten body of Aldo Kenric—your future husband.

He’s secured to a chair, his arms strapped down to the chairs arms and legs strapped to legs. His head hangs low. His shirt is torn down the front, exposing the deep purple bruises that litter his torso. Blood drips from his nose and split lips to stain white fabric and forge red rivers through the hills of his abdomen muscles. If not for the pink flush to his skin, you would think him long dead.

The hand that raises to your mouth partially conceals your shock, but the rest of your face gives the emotion away. Your eyelids don’t seem to be able to blink anymore, and your brows will not lower from their position high up on your forehead. You don’t know how to swallow what you see.

With a sigh, Feyd says, “Wait a moment. He’s not very lively.” Then he steps around you toward your betrothed, lifts the man's head by his cropped blond hair, and hits him across the face with a smack that echoes throughout the cell. Scarlet droplets splatter across Feyd’s forearm like flung paint from a brush.

Aldo jolts awake, body convulsing in a sharp jerk. His eyes blow wide as saucers as he snaps his head in all directions and struggles against his binds. The gag in his mouth muffles his whimpers of panic.

“H-How?” you stutter, glancing at Feyd. “When did you—”

“I had some of my men snatch him last night,” Feyd informs you. ‘While we were busy fucking’, he leaves out. “I was told it was done without difficulty. Didn’t put up a decent fight of any sort.”

He grabs Aldo’s jaw, fingers pressing into the hollows of his cheeks, and forces his head so he has no choice but to look directly into Feyd’s eyes. “We had a long talk about respecting our women, didn’t we, Kenric?”

Tears stream down the man’s face, cutting through dried blood and dripping onto Feyd’s hand. Aldo tries to yank his head free from the tight grasp to look at you. You think he’s repeating your name behind the stuffing in his mouth, but you can’t be sure.

“What are you going to do with him?” you ask.

“What would you like me to do with him?”

“I can decide?”

He laughs. “Of course. I wouldn’t give you a gift and not let you choose what to do with it.”

You almost flinch in shock. You’re not known for choosing things for yourself. Until you met Feyd, ‘choice’ was a word associated with negativity and obligatory sacrifice. He is the one thing you’ve ever chosen. Your clothes, your hair, your studies, your husband—all selected for you. But Feyd…you met him and fell and didn’t want to get back up.

Maybe now, you don’t have to.

“You’d kill him?” you ask.

Aldo screams behind his gag, more salty wet lines running down his face. His squirming shifts the chair back and forth and forward and back. Unevenly distributed weight nearly causes him to fall on his side, but Feyd sets him upright before he can crack his head on the stone floor.

Reaching around his back, Feyd pulls out a small knife and in one sharp motion sinks it into Aldo’s thigh with a sickening yet satisfying thick thud. “Stay put,” he growls, then he turns to you with a smile. “Yes, I would kill him, if that would make you happy.”

Water pools in the corner of your eyes. Your bottom lip begins to quiver. Feyd rushes to you and cups your cheeks in warm palms.

“Do not cry,” he demands as his thumbs brush over your cheekbones. “You know I hate it.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, sucking in a few deep breaths between your sniffles. “No one has ever done something like this for me before.”

His face softens. “I’d do everything for you,” he swears before drawing you in for a kiss; slow and sensual and sweet in front of the broken man who currently has a claim on your hand. You lose yourself to mouths moving in perfect sync until he pulls back.

“So, do you have a preference?” he asks, giving you one final peck. “Slit throat now, or arena in the morning?”

Your head tilts in contemplation as you observe the distressed, wailing man who has happily hurt and terrified you. By nature, you are not a violent woman, not in the way your man is a violent man, and you were raised to believe that it is improper and rude and disrespectful to wish pain upon someone else—downright cruel or whatever—but there’s a sense of freedom now. Clearer mind, lighter heart, straighter spine, weakened conscience.

You raise a brow. “If I choose the arena, will you make a show of it?”

Feyd hums in agreement.

“And, um…” you pause.

“You can have anything you want,” Feyd says at your hesitation.

You nod, your confidence renewing with his encouragement. Yes, he’s right, you can have anything. With Feyd, it’s anything, and it’s conditionless.

As you slowly drag your hand down his chest, you peer up at him through your lashes. “Will you go in without a shirt? I’d like to see you come out covered in red.”

Feyd smirks then steps out of your arms and crouches in front of your soon-to-be-former betrothed. “Did you hear her?” he asks Aldo as he flicks the hilt of the blade sticking out of his flesh. Aldo whimpers, pressing his legs together. “Covered, she says. And I will give her what she wants because I love her and this is how I respect her.”

Leaning down, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Let’s go to our room. I want to thank you…properly,” you whisper, softly kissing just under his ear before sucking his earlobe into your mouth. Feyd groans.

“And then I will properly thank you for thanking me, my love,” he says with a grin that falls into a frown when he turns back to Aldo. “See, Kenric? Respect.” Feyd slaps the top of Aldo’s leg for emphasis as he stands. “You can keep the knife for now. Can't have you bleeding out. We have an important day ahead of us and I don’t want it to be too easy.”

“Come on,” you snicker, pulling him by the hand as you walk backward out of the cell.

Feyd spins and grabs you at the waist to lift you into his arms. You giggle as your legs lock around his hips.

“Will you agree to marry me now?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you tell him, your lips ghosting over his. “You saved me.”

tags (let me know if you want to be on the list): @avidreader73

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha #dune part 2 #austin butler #feyd rautha fic #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune

1K notes · View notes

chososdiscordkitten · 6 months

Text

Kneel.

Synopsis: Priest!Nanami being completely and utterly tormented by nasty thoughts of reader (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Pairing: Nanami x Fem!Reader Content: pwp, plot before porn, catholicism, questioning faith, sooo much guilt, reader is 29, nanami is 34, reader kinda mysterious -.-

MDNI

Nanami’s life as a priest was busy- no time to be bored, nor time to yearn for more. Two or three funerals a month, mass every day- more than twice on Sundays. A handful of weddings a year, the many church groups he would oversee. His schedule was almost always fully booked.

His life was steady- a routine he followed every day. A life he was riding down happily.

And when that peaceful life hit a bump, Nanami felt his life could be derailed entirely if he allowed it.

‘I do it for my god.’

‘I do it for my parish.’

That’s what Nanami reminded himself of when your eyes would catch onto his.

Preaching Sunday mass to the churchgoers- trying to direct his words to everyone. But whenever he did a scan of the room, his eyes stuck onto you for a brief moment.

Unable to shake the split-second thought of how you were the kind of woman he would have talked up in his 20s. He would shoo them aside before his expression could show what he was thinking. Placing his focus on preaching, instead of you.

You, who always sat at the very back of the church hall. And always with a questioning peak on your brow.

But only you never stayed long enough after the service was over for him to properly introduce himself. Always walking out the minute the church-goers stood up to bid farewell to their neighbors.

Even if he was held back by shaking hands- praising him for such a wonderful sermon. Nanami’s eyes still caught a glimpse of you that left the giant wooden doors of the church. Even more so, the clicking of heels against the tile- proud steps away from him as though you had completed your task.

Never did you stand for the sacramental wine nor the offering of the body of Christ. You only stayed in one of the pews at the very back and watched the line of merry people take them from his hands. A tilted head in curiosity with a small smile, as though you were poking fun at them in your mind.

Day by day, sermon by sermon, you started inching towards him. One pew after the other. And when he finally noticed how close you had gotten, a mere 4 benches away from him. Nanami could see you up close now- the revealing collarbone that stood prominent with every inhale you took, the curve of your neck when you tilted it to the side. And every slight squint you would make as he spoke.

Seeing you from a distance was one thing- being able to hide his catching gaze whenever he would address the flock.

But now, he could see you even closer, his eyes catching onto how your lips would slightly purse. Almost in disbelief—when he would recite direct words from the Bible. Caused him to stutter over his words, excusing himself quickly before continuing.

The part that made his mind reel was the congregation avoiding you. As though you weren’t even there. And Nanami knew this was impossible. A beautifully haunting churchgoer would’ve been swarmed by the single men of the church.

But to you, they never mattered. Always swatting them away with one harsh look- at times, the aura you held was enough for them to steer clear. And the women of the flock didn’t find it very church-like that you did not greet them upon entry nor bid goodbye to your neighbors when the service was over.

And the blatant isolation only made Nanami worry- knowing the church’s people can be judgemental at times.

The Father blamed his priest nature for wanting to introduce himself. Knowing you had been attending for a few weeks now, and wanting to see if you were finding your way in the congregation.

Seven years wearing the white collar made Nanami think he had some sense when it came to acknowledging a troubled soul. However, the unfazed expression you would hold as he spoke and the slight look back at him when you would leave the church, left the man more troubled than you could ever be.

At once, while he was speaking- preaching the words he carefully chose from the good book. Nanami’s eyes caught onto yours. Stuttering over his words as he watched you raise a brow and tilt your head, all with a vexing smile on your painted lips.

As though you were taunting him for the stumbling, he saw it in the way you looked at him. Nanami felt your gaze on his skin as he spoke. Felt it burn into him with every word.

And when you finally lined up with the others during the eucharist. His jaw clenched, a sprinkle of nerves coating his hands as he watched glimpses of you through the line of people. Even lined up- you stood out.

As you came closer to him with every person he gave the small wafer to, Nanami felt his heart start to pound. Never spoken to you- never even introduced himself. And his heart was racing.

When you stood before him; Thick eyelashes and plump lips greeted him with a small smile.

Blinking softly and looking up at him, parting your mouth and pressing the tip of your tongue to your bottom lip. Nanami inhaled, his hand lightly trembling as he held the little cookie.

Looking into his eyes as he placed the weightless wafer to your bottom lip. His adam’s apple bobbing with a gulp, watching you pull the wafer into your mouth with a grin before leaving the line.

The interaction wasn’t longer than a second- but it shook the Father to his core. Knowing that for the first time in the seven years of being in the priesthood, the first time since he was ordained– he had questioned his faith.

For the rest of the mass, Nanami couldn’t shake the image of you from his mind. With every blink, he saw a flash of you, softly batting your eyelashes up at him with your lips parted. Even more so when he would scan the audience and see your face, a smirk on your expression, as though you were aware of the torment you had inflicted on the priest.

Nanami didn’t know what brewed in his soul; he had no clue what called him to you. Why you were so tempting.

That evening, when the large room was emptied. The Father prayed. He prayed and repented for the wisping thoughts that dared enter his mind.

‘Let me help this woman,’ he prayed, ‘Let me help you find your way.’ as though he was speaking to you directly, unaware of what plagued you or why you ended up in the church's halls.

Pleading with the ethereal being in the clouds to help him. To help him see why you were put before him. And what lesson you were meant to teach him.

Even as he was preaching the words written in the Bible. He would pray in his mind- begging the Lord to rid him of the plaguing thoughts of you.

When he would kneel, close his eyes, hold his hands together against his lips and pray to his god; Nanami always expected some divine insight to race into his mind once he rose from his knees. He always hoped his god would tell him how to fix his issues.

And so far, it had been a one-sided conversation.

Tuesdays were spent sitting on the uncomfortable wooden confessional bench, hearing the same issues the regular churchgoers would come to confess.

‘Anger, gluttony, greed.’

It was always the same—the same menial sins from the same people. Nanami often wondered if they had not tired from the repetitiveness. If they were not as exhausted as he was from listening to the problems they refused to fix.

After the last regular left the booth, Nanami checked his watch. Noting there was only 20 minutes before 6pm. Part of him wanted to leave the booth then and there. Lock the doors of the church and continue his work in the office.

But something told him to stay.

Knowing he was right as he heard the heavy doors open, and the light clacking of heels hitting tile. Getting closer and closer as the Father awaited the curtain next to him to open.

He cleared his throat as he heard someone ease onto the wooden bench. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” he spoke, hearing your voice whisper an ‘amen’ along with him.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Nanami closed his eyes- almost in pain hearing your voice ring through his ears.

Silk and smooth as he expected. “It has been 14 years since my last confession.” your tone conveying a small smile- the same grin you would have on your lips during mass.

The man couldn’t speak- his cheeks ran with slight tingles as he heard you.

“I’ve committed a handful of sins, Father. I don’t know where to start.” tilting your head to the side and awaiting the mans guidance.

He inhaled, shaking off the feeling of thinking it was you behind the screen. “Of all of them, which seems to be the one that weighs on you most?” his tone was steady- stark contrast to his pained expression.

“The one that plagues me most-” lightly humming, almost taunting him as you thought. “May I be honest?” you spoke- hearing quiet shifting beside you.

“Of course. Please- be honest.” Nanami urged, eager to know why you were placed in his path. Why you.

The grin that arose on your cheeks was one that shouldn’t have. “I have been lusting after a man I shouldn’t be.” You spoke with a light rasp in your tone. Proud shoulders, not daring to falter their posture.

Nanami clenched his jaw. Pondering if he genuinely wanted to tread through these waters.

“I have thought vile things while in his presence.” spoken just shy of a whisper- loud enough for him to hear. “I try tempting him.”

It wasn’t your words- nor the sultry tone you took that bothered the Father. It was how callous they fell from your lips. How easily you admitted these sins and how unapologetic you sounded.

Even if you had not physically done anything— the sins were only committed in your mind—your confession showed him you were on the steps to show some kind of penance.

“Do you know the ‘Act of contrition’ prayer?” Nanami asked, hoping the words would bring him back to stable ground.

“I do.” you spoke softly, awaiting his instructions.

Gulping softly, “Kneel.” he commanded, his tone sending a direct spike of warmth down your spine.

Slowly shifting onto the ground, placing your elbows onto the wooden seat, and interlocking your fingers together. “Pray.” the Father spoke in a curt breath, his tone all but begging you to.

You closed your eyes. “My God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee,” softly reciting the prayer as the Father mouthed the words as you spoke them.

Even as you recited the rest of the prayer- instead of helping, this only fed the rot growing in Nanami’s brain. Now, knowing you were aware enough of Catholicism and still thought of vile things, he refused to imagine.

And as he recited a prayer of absolution- he begged in his mind for you to pray for him as well.

Pray for him to find the strength to keep the box of carnal thoughts he locked away when he was anointed at bay.

Even if the priest didn’t believe it, “God has freed you from your sins,” he said. “Go in peace.” knowing that, as it was on Sundays, you would go in peace, whereas Nanami would be left more troubled than when he started.

And as he heard your voice whisper, ‘Thank you Father.’ before the clacking of heels descended onto the tiles. The thoughts inside that locked box dared to reawaken themselves.

Thoughts he reserved only for his early twenties, no longer having the right to access them now. But you- you shoved the reservations aside. Made room for yourself in his mind- what plagued him most was how unsure he was if it really was you behind the wooden fence of the booth.

Nanami would be lying if he said he had never prayed as hard as he did once you left the confession box. Making sure to lock the church doors and light a candle.

Standing at the center of the aisle, the statue of his god looking down at him with tears in his eyes. As though his god was disappointed in him.

Nanami fell to his knees, defeated and scared of what was planted into his brain.

And as he started his prayer, the words sounded as though he was asking for mercy. Pleading with his god to forgive him, to rid him of you and the infiltrating things he pictured as you spoke. He begged for help on his hands and knees- even a light tear leaving his closed eye.

Sunday’s morning mass came and went. Nerves filled his hands as he awaited the afternoon mass to start.

Nanami awaited you- his eyes locking onto the door anytime it opened. He held off the mass as long as he could. And the realization that you were not showing up affected him more than it should have.

And when afternoon mass started, he thought it might’ve been his fault. Had he assisted you better in your confession, maybe you would have shown up.

Nanami made up a handful of excuses on your behalf, that you were sick- or just busy.

But none of them were true. None of the excuses Nanami made up satisfied him enough to still his mind.

And as he was gathering his belongings from the lectern, the church empty and dim as he accumulated his thoughts. The sound of the large doors opening caused him to look up.

The figure of you walking down the aisle in his direction, calf-length black dress and the same black heels that clacked against the tile. your cheeks lightly damp from the heavy rain that echoed through the halls.

Even dressed modestly- the sight of you still troubled the man.

Nanami knew it was only you, him, and his god in that room now. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to use the congregation as an excuse to look away.

He parted his lips to speak, only you spoke faster than he could- “Father, I was hoping we could talk.” a low tone- different from the one you used when you sat in the confessional. But speaking with the same ease that he heard the last time, it made him realize that ‘anonymous’ confession wasn’t anonymous anymore. Nanami was sure it was you now.

And as though his prayers worked- your face looked almost remorseful.

“Not as a confession.” you reiterated, causing the man to gulp lightly and try to gather his thoughts. “Just to talk.”

Ending up sitting in his office- a small room at the very back of the church. Small windows being pelted with heavy raindrops.

Set up in the same way a principal’s office would be. Sitting across from him, desk separating you from the priest.

Even if he sat in the chair that technically held the power- the aura that surrounded you made a chill run down his spine when he eased into his chair.

“How are you finding the congregation?” he asked, words he had been thinking since he noticed your seclusion. And being able to ask you without worrying it wasn't you sitting beside him.

Crossing your ankles and lightly easing onto the arm of the chair, you softly smiled, “The people are kind. I know I can sometimes come off standoffish; they still try.”

Nanami felt a tension in his throat, as if he had taken an overly large bite of a meal he wasn’t ready for. “I had noticed you had not engaged with the others.”

“Did you?” you asked- taking on that little upturn in your tone. Your low eyes watch the man before you gulp. The white collar became tight from the words that sounded all too tantalizing than they should have.

“It made me worry.” he looked down at the calendar on his desk- full of black pen marks of that month’s activities.

You lightly furrowed your eyebrows, “Worry?”

“Worry that you weren’t finding your way in the church.” he reiterated, trying to shake away the nerves and make this as you asked. Just a talk.

Nanami wanted to bring up your confession- he needed to know why you wanted to tempt a man. He wanted to know if you were speaking of him.

“When I see you leave immediately after the service,” he continued, feeling the light searing your gaze onto his skin.

“I never had the chance to properly introduce myself-” he spoke, flashing his eyes at you.

“Do you introduce yourself to every new church member, Father?” You asked, words that almost made the man cough.

“I try to.” he admitted. Even if every cell in his brain told him to lie- to say ‘Yes, I do.’

“I imagine it’s quite difficult- so many people.” you thrummed, softly turning your head to the side and looking at the walls. Decorated with old paintings that had been hung there long before Nanami had been anointed.

His mind reeling with questions a priest shouldn't ask a member of his flock.

“I am.” you hummed, looking back at the man whose eyes widened slightly. Unsure if you had heard his thoughts or- “Finding my way in the church.” elaborating on his confusion.

“Were you raised catholic?”

The little grin that rose on your cheeks should’ve told him everything, but it only caused more confusion for the man. “I was,” you mumbled, looking at the body language he held as he sat.

Tense broad shoulders that made your thighs press together whenever your eyes caught them. A furrowed brow that would twitch when you started speaking. “Around 16 or so, I left the church.”

“And what brought you back?” he spoke—clearer and without fault. He aimed his intentions at helping you instead of trying to aid his wandering conscious.

Looking down to your hands, “When I moved back here- something told me to come see the church.” lightly shifting in the chair as you spoke, “Imagine my surprise when I saw a priest I wasn’t expecting, walk before the congregation.”

He took those words as a negative- as though you were disappointed that he greeted you and not another priest.

“Were you raised in the church?” you asked softly, watching his eyebrows pinch in the slightest.

He took a light breath- “I was.” nodding softly and recalling the memories of his youth. There was a small silence- waiting for him to continue as he expected your voice to speak up. Knowing this was to counsel you- not the other way around.

“Continue, Father, please.” watching his eyes squint and think on it.

Lightly clenching his teeth, he said, “I went to an all-boys Catholic school.” He softly blinked, looking down at his hands.

“So you always wanted to be a priest?” you asked, the question coming off more sarcastic than genuine.

He scoffed with a small hearty laugh- clearing his throat and sitting up. “No- no, I didn’t want to join the priesthood until I was 23.” he elaborated, watching you softly nod.

“What made you turn back to religion?” repeating the question he had asked you earlier, only with a more seductive tone.

‘Because of haunting women like you.’ was all he could think as you awaited his answer.

“I wanted to help people—I want. To help,” he said, words he hoped you would hear and pick up on his urge to assist you.

In your mind, a sneering comment flashing in red- 'You want to help?' almost like a challenge.

“When I came to confess earlier this week-” you brought it up. That’s what Nanami held onto in his mind. You brought it up. He didn’t.

“I still felt plagued by what I spoke to you about, father.” looking at him with a sprinkle of feigned sincerity in your eyes.

Only to the man before you- that false sincerity was seen as an urge to rid yourself of your sins.

His face was still- unshowing any emotion that throbbed in his mind. And you took it as him not remembering. “I recited the prayer of contrition,” you spoke- some attempts to remind him.

Only the Father knew precisely what you were referring to. “I remember.” he assured, softly nodding and allowing you to continue.

“After- I felt even worse.” Bowing your head to hide the smile on your cheeks as you toyed with your hands. “They didn’t stop after I left- if anything,” the words spilled from your lips, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin from what you were insinuating.

“They got worse- more filthy; once I left, Father.” your expression hidden from him- and your tone soft, hinting that this indeed plagued you.

You sighed, “It was unbearable.” accentuating the word with a pained tone. Smiling to yourself, “I’m sure you know the feeling, Father- as though one light breeze would make you combust at that moment.”

“I couldn’t even bring myself to come-” Nanami’s hand dared to clench at your words, “-to Mass this morning; that’s how shameful I felt.”

Answering Nanami’s question without having to ask it- “I thought it would be less frowned upon if I stepped into the church after mass.”

Nanami gulped at the insinuation- all too fearful of what you spoke of. “Have you prayed on this?” he asked, air threatening to choke his words.

Looking up at him with pinched brows, lips parted ever so slightly. “I have never prayed so much in my life before this.”

Your words conflicted with. If you were so godly and sure of Catholicism. Why do your eyes tell him another story? Why do your eyes glimmer with hints of intent- as though you were looking at prey?

“Why do you think these thoughts have yet to leave you?” he spoke- words he said as a priest but meant as a person.

“I think a masochistic part of me urges me to continue returning to the cause.” Words that rung true in his ears- knowing that he was the same. That, he very much could have excused you- tell you he was busy or that he could not talk at that moment.

But the same as you, Nanami allowed himself to allow you access to him. The excuse of closure and the urge to help, used to defend himself to the god above him.

Spoken in a whisper, “Like an itch I can’t scratch.” the Father started contemplating how far it would be if he admitted to the same thing- how bad it would truly be, if he confessed that the very same thing had plagued him.

Nanami was about to part his lips to speak- but the little reminder on his phone rang beside him. Looking down and seeing it- a parish meeting. “Maybe we should continue this next week.” he spoke- almost relieved that he would be able to escort you from the room thick with tension.

“Have I taken too much of your time, father?” you asked- voice churned with the slightest hint of false distress.

Nanami inhaled- “Not at all.” with a smile, “I just have a parish meeting in a few minutes.” he excused. Pushing his chair back and standing.

And as he walked you past the church’s pew benches- a few inches to your side. “How does next Sunday sound?” he spoke, a low tone laced with the tiniest hit of smugness.

Shoes clicking against the tile as he walked. And as you turned your head over to him, a mindless hand was placed on your back. The lightest touch guiding you towards the door.

“Sunday is perfect, Father.” you mumbled, watching his hand open the large door and await you to step out.

And as he watched you leave his church- he almost closed his eyes in relief.

Thinking of the movement Nanami hadn’t made since his days in college- a little action he would use on the opposite gender. It flustered him more now than it ever did.

Life as a priest didn’t require him to touch women- ever so often holding their hands in his as they spoke to him. A handshake, a side hug from the overly enthusiastic housewives after his services.

But that touch- the feeling of your back pressed against his palm. It sent shocks of fear mixed with excitement down his spine.

During the entire parish meeting; the Father’s mind was fogged. Unsure what he was getting into- or why he was so determined to walk head first into this. Even if it was you who caused him to contemplate his life in the priesthood.

Nanami would help you find your way, even if it killed him trying to. Reminding himself of the words in his mind.

‘I do it for my god.'

'I do it for my parish.’

PT 2

(a.n) ....hehe

1K notes · View notes

formulawolff · 10 days

Text

"keep 'em comin'" - m.v.

pairing: girl best friend!reader x max verstappen

word count: 2.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, light marijuana usage, cussing, max munching on some cooter! (that will come later in the fic), enemies to friends to lovers, typical men behavior (being creepy in a bar), mentions of physical threats, kelly slander, THINGS ARE MESSY BETWEEN KELLY AND MAX (so if y'all don't like light infidelity/gray areas then don't read) yadayadayada (y'all already know the vibes)

a/n: hellllloooo! <3 this is my first time writing for max so if this isn't quite like him, i apologize in advance. this fic is based off of a request and i had to write about it since i've been feral for max (he finally took off that damned cap!) this may end up as a two or three part series. we'll see, we'll see!

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

"i see the decrepit hag decided to let you out of her clutches tonight. congratulations for being able to be out and about in public without her breathing down your neck!"

the figure standing to your left scoffs, muttering a few incoherent words under his breath. he slides into the booth, propping his chin up with a hand. the other finds the glistening glass, a bead of condensation rolling down, pooling onto the rigid table.

"about that."

"what about it?" you arch a brow, lips connecting with the rim of your own drink, "max, did something happen before you left?"

he shrugs, brows pinching together as he sips on his mixed drink, a decadent yet smooth concoction of his favorite liquors blended together, "it's nothing serious."

"max," setting your glass down, you lean forward ever so slightly, his name louder than normal over the overwhelming mixture of voices and volume, "what. happened."

"oh you know," he waves a hand, careful not to meet your piercing gaze, "she's upset that i was going out to see you. that's all."

the moment max mentioned her, you knew exactly who she was.

she was kelly piquet. max verstappen's beloved wag. the woman who scooped him up the moment that clock struck midnight on his eighteenth birthday.

the woman you loathed more than anyone in the world.

but you wouldn't tell max that.

after all, you couldn't. the pair had been dating for quite some time. and although max wouldn't say it outright, you were well aware that she was not going anywhere anytime soon.

no matter how much the two fought. no matter how much she wanted to make your relationship with max as strained as possible.

your friendship with max had a rocky start. tumultuous, even. the two of you met when you were both seventeen, as your parents were mutual friends. since max was involved in racing, and you aimed to pursue professional photography, max's father suggested that the two of you get to know one another.

of course, at that time, the last thing teenage max wanted was some nerdy girl following him around. especially when there were other teenage boys involved. cool teenage boys who enjoyed to fuck around with fast machinery.

he teased you relentlessly, tormenting you whenever he could. he ridiculed your photographic abilities, scorning the prints or slideshows you provided. often times, he stated that your pictures were, "absolute shit" and your clip compilations "were not going to get you anywhere in formula one."

of course, you matched his energy. after all, you weren't going to take anyone's shit. you knew you had to advocate for yourself. you weren't going to make it in the industry if you weren't assertive.

eventually, your snapshots landed you a job at red bull. well, max did have a part to play in that.

after a couple of years, the dutch driver apologized for the way he treated you at the time, requesting a truce. the truce would consist of you sticking around as his personal media manager.

in turn, he would promote your work to the world of formula one and assist you in your way up the ladder in any way he could. he would land your sponsorships. he would chip in some cash here and there to get you more advanced software or equipment.

the only stipulation was that you had to follow him.

everywhere and anywhere he went. every event. every interview. every grand prix.

no. matter. what.

of course, with the stakes involved, you knew it was too good of a deal to refuse. with max's rise to prominence in formula one, you knew it was now or never.

so, you accepted his offer.

oh jos verstappen, what a bastard you were.

cause now, here you were in vegas, sitting across from the man you loved. well, the man you were in love with.

hopelessly and utterly in love with.

"that isn't unusual for her," you scoff, hands reaching for your purse, "i do have something that could lighten the mood!"

"and that is?" max's gaze follows your hand, making note of the delicately wrapped joint between your fingers.

"my friend mary jane!"

"you of all people know i shouldn't be smoking," the dutch driver shakes his head, yet proceeds to scoot out of the booth anyway, "i'll still come out there with you. i won't be taking any hits though."

"yeah, yeah," you wave a hand, "that's what they all say."

as you slip out of the booth, you feel max's hand connect with your lower back, almost guiding you through the throng of locals. a few of them chirp greetings to max, others chattering, creating a buzz within the air.

well, there went any sort of anonymity.

so much for keeping a low profile for the weekend.

yet, when in vegas, that was almost impossible to maintain. especially when you were a man of max's caliber.

the two of you manage to slip out, just before fans started asking for autographs. of course, max obliged to a few, signing a cap here and an arm there.

even though it was quickly approaching december, the air was mild, dipping in the low fifties. max hovers to your right, shuddering as a breeze rolls through. you curse as it quenches your flame, motioning for max to stand closer.

"can you shield me for a moment, pretty boy?"

"pretty boy?"

from the way the words tumbled from his mouth, max seemingly was not to keen to the idea of being referred to as pretty boy. yet, he inches even closer to you, providing a barrier as the lighter comes to life, igniting your delicate pre-roll.

"what else should i call you?" shrugging, you exhale, the smoke billowing into the night, "or do you prefer world champion?"

"how much did you have to drink before i got here?" the dutch driver cocks his head, his stare almost picking you apart.

"enough," you respond, lips curling into a devious grin, "don't act like you didn't like that."

"i did," he counters, "that's the issue here."

"and why is that an issue?"

"because we used to fucking despise one another. we used to tear one another apart. and now here i am, going out for drinks with you when i shouldn't be. here i am, looking forward to your texts or your snaps when i know i should be thinking about someone else.

fuck, even when i'm with her, my mind wanders to you. we're together all of the fucking time yet i crave you. i miss you when we're apart. what are you doing to me?"

before your mind can even formulate a coherent response, an individual saunters up to the two of you, drinks in hand.

it's an older man, approximately in his early or mid fifties. he's balding, as a few of the greasy hairs were poorly combed over. he was well dressed, but poorly groomed, as there was quite the scruff plaguing his feautures.

"good evening," his words are directed towards you, yet you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes were fixated on your joint, "i was wondering if the pretty lady could exchange a hit or two for a-"

"she's not accepting shit from you," max's voice is low, the driver taking another half step toward you, almost to shield you even further.

"c'mon man," the man drawls, the words slurred, "i wasn't fucking speakin' to ya. i was talkin' to her."

"and i'm talking to you," max's jaw clenches, "get the fuck out of here."

"and you are?" the man arches a brow, "surely not her boyfriend."

"actually i am," the words are forced through gritted teeth, the driver's fists clenched to his sides, "i'm her fiancé. i suggest you leave before i-"

"got it," the man exhales, rolling his eyes, "it was worth a shot. what the fuck ever man."

as he turns to head back towards the bar, you feel fingers find yours, intertwining together. max squeezes your hand gently, "are you okay?"

"fiancé?" relief ripples as you notice his demeanor crumble, "what was that all about? were you manifesting something or-"

"come on," max tugs at your hand, "let's go to another place. get a few more drinks. keep 'em comin'. keep the alcohol flowin', you know?"

"max," clicking your tongue, you frown as your realize your joint was burnt out, "what is going on between you and kelly?"

"i don't want to talk about her right now," the driver won't even look at you, keeping his focus on the glow and ambiance of the city, "we can talk about anything else but her. please. i don't even want to think about her right now. shouldn't you be relieved? why aren't you relieved?"

"because you look stressed the fuck out!" you retort, "and it stresses me out because i love you and i can't handle seeing you all bummed about some hag who is only using you!"

max freezes, your hand flying up to your mouth. heat floods your cheeks, heart thudding against your rib-cage as you realize what just came pouring from your mouth.

"did you just tell me that you love me?"

his voice is soft. dangerously low. merely a whisper, barely audible over the bustling noise of vegas.

tears well up, shame setting your body ablaze as you nod, biting your lower lip, "y-yeah. and i know i shouldn't-"

"shut the fuck up," hands meet with your cheeks, bringing you in close, "just shut the fuck up and come here."

in that moment, max's mouth finds yours. the kiss is tender, brimmed with nothing but passion, breathing life back into your lungs. it was grounding yet exhilarating, waves of euphoria crashing over.

he pulls away, forehead brushing against yours, "why haven't i done this sooner?"

"because kelly-"

"i don't give a fuck about kelly right now."

"give a fuck about me then," you murmur against his mouth, relishing the way his hands explore, roaming along your back, trailing down to your ass, "you think we should take this somewhere more private? before someone snaps a photo of max verstappen making out with his media manager?"

"that's a good idea," he nods, "i'll arrange an uber."

although it was merely minutes in the time it took between getting into the uber and making it to your hotel room, it felt like an eternity. yet, with the way max's hand gripped your thigh the entire drive, you didn't complain. the other hand held onto yours, pressing gentle kisses to your knuckles.

if only this was your everyday life.

if only things were different.

if only he fell in love with you first.

once the two of you were in the elevator, he maintained his composure, as there were other people stepping in and out. there was even a little boy, in awe that his favorite driver was staying in the same hotel as him. max was kind enough to gift him one of his beaded bracelets, a small memento from a win during the 2022 season.

if only that child knew what his favorite driver was really up to.

once that light on your keypad flashed green, his mouth was on yours, tongue gliding along your lower lip, practically begging for access. his hands were all over, tugging on your clothes, desperate to see what was underneath.

"fuck," there's a rumble in his chest as he lays on you on the bed, pinning you to the mattress.

"what?" you can't help but wriggle a little, slightly flustered by the intensity of his gaze.

"you have no idea how much i've thought about this," a dusty rose hue tinges his cheeks, "i-i almost don't know what to do now. i've thought about it so frequently that i had it down to every little detail. and now i have you here, right where i want you but i feel like i'm going to fuck this up and-"

"max," tender fingers sweep locks of hair from his forehead, "do what you feel is right."

"i just want to show you how much i love you. i need you to know how loved you are."

"i think i have an idea," the tip of your nose brushes against his, "is there anything i can do to help?"

"will you let me taste you?"

instinctively, your hips buck forward, legs spreading so that he can have access. you can feel his cock stiffen in his pants, pressing against your inner thigh, aching for some sort of relief.

"yes," you nod, "you can taste me."

"f-fuck," his jaw nearly goes slack as you guide his hand through the waistband of your panties, the pad of his index finger circling your clit, "you're this wet for me? already? my poor baby. all soaked and desperate for me."

"m-max," the way his name falls from your lips is intoxicating, "i need you."

"are you sure this is okay?" he pauses, eyes meeting with yours, "if at any moment you need me to stop, just tell me."

"you are more than okay. i promise."

fingers delicately unbutton your jeans, rolling them down your legs. in the process, you peel off your hoodie and shirt, tossing them to the floor.

just the mere sight of you half-dressed had him coming undone, his inhibitions slipping away by the second. fuck, you were so stunning. someone who deserved to be worshipped and cherished.

far more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.

situating himself between your legs, max's mouth roams, placing wet kisses all over your inner thighs, hips, and abdomen. his tongue flattens against your heated core, savoring the way you squirmed under his touch.

"you need me to taste you baby?" he coos, cocking his head.

"yes," you plead, skin hot to the touch, your clit engorged, folds slick with juices.

"hmmm," he hums, hands grasping your thighs to spread you open further.

"once i get these off of you, you're all mine. and only mine. got that?"

yet, there was one thing that happened to slip max verstappen's mind that night in vegas.

well, one woman.

the woman he referred to as his girlfriend, but the woman he was not in love with.

kelly piquet.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #mv1 #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you #formula one #f1 fic #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction

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elladreams · 1 month

Text

Echoes of the Past // MV1

summary: An unexpected reunion with her high school bully reignites old wounds and unresolved feelings.

trigger warnings: she/her Y/N, mentions of bullying, smut (18+), dom!max, dub!con if you squint, size kink.

words: 5.4K

The warm Mediterranean sun cast a golden glow on the elegant terrace of La Villa Belle Époque, overlooking the turquoise waters of the Côte d'Azur. Y/N took a sip of her champagne, her eyes casually scanning the crowd of impeccably dressed guests. Her breath hitched when her gaze unexpectedly landed on a face she had desperately hoped to forget—Max fucking Verstappen.

The shock of seeing him for the first time since high school sent a jolt through her. Y/N had spent countless nights imagining this moment, rehearsing every possible scenario, crafting a mental script to prepare herself. Despite her preparations, now, standing on the brink of reality, she realized that no amount of overthinking could have braced her for the adrenaline surging through her veins. Years of therapy and thousands of Euros spent had not insulated her from the impact of his presence; she was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. That’s how much control he still had over her.

She hadn’t exactly been hiding under a rock these past years. His achievements were plastered all over the news, his smug face beamed from towering billboards and shop windows. No matter how many social media accounts she blocked, the gossip, the paparazzi photos—they always found a way to haunt her feed. Somehow, she had meticulously crafted a filtered reality where he didn’t exist in any way, shape, or form.

She had worked tirelessly to erase that part of her teenage years, especially the memories of a particularly cruel boy who had tormented her during the most awkward phase of her life. Every day, he seemed to find new ways to humiliate her—cutting remarks about her appearance, mocking her every move, and ensuring she felt small whenever he was around. It was as if he took pleasure in targeting her insecurities, knowing exactly where to strike to leave lasting scars.

Yet, despite the cruelty, her heart betrayed her; she couldn't help but admire him from afar, drawn to the charm he effortlessly wielded over everyone but her. The worst part was the way her love for him only deepened the pain, turning every insult into a twisted reminder of the affection she would never receive from him.

With him spending most of his time training and competing in Formula 3 races, school started offering her sweet relief from his torment. So imagine her shock when he showed up at the annual summer camp—a place she had always considered her safe haven, where she hoped to blend in and finally focus on building her social life. But even there, he found her, and the teasing that haunted her school days followed her to what was supposed to be her escape.

They were paired together during a hike that led them deep into the woods. She had been quiet the whole time, trying to keep her distance, while he alternated between mocking her and ignoring her altogether. As the sun began to set and the group started heading back to camp, they somehow got separated from the others. It was just the two of them, walking through the trees, the air thick with the sounds of nature and an awkward silence between them.

She was nervous, her heart pounding for reasons she wanted to ignore. Then, out of nowhere, he stopped and turned to her, a strange look in his eyes. Before she could ask what he was doing, he stepped closer, his usual smirk replaced by something darker, more serious. She froze as he reached out, his hand brushing her arm, and without warning, he leaned in and slammed his lips to hers. It wasn’t the kiss she had dreamed of—it was quick, almost rough, and utterly unexpected. It felt more like a challenge than a romantic moment, like he was proving something to himself or to her. The kiss left her reeling, not because it was sweet or tender, but because it was him. The boy she had secretly loved, the same boy who had made her life a nightmare, had just stolen her first kiss in the middle of the woods, with no one around to witness it.

For a brief moment, time seemed to stop. Her lips tingled, her mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. But then he pulled back, his familiar smirk returning as if the kiss had meant nothing to him, just another way to mess with her head. He didn’t say anything, just turned and continued walking back to camp as if nothing had happened, leaving her standing there, stunned and conflicted. She touched her lips, feeling a mix of emotions she couldn’t untangle—anger, confusion, and a tiny, treacherous part of her that had wanted it to mean something more. But it didn’t. To him, it was just another game, another way to keep her under his thumb. And as she followed him back to camp, the weight of that realisation crushed the small spark of hope she hadn’t even known she’d been carrying. She had planned to confront him that very next day, the very day he announced he would be leaving school and joining a Formula 1 team.

Now here she was, dressed in her Sunday best, at this pretentious brunch party with a breathtaking view of the Côte d'Azur, clutching a second Mimosa like a lifeline. She silently hoped that drinking it on an empty stomach might actually give her the liquid courage she desperately needed. But there he was, the life of the fucking party, as always. His dark blonde hair, tousled by the August morning breeze, framed a face that could have belonged to a golden age movie star than an elite Formula 1 champion. His tall, lean frame, clad in a loose linen shirt, towered over an older woman he appeared deeply engaged with in conversation. His crystal blue eyes intermittently scanned the crowd, as he took measured sips from what seemed to be some type of hard liquor on the rocks. The casual yet precise movements gave him an air of effortless control, as if he was both part of the scene and aloof from it, surveying his surroundings with a detached curiosity.

In a surge of raw panic, Y/N quickly turned on her heel, praying he hadn’t caught sight of her. There was still time to slip away, unseen, and pretend everything was fine. But she hadn't shown up just for the free drinks or the minuscule hors d’oeuvres. No, she was here because her darling mother—currently nowhere in sight—had insisted on some quality mother-daughter time, lamenting how rare it was these days.

She downed the rest of her drink and placed the empty glass on a nearby server’s tray with a silent thanks. She needed to leave—now. As she fumbled with her phone, hastily typing an excuse to send her mother, a voice calling her name stopped her cold. A low voice that haunted her nightmares while simultaneously lingering in her darkest fantasies.

“Y/N?”

Her chance to escape had slammed shut, and all the carefully crafted scenarios she had rehearsed now seemed like distant, fleeting thoughts, slipping further and further from her grasp. Panic threatened to take hold, but she knew she couldn’t afford to unravel—not here, not now. She needed to get her shit together, swallow the rising lump in her throat, and face the situation head-on. It was time to end this—no more running, no more letting him hold power over her. She had come too far, fought too hard to let the past cripple her again. This time, she would be the one in control.

A surprising wave of calm washed over her as she turned to face him, her chin lifted just enough to meet his gaze head-on. "Max." She offered a small, composed smile, hoping it would mask the lingering adrenaline still buzzing at the tips of her fingers. "What a surprise." Her words carried a faint hint of irony, as she couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter truth—this wasn’t exactly the kind of surprise she had been hoping for. Still, she held her ground, determined not to let him see the turmoil beneath her calm exterior.

"I could say the same," he replied, his voice dripping with a casual arrogance that hadn't faded over the years. His gaze lingered on her, drifting from her slightly parted lips down to the silk dress that clung to her curves in a way that made his mouth dry. He took a step closer, his eyes darkening with a mixture of intrigue and something more primal. "It's been a while. What, pray tell, brings you here?"

She couldn’t suppress the small laugh that bubbled up, partly from nerves, partly from the absurdity of the situation. Grateful for the distraction, she reached for another Mimosa from a passing tray and brought it to her lips, the cool liquid a welcome relief to her parched throat. "It certainly has been quite a while," she said, nodding more to herself than to him, her gaze drifting away as she feigned interest in the stunning view. Anything to avoid the intensity of his stare. She could feel the weight of his presence beside her, and it took every ounce of effort not to let her emotions spill over. But as much as she tried to appear unaffected, the memories of their past tangled with the present, leaving her struggling to maintain her composure.

"Well, aside from the fact that I live here," she replied, her tone crisp, "I’m meeting someone." She took another sip of her Mimosa, using the glass as a shield. "What about you? Don’t you have a crash to cause or a penalty to collect? It is Sunday, last I checked." Her words were laced with a biting sarcasm that she hoped would keep him at a distance, but beneath the surface, her annoyance was bubbling dangerously close to boiling over.

She forced herself to maintain a calm exterior, trying to disguise just how much his presence unsettled her. Every carefully chosen word, every measured breath, was an attempt to keep him from seeing the effect he still had on her. She couldn’t afford to let him know that after all these years, he could still rattle her with just a glance. So she stood there, chin up, desperately clinging to her composure, even as her heart hammered in her chest.

He seemed taken aback by her sharp retort, letting out an actual laugh that filled the air with a mix of surprise and nostalgia. "Look at her, she's finally grown a spine," he remarked, his tone laced with both amusement and a hint of respect. "It is a Sunday, but it’s also summer break, schat. Thanks for keeping tabs tho.” he said, his voice smooth and self-assured as he took a step closer to her, closing the distance between them to almost nothing. The intimate proximity left little room for anything else, certainly not for any proverbial Jesus.

"We need to have a few words, Y/N; in private," he continued, nodding subtly toward an upper deck that appeared to be secluded from the rest of the party. His eyes locked on hers, attempting to read her reaction, to gauge her willingness—or lack thereof.

Y/N felt a chill at his suggestion, despite the warm air. She eyed the upper deck warily, her mind racing with possibilities. His broad shoulders and large hands, which seemed capable of overpowering her without much effort, loomed in her mind. Though she was by no means petite, next to him, she felt alarmingly vulnerable—as if he could easily overpower her if he chose to.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, carried a blend of wariness and mock amusement. “Really, Max, if you think for a second I'm going to follow you anywhere secluded, you might be more delusional than I remembered." Her words were sharp, intended to push back against his presumption, to remind him that she wasn't the same person he used to bully.

Max's smile didn't waver, but she noticed a flicker of something else—was it annoyance?—flash through his eyes. "Come, Y/N" he insisted, his tone softening. "A few minutes, that's all I'm asking.”

Y/N hesitated, her resolve flickering as curiosity pricked at her defences. What could he possibly have to say that couldn’t be discussed right here, surrounded by the safety of the crowd? Despite her reservations, a part of her needed to know. She nodded, whispering a quiet approval, her voice barely audible over the buzz of conversation around them.

He responded by reaching out and gently grasping her arm, his grip firm yet surprisingly tender. He guided her through the throng of partygoers, leading her up the stairs to the secluded upper deck. As he manoeuvred them through the crowd, his touch—a mixture of control and care—tugged unexpectedly at her heartstrings. It resurrected a swarm of emotions she had diligently worked to suppress, the memories of their past interactions mingling with a confusing sense of present vulnerability and an inexplicable hint of safety. The duality of her feelings, the blend of old fears and an emerging trust, left her both anxious and strangely anticipatory as they ascended to the quiet of the upper deck.

He set his drink down on a railing overlooking the Mediterranean and ran his fingers through his tousled hair, drawing a deep breath. Surprisingly, he seemed just as nervous as she was—a stark contrast to the unflappable demeanour he usually displayed. Hell, he drove at impossible speeds, there’s no way a conversation with little old her would even raise his heart beat.

“I spent a lot of time thinking about what I would say to you if we ever met again,” she confessed. He sighed, turning to face her with an expression that was difficult to read, his eyes holding a mix of anticipation and caution.

“And what did you prepare for today?” he asked, his voice steady. He downed the remaining liquor in his glass, the ice clinking sharply against the sides as he set it back with a slight thud.

A wry smile flickered across her lips. “I seem to suffer from a sudden case of amnesia,” she quipped, her tone light but her eyes serious. She placed her glass next to his, the gentle clink echoing their earlier years of discord. “It was something along the lines of: You made a good part of high school hell for me, I’ve talked about you in therapy, and you had no right to steal my first kiss...and so on.” Her voice trailed off, but her stance was firm, her words laying bare the wounds that still lingered from their past.

He seemed aware that he owed her several apologies—aware but clearly not pleased about it. Yet, the mention of that stolen kiss visibly shook him. His hands gripped the rail, knuckles whitening as if he needed the support to stand. “You never deserved the way I treated you,” he said, his voice laced with an angry edge, more at himself than at her. “That was a different person back then, someone I can't bring myself to be proud of.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Max paused, taking a deep breath as he continued, struggling to articulate his remorse. “I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on those days, trying to understand why I acted the way I did and how I could have been so cruel.” His gaze met hers, earnest and searching.

Max leaned closer, his voice dropping to a huskier tone, charged with a mix of regret and unresolved tension. "You know, it was always your reactions and banter that captivated me," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers, searching. "That curiosity, that fire—I found it irresistible. My father would've had a fit if he knew. He wanted me completely focused on racing, living and breathing every turn of the circuits.” She could feel his whiskey laced breath on her face as he grabbed a lock of her hair and started playing with it mindlessly.

He paused, his gaze intensifying. "So, I hid behind teasing, masked my true feelings with taunts. It was the only way I could interact with you without crossing the line I was supposed to keep. But every jibe was just a poor substitute for what I really wanted to say." He moved a step closer, his presence overwhelming. "I regret that—more than you know.”

Each word Max spoke seemed to weave around her, slowly turning up her internal heat despite the cool, refreshing breeze off the sea. He was close enough now that she could catch the scent of his skin—a complex fragrance that mingled the fresh, salty air with the rich undertones of spiced woods and amber. The aroma enveloped her, drawing her in, stirring a mix of memories and desires. It was as if the subtle layers of his scent were designed to beckon her closer, awakening a longing she thought she had long buried. As she breathed him in, the proximity made her heart beat faster, her thoughts tangled between the past pain and a present, pulsing attraction.

She was the one who slammed their lips together this time, champagne mixing with whiskey in a tango only they could dance. His hand traveled from the delicate edge of her hair to the back of her head, gripping a fistful and drawing her even closer. The intensity of his hold only deepened their kiss, pulling them into a moment that felt both reckless and inevitable.

She was completely and utterly lost as he devoured her mouth with a passion that she never thought possible. He forcefully nibbled at her lips, the pressure of his tongue dancing against her own ripping gasps from her throat. His hands where everywhere and yet not where she desperately needed them as her own trembling fingers were weaving through his hair. When he came up for air he rested his forehead against her own breathing heavily. His expression was reminiscent of Cabanel’s Fallen Angel, both tormented by the impact of their own choices.

“Tell me to stop.” He ordered as he cupped her face, his forehead never leaving her own. If someone had told her early this morning that she would soon be on the verge of dry humping her high school bully, she would have slapped said someone across the face. Yet here she was, gasping for air and shaking her head because words were just not compatible with the her level of arousal.

“Please don’t.” were the only words that she could muster out and it was all the confirmation he needed to fully ravage her. Their mouths resumed their favorite dance as Max’s hands started travelling south cupping her breasts through her silk dress, her nipples so hard he could see them through her bra. She couldn’t help but moan in his mouth. Everything was so intense with him, he knew just how much pressure to apply to dance on the edge of pain and ecstasy.

His hands continued their journey finally reaching her heat, making her sigh with pleasure. Her dress was bunched up at her hips now, leaving her legs exposed to his hungry gaze. He traced his fingers down her thigh, slowly, deliberately, as if trying to memorize every curve. As he reached the sensitive spot behind her knee, she let out a gasp, the sensation sending shivers through her body. His touch was electrifying, awakening parts of her she didn't even know existed.

He smirked as his fingers trailed higher, inching closer to her core, never taking her eyes off of her face. She trembled in anticipation, eager for his touch. But instead, his fingers suddenly stopped, lingering just a few centimeters from her center.

His voice was husky, his breath warm against her ear. "Are you sure you want this?"

She could feel her face flush, her body aching for him. "Yes."

"Beg me."

Her eyes widened, surprised by his boldness. "What?"

He chuckled softly, his hand still resting on her inner thigh, just inches from her core. "You heard me." His gaze locked onto hers, a mix of mischief and desire. "I want you to beg me."

His words sent a jolt of arousal through her, her pulse quickening. She had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But despite her embarrassment, the desire burning within her was undeniable. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, before speaking again.

"Please," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly. "I want you, Max"

His eyes flashed with satisfaction, his lips curling into a smirk. "That's my good girl."

With that, he finally gave her what she craved, his fingers sliding over her underwear. She moaned as he stroked her, her body responding eagerly to his touch. His other hand moved to her breast, squeezing it through her dress, and she arched into his palm, desperate for more contact. Without a warning he grabbed her drenched panties, sliding them down her legs. She could have sworn she saw him shove them in his back pocket but with all the dopamine and anticipation, she was simply an unreliable narrator.

Max gathered her in his arms leading them to an alcove where a table sat, patiently waiting for them. She could feel the cool marble on her thighs as he lifted her to sit, spreading her legs and kneeling before her. There was something so primal about the sight of him, her high school tormentor, on his knees before her.

Her legs parted and he took a moment to appreciate the view, making her squirm under his ravenous gaze. She was already so wet and he slid his finger inside her, groaning in satisfaction at the feel of her incredibly tight walls around him. She bit back a whimper, her body aching for more. He added another finger trying to prepare her for him, curling them just right and eliciting a string of whimpers and moans from her.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice husky with lust. She needed more, her hips bucking against his hand. She could feel her orgasm building, her breath coming in short gasps. But just as she was about to fall over the edge, he withdrew his fingers, leaving her aching and unsatisfied.

He looked up at her with a devilish grin, his eyes dark with desire. "I'm not done with you yet."

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her legs wider, his mouth moving to her entrance. She let out a gasp as his tongue flicked across her clit, sending sparks of pleasure through her body. His fingers joined his mouth, teasing her, exploring her. She was completely at his mercy, her body writhing with pleasure.

"You taste so fucking good," he growled, his voice thick with desire as he was mercilessly lapping at her, drinking her nectar like the sweetest ambrosia.

The sensations were overwhelming, her body overwhelmed with pleasure. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, her orgasm imminent. And just when she thought she couldn't take any more, he curled his fingers inside her, hitting the perfect spot, and she came undone.

"Max!" she cried out, her body shuddering with pleasure. He worked her through her orgasm, his tongue and fingers bringing her to new heights of ecstasy. It was like nothing she had ever experienced, the aftershocks rippling through her body, leaving her spent and trembling as tears of pleasure started streaming from her eyes.

He stood, his erection prominent against his pants. He pulled her to him, his mouth crashing down on hers. She could taste herself on his lips, a hint of sweetness mixed with his own unique flavour. It was intoxicating, and she melted into his embrace, her body still tingling from her climax. He took a second to lick her salty tears, as if the very taste of them was an aphrodisiac. She couldn't believe what had just happened, her mind still reeling from the intensity of the experience. But as she gazed up at him, his eyes dark with desire, she knew there was no turning back.

He was everywhere, surrounding her, his presence overwhelming her senses. She could feel the hard planes of his body against hers, the heat of his skin burning through the thin fabric of her dress. She clung to him, her hands exploring his back, his muscles taut beneath her touch.

As the initial rush of pleasure began to subside, Y/N realized the gravity of what they had done. This wasn't some random hook-up—this was Max, the boy who had once made her life hell. The man she was supposed to hate. The man who, despite everything, she had never been able to fully get over.

She could feel the walls she had carefully built up over the years starting to crumble, the floodgates opening and unleashing a torrent of emotions she had worked so hard to keep at bay. She tried to push him away, to regain some semblance of control, but his grip on her was too strong.

"Let me go," she protested, her voice shaky and uneven.

"Not a chance," he growled, his lips trailing along the side of her neck, his stubble rough against her skin.

"You don't get to walk away this time."

He lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She could feel his erection pressing against her core, his hands gripping her thighs. He carried her to the nearest wall, her back taking the brunt of the impact. His mouth was on hers again, his kiss rough and demanding, stealing the air from her lungs. She was drowning in him, the feel of his body pressed against hers, the taste of him on her lips. It was intoxicating, addicting, and she knew she was lost.

"This is wrong," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"So fucking right," he countered, his mouth claiming hers once more.

She could feel his hard clothed erection rubbing against her bare cunt, she was probably dripping all over his pants. It was the hottest thing she had ever experienced. He ground his hips into her, his covered length sliding between her folds. The friction was incredible, and she let out a soft moan, her body responding to his touch.

"Do you feel what you do to me?" he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I've wanted this for so long, dreamed of it."

His words sent a thrill through her, a rush of adrenaline mingling with the pleasure coursing through her veins. He freed himself from his pants, eliciting a gasp of surprise from her. In truth, she had limited sexual experience, but nothing could have prepared her for his size. She had to remind herself to breathe as he positioned himself at her entrance, his tip sliding between her folds, teasing her.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hands gripping her thighs so hard they would certainly leave marks. He probably read her fear in the expression, "I'll take you slow in the beginning" he said, his voice low and gravelly.

He pushed inside her, his girth stretching her, filling her. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and she buried her face in his neck, her fingers digging into his back. The stretch was unlike anything she's ever felt before, but the pleasure was equally intense. Her body began to relax, the pain starting to give way to pure intense ecstasy.

With another push he was fully seated inside her. He paused, letting her fully adjust to his size. "Breathe through it." he instructed as he stroked the back of her head.

She followed his command, inhaling deeply, and the sharp burn began to fade, replaced by an overwhelming sense of fullness. It was like nothing she had ever felt before, the pleasure almost too intense to handle.

"So fucking tight," he groaned, his voice strained. "So perfect."

"I can't," she whimpered, her body trembling, on the edge of collapse.

"Yes, you can," he growled, his grip on her thighs tightening. "You were made for me."

He began to move, at first his thrusts slow and deep, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through her. He raised her head from the crook of his neck to gaze into her eyes, finding a slow rhythm, their bodies moving in sync, their breathing ragged and heavy.

Her body responded to his, hips rocking against his, her nails digging into his back. She was lost in the moment, the sensations overwhelming her, her body consumed by the pleasure of his touch.

As their pace increased, her thoughts began to melt away, her body giving in to the pure instinctual urge. His thrusts became harder, more urgent, and her climax was building, the pleasure mounting with each stroke.

She was so close, the pressure coiling deep inside her. But before she could reach her peak, he suddenly stopped, his breath ragged, his expression almost pained.

"Why?" she gasped, her body aching for release.

"Not yet," he replied, his voice strained. "I want to make this last."

He lowered her to the floor, his length sliding out of her, the loss of contact leaving her feeling empty and unsatisfied. Before she could protest, he turned her around, her palms resting on the marble table as he bent her over.

His fingers dug into her hips as he thrust into her from behind, the new angle allowing him to go even deeper.

"Fuck Max, you're going to break me." she whimpered, her voice shaking with pleasure.

"Oh, I intend to," he growled, his pace increasing, each stroke sending waves of ecstasy through her.

She could feel her orgasm building, the pleasure rising with every thrust. She was on the edge, her body teetering on the verge of release. He reached around and his fingers found her clit, stroking her, the added stimulation sending her over the edge. She cried out, her body tensing as her orgasm tore through her, the pleasure crashing over her like a wave.

He wasn't far behind, his hips slamming into hers as he chased his own release. His fingers dug into her skin, his movements frantic, the sounds of their bodies coming together mingling with their ragged breaths. "Where do you want me?" he grunted, his voice strained, the effort to maintain his composure clear.

"Inside me, please" she gasped, her body still trembling from her orgasm.

He thrust deep, burying himself in her, and she could feel him pulse inside her as he came, his release mingling with hers. He collapsed against her, his chest pressed against her back, his weight a welcome comfort. They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies entwined, the euphoria of their climax lingering.

Eventually, he pulled out of her, his grip on her hips easing, his fingertips grazing her skin as if he was reluctant to let her go. Reality once again came crashing down. She was a mess, her dress bunched up at her hips, her legs still quivering, the evidence of their pleasure trickling down her thighs.

She turned to face him, the afterglow of their coupling slowly fading. Her mother was probably downstairs looking for her, there was no way she could meet her in her current state. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, the intensity of his blue eyes too much to handle.

"I need to leave," she said, her voice quiet as she tried to tame her hair with her fingers.

He reached out and cupped her face, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

"Let me take you home," he said, his voice soft. "I know another way out. You don't have to face anyone right now."

Her mind raced with a thousand questions, but before she could speak, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Trust me, Y/N."

And against all reason, she did.

#max verstappen #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 smut #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen smut #f1 x you #formula 1 #f1 fic #max verstappen fanfic #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #red bull racing #red bull f1 #verstappen reader #verstappen smut

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ynscrazylife · 3 months

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seekers get stitches (poly!marauders x slytherin!seeker!reader)

In your opinion, the Marauders are arseholes. They were tolerable as first years, even as second years, but was they grew up, they only got more annoying as their pranks got bigger and bigger. It doesn’t help that they seem to hate all Slytherins, which is the house you belong to. You understand that yes, many of the students have given the house a bad name, but it’s not all of you! Yet somehow, you frequently ended up on the unfortunate end of many of their pranks.

Now, you’ve had the chance to stand up to them, being the Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch Team this season. James is the Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, giving the Marauders even more of a reason to dislike you. James and Sirius even go as far as to hang around during your team’s practice time, booing you or making jokes at your expense from the stands.

Well, it’s the semi-finals. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Whoever wins this will go up against Ravenclaw for this year’s Quidditch Cup. Everyone is talking about this game — Remus even put his book down to pay attention. Both teams’ chasers have been scouring points, but the crowd’s eyes are locked onto you and James. You can feel hundreds of stares lasered on your back as you race around the pitch. When you finally spot the golden blur of the snitch, you don’t think twice before racing towards it. James follows you and soon, you’re quite literally neck and neck.

“Just give up now, Y/LN! You’re not gonna catch it,” James yells over the wind.

His words vaguely register in your mind, but you don’t pay attention. Everything is riding on this. You’ll either return to the common room as your house’s hero to pat on the back or their villain to torment.

“What, no comeback?” James prods.

You grunt, stretching your hands out. The snitch’s wings flutter against your fingertips. You lean forward as far as possible, one shaky hand remaining on the broom, you’re so close.

But so is James. His hand joins yours. Curse his tall stature, you think. It’s just not fair!

You swear you’re about to have it in your hand when—a bludger beams your shoulder, knocking you sideways and directly into James. The snitch flies away as the both of you fall, tumbling straight towards the ground. Lights out.

When you open your eyes, you find the faces of a couple friends staring back down at you. They tell you that you’re in the hospital wing after a Quidditch accident, with a dislocated shoulder, a concussion, and a broken ankle. Madame Pomfrey used a spell to set your shoulder, but you still need to stay in bed and take potions for your injuries, requiring a longer stay here.

“Who caught the snitch?” You ask, the memories hazy.

“I did.”

You turn your head, only to see James Potter lying in the bed next to you. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are sitting by him and they wave. James’ nose, arm, and leg are all bandaged up.

“Caught it right before you knocked into me,” James elaborates.

Your stomach churns, realizing why only your friends are here and not your team. You lost the game for them, they must be disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, unsure of what you’re supposed to say to that.

“Don’t be, it’s the bludger’s fault. James is just being difficult,” Remus says, waving his hand. Out of the three of them, he’s definitely the nicest.

As the days go on, Sirius and Remus are there every day. Your friends aren’t. They visit a couple more times, then they stop. They’re busy, they have classes, you understand. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. Oftentimes, you end up accidentally listening to the Marauders’ conversations. James gives Sirius and Remus his plans for pranks, the other two update them on what’s going on around the castle.

They visit a lot.

One afternoon, you wake up from a nap to find them visiting again, though, and talking about you.

“Isn’t it weird that her friends barely visit her?”

“Haven’t seen her team around either. Thought Slytherins cared about their own.”

“Must suck for her.”

“Yeah.”

Your nap wasn’t particularly good, with the uncomfortable mattress and scratchy sheets. You open your eyes, frowning at the trio, in a bad mood. “You know, I don’t need your pity,” you say.

Three heads snap towards you, all looking like deer in headlights (you have no clue that for James, it’s truer than you think).

“It’s not - we’re not pitying you. It’s, uh, empathy,” Sirius rushes to cover them.

You roll your eyes. “Uh-huh,” you say, not believing him. You shake your head, tired of lying in this bed and being in pain and having the three of them sit next to you day after day after day. You decide you’re done here, your arm’s in a sling, your ankle’s almost 100% healed, it’s fine.

You throw the blanket aside, standing up, only to stumble. It’s not your ankle, it’s your head. Damn concussion.

“Woah, woah,” Remus says, both him and Sirius getting up to approach you. “You should sit back down.”

“I’m fine,” you say stubbornly, taking a couple more unbalanced steps only for Sirius to grasp at your arm.

“Come on, don’t make us tell Pomfrey on you, it’d really hurt my reputation,” Sirius says, smiling.

You snatch your arm away, anger flaring up. “Like I give a bloody hell about your reputation!” You exclaim.

“Hey, what’s the problem?” Sirius asks, putting his hands up.

“My problem? You guys are the ones who have a problem with me! You’re always asses to me, then you talk about me behind my back . . . I don’t even see why you care where I go or what I do. I’m a Slytherin, remember?” You say.

That quiets the Marauders. They’re not sure how to respond because, well, you’re right. Slytherins are easy to hate, so they hate them.

“Y/L/N, back in bed.”

Crap. It’s Pomfrey. You sigh and do what he says. The Marauders don’t say anything else.

After a couple more days, James is out of the hospital wing, managing to talk Pomfrey into releasing him. You’re still stuck there, as the concussion’s giving you trouble.

It’s lonely without their chatter. As much as they annoy you, you miss it. You miss them. Just a little bit. When they’re not hating on Slytherins, they’re . . . Nice. Fun.

It’s just your luck that they come around again, to visit you.

“Hey,” James says, Remus and Sirius behind you.

You huff. “Hi,” you say, making a tight line with your lips. What are they doing here? They don’t care.

“We wanted to see how you were doing and, uh, talk, if we can?” Remus says, politely smiling at you.

“If it’s more bullshit on pitying me—” you start.

“It’s not. We don’t like Slytherins, okay?” Sirius says, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to you. James and Remus follow.

You take a breath and stare, waiting for the explanation.

“A lot of them believe in all the Death Eater shit,” James says.

“But not all,” you point out.

James nods. “Not all. But we’re pranksters. We prank Slytherins because it’s easy. We also prank other houses but you’re right, we like to target Slytherins. There’s no reason for that other than that we can. It’s-it’s easy to not like them. To convince ourselves that they deserve it. For you, it was easy to . . . To not like you, either. Quidditch rivalry, right? But you have a point. We shouldn’t . . . We shouldn’t be so, ah, mean to all of them. The ones who aren’t into the Death Eater shit,” he explains.

You’re a bit surprised, a bit suspicious. Is this really the truth?

“Not so easy to convince yourself anymore, is it?” You ask.

“No, it’s not,” Sirius affirms.

“We brought cards,” Remus offers, taking a deck out of his pockets. “Figured you were pretty bored in here.”

“Prove it to me that you’re being honest, then I’ll think about playing cards with you,” you say, putting on a brave face. You have no clue that if they’ll actually do it or not.

But they agree to your terms. They start being real, not targeting random Slytherins. They stop being mean.

Eventually, you do agree to play cards with them. You’re almost out of the hospital wing, too. In fact, it’s your last night there, you’ve just beat them all in the game, when you decide to ask them why. What compelled them to come seek you out after James got out of the hospital wing, if not just feeling bad?

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sirius asks, grinning. “We’ve all fallen for you, love.”

That sparks the start of something new for the four of you.

#marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders x you #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders angst #poly!marauders imagine #poly!marauders #harry potter fan fiction #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #marauders fanfiction

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fastandcarlos · 5 months

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Playing With His Hair » F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen

As the night crept in, feeling you play with his hair was often the sign that Max needed to know that you were starting to crave attention. Usually, you’d begin to play with his hair just next to his headset, almost as if to tell him you wanted him to take it off so that he could spend time with you. Max would try and resist it for as long as possible, but eventually he would succumb and take his headset off so that he could feel your hands mess through his full head of hair, much to his satisfaction too.

» Lando Norris

Lazy fingers glance effortlessly through Lando’s hair as the two of you struggle to stay awake, talking in the smallest of whispers to one another. During the long season you worried a lot about Lando and his lack of sleep; if there was one thing that did the trick, it was playing with his hair. You loved when his hair was messy, falling slightly in front of his face, unable to tear your eyes away. As much as he tried to fight it, feeling your fingers over the top of his head was often the magic that Lando needed to finally fall asleep.

» Carlos Sainz

Wet hair is dangerous for you, as you watch Carlos shake his head, water spraying everywhere, you can’t help but hurry across to fix it for him. To begin with, you thought Carlos put up with you, but after so many years you knew now that he did it on purpose, loving whenever you offered to help him out. A wide, cheeky grin would appear on his face as soon as he stepped out of the shower, almost tilting towards your body as if to tell you that he was there and he was desperate for some attention from you.

» George Russell

The finishing touches of you playing with his hair were always appreciated by George. As you watched him fixing his hair ready for yet another press event, his huffs told you that things just weren’t quite right and didn’t meet his high standards. So, in stepped you. Before he tormented himself any further, you’d be there to fix his hair, making sure that every last detail was perfect. You played with the curled strands until they sat perfectly on top of his head, twirling round to show George his reflection and see the smile of appreciation slowly creep onto his face.

» Charles LeClerc

There’s no greater feeling for Charles than the feeling of your fingers dancing through his hair when you noticed him getting stressed as a result of work. You can tell by the look on his face when he needs you there to play with his hair, to curl around some of the loose strands and tug gently through some of the knots that tie up underneath his heavy helmet. Despite how frustrated he may be, he can’t help but let his smile grow as he allows his head to relax into the feeling of your palm against the side of him.

» Pierre Gasly

If there was one thing you were not to touch with Pierre, it was his hair, but that was the exact reason why you loved to do it. Whenever he passed you by, you’d try to reach out and ruffle your hand through his hair to mess it up, much to Pierre’s dislike. He was on edge every time that he was near you, ready to swat your hand away as soon as you tried to reach out to get him, sending you a warning with his glare, despite the fact his face still had a wide smile on it.

» Lewis Hamilton

Lewis loved you playing with his hair whenever you were there to help him out with a new style, attempting any idea that he came to you with. He’d show you a photo of some braids or an updo that he had found that he wanted to try out, and you were always the person he relied on to make his masterpiece come to life. He’d sit down between your legs, leaning his head back slightly, happy to sit peacefully for as long as you needed him too whilst you played with his hair and gave him a new do.

» Alex Albon

You would always be there to play with Alex’s hair, whenever it was freshly washed, and particularly if it just had a new colour put in it too. You loved the bounce in his hair whenever he dried it with the towel; unable to resist the temptation that was in front of you. Alex knew you were coming, he would sit and expect you as you jumped into his lap and began twirling your fingers round a small amount of Alex’s hair. He would try to seem unbothered, but deep down you playing with his hair was one of Alex’s favourite things in the world.

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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wrioluvr · 4 months

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subby vampire x dom male reader pt 2 pt 1

thank u guys for liking kliff!! he's so baby. felt kinda mean and thought about a scenario where reader is like, a regular monster fucker and poor kliff finds out he hooked up with another vampire and gets super jealous teehee... but this is wholesome tho.

content: reader is kind of a player, blowjob (reader receiving), reader loves tormenting the poor old man, more plot-focused than pure smut

★ ; 🦇🍷. . ♱

after visiting kliff at his crumbling manor a few more times, you decided that you were getting tired of making the trip out into the woods everytime, and invited him over to your house instead, an invitation he eagerly accepted. though he kept a calm composure, inwardly, his thoughts were running wild - he would finally be able to bask in a whole home full of your scent.... maybe even steal a few small trinkets he could toy with whenever he felt lonely... or... or even get a feel of your bed, where he fantasised about waking up next to you and spending the rest of his days as your faithful househusband. oh, how delightful.

"thank you ever so much for allowing me to enter your abode. i am most honoured." thanking you profusely, he elegantly sat down on your sofa, only to immediately scrunch up his face in discomfort. you stared at him, puzzled. "what's wrong? you don't like my home?"

"no, no... it's not that... it's just that... this scent is so familiar. in an unnverving way..." he mumbled, talking to himself. suddenly, a look of recognition, mixed with horror, dawned on his face. "correct me if i'm wrong, but... there's not a chance you've had another vampire over.... is there?"

"oh! i forgot you vampires have a heightened sense of smell. yeah, i hooked up with another vampire like, 3 weeks ago." you said nonchantly, like it was the most insignificant thing ever. kliff merely gaped at you, aghast at your casualness. "so... so... i'm not your first vampire relationship?" he asked meekly, almost like he was afraid of the answer.

"well, yes. i dated, hmm...." you start to list them on your fingers. "two vampires, one werewolf, one merman... oh, right, and one evil ass fairy. he was mean."

poor kliff looked like he was about to collapse, his hand clutching his chest dramatically. thankfully he was sitting down, otherwise he would have fallen over. "where on earth do you even find these creatures?"

"i get around."

"and you never thought to mention this?!"

"i mean, i didn't really think it was important..."

kliff sighed, suddenly feeling a little insecure at his complete lack of romantic experience in contrast to your many flings. "may i at least see what your past vampire suitors looked like?" he didn't want to admit it, but he was suddenly feeling very clingy, even more than usual. he had to be better than all your exes! so that you wouldn't leave him like you left them!

"sure. here you go." you pull out your phone and show him a picture, only for kliff to gasp loudly and clutch his chest even tighter. what a drama queen.

"HIM."

"you know him??"

"that little whore was going around sleeping with every man and woman in town a hundred years ago! i cannot BELIEVE he is still so promiscuous in this day and age. he even seduced you..."

"woah! language, kliff!"

kliff stops mid-ramble and clears his throat in embarassment. "my apologies. this is most uncouth of me. i do not know why i am getting so frustrated over this. the two of you are not seeing each other anymore, correct?"

"yes. you're the only one i'm seeing right now."

"and, if i may be so bold to inquire,,,, how was he like as a lover?"

"he was kinda annoying." kilff let a smirk escape his lips upon hearing this. "i knew it-" "the head was good though."

"what- what does 'head' mean?"

"he sucked my dick." you say bluntly.

"oh, good heavens."

"don't be a prude! wait... kliff, are you jealous of him?"

"i most certainly am not."

"at your big age? please be serious." you tease, amused at how possessive he suddenly got.

"do NOT make fun of me. i said i'm not." the pout adorning his face said otherwise.

kliff barely noticed it, but slowly he inched closer and closer to you, eyes scanning your neck as he frantically searched for bite marks.

"did he bite you anywhere? did it hurt? you must know, i would never even consider drinking from you, right?" he took your hand, eyes searching desperately for validation, any form of praise that indicated you thought he was the better vampire.

you rolled your eyes. "jeez, kliff. i didn't take you for the possessive type. don't worry, none of my previous vampire lovers have drunk from me."

that did little to reassure him, since he was on the same page. "then... then... i must be better at this 'head' thing!" he declares, face full of misplaced determination. you almost double over laughing.

"it's not a competition! my god, you're so unserious."

"it does not matter to me! i must be better than that lustful shame of a vampire at every aspect. especially since we are of the same species."

"okay, okay. calm down. i'll let you try."

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

"just let me know you can't breathe or whatever. i'll guide you through your first time, yeah?" kliff nods, a blush extremely prominent on his undead features as he knelt between your thighs. he quite enjoyed this... submissive position.

"also- watch the fangs." the authoritative, yet gentle tone of your voice sent shivers down his spine.

he himself could be considered a monster, but he paled in comparison to the monster that sprung out of your pants once he clumsily undid the zipper. kliff gasped, a look of pure lust and nervousness written all over his expression as your slightly erect cock hovered over his face.

"so... basically... you just put it inside your mouth, then start sucking it. easy enough, right? come on, don't tell me you've never heard of a blowjob in your entire existence."

"of course i have..... i admit, i own quite a bit of... erotic fiction." he mumbles, eyes still on your cock, cheeks growing redder by the second. "but, goodness, it's so different seeing a real phallus up close. especially one of your size."

"phallus??? just say cock."

"mhm...." he hesitates, unsure where to even begin. flustered, he looks up imploringly, silently begging for you to guide him.

you chuckle at his frozen state, completely at a loss on what to do. "so needy. i'll help you."

tenderly, you run a hand through his soft hair, applying just a little bit of power to tug his head forward, guiding him to your tip. obediently, he opened his mouth, taking the shaft inside. it was warm, his rough tongue grazing over your tip, causing you to grip his hair a little tighter. kliff let out a masochistic moan in response. slowly, he ventured further down your length, but unable to reach the base without gagging. he looked up at you with apologetic eyes, but you squeezed his shoulder to let him know he was doing well. "good job, kliff. you're a natural." spurred on by your praise, kliff found a lewd rhythm, mouth bobbing up and down in a continuous passionate attempt to make you feel good.

your small grunts of pleasure kept him going. panting, you ask, "you sure you've never done this before, kliff? you're so good." he frantically shakes his head, mouth still full of cock, as if the idea that he engaged in such intimate acts with anyone but you was horrifying. he was loyal like that. it was intoxicating, the head only vampires could provide - fangs lightly grazing your cock's sensitive areas, the slight thrill unmatched. merman head was sloppy, werewolf head was rough, but vampire head was a little dangerous. you liked that.

soon enough, you were about to cum. you warned him, patting his shoulder twice, he vigorously nodded, giving you permission to cum inside his mouth. he'd only ever been used to having blood in his mouth, so having your cum inside instead was a new experience. but he liked it. maybe a little too much, as he swallowed it so enthusiastically. you gazed upon him affectionately, finding his virgin excitement over such lewd matters endearing.

"how was i?" the breathless question hung in the air, a reminder of the atmosphere thick with your intertwined tension.

cupping his face with one hand, the other stroking his hair soothingly, you muttered the words he most wanted to hear. "you were better than him."

kliff jumps into your arms, nuzzling his face into your shoulder. "thank you. you're the absolute best." he's so content to spend the rest of his days with you. treat him with care, yeah?

>ᵥᵥ< 💘

tags: @4eaever @szapizzapanda @flyingsquids @vampmasc

omg i'm so happy with this one, one of my fav writings i've ever done so far. i felt like i characterised kliff and captured their dynamic quite well here hehehe

#dom male reader #top male reader #male reader #vampire x reader #vampire x male reader #monster x reader #monster x male reader #vampire x human #vampire imagine #wrioluvr: kliff

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prettygiri222 · 9 months

Note

okay but imagine eren seen a video of his baby momma at the club singin sexy redd’s “ FUCK MY BABYDADDY ” 😭😭 he just brings their son or daughter to reader’s mom and goes back to reader’s house and tears them TF upppp.

i can just hear him saying “ fuck yo baby who?? oh aight. ”

I had to add rapper!Eren to this cause it's something I always wanted to write😋

Eren x Black Fem Reader, PLOT + SMUT

rapper Eren Yeager's longtime girlfriend of six years broke up with him after having his first child, Duke Yeager. Eren shared a post on instagram confirming their breakup but stated that the both of them remain in Duke’s life as co-parents. the reason why was unreleased so fans speculated that Eren must’ve cheated because why else would you willingly break up with the famous rapper. his management released a statement saying it was due to conflicting schedules but it was seen as damage control so no one believed it.

during the six years of the relationship, his management managed to keep your face out of the media. but with the way Eren was constantly posting snippets of you, fans soon discovered who you were after matching physical features, traits and location that were found on his story with the ones present on your small instagram.

you two quickly became the it couple, how the girl from nowhere pulled a famous rapper gave fans hope because they saw them reflected in you. a woman who didn’t have to undergo multiple surgeries to pull the industry's finest. but after the breakup, that image fell.

his management did their best to keep things under wraps to keep the media from tormenting you but it didn’t work. when you posted a picture of yourself postpartum your dms filled with hateful comments wondering why Eren had gotten with you in the first place. you knew it was just jealous fangirls but it still got to you, especially since you weren’t all that confident in your new body and still recovering from your pregnancy. your accounts went silent shortly after.

although the breakup was mutual, the reason why was deeper than scheduling conflicts. you needed someone who was able to be there physically, emotionally and mentally. it was hard for Eren to provide that due to his career path, always travelling the world with a packed schedule. you guys did your best to make it work but after Duke came into the world you just couldn’t handle it anymore.

Eren was a decent baby daddy and you guys co-parented well. you had full custody of him but when Eren was in town and would have time off you would send Duke over to him. Duke loved his daddy, always wanting to watch his concerts and interviews on the TV when he wasn’t there or free to facetime. Eren always made sure to send double what was asked for in child support to make sure you took care of yourself as well as his son.

that’s why when you reposted your friend’s story of you in the club all hell broke loose. people took it as a diss to your baby daddy, which it was, but not in the way they thought.

earlier that week you had dropped Duke off at Eren’s mansion. he had just flown back in from his world tour and finally had a few weeks off. despite being exhausted he called you up and asked if you could bring Duke over, wanting to spend as much time with his son as possible during his break. he sent over an uber black to pick the two of you up.

when Eren met you two at the door, Duke jumped into his arms smiling and giggling. it’s been a while since he’s seen his daddy in person. the sight made you awe. Eren turned to you and asked if you wanted to stay over so he could spend time with the two most important people in his life but sadly you declined. you didn’t want to interrupt their father and son bonding time.

Duke was almost a clone of Eren, he had his sharp green eyes, german nose and face shape. the only hints of you in him were his full lips, darker skin and coils. Duke was your little bundle of joy but he could be a handful at times. during the few times those two got to spend together Eren spoiled him rotten, whatever he wanted he got and it showed. whenever you told him no he would throw a tantrum saying how he wanted his daddy. you knew you were a good mother but hearing him say that when you were the one who took care of him every day hurt.

---

it was a friday night and Eren was at his crib chilling with Duke. he had his phone on do now disturb so his time with his family wouldn’t be interrupted. it was a shame you weren’t here to spend time with them. after having pizza, soda and ice cream for dinner the boys passed out on the couch after staying up past midnight watching movies.

his peace was soon interrupted by the constant buzz of his phone. it roused him from his sleep but Duke slept through it. after the third ring, he finally answered the phone. he was pissed that his manager was calling him knowing it was his time off but he figured it must be important for them to use emergency bypass to call.

“what’s going on?” his voice gruff from his slumber and irritation. he turned on his phone to see it flooded with notifications from instagram, snapchat, tiktok, twitter, messages, missed calls from his friends and one from his mom and his heart dropped to his stomach. he hadn't dropped anything new recently so he knew whatever was happening had to be bad.

“well… it’s about your baby mama… she uh…” his manager was at a loss for words. he didn't know the words to describe the situation to make it not seem as bad as the media was already making it out to be. he knew Eren would be pissed when he found out what happened and they didn't want to be on the end of it.

Eren was extremely protective of his family and friends. when he saw the hate you were receiving after you posted a picture of yourself postpartum he took to twitter immediately. he did not play when it came to you, together or not together. you were the mother of his child and you needed your respect. so he was wondering why you were playing in his face like this.

“well what is it?” he snapped, already losing his patience. “is she ok? is she hurt?” he shot upright from his resting position on the couch. he opened up the group chat between him, Armin, Connie, Onyankopon and Jean first. all that was sent was a blurry video followed by a bunch of skull and grave emojis.

he opened the video and immediately recognized the faces of a few of the girls in it as a few of your friends, Sasha, Mikasa and Historia at a club. Sasha, Connie’s model girlfriend was the one to record them singing along to a sexyy red song. he wondered what the video had to do with him until it panned to you. you stood out with your brightly dyed red hair styled in a what he recognized as a wash-and-go.

“fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy!” you were shouting the lyrics a little bit too passionately. you had your middle fingers stuck up to the camera showing off your glittery red acrylic nails. you were clearly wasted, drunk off of whatever drinks Sasha managed to shove down your throat.

“yes bitch!” your friends shouted as you turned around to shake your ass sticking out your tongue. you were wearing a ripped mesh dress. one of your friends reached out to pull down the back of your dress to prevent your ass from showing but the dress was already leaving very little to the imagination. the pregnancy did your body good, you were a bit on the skinny side before but now your hips had filled out, your ass and boobs swole and your skin finally cleared up. you were glowing.

“I’m a fine ass bitch, I ain’t in the in the house sad!” you were feeling yourself. it felt nice to get out of the house and away from Duke no matter how much you loved him. having to take care of a baby by yourself was tiring, no matter how much Eren supported you from afar you needed him there with you.

your friends were hyping you up and your mind grew hazy from both the alcohol and adrenaline. you were far too gone to realize what you said when you yelled “fuck Eren!” instead of the actual lyrics. the camera quickly panned to the floor before the video stopped.

Eren had to replay the video countless times to process what he had seen and heard. but he couldn’t believe it was you. never in the eight years he’s known you have you ever picked up the phone to send a dig at him through social media. no matter how tough the going got, it’s what he respected about you. you always wanted to talk problems through and try to make it work. Eren clenched his fist looking at you now.

Eren knows how baby mamas like you are seen and treated in the industry. he’s seen how they're constantly bashed and embarrassed by the fathers of their children and the media. Eren never wanted that for you, he wanted to give you a ring before he gave you a baby but accidents happen and here you both were. instead of calling him or stopping by to talk you wanted to show out for the fans and diss him. it was stupid of you, he knew you were better than this.

“so it’s “fuck Eren” is that right,” Eren laughed to himself throwing his head back on the couch. sure he couldn’t be there for you and Duke all the time like he wanted but at least he tried. he was a very busy man. but he did what he had to to make sure his mother, Duke and you could have a nice and cozy life. where Duke didn’t have to worry about if he was going to eat dinner that night. “bet.”

“sorry little man but I have to go get your mommy. you’re going to go to stay with your grandma tonight, ok?” he cooed to Duke, waking him up. Duke slowly woke up and was trying to rub the sleep out of his eye. Eren loved his son very much he was the reason he kept this stressful life up.

he enjoyed making music and performing but not during the days when he slept in the studio trying to find the perfect lyrics and beat or days where he hardly slept because he had to stay on his feet. it was a fast life and if he couldn’t keep up it would all come crashing down. and for you to make a dig at that knowing how he felt was fucked.

“Eren Yeager!” his manager shouted through the phone overhearing the whole thing. he needed Eren to keep a calm head and not do anything rash tonight. he didn’t need him sparking more outrage in the media or doing something that could potentially ruin the relationship you two had. “what are you going to do?”

“what else, I’m going to go fuck my baby mama,” before his manager could get another word out he hung up the phone.

“daddy said a bad word!”

“...don’t tell your mom and I’ll bring you to the studio with me.”

---

you wobbled into your apartment with a sheepish grin. it felt like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulder tonight. it’s been a while since you went to the club and got so drunk that the world became a blur. you were slowly regaining memories of what happened that night and you couldn’t help but cringe knowing you would regret some of them in the morning. your phone died on your way home after you reposted Sasha’s story so you were oblivious to the buzz you had created.

when you went to unlock your door you found out that it was already open. you raised your brow but you brushed it off thinking you must’ve forgotten to lock it in your rush to leave the house. you knew the security for your building was tight, it was the main thing you were looking for when you were buying your apartment. it was a necessity since Duke was the son of a successful rapper.

when you and Eren had split you bought yourself a nice little two-bedroom apartment deep in the city. Eren offered to pay for it but you immediately declined, you didn’t want anything else of yours to get attached to him. during your relationship you saved up a lot of money since Eren had always offered to buy you whatever you wanted and spoiled you rotten just like he was doing with Duke. he fueled your shopping addiction only wanting his girlfriend to have the best of the best.

you had a little side hustle as an occasional hairstylist and nail artist for your friends and family with the occasional new client. Eren told you time and time again you didn’t need to work and that he would take care of everything. but you liked having your own source of income it made you feel independent plus you enjoyed your job.

being able to close on your dream apartment was a dream come true and it left you feeling satisfied. you loved how everything was within walking distance, there was a daycare down the street along with an elementary school for when Duke got older. there was a grocery store right around the corner with a few outlets and public transit ran just outside the building, it was perfect for a single mother like you.

“thought we were doing good with this co-parenting shit mama?” the second you opened the door you were greeted by a voice you knew better than your own. goosebumps covered your arms, ‘why is he here’ you thought.

“Eren?” you called out into the dark apartment. you felt the wall closest to the door for the switch and turned the light on. and there he was, Eren, your famous baby daddy. he turned his head to look at you from where he was seated on the couch. his eyes were extremely low, watching your every move. “are you ok? where's Duke?”

“with your mom,” Eren was having such a pleasant high, he felt so relaxed and calm in the dark room. he didn’t have the TV on and was just staring at the black screen. but the second the room lit up and you walked through the door with that tiny see-through dress on it dispersed. he narrowed his eyes down at you and you could tell you had just blown his high. his anger simmering underneath his calm demeanour.

“how’d you even get in?” you never gave Eren the key to your apartment. having already been split and you always dropped Duke off at his place there was no reason for him to have one.

“front desk gave me a key after I flashed a couple of stacks,” he replied nonchalantly, like it wasn’t a crime on both parts. you rolled your eyes, this was how Eren fixed all his problems, with money. you get that when he was growing up it was something he didn’t have but now that he had it was like all he knew how to do was throw it at people to make his problems disappear.

“well if Duke isn’t here then there’s no reason for you to be,” you don’t know what you did to warrant this visit but you didn’t want to be in his presence any longer. you liked to keep your contact with Eren as minimal as possible. plus you didn’t have the energy to deal with him tonight, you were tired. hoping he would get the hint it was time to leave you walked away and headed towards your bedroom, “please see yourself out. we can talk another day.”

“nah, 'cause it’s “fuck Eren” right?” he got up from the couch and followed you down the hall and into your room. the wooden floor creaking under his weight. you didn’t have to turn around to know he was towering over you, you could feel him breathing down your neck. you tried to move away from him but he gripped your waist with a firm grip underneath and pulled you against him. “you must’ve gone crazy going so long with my dick huh? that must be it, acting like you lost your damn mind.”

“Eren!” you pulled away to look back at him in shock. “what are you even talking about?”

“don’t play dumb with me mama, your ass is all over the shade room talking about “fuck my baby daddy” ” he took his phone out of his pocket to show you their newest post. it was a screenshot of a video but it was clearly you, it was the same outfit and hairstyle you had on right now. you swiped the image on his phone in disbelief and the video played, “fuck Eren! fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy!”

“oh my gosh! Eren, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I was drunk and got carried away,” you looked up at him from the phone. you could tell he was pissed, his eyes darkened after hearing what you said in the video for the hundredth time. you were horrified, you didn’t mean to air out your personal problems and make Eren seem like a bad father. you knew how the public blew things out of proportion.

“they say drunk words are sober thoughts,” Eren stated, shrugging his shoulders. “I know Duke be stressing you out ma, let me fix it,” he stared down at you with a little smirk. he licked his lips, obviously checking you out. it's been a while since he's seen your body exposed, you always show up to drop Duke off in oversized sweaters and shirts. just looking at you like this made his dick hard, “plus you owe me an apology.”

that’s how you found yourself face down ass up in your bedroom with the man you’d never thought would step foot in your new apartment. Eren was behind you standing at the edge of the bed, his black and grey nike tech sweater was thrown somewhere in your room leaving him in a white wife beater and his golden cuban link chain. his grey sweats were down so that just his dick was out.

“mm fuck Eren! please,” you cried out. no matter how deeply you arched or angled your hips you couldn’t get him to reach where you needed him the most. he knew that but he loved watching you struggle and the way your brown cheeks jiggled after coming into contact with his pelvis. you were a sight to see, one that he deeply missed.

“you can do better than that mama,” he raised his pierced brow watching you. Eren stood completely still behind you, you had your face buried in the sheets as you attempted to throw it back on him. you were still dressed in your mesh dress but he ripped your thong off. “I saw you in that video. you were shaking that shit so c’mon, fuck me back ma.”

your makeup was staining your sheets but you could care less right now. the feeling of Eren stretching out your practically virginal walls was dumbfounding. he didn’t bother to stretch you out believing that your body was already moulded to his shape. but it’s been about two years since you last had sex. your tight walls were struggling to accommodate his humongous size.

“ ’m trying,” the lack of stimulation on your sweet spots had you in tears. the stretch was pleasurable but it wasn’t enough, paired with the shallow thrusts. you so desperately craved more so you reached in between your legs to play with your clit. Eren groaned at the sight of you touching yourself, not to mention you began to clench around him.

“damn ma, now that’s what I’m talking about,” Eren gave your ass a harsh slap. you let out a little whine as you lost your rhythm because of it. but you soon found it again. your wetness was soaking his dick and you were basically twerking on his dick. Eren loved every second of it.

he took one of your ass cheeks and pulled it to the side with his tattooed hand, he watched himself go in and out of your brown folds. feeling the unsteady approach of his orgasm watching as you struggled to fuck yourself on him he decided to finally grant you mercy. he languidly began to thrust into you. “go ahead and nut on this dick mama.”

“o-okay” you stuttered out. you struggled to concentrate on stimulating your sensitive clit while bouncing back to meet Eren’s lazy thrusts. your fingers were covered in your own wetness while you rubbed little circles on your bud. each loop paired with the tip of his dick pressing against that spongy spot inside you brought you ever closer to your climax. “ ‘m so close!”

“let it out for me baby,” the pace became erratic, you guys’ release at its peak. sometimes his dick collided straight into your soft spot and sometimes it completely missed. but the feeling of him pummeling in and out of you had you convulsing around his dick. “keep squeezing around me like that and I'll put another baby in you, fuck.”

you let out broken whines as you struggled to continuously stimulate your bud. you were soaking wet that your fingers slipped around. “‘ren! ren!” you chanted, reaching out toward him with your slick-covered hand. Eren grabbed it and put it in his mouth. groaning deeply as he licked and sucked on your coated digits.

“don’t worry mama, I got you. let it out for me,” Eren leaned over your arched form and whispered in your ear. his husky sending shivers down your spine as he talked you through it. you listened to him feeling the wave of pleasure overwhelm you, the sensation in your stomach bursting.

“f-fuck, fuck!”

“shit,” when he felt himself about to burst he pulled out of your pussy's compelling grasp. he watched the lewd scene in front of him and used it to jerk off. he groaned out stroking his soaking dick. your pussy hole remained gaping after he pulled out and your liquids were spilling on your sheets. after a few strokes, he released all over your back onto your mesh dress staining it.

you plopped down onto your empty bed exhausted. the room filled with the sound of laboured breathing as you guys tried to catch your breath. the sound of Eren shuffling around could be heard soon after. your heart ached at the thought of him leaving you so soon but you closed your eyes, ‘it’s for the better’ you thought. you wanted a few moments of rest before you went to wash up.

but Eren wasn’t finished yet, he was shedding the remaining articles of his clothing leaving him naked. your eyes opened feeling the bed dip under the extra weight. before you could protest, Eren had already climbed on top of you, grabbing your legs and having them pushed over your head, “we’re not finished yet.”

this time Eren took the lead, he had ripped off your dress leaving you completely naked and exposed to his eyes. he had you folded over like a pretzel leaving you open for him. your legs were bent so far over your head you could see the top of your pussy and watch as Eren thrusted in and out of your overstimulated hole from above. the pleasure made you want to slither away but Eren’s strong hold kept you still.

“E-eren!” you were losing your mind from the stimulation. “too much! it’s too much!” you cried out. you reached out to push against his rock-hard abdomen. you didn’t want him to stop, not when you were so close to your second orgasm of the night but it was too much. he was being so rough with you. you didn’t think you had it in you after motherhood to be manhandled like this.

“nah, you can take it. you’re a big girl now, dissing me at the club with your friends. be glad I’m even fucking you since I’m such a “bad baby daddy.” Eren mocked you from above. he didn’t even flinch as you tried to push him away. he smiled down at you watching how easily you got fucked out. moans were no longer coming out your mouth, more like strangled sobs and whines that were being forced out after each deep thrust of his. the head of his dick battering your insides and abusing your soft spot left you tremoring underneath him.

“imsorryimsorry,” you babbled out. your mascara and eyeliner were running down your cheeks and your lipstick was smothered but you couldn’t look any prettier to Eren. he enjoyed watching as your tits bounce around. he brought his forest green eyes back up to you watching as you bit your quivering lip.

“how’d that song go again?” Eren sarcastically asked. with the number of times he replayed that video he had the lyrics, beat and rhythm all memorized. “something like this right?” pap! pap! pap! Eren changed the rhythm of his thrusts, the sound of his balls clapping against your ass and the squelching sounds of your pussy mimicked the bow bow bow of the song. he angled each thrust to deliver a particularly harsh hit to your g-spot.

without warning an intense feeling of pleasure erupted in your stomach. “imcuming!” you cried out. you could feel a liquid flow out from your pussy, completely drenching Eren’s dick. he quickly pulled out to watch you squirt, a sight he immensely missed. the translucent liquid gushed out of your hole soaking the sheets as well.

“you said fuck your baby who?” Eren smiled down at your fucked out face. you couldn’t even answer him with the overwhelming pleasure rendering all of your senses useless. your head was thrown back and your face furrowed, coming down from the high of your intense orgasm. “oh aight.”

I think I got a bit carried away🤭

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