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queen-of-fanfics · 10 months

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Stay Away From Him

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Prompt: Miguel is jealous of your closeness with Hobie and tells you to stay from him.

A/N: Well I have had too much free time at work and all I've been doing is writing. Kinda love it. Also, how did y'all like Across the Spider-Verse? I saw it four times in theaters, it's like a drug in my veins. Anywho I figured I wanted to do a fanfic in a world that I haven't done yet so here it is!

Part 2

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey, Peter!”

“Hey, Y/N”

“Oh hey, Peters.”

“Oi! Y/N!” Recognizing the accent, you look up in the air and see Hobie swinging his way over to you.

“Hobie! What are you doing here?!”

This was your second week working inside the Spider-Verse headquarters. You were the only person there who wasn’t some version of Spiderman. One day, Miguel O’Hara was in your universe for a job, bing bang boom, next thing you knew, he offered you a job. Your job here at headquarters was to act as his assistant of sorts. Help him with errands, help him on missions, and fetch him lunch because the poor man will work until he starves. That was exactly what you are doing now. You had finished locating the latest anomaly and went down to the cafeteria to grab him some empanadas.

Working at headquarters was like a living dream. So far, everyone seems to like you and you’ve already made friends. Hobie and Gwen welcomed you with open arms and the three of you became inseparable. During your time working with Miguel, you may have developed a little crush on your boss. You never told anyone about how your heart starts beating faster or how your breath gets shaky when he stands a little too close. Though, you never had to say because everyone could see it. And everyone warned you away from the infamous Miguel O’Hara.

“He’s not for you. He’s obsessed with his work and barely knows what having fun or being nice is. I doubt he even knows there’s a life outside of this place.” Gwen said one day during lunch.

“Who’s not for me? What are you talking about? I’m just here to work.” You shovel food into your mouth in an attempt to hide your face.

“Mmhmm, sure. You can deny it all you want but if you keep staring at him all weird like that, even he’s going to start to notice. Just trust me, you should just try to stay away from him. Which I guess isn’t possible since he’s your boss but you know what I mean.”

“Though it does raise the question as to why he recruited her, don’t it?” Hobie chimes in.

Hobie jumps on your back and it pulls you back to the present.

“I’m here for it! Whatchu think? I would willingly come here? Nah.”

“Actually! We just finished a mission so we just came to check in with Miguel.” Gwen swings down and lands right next to you. The three of you continue walking side by side down the hall to Miguel. Hobie throws his arm casually around your shoulder, keeping you close to his side.

You walk into the main room and see that Miguel is standing on his platform up in the air. There are a few people milling around the room, minding their business. People tend to hover around Miguel in case any missions come up or if he needs help.

“Miguel! I got you some empanadas!” You yell up at him.

He turns and barely glances over his shoulder at the three of you. He grunts and rolls his eyes in annoyance but his platform starts its slow descent. Gwen runs over to Jessica and they start talking. Hobie walks with you over to your little desk that sits on the ground floor …. like a regular person.

“So we still on for tonight?” Hobie asks.

“What’s tonight?” You turn and ask Hobie. You lean your butt against the desk to look up at him. He gets in close, places his hands against the desk on both sides of you, and cages you in with his arms.

“Whatchu mean what’s tonight? Did you forget already? Thought you and Gwen were staying in my place tonight!” Hobie teases you.

“Oh, Hobie! I forgot about that, I can’t come over.” Gwen yells over before she turns back to her conversation.

“Guess it’s just us then.” He mumbles and gives you a wink.

Before you could respond, Miguel’s voice booms through the large chamber.

“Y/N isn’t going anywhere tonight.” Looking over, you see that Miguel has lowered his platform as far as it could go and he is staring directly at the two of you with a deadly look on his face. All the conversations in the room died down and you could tell that everyone's eyes were looking between you and Miguel. Everyone treads carefully around Miguel … everyone except Hobie.

“What? You keeping her hostage now?”

All of a sudden feeling nervous, unsure as to what put Miguel in a foul mood and not wanting to make it worse, you try to straighten up and stand in attention but Hobie isn’t moving.

“We’ve got work to do here, Hobie. Unlike you, some of us have things we have to do.” Miguel crosses his arms and stares down at Hobie.

“What work? We caught all the known anomalies already. Plus I was going to work on my bike, give it some more bells and whistles.” Jessica pipes up.

“There’s more work to do than just waiting around for things to happen.”

“Then what do I gotta do, hmm?” Jessica sasses back to him.

“Nothing. I, uh, just want to do some surveillance. Never know ”

“And what Y/N got to do with it, then?” Hobie asks, giving Miguel a weird look.

“Y/N is my assistant. Y/N must assist me. And get off of her Hobie.”

“Right, but it don’t sound like there is any real work to do. I don’t see why Y/N gotta sit here and suffer being around you. And, uh, I’m actually quite comfortable where I am.”

“No no, I don’t mind. It’s my job. I can stay” You rush to say as you start pushing at Hobie’s shoulders.

Hobie turned slowly to look at you without budging and you just stared up at him. “Move.” you mouth to Hobie with beseechment in your eyes. But all he does is smile at you and barely visibly shakes his head ‘No’. Eyes wide, you think to yourself, I’m not going to have a job after this. The room is still silent and no one speaks as the tension rises.

“Everyone out!” Miguel booms, “Looks like no one wants to work anyways. It’s not as if we’re trying to save the entire universe or anything.”

“Oh! Miguel, we wanted to check in about the-” Gwen is cut off when Miguel turns back around to his monitors and yells, “OUT!”

Everyone exchanges nervous looks around the room while they pick up their things. The whole time though, Hobie is looking down at you with a knowing smirk on his face. “What are you smiling about?” You hiss at him as you push him up so you can grab your bag and head out.

“Oh just something I think you should find out for yourself. And you might soon.”

“Ugh, I’m going to kill you.”

Hobie throws his arm around you and leads you out, “Yeah sure, but hey, looks like you can come over after all, aye?”

“Everyone except for Y/N!” You whirl around at the sudden sound but Miguel is still just looking at his monitors.

“Damn, looks like you’re going to find out real soon. See ya sweet cheeks.” Hobie gives you a wink and walks out with everyone else.

You stood in the doorway waiting for Miguel’s instructions but after a few beats, you realized that he wasn’t going to turn around and talk to you. Slowly walking back to your desk, you couldn’t help but notice how the tension in the room did not leave along with everyone else. It still lay thick and heavy in the air. Taking off your bag and placing it on your desk, you turn around to face Miguel. You open your mouth to say something to break the silence but he cuts you off.

“Come up here and help me look at this.”

Your eyes grew wide and you hurried over to the dais. Your heartbeat started quickening with excitement, you have never been invited onto the platform before. Miguel looks down his nose at you with a disgusted look on his face as you struggle to even get your leg on the platform.

“Sorry, don’t got webs like y’all. Give me a second.”

You finally heave yourself up and flop over on your back, gulping down deep breaths of air. “You know, I’m starting to think I’m out of shape.” Figuring that it was time to actually get to work, you jump up to your feet and face the monitors.

“Alrighty, so what am I looking at?” All of the monitors were showing different videos of different universes. Some other monitors had new articles and alerts of potential disturbances.

“Just, uh, keep an eye on some of the security cameras we have posted around. See if you catch any suspicious activity.”

“Were you expecting something to happen tonight? Did you get a tip?”

“No, just doing our due diligence to keep everything in line.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion and you gave Miguel a side-eye look. This is what he’s keeping me here to do? To watch some cameras?

The whole time he was talking to you and giving you instructions, he did not glance at you, just busily pressing buttons and typing something.

About 10 minutes went by in absolute silence with Miguel working and you … “working”. Getting bored and tired on your feet, you start leaning around the table and let out a sigh. Miguel looks at you over his shoulder but turns back to his work. Another 10 minutes go by before he asks, “So you and Hobie are friends?”

Surprised by the question and surprised he even spoke, you responded, “Yeah, I would like to think so. He’s nice, I like hanging out with him.”

“You two have gotten close?”

Getting confused by his line of questioning, you give him a weird look that he doesn’t see. “I mean, I don’t know about close. We hang out with Gwen too. It’s usually the three of us.”

A few silent beats fall between the two of you before he responds, “I didn’t know you were visiting different universes.”

“Hmm, I’m not really. Besides my own home universe, I’ve only just been to Hobie’s. I haven’t seen Gwen’s though not even she goes back there.”

Again he doesn’t reply immediately and the comfortable silence continues.

“I would advise you to stay away from Hobie. He could be a bad influence on you or something.” He mumbles so quietly that you almost didn’t catch it.

“I’m sorry?” You asked, turning your body full to look at him now.

“I said ‘you should stay’-”

“No, I know what you said. But I don’t understand why. What’s going on with you? Are you stressed about something? Do you not like Hobie? Because Hobie has been nothing but nice to me and he’s a friend. He keeps me safe even when I visit his universe.”

“And exactly how many times have you visited his universe, hmm? You two seem pretty comfortable flying across universes together.” It was his turn to turn and face you. Standing at his full height, the tops of your head barely came up to his collar bones.

“I-I- … I don’t know. A few times I guess? 4? Maybe 5 times? But-”

“5 times?! You met him not even two weeks ago and you’ve already been hanging around him that much?” You were trying to explain to ease whatever caused his temper to rise. However, with every response you give, it only seems to anger him more. With every response, he is taking a step closer to you and walking you backward.

“I guess? But he’s my friend! And I’ve always been safe if that’s the issue. He keeps me safe. I know I’m not a Spider-Man like you but-” Miguel ignores your argument and cuts you off again.

“Right right and he keeps you safe which I am sure he is more than happy to do seeing as how he’s always getting up in your space. And what exactly do you do in his universe? You run around town like some hooligans and go back to your home universe when it’s late enough to be considered morning?”

“Ah- No, we hang out at his place and have dinner and stuff, I don’t know! And when it gets late I just stay over at his place!”

“Stay over?! What? Like overnight? He’s got guest rooms now? He’s hosting house parties?” There’s sarcasm dripping in his words but your brain was running too fast to notice.

“N-No he doesn’t. He’s not. He just lets me use his bed when I’m too tired to go home and I’d just wake up the next morning to come here.”

All of a sudden, he takes one last step forward and you take one step back but your backside hits the table. He drops his hands on either side of you, exactly like how Hobie had you pinned against your desk earlier but this is different. This feels different. The tension is palpable. With Hobie, it was friendly and playful. With Miguel … it feels like you’re getting hunted and just got caught.

“He what?” Miguel’s voice isn’t loud and angry anymore. No. It’s low and deadly. His question comes out always like a whisper as he leads in so close that your noses are practically touching.

“I don’t understand what’s happening. Hobie is just my friend. Why does this feel like it’s a problem?” You whisper. Miguel doesn’t reply. He simply stares at you with such intensity in his eyes, you’re surprised you didn’t evaporate. Suddenly, he’s looking at your lips. Acting almost instinctively, your tongue shoots out to wet your lips and his eyes immediately shoot back up to yours. There’s the intensity in his eyes again, only this time, it’s different. Definitely not anger.

Suddenly, an alarm from Miguel’s monitor goes off and the sound is thunderous in the silent chamber.

After a few beats, Miguel drops his forehead on yours, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. The whole time, you never take your eyes off of him. Your heart is beating so fast and the blood is rushing in your ears. Very abruptly, he pushes off of the table and whirls around to the monitor. He turns off the alarm and starts typing away, completely ignoring you. Slowly pushing up from the table, you turn back to your own monitor and stare blankly at the empty alleyways and random buildings.

Where there was comfortable silence before, now, the silence is deafening.

“You should go home Y/N. I can finish this up on my own.”

Not sure of how to act or how to respond, you slowly climb down from the platform without saying a word and fetch your things.

“And I mean home, Y/N. To your home universe. To your own house. To your own bed.”

Looking back up the dais, Miguel is still facing his monitors, not even looking at you when he talks. Hitching your bag higher up on your shoulder, you respond, “Of course. Goodnight, Miguel. And … for what it’s worth … he always slept on the couch.”

And with that, you take off running down the hall and teleport back home.

#fanfiction #fanfic #spiderman imagine #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman fanfic #spiderman #spider man #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara one shot #hobie #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderman x reader #spider man 2099

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angelltheninth · 6 months

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Dream Double Team

Pairing: Aki Hayakawa x Fem!Reader x Denji

Tags: nsfw, smut, virginity loss (for Denji), threesome, guidance, nipple stimulation, fingering, clit stimulation, praise, dirty talk

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: Commission for @soraritsuka.

Movie nights with Aki were rare, movie nights with Aki and Denji even more rare. As your boyfriend Aki wanted to include you in more activities with his friends, which was sweet of him but neither of you missed the lustful way in which Denji looked over at you all the time. The pillow in his lap did little to nothing at all to hide his excitement growing whenever you stretched and let out a moan.

"You're not subtle." You looked over with a knowing grin. Aki leaned over your shoulder, one arm over the couch, the other holding yours. Denji blushed and quickly glanced away, trying to focus on the movie. Aki leaned in and whispered something in your ear, "Really? Now?"

"He's been complaining about it for weeks." Your boyfriend dropped hints about it too, about wanting to help his friend out.

You nodded and placed a quick kiss on his lips before leaning over to do the same to Denji whose eyes were as wide as saucers and cheeks deep pink. Ah, his hands feel away from the pillow rather quickly, allowing you to take it from him and cup the bulge in his pants.

"Wait- Aki is- ah!" You placed your whole hand on his cock, pushing and massaging over the wet spot. "What-"

"This was his idea. You've been complaining about it right? Being a virgin?" You whispered against his parted lips as your other hand started to unzip his pants to get to his naked dick, "How many night did you jack off while listening to us fuck, you little pervert."

"It's your damn fault for being so loud!" He barked out in defense as he sat up a little so you could take his pants and boxers off. "Fuck. Am I dreaming? Is this a dream? Oh my fuck-" Denji was a mess even before your hand wrapped around his leaky cock. Every stroke produced more cum from the tip, dripping and covering your hand in it. "Suck please, please I wanna know what it's like, please."

Apparently he wasn't above begging. Good. "Good boy, Denji, asking for it will get you a long way with women. We love it when you tell us how much you want us." You kissed your way down his neck while slowly lifting his shirt up, "But we also like asking for the same."

You didn't have to ask Aki, he willingly gave you so much. Denji's eyes went wide when Aki's hands lifted your shit over your chest to reveal them bare. No wonder you were wearing Aki's shirt, you wanted to hide the fact that you only had panties on. Denji's mouth practically watered at the sight of your swollen nipples.

Aki rolled your sensitive buds between his fingers, relishing in your soft gasps and your hips bucking backwards when he began to tug on them a bit more. "Lean back against me baby, let him see you." He bit your ear, voice soft yet commanding.

The whine from Denji's lips when you let go of his cock was a delight to you, hopefully you'll hear more as the night goes on.

“Denji, take her panties off. Take a good look at her cunt.” He kept his hands focused on your breasts while Denji obeyed without a word, tugging your panties off and not even once taking his eyes off your pussy. "Look at how wet she is." One of Aki's hands traveled down your body, first spreading your pussy and then thrusting in with his middle and ring finger, "Look at how easily her cunt swallows my fingers."

"Oh fuck. Pussy. Real pussy. She…" Shamesly Denji started stroking himself while watching Aki finger you. You whined wanting to be the one stroking, sucking, doing something for them. "Are you gonna make her come Aki?"

"No, you will. I just got her ready for you. Isn't that right sweetheart? Are you ready for Denji's cock?" He asked as he pinched your nipple.

"Ah! Yes! Please! My cunt is ready for you." Your words almost made Denji come right there. You moaned and tossed your head back when Aki pulled his fingers out and swiped them through your folds, teasingly circling your clit before spreading your cunt open once again. "Aki. Denji. Please, don't tease. You wanna fuck me don't you? Come here already."

Denji scooted between your legs and swiped the tip of his cock against your entrance. "Can I do it in one go?" Both you and Aki nodded in agreement, him going back to teasing your clit and nipple and Denji sweating bullets as he lined up, "O-Okay, here I go." He really did do it in one go, wasting no time sinking his entire length into you, "Holy shit! H- So wet! God!"

"That's what real cunt is like Denji. Nice isn't it?" Aki whispered as he kissed your shoulder, his eyes glued on Denji's flushed face and sharp teeth.

"Y-Yeah. Real nice pussy. Taking me really well, it's really tight too."

You smiled when you made yourself flutter around him and he lunged forward, burring his head between your breasts, "I have a few tricks up my sleeve too." Pulling Denji close you rolled your hips against him, showing him what pace you liked best. Although uneven he did his best to match it, his hands on your hips, mouth searching for your free nipple to latch onto.

The sound of Denji's balls hitting naked flesh filled the living room, the movie long forgotten and maybe even over, your moans mixing with Denji's whines and Aki's encouragement. You felt yourself getting closer as Aki's skilled fingers rolled over your clit in time with Denji's desperate thrusts.

"Good girl, you're doing well for him. Being a good little cockdoll." You turned your head to kiss Aki, sloppy, greedy, absolutely unrecognizable to Denji from how you usually were. The sight and sounds were enough to send him over the edge, filling you up with cum, all the way to the brim.

"Fuck! Tighter! She's getting even tighter around me! Please, come for me? Around my cock, let me feel you. Be my slut too." He pleaded against your tits, hips smacking hard against yours.

"What you say? Wanna be our little whore? Huh sweetheart?" Aki's fingers rubbed tight circles around your sensitive clit, bringing you closer and closer to your climax. You answered with an orgasm, body going limp against Aki's and pussy clenching tight onto Denji's cock. "So good baby, you did so good." You could only hum in return, trying to catch your breath.

Denji looked up at you, a question on his lips, "What is it Denji? You want more?"

"Eh, no, uhm… can I… kiss you too?" Horny and adorable, those were the two words you'd use to describe Denji right now. And pretty much always.

"Of course you can." You pulled him into a kiss for which his heart melted for. "Aki, do you want to…"

Your boyfriend shook his head and only snuggled you closer, "Tomorrow. I wanted you and Denji to have a nice time tonight." Fuck. How did you land someone so thoughtful? You had to put a wedding ring on that man and soon.

#chainsaw man x reader #aki hayakawa x reader #denji x reader #chainsaw man imagine #aki hayakawa imagine #denji imagine #chainsaw man smut #aki hayakawa smut #denji smut #x female reader

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nerdpoe · 1 year

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The One Unaccounted For

Danny had never seen Skulker look so pleased.

Normally the ghost was always at least a little happy to duke it out with Danny, but this? The ghost was positively vibrating with excitement.

"Okay, okay, time out. What's going on, man?" Danny had to call out, launching himself above a shot and hovering there.

Skulker fucking giggled. Skulker. Giggled.

"I have been hired by the Observants to hunt down a formidable foe. Our battle-" "-Will be glorious." Danny finished, much to the confusion of the ghost who had not been around for such refined culture.

"Yes! They also insist I bring another ghost, just in case it is 'too much' for me. Walker will not leave the Zone, Ember is still angry with me, Johnny and Kitty told me to..." Skulker cleared his throat, glancing at Danny, "And the last ghost I can think of is you, and I know you'll come to at least watch."

Danny's curiosity was piqued, he wasn't going to lie to himself. He still had to act like he needed to think about it though.

"Uh-huh, and who are you going after?"

Skulker almost started vibrating as he began his description.

"It is a ghost who has continuously evaded Walker, and caused so much strife and mayhem that even the Observants seek to drag him to confinement. He hides in the mortal world, in the city that knows no day, and alters the memories of that entire city."

So Danny was actually a bit on board with hunting this dude, actually. Memory manipulation was not cool.

"This ghost loves to torture mortals and claims it is for fun. Once! Once, he altered the memory of a young boy hero, to make him think he'd been tortured, and then altered the memory of the boy's mentor to believe that the boy was dead, all so that the boy would be buried alive. For fun. Then he almost completely wiped the boys memories of his life prior to being buried."

Skulker was beginning to actually get angry just retelling the story, and Danny was right there with him. Graves were sacred, and any ghost knew that. There was a ghost that willingly desecrated them? No wonder Walker wanted him.

If anything, Danny had to think that Skulker had glossed over Walker because he was positive that the Warden was foaming at the mouth just thinking about this criminal.

There was just one thing.

"So why do the Observants want in on this?"

Unless this ghost was actively threatening the balance of Life and Death, there really was no need to go after him.

"Because he has interfered with and altered the denizens of that city so much that the majority of them, if not all of them, are becoming as your puny mortal friends. Can you imagine that? A Living, a Mortal, blessed with the powers of Death. There are reports that one twisted their own time so much, he is now forever alive."

"Okay, that's super concerning. How did he do that?"

Skulker floated closer, almost like this was a gossip session in a sleepover.

"We believe he may have hidden a portal or twelve in the city of Gotham. He wears the semblance of a deranged clown, and is obsessed with laughter."

Well. Shit. Danny knew who they were after, he just hadn't know that Joker was actually one of their own. Half of his own?

"Fuck it, let's go drag the dude into the afterlife." He swore he heard a quiet squeal from the giant robot, but elected to ignore it.

He had to figure out how to either outsmart or work with the Big Bat himself, and he wasn't sure which would be better.

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #phanfic #the one unaccounted for #this is a rough draft #i may or may not continue it #i may or may not polish it #as it stands #this tiny bit had to get out of my head.

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cherry-leclerc · 7 months

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fucked-up little thrill ☆ cl16

genre: pwp but also porn with plot (the best of both worlds!), humor, she truly is a maneater in disguiseee

word count: 8.3K

There’s a difference between warning and danger - you happen to be both. Though, Charles only sees the green light, go. Well, we can all imagine how this will already go.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+...oral (m and f receiving), fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, riding, slight cry, unprotected sex

inspired by this and this !

“She’ll mess with your head, man. You’re going to wish she had never looked your way.”

“I told my mom about her. Crap, I bought her an engagement ring after a few days of knowing her.”

“Four words: Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“Do you know how fucked in the head you have to be in order to willingly go after her? Fucking pathetic. Sure, I did the same, but hear me out-”

Despite the warnings, he didn’t pay them any attention. He thought he was going crazy for sure when he saw two guys on their knees, begging: Run, just do it. And whatever you do, don’t look back.

Charles wasn’t even listening.

The nights were beginning to get warmer, yet there was still a slight breeze. Spring was rolling in. What an innocent season to meet the wildest card Charles has ever dealt.

“...then she laughed so hard that, Jesus Mary and Joseph, my heart went bananas! Y’know what I did next? I asked her, ‘You want a slice?’ I meant the tiramisu, guys! She thought I was talking about myself! T’was the most embarrassing thing. Made me look like a bloody narcissist.” Lando whined as he leaned onto the table to hide his face.

George snorts. “Ah don’t worry mate, I would gladly take a slice.” Lando groans, further rubbing his forehead onto the table. So much so, that it began to squeak.

“Alright, calm down before you shed your skin off. It wasn’t that bad.” Alex voices, as he pops a curly fry into his mouth.

“Easy for you to say! You basically have the person you’re going to get married to! You’re safe.” The Brit pouts. He then lifts his head up and wipes away a single tear. Everyone explodes into laughter.

“Muppet, c’mon we were kidding! Weren’t we just fooling around, Charles?” Carlos wiggles his eyebrows at the Monegasque. Charles rolled his eyes playfully.

“Yes, of course we were joking,” he starts. Lando looks up, seemingly feeling better as everyone began to agree. We were just playing around!

“Then again, how did you even fall for a girl like that?” Charles finishes his sentence.

“Argh. You don’t get itttt,” Lando wails in defeat. “When you meet a girl like that, you don’t question it. You just thank God for sending her your way and then BAM! She just walks out of your life.”

Hm - Charles thinks to himself as he takes a sip of Martini - naive, naive little Lando.

Charles met you that same night he was out for dinner with the boys. He was waiting for his car from the valet; shooting Joris a quick text.

"Sorry," he overhears a soft voice, but still didn’t pay much attention.

"Sorry? You’re sorry? We both know goddamn well that you’re sorry about nothing. Nada. Zeeerrrooo," a man's voice angrily shouts back, voice slurring.

Charles turns and sees a man running his hands through his blonde hair, walking back and forth in despair. Then, his eyes move to find you.

Standing tall in the tightest, shortest, black dress he's ever seen. So, the little black dress truly does exist. Glowy skin shining through from the lights decorating the outside of the restaurant. Your legs appear miles long, feet paired with your nicest set of heels, Joli Queen Glitter. Red fucking bottoms. Christian Louboutin at its finest. Rich jewelry sits on your wrists, fingers, and neck.

Even with all that in the way, all he notices is just how drop-dead gorgeous you are. Suddenly, his fingers get clammy. What the hell? His jaw was clenched. Literally, why? His pants were growing tight because oh God he was already har- Alright, now that’s just crazy, Charles. Get it together.

“Yes. Whether you believe me or not, I’m sorry. Maybe you just shouldn’t have set high expectations,” you spoke, looking down.

“Are you being fucking serious right now? You’re smiling? You think this is funny! Oh God, what the fuck is wrong with you, you crazyyyy bitch!” The man continues, sharply pointing his finger at you accusingly. He genuinely looks like he’s about to start crying for his mommy.

“Okay mate, I think that’s enough. Why don’t I call you a cab?” Charles speaks up from where he’s standing. You and the mysterious guy turn to look at him.

You shoot a smile as the man's eye starts twitching.

“Oh great! Great, great, great,” the man chants. “What an idiotic thing to believe that you hadn't gotten rid of me already! How could I not see it coming?” He drops to his knees and starts rocking back and forth. “On my dead hamster's birthday!” Levi, Charles later finds out, cries out to the sky. “Couldn’t this have happened any other day?” Charles cringes. “Call me that shitty ass cab, dude.”

So, you stand close by as Charles helps plop Levi inside with the help of the cab driver. They buckle him up and off they go.

Not before Levi pokes his out the window. “I swear I’m not being bitter when I tell you to fucking save yourself!”

Both of you are left there standing quietly. You pout your red lips as you pull out your phone to call a cab for yourself.

“Need a lift?”

Glancing around silently, you sneak a look at Charles. Handsome, you ponder, just a tiny bit. Outrageous lie. You quickly scold yourself for being so untruthful. This man was the most beautiful kind you’ve seen in your entire life.

“Take it that was your boyfriend back there?” He taps his fingers against the wheel.

“Mmm. Hardly. No, he isn’t - wasn’t - my boyfriend by any means. Some guys just instantly assume stuff over any girl that pays them any ounce of attention.” You lazily trace shapes onto your thigh. You tug your dress down a bit, licking your lips. “Thanks for helping me out back there. It was really sweet.”

He notices the way you never look up from your lap as you’re speaking. It’s kind of endearing, just how soft you can be. “Don’t mention it…it was…no problem.”

He walks you from his car to your house. It's small, pastel yellow with a mailbox that reads; No more love letters. Seriously. “Cute,” he comments. You blush.

“Oh, that. Sorry, I live with my two best friends and they wrote that as a joke,” you ramble as you click your heel shyly. “They said it would help out with my, and I quote, ‘secret admirers.’” You let out a tired laugh as you finally build up the courage to look at the man standing right in front of you.

“To be honest, that makes sense.” He tilts his head a bit, analyzing your eyes. “Beautiful girls should receive beautiful letters.”

Tongue tied, you stare back with a pleased smile.

“This is so unlike me, but would you like to go out some time?”

Easiest question ever asked.

A few nights later, he finally decides it would be a good day to take you out to dinner. Testing went well and the car was finally on the right track. He took this as a good omen.

“How long have you lived in Italy now?” you quiz, as you bring your Shirley Temple closer to your lips.

“Oh, um, for quite a while now. I mean it’s really only for work. I go home any chance I get.”

“Sweet. Where are you from?”

“Monaco.”

Your eyes grow wide with excitement. “Really! Monaco is so beautiful!” Your childlike squeal makes him smile brightly.

“Have you ever been?” You sadly shake your head, hair bouncing back and forth. Soft floral fills the air.

“Nope, but I wish to one day. I just know I’ll love it so much…” You trail off. “It’s just that growing up my favorite movie was Monte Carlo. Would beg my mom to play it any chance I could.” Maroon coats your cheekbones. He furrows his dark brows in confusion.

“Monte Carlo? You know, starring Selena Gomez?” His soft features pinch together. “...Leighton Meester? Katie Cassidy?” You desperatelyspit your words, trying to assist. He continues shaking his head. Never heard of it.

Your mood grows sulky as you pout. Leaning back, you finally take a sip of your drink. Oh, well now I really want something stronger than this.

“I would love to watch it some time though!” Charles tries as his voice cracks. He winces.

“Sure!” Though, you're not looking at him anymore. Your eyes are trained behind him. He’s about to turn around and ask if you’re fine, when you finally speak up. “I think I’ll go to the bar for another drink. Be right back!” He huffs.

You weren’t back for almost too long. Finally, deciding to go look for you, he stands and takes long strides all around the dark restaurant. When he finds you he sees you’re not alone.

A man in an all black suit seems to be your new company. You giggle as he appears to slide some type of business card to you. Just as you're about to grab it Charles strolls over to you both.

“Is your drink finally ready?” he asks as he wraps a protective arm around your waist. You flinch. You hadn’t even seen him walk over.

“Charles!” you shriek, as you crumble the piece of paper into the palm of your hard, hurriedly. You pray that he hadn’t noticed, but he had. Something inside of him told him not to ask. “I was actually on my way back. Did you need anything? A drink?” you ask, furrowing your brows attentively.

“No, thank you, amour,” Charles warmly replies, looking into your glossy eyes. You truly were the best thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“My apologies for getting in the way.” The man extends his hand out to Charles. “Aiden Quinn, pleasure to meet you.”

Charles may be upset that Aiden ruined his date, but he wasn’t keen on being rude, so begrudgingly, he shook his hand. “Charles Leclerc.” See, normally Charles isn’t the type to throw his name out like that expectantly, but he felt as if he had a point to make. He did, though. I was here first.

The man grins ear to ear, nodding. “Yes, that’s where I know you from. I knew you looked familiar. Formula 1 driver, right? Ferrari?” He points with a knowing smile.

“Scuderia’s number one driver, yes.” His grip around your waist stays secure. Meanwhile, your eyes are open to their fullest. Surprisingly, you had no idea.

“Certainly. I’m one of the team's ambassadors, actually,” Aiden challenges. Charles clenches his jaw. “When you have million dollar businesses all around the world, you try to find a place to help. Ferrari really needs it at the moment.” You’re equally as shocked with Aiden as you are with Charles.

“Well then, I’ll make sure to dedicate my next podium to you I suppose." You shift uncomfortably. This reminds him you’re there. With him. Ha! Take that, Quinn! “Anyhow, I would love to chit chat with fellow fans, but I must say we have to get going.” He holds your hand firmly as he leads you out.

“Goodbye, Aiden!” you beam as you depart ways.

“Formula 1 driver now, is it?” you curiously ask as you look over where he has one hand over the steering wheel and running the other calmly through his hair.

“Thought you knew.”

“I had no clue! Zip!” you shriek as fling your arms through the air. He laughs as he pulls into an abandoned parking lot.

“In the mood for something sweet?”

“Grazie mille,” the Monegasque says as he's handed cones of freshly made gelato. Smiling, he makes his way back to you. Hands you per requested raspberry, as he keeps his lemon one.

“Molto gentile.” You inspect and nod your head in approval. Just hearing your tongue curl in Italian has him swooning. You take a lick and release a soft moan. “So sweet. Best I’ve ever had,” you declare as you continue enjoying your treat innocently.

Charles gulps, trying to cool down. “I told you it was the best.” He shoots a wink over to Luca, the owner, for keeping the shop open for a few more minutes.

“You scared me a bit back there.”

“Pfft. With that Aiden guy…I’m sorry about that–”

“God no. Honestly, I completely forgot about that,” you mutter. “I meant with that whole, ‘In the mood for something sweet?’. Thought you were like the rest.”

The 25 year old keeps quiet for a minute. He gathers his thoughts before settling with, “I promise I’m not.”

“Keeping my fingers crossed you aren’t.” You look around with twinkling eyes. “You know, a date I once had asked me-”

You want a slice?

No.

“It shocked me how straight forward he was being. It wasn’t even our second date! I barely even knew the guy.” You frown at the memory. “Then he blamed it on the tiramisu.”

I meant the tiramisu, guys!

God no.

“Never saw him again,” you finish as you finally focus back on him. A pale Charles is all you find.

“Woah, are you okay?”

“Yes! I’m so good! You look lovely! Did I mention it already cause if I didn’t then call me the worst date ever!” He begins nervously laughing. His gelato dripping all over his arm.

“I think you did.” You smile as you hand him a few napkins. He returns the gesture, thanking you. “And don’t worry about it, leave that spot for Lando. Now he might take the crown.”

Charles let out a groan.

Charles went back and forth deciding whether he should reach out to you. He liked you. A lot. Nonetheless, he was hesitating because he just couldn’t do something like that to Lando. The Brit was as bummed out as one could get. So, it's settled. Bye bye baby.

“Of course. Tonight at 8,” your voice confirms on the other side of the line. Charles celebrates with a quick dance.

“See you then.”

He decides today that he wants to switch things up. Do something that would make him stand out from anyone that came before him.

“Monaco?” Leaning on the hood of Charles' car, you feel you have to be dreaming. He nods his head lively.

“I could show you around, y’know be your personal tour guide.”

“You should have warned me! I don’t have anything ready!” you yelp as you hold your hands over your heart, frantically. He would be more worried if it weren’t for you smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“We still have time. Come on, I’ll help you pack.”

When you make it to Monaco you’re greeted by a young guy wearing glasses, driving a Ferrari Pista. Charles and him fit in a quick embrace before they turn their attention back to you.

“Ah yes, this is Joris. He’s one of my closest friends,” Charles states as you warmly reach for a handshake.

Reciprocating, Joris says, “Very nice to meet you.” You smile, returning the greeting. “Must say, you are just as beautiful as Cha had mentioned, if not more.” You blush as Charles clears his throat awkwardly.

“D'accord, mec. Pas besoin de le dire au monde entier,” Charles mutters. “Thank you for picking us up.” Joris nods, carrying your luggages. You share a quick goodbye before he finally makes his way to another car. “That’s also one of my very good friends, Marta.” You smile and wave as they drive off.

Monaco definitely met your expectations. Everything just captivated your attention so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if you started to drool.

“Holy shit. Your home is absolutely stunning!” you gasp. He wheels your bags in as he exhales.

“Merci. Make yourself at home.”

Thankfully, the flight was quick so you both have plenty of energy to go out for a late night snack. He takes you to his; Favorite place in the world! You’ll see.

A little stand sits in the corner of the street.

“Lou makes one of the best crepes. Trust me, I’ve been a loyal customer since my school days.”

A little old lady is attending to customers, but stops as soon as she spots Charles. “Charlie! Chérie, je ne savais pas que tu étais de retour!” She makes her way around to hug him.

“Des projets de dernière minute, mais j'ai juste envie de manger une de tes incroyables crêpes,” he replies, as they pull away.

“And who is this pretty girl?” she questions as she looks at you, standing there patiently.

“Oop, hello. I’m a friend of Charles.” Lou smiles teasingly.

“Charlie, tu es là pour me dire que tu vas te marier?” Lou suddenly looks over the moon.

“Non!” he quickly shouts, so suddenly, you and Lou both jump a bit. Tight lipped, he apologizes.

“Like she said, we’re just friends."

The next morning after breakfast he recommends you bring something you can swim with. Skipping your way to his room, which he is kindly sacrificing for you, you roam through your luggage until you find a baby blue bikini.

“You don’t get sea sick by any means, right?” He looks over at you with scrunched brows underneath a pair of glossy black Ray Bans. You shake your head.

“Great.”

You make your way to a tiny boat before he helps you settle in. You grab his hand softly as you step into it. A single touch of electricity seems to link your fingertips. It catches you both so off guard that he lets go of you so swiftly, you don’t even notice as you plunge into the water.

You let out a quick yelp before you go underwater and his hands fly to his head in embarrassment. You resurface with wet hair covering your face.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” he apologizes before extending his arm out for you to grab. Pushing your hair out of your face, you giggle.

“It’s okay, I got it.”

Once you independently get on the boat, he unties the rope off the deck and takes a seat himself to drive you both to the unknown destination.

“Pretty please, can I know now where we’re going?” you squeal with puppy eyes.

Lord help me, he thinks before replying. “We’re going to a little island I love. Îles de Lérins.” You look ahead, nodding patiently. “It’s beautiful, you’ll see.”

When you arrive it’s easy to understand that there doesn’t seem to be that many people. You basically have the place to yourselves.

He helps you off, not dropping you this time. There’s a small trail you both begin to take. It’s something peaceful, the moment you’re in. You almost wish to fit it into a snow globe.

“My parents would always bring my brothers and I here all the time during summer when we were younger,” Charles confesses.

“You have brothers?”

He turns to look at you, then continues ahead. “Yes. Two.” He kicks a rock out of his way, but something you didn’t know was just how clumsy this man child could be.

“Ouch!” you groan in pain as your hand flies up to your nose.

“Jesus! What’s wrong with me today? Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” He runs to you all panicky now.

You take it back. Break the goddamn snow globe.

You try tilting your head back to ease the blood pouring out your nose before he gently grips your face to gain your attention. You scrunch your eyes, sun suddenly blinding you. Quickly, he takes off his glasses and places them over your eyes. As you open them you notice he’s shirtless. He places his shirt on your nose to clean you up. You flinch a bit.

Instantly, you’re thankful for the sunglasses because wondering eyes were all you could give him. His lean muscles were just begging to be praised.

You shake your head before taking the Puma shirt from him. “Thanks,” you mutter as you focus on a nearby tree. “Starting to think you might hate me or something.”

“Of course not... I could never hate you!” His voice cracks in nervousness. You snicker.

After a bit more wiping, you are as good as new. You both decide to take a dip while the water feels good. You strip from your Levi shorts and t-shirt. Dipping a toe to test the temperature, you shoot him two thumbs up.

The ocean feels so fresh and silky against your skin. You can’t seem to remember the last time you’ve enjoyed someone’s company like this, even if they almost ruled you to the ends of Earth. Two fingers press against your neck. You spring one eye open and you see Charles biting down on his thumb. He relaxes.

“Sorry, I thought you crossed the line to the afterlife.”

You tread water to stretch your legs out. “I’m fine.”

He takes this time to note things he hadn’t paid attention to before. Like how your lashes pin against your skin since they’re wet. Or how a tiny bit of freckles are sprinkled on your nose. He curses himself for not having seen it any sooner. Pretty was an understatement. You were extraordinary.

A few hours later you guys are back at his house sharing a pizza. Pepperoni, you both loved a classic.

“There’s no bruise,” he points out almost proudly. You shoot a playful scowl. He walks over to the T.V. and clicks the remote. “Monte Carlo?”

He loved it, the way you said he would. He especially enjoyed watching how much you loved it.

“This movie was too ahead of its time,” you confirm as you dig your feet under the blanket you had curled into.

“Well at least Grace and Theo got their happily ever after,” he pronounces. You shoot an impressed look. “What? I was listening.” You crawl up next to him and pat his cheek. His dimples pop out from how hard he’s smiling.

He can’t help it the moment he reaches to cradle your face to press your lips together. He can’t help but let a moan slip out when you finally kiss him back.

Finally, he picks you up to adjust you on his lap, which you comfortably settle into. You feel him underneath you so clearly you can’t help but move your hips. He feels so good.

The heated moment continues as he wraps his hands around the curve of your ass. You pull away as your lips move down to his neck. He almost gasps the moment you lick down his throat. It doesn’t help that you’ve been keeping your hips in motion.

He almost passes out the moment your lips move to his ear and ask, no, beg; Let me taste you, please. How could he ever deny such offer?

Making your way down to your knees, he adjusts himself on the couch. He thinks to himself that if he were standing he would’ve made a fool out of himself because just the sight of you in front of him has him choking on his own breath. You just look so pretty.

You tug his shorts down, along with his boxers, and bite down on your lip as you grab his cock, softly. He has to stop himself from jerking into your hand. Precum sprouting from his tip. You can’t wait as you take kitten licks. Fuck, he whimpers. The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your thighs together.

Wrapping your lips around him, your hands reach to balance yourself against his thighs. You moan at the feeling of having him inside your mouth, drooling all over his lap.

This itself, is too much for Charles and thinks he’ll barely even be able to survive as his head turns against the couch' pillow with closed lids. You start bobbing your head and one hand flings down to jerk off what you can’t reach. He groans at the feeling.

You start off slow but suddenly start picking up your pace. He opens his eyes, dazed, to catch a glimpse of you on your knees and this sight is something he won’t be able to forget even if he tried. With glassy eyes, you look up at him. You make a show of releasing your lips from his cock as you lap your tongue along it. Before going back at it, you twirl your tongue a couple of times around his tip before giving it a quick suck, then deep throat him.

He grits his teeth as if to help deal with any of this but when you start toying with yourself he lets out the loudest whine he’s ever produced. You look up smiling, grazing your teeth lightly along him and he hisses at the feeling. Proudly, you fit him back into your mouth.

“God, your mouth feels so fucking good,” he manages to get out before you solely start jerking him off.

“What about my hands?” you seductively tease. The sounds coming from both your hands and his cock should be considered a sin itself. He groans as he looks back to make eye contact with you.

“Your hands too, baby.”

He knows he’s close the moment you twist your wrist perfectly. So so good. You know he’s close when he begins to twitch underneath your fingertips.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” he chants as you continue your dirty movements. He makes sure to look at you, focused, eyes drawn to his cock.

“Cum for me, Charles,” you coo as he finally bucks his hips into your hands and hot cum shoots all over your face. You wickedly smile as your lips reach his cock to continue swallowing the rest that is being released. He grabs you face to pull you off him and hauls you once again onto his lap. He’s about to kiss you before you pull away and point at the mess on your face.

You wipe two fingers along your face and bring them to your mouth to clean them off. A pop is released when you let go. He shudders.

This is the moment, Charles realizes, he’s so screwed.

When you make it back to Italy you realize that all you’ll have are a few fleeting moments together. With Charles going back to racing and you continuing your online classes, you’re both bound to be booked.

Though, Charles just isn’t ready to let you go. And a fucked up man will make fucked up choices when due.

So, he strings you along with him to the Miami GP. He realizes there’s a strong chance you might bump shoulders with Lando, but to be completely honest, he was past caring. He was completely smitten with you.

You wear your white summer dress as you are sprawled on his hotel bed. You’re a mess.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper as Charles fingers slip in and out of you. He’s feverishly kissing down the side of your thighs, bites left in between. You groan in slight pain as you tug on his soft hair. This man has brought out the moon and stars, for you.

“C’mon baby, look at me,” he whispers as he paints you with hickeys in between your legs. Somewhere no one else will ever be able to catch a glimpse of. You nod your head as you look down to find him gripping your dress over your thighs, eating you out like a starved man. You shut your eyes as you release a few soft pants, the heels of your feet press deeper against his Ferrari polo.

“Open you’re eyes.”

You shake your head. You wish you could look at him, you really wanted to, but it’s just too much take in. You wanted to make this last.

But Charles was greedy. He wanted to taste you. He stops everything all at once. You let out a cry. Fuck him.

You bring your arms around his neck, loosely, as he kisses your shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”

“You weren’t looking at me.”

With all your strength you open your glittered eyelids.

“That’s a good girl,” he coos as he picks you up and sits you at the edge of the bed. You look down at him confused as he gets on his knees in front of you.

“If you can’t look at me, then you’re going to have to look at yourself,” he directs as he begins to push your dress back up your waist. You lean against your elbows as you realize what other than Charles is in front of you.

A shiny glass mirror.

With a slightly open mouth you’re about to protest before Charles picks up right where he left off. He spits on your clit before rubbing it. You bite down on your bottom lip so hard, you draw blood.

“Don’t tell me I have to get you to moan now?” Charles stares at you with furrowed brows. You shake your head no before he kisses your knee. “Good.”

He makes sure you look straight at your reflection before he curls his fingers inside of you. You mewl at the touch. Your legs beg to bring him closer.

He lets out a light chuckle before repeating his motion. With sleepy eyes, you stare at the way your legs rest against his shoulders. You had painted your nails bloody mary a few nights before, in support of him and his team. Your face all fucked up singly by Charles’ long fingers and delicate touch, red lipstick all over your mouth from how heavy your make out with Charles had been.

To him, you looked like an angel.

You squeal as he presses his nose against your pussy. You grind against his face. He pulls away and you whine, looking at him desperately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he reassures you as he moves up to kiss your cheek and then your pouty lips.

“Cha, please,” you beg hopelessly. He grins as he pushes your hair out of your face and runs his thumb across your lips trying to clean you up a bit.

You take a chance and wrap your lips around his finger, and you begin to suck. Expertly, you swirl your tongue. Eyes look back at him, almost challenging. He lets out a strained groan.

With all the willpower he has left, he removes his finger from your mouth. Nicely wet, he presses it back where you needed him the most.

“Thank you, baby, you shouldn’t have.” You cry out at the sudden size of his thumb now being inside of you. He switches out his thumb for his middle and ring finger. You throw your head back. All the back and forth almost has you blacking out a few times. Charles gives you a quick peck, fingers building speed, as he pulls your dress down a bit to release your plump tits.

Now he’s at a loss for words. Quickly, he regains his composure and starts sucking on your left nipple, legs squeezing around his waist as a reflex. One hand flies to the back of his head as one makes its way to cup his cheek adoringly.

He moans against you, sucking hard before moving his attention to your right nipple. The way you’re wailing against him has him painfully hard against his jeans.

“Yes, God yes right there, Charlie,” you let out as you grind against his hand. He detaches his lips from your chest as he smiles up at you.

“I’m right here, baby. Cum for me, yeah?” You let out the most pornographic moan as you finish around his hand. Tears make their way down your cheeks. Cleans his fingers, he shuts his eyes satisfied, before he towers over your body, pressing kisses all over.

You giggle. “That tickles." The 25 year old’s heart doubles in size at the sound of your fucked out voice.

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up before the race?”

The race results weren't the best Charles has had, that’s for sure. Head hung, he makes his way to his motorhome. There he finds you on the tiny little bed, curled up, watching the rest of the ongoing interviews. As soon as you notice him you jump up to your feet and walk to him.

It's almost as if you knew how down he was feeling when you wrap your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. He instantly feels better as his arms swaddle over your shoulders, chin atop your pretty hair.

“You did good,” you mumble. You press a faint kiss on his suit before looking up.

“I fucked up. I got P7.”

You frown at him before holding his face between your soft palms. “P7 is good, what do you mean?” He just shakes his head. “You’ve never heard of seven being a lucky number?”

He scoffs, but not at you, never you. More at himself. “Lucky?”

You pull away and sit back on his bed. “Oh yeah, seven bring all the luck in the world!” you squeal, as you plop on the bed. He laughs lightly as he lies beside you.

“Guess I’ll just take your word for it.” He hums with his eyes closed.

You turn on your side as you try to memorize his face. Like the small mole that sits on the left side of his face that makes him even more handsome, if anyone asks for your opinion. You scold yourself for not having noticed it before. As if to fix things, you name it one of your favorite things about him.

“You should. Things will get better, you’ll see.”

For once, he really believes it.

You both are walking out of the Ferrari home when you're suddenly stopped by someone calling Charles’ name.

“Hey, Charles! Great race man!” A familiar voice rings through the air before you both have a chance to turn around. Both you and Charles, unknowingly of one another, want to make a run for it.

“Thanks, Lando,” Charles replies as he prays he might not notice you. But a girl as beautiful as you can’t go forgotten.

“Holy shit it’s you!” Lando wails as he instantly recognizes you from dinner a few months ago. You cringe. What the chances?

“Hi,” you squeak as you hide behind Charles a bit. You had no idea Lando was a Formula 1 driver too. You ought to do your research better next time.

“Mate! This is the chick I was telling you about over dinner last time!” Lando says, eyes almost popping out of his face from the shock he’s in.

“You don’t sayyyy.” Charles tries to hide it, though inside he’s freaking out as if he’s broken every FIA rule in the book.

“Hey, I want to say sorry for that night, I should have been more clear,” Lando begins to spill his apologies, as all you can do is silently stand there, accepting them all.

“Of course. Long forgotten,” you comfort the Brit. He’s actually a pretty sweet guy.

“Charles, I’ll wait for you outside, alright?” you utter as he nods. Once you walk out, he turns to Lando frantically.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was the same girl you were upset about!” he tells him. Liar. “You must be mad at me and I get it-”

“Nope.”

Charles stares back, caught off guard by Lando’s response.

“You’re not?”

Lando rolls his eyes. “I’m not. I just hope you realize what she’s capable of.” He leans in closer to Charles’ ear and Charles leans in too, expectantly. “I’ve heard stories, man…”

Charles immediately pulls away. “Okay, we’re done here. Bye mate!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

But Charles knew you better. He saw the way you looked at him. The way you felt. You were different. Fuck your following reputation.

“Ready?”

When you got back from Miami, something had shifted. He couldn’t quite name the moment it had, but he was sure of it. He didn’t care though. He would put up with just about anything as long as that meant having you around.

“And then he told me to test the car again, said it was fixed. Fixed my ass!” Charles tells you over FaceTime. You were sitting in your bedroom, painting nonsense on a canvas. You wore some old overalls with loose space buns. Strands of hair would hit the paint from how messy it was.

“No way,” you say, not looking up. Charles smiles fondly.

“You look lovely by the way.” Though, you don’t seem to catch his affirmation for you. Your eyes are focused on something out of frame, in front of you. A quick smirk appears on your face but slips so fast that he almost begins to think he’s imagined it.

“Thank you, Charles,” you reply with a much bigger smile now. “Hey, how about I meet you at your house at 9? I’ll cook you a nice meal, promise.”

Like always, he knows he shouldn’t ask and also knows he can’t say no to you.

“I’ll be waiting.”

That night when you step into his house he notices things he wishes weren’t there. Like how your hair was a tad bit messy or how there were light bruises on your neck. He knows those didn’t come from him. He’d always been mindful to mark you in places no one else could admire, just him. Something bugs him knowing someone has seen them already.

“I’m so sorry I’m late." You rush in with bags from the nearby market, the one just around the corner from his flat.

“No worries. So, what will we be cooking, my little chef?”

That night you seem so infatuated by him, he truly thinks this all was his imagination. Maybe the wind blew your hair on your way here; he should have offered to pick you up. Maybe he forgot he had also marked your neck; he’ll make sure to be more careful next time.

He wraps his arms around your waist as you cut pieces of basil. Giggling, you turn around to peck his lips. Craving more from you, he lifts you up onto the kitchen island. He stands in between your legs as you stare up at him, ever a vixen.

As you lock lips, he picks you up, you yelp all giddy. He makes his way over to his bedroom, your lips lingering on his neck, he almost drops you from how good it feels.

“Careful, don’t need another wack in the face,” you mumble from his neck, light spirited. He rolls his eyes at your comment, but yeah, he should probably focus.

Finally reaching his room, he kicks the door open so hard, it flies and instantly makes a hole through the wall. You gasp as he groans.

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” he murmurs as he takes you to his bed where he drops you. You giggle as your hair covers your face, he makes his way to hover over you and brush it away.

“You know I would do anything for you?” he asks, tenderness lacing his voice.

You stare back at him with bright and eager eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

He smiles as he leans down to kiss you and you instantly melt into the mattress beneath you. He kisses you so fast, so hot, that it has you feeling lightheaded. I’ve been kissed before but never, ever, like this, you think as he slips his tongue as a quick trick. You moan with pleasure. He smiles into the kiss.

He picks his head up to get a good look at the angel the universe had ever so nicely sent his way. He caresses you gingerly. “Are you sure, chérie?”

You nod up and down eagerly, ready for more he’s willing to give. You are so desperate you would gladly take anything as long as it's from him. A flash of sadness strikes your face before it’s replaced with a warm smile.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he comforts you as he begins to take a step back. You quickly hold onto his veiny arm.

“I want to,” you confirm. You bring him back to you as you kiss him for the millionth time that night. Even that would never be enough.

His hands make their way to slip your dress off. Once you're left in your matching lingerie, you push him on his back and straddle him.

“Holy shit,” he nervously laughs as you started to unbutton his linen shirt. He pulls his arm out as you sloppily brush your lips down his smooth chest, fingers tracing his firm abs. Then, as you’re about to pull his pants down, he grabs your hands firmly. You glance at him, confusion written all over your face.

“Ladies first,” he teases. You roll your eyes, but still slip out a quick, okay, before settling under him once again. He kisses down your neck gently as you hum out, finding peace with his lips hovering your body. Every new kiss he places on your soft skin makes you feel thousands of butterflies. You’d never experienced something like this before, you’ve never felt so flawless.

Clumsy fingers roam your back as he unclips your bra then strips you from your panties. Seeing you completely bare has his dumbstruck. This is something he could easily get used to.

His hands make their way to squeeze your tits, your head digs deeper into the mattress as you release a soft whimpers. Charles grows harder by the second, already getting rid of the rest of his clothes as quickly as he can.

He tugs you closer to him by your legs. A laugh rolls past your lips. Resting both arms by either side of your head, he pushes into you. Synchronously, you both let out a moan. You dig your nails into his shoulder as he grips onto the sheets.

You feel so tight around him that it takes all of him not to lose control. You throw your arm over your face, face scrunched.

Putting his feelings aside, Charles leans down and plants a kiss on your arm. “C’mon baby, not again. Look at me.”

“I can’t…,” you cry out weakly, “...too big.”

“You just have to adjust,” he reassures you as he begins to move in and out of you. Your arms fly up to his neck and you grab on tight, as if he’s keeping you ashore. You moan loudly.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers as he thrusts deep inside of you. Your velvety walls feel like home to him and he never wants to leave.

You squirm when his cock hits your sweet spot. You yell into the nothingness and your grip on his hair tightens so much, he groans at the sensation. His hips pick up speed, and suddenly, he’s kissing you again. You whine into his lips, needy for more. Harder.

As if he could read your mind, that's exactly what he does. Your lips form a silent O as you stare at him with eyebrows drawn together. He just feel so fucking good.

“Fuck baby,” he groans, voice deep. You shiver at the sound. “God, you feel so good, you’re doing so good,” he praises you as he now looks into your eyes. You wail in response, too fucked up to form any kind of sentence.

“I love you so much,” he announces so suddenly, you almost push him away. He keeps moving rapidly as he makes out with you eagerly.

As you kiss him back you realize something scary; you love Charles Leclerc. You think you’ve loved him for a while now, but having never been in love, you didn’t seem to notice the feeling. But you do now.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his lips. When he pulls away you notice you’ve never seen him smile so big. You like being the reason behind it.

He immediately pounds into you harder, not holding back anymore and you’re both a mess. You moan so loud, you’re almost embarrassed but Charles seems to love it.

“If you love me,” he pants, “then tell me his name.”

He continues normally, but you swear you feel your heart stop. There’s no way.

“What are you talking about?” you manage to spit out, but the way he’s handling your body has you seeing stars.

“Please,” a desperate look flashes across his face, “just tell me his name.” His watch covered hand makes its way to your clit and he pushes his finger against it. God, his fingers are so-

“There’s no one.” Liar. “There’s just you.”

With that, you flip him over so now you’re on top of him. Hastily, you start to ride him, making sure to move your hips just the way he likes it. His head falls back against the bed frame as his fingers dig into your hips. You bite your swollen lips in slight pain, but also, just by looking at his current state.

Cheeks slightly pink with sweaty hair covering his face. Long disheveled hair that you pressed him not to trim quite yet. What a sight for sore eyes.

“Please,” he chokes out, “just tell me his name and I swear I’ll never bring it up again.” He opens his eyes to look up at you. His voice hitches when he sees you hopping on his dick, tits bouncing up and down. You throw your head back and circle your hips much harder.

“Fuck.” Charles gasps as he reaches up to attach his lips to your chest. He licks before softly biting down against your bud. You exhale sharply. He then lays back and holds onto your hips harder before helping you move on top of him. Wrapped around him, the motion between both of you picks up so fast you start shaking your head no.

“Yes, amour, say it. Please just tell me before I lose my fucking mind,” he grunts as he stares down at your juices as they make the filthiest sound against his own.

“I swear Charles, I promise, that I have never loved anyone the way I do you,” you confess as you sink your nails against his chest, red marks instantly mapping themselves down.

“Beautiful fucking liar.” Charles smirks as he moves his fingers against your clit rapidly. With that, your walls clench around him as you cum so hard around him he can’t help but follow. You moan loudly as you fall against his chest as he groans lowly.

Trying to even your breathing, you grab onto his hand. Instantly, he brings it up against his lips. Just the touch of his makes you want to ride him until you can’t no more.

You meant what you said that night. Though you both should have known better. Being naive can’t always last forever.

“Then she left a note saying it’s best we just remain friends,” Charles reveals a few nights later over dinner. Everyone shares glances of empathy to the distraught Monegasque. Even Lando.

“It’s alright man, you’ll be over her before you know it,” Lando states as he shares a knowing smile. Charles bites down on his tongue knowing all this pent of anger wasn’t towards Lando. Not even for you.

He would like to say that he learned his lesson and that he should have listened to everyone, all the warning signs that glowed above his head. But he knows damn well he would do it all over again if given the chance. He would say, do anything, to change your mind. To make you stay, but people like you never settled.

Moping, Charles changes the topic as he begins asking how everyone’s break was. He didn’t really care, but he tried to pretend.

Out of breath, Oscar rushes over to the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he says as he sits down in between Lando and Charles.

“No worries, mate, Charles was just filling us in on his expired love life,” Daniel fills in, nonchalantly. Charles immediately shoots a dry frown. Daniel shares an apologetic shrug.

“Oh. That sucks man,” the young Australian replies as he gulps down some water. “Speaking of love lives, you guys won’t believe it! I just met the prettiest girl of my entire life just now outside of the restaurant!”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine

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shotmrmiller · 5 months

Text

Tormented by a Ghost

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

TW: small mention of smut and simon being kinda mean

TY TO MY BETA FOR MAKING THIS 10X BETTER @c-h-a-r-n-i-k

Tired of living with your family, you decide to move out. There's just one problem— Rent is too costly to afford on your own. You complain about it to your friend, and they tell you that they know someone who's also looking for a roommate and preferably another female. Fantastic!

Your friend gives you her number and ya'll are moving in together by the end of the month. It was great. No nagging parents, no micromanagement, nothing. You loved it. Until your roommate brings her man over. And he's a fucking bully.

You're crawling home from a hard day at work, and you want nothing more than some wine on a quiet night. Unlocking the door, you step into the flat. The lights aren't turned on so you assume your roommate isn't home.

Dumping your bag in your room, you make a beeline towards the kitchen. As you're bent over in the fridge, your roommate's door opens.

"Hey,” you call out, "I'm pourin' myself a glass of wine if you're interested!"

Then an assertive, baritone voice speaks from behind you.

"You must be the roommate."

You give an ear-piercing scream as you jump, whipping around to face him with a hand over your racing heart.

"Fuckin' hell! No, it's okay, I don't need my hearin' er nothin'." he scolds.

"What the fuck! I almost flat-lined with my head in the fridge because of you!"

Then you get a good look at him. This monster of a man is a minimum 6'3, with a black balaclava covering his face, a black long-sleeve shirt, and grey sweats. You tried real hard to not ogle the tattoo that stains his exposed left arm. And the grey sweats, we all know why. Cursed be your fetish for thick forearms and big hands.

He leans his head back, looking down his nose at you.

"I think it'd be an improvement," he says, "You face down, I mean," and your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline as he chuckles.

You don't know who he thinks he is, talking to you—a complete stranger— like that but you aren't about to take his shit.

You sneer. "Fuck you. Yeah, I bet that's the view you get the most. Women willingly turn away to not get a look at your mug. Did my roommate ask you to put that mask on so she could face you during sex?"

He steps forward, his height allowing him to tower over you, and growls out, "You callin' me ugly?"

Smirking, you roll your eyes. Of course.

"I don't see any other reason for you to hide your face. Not that it matters to me— I'm not the one that has to tolerate it."

His eyes squint at you as he retorts, "I'm quite the opposite."

Opening your mouth, you're about to tell him that he can say whatever helps him sleep at night when your roommate calls out to the big brute in front of you.

"Ghost? What's taking so long?" she asks.

You tried and failed miserably to hide your mocking giggle at hearing his name, and he leers at you in response. "Go on, Ghost. You're being called back into the realm of the dead."

As he steps away, he says with contempt, "Dumb little bird doesn't know what she's talking about," before walking over to your roommate, looping his arm around her shoulders and going into her room.

He probably doesn't even know your name and he laid into you like he's hated you his whole life. After pouring yourself a glass of wine, you shake your head and walk towards your bedroom. Freak.

One day, after having your friend with benefits over in the morning for some nice stress relief, you walk him out. And fucking Ghost is sitting on the couch with his arms crossed. You quickly shuffle your friend out the door, face glowing with embarrassment.

Why was he here? Jesus Christ, now he's going to watch you do the walk of shame around the flat. Hopefully, he won't say anything. As you walk away from the door to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, Ghost speaks up.

"Well, that was pathetic."

You hang your head and close your eyes in resignation. Should've known someone as toxic as he wouldn't mind his own goddamn business.

"What now, Ghost?"

He sounds oddly smug as he says, "I've been here for a couple of hours, and I didn't hear anything coming out of your room. Sounds like he doesn't know what to do with a cunt."

Behind gritted teeth, you grind out, "Don't worry about my pussy, bud. You've got yours coming in," and you hold the n as you look at your watch, "30 minutes. Now piss off."

As you stomp away towards your room, the bottle of water all but forgotten, you hear him let out a deep chuckle. He's an asshole. A physically attractive one, sans the face, but still an asshole. You're going to have to get your friend to come over more often if Ghost is going to continue being around with those jacked arms and deliciously tight grey sweats.

Sucking your teeth, you make a mental note to ask your roommate why she gave him a key to your shared flat without asking.

A week later, your roommate has Ghost over and you figure it'd be a good time to get some action yourself. You send him a text and in less than 20 minutes, you're letting him in. Hugging him, you tell him to go to the bedroom. But he's not paying attention to you— he's looking directly behind you.

Turning around to look, it's Ghost. Goddamn it. And this time he's shirtless with his arms crossed and a skull mask on. God fucking damn it. Pulling the arm of your friend, he looks down at you and you tell him to go on, that you'll be there soon.

He nods, walking away with one last look at the phantom leaning against your roommate's door. Exhaling a ragged sigh, you turn back to Ghost.

"Can I help you?"

He shakes his head mutely before responding, "No, lovie, but I can help you." You shake your head at his nonsense.

"No. I'm not doing this with you."

You turn to walk away when he speaks again.

"Yer really gonna let him touch you again? He clearly doesn't know what he's doing— Bedroom's silent as a crypt. Even with those glasses he's got on, he can't find what he should be lookin' for."

Insulted for your friend, you face Ghost with a disbelieving look on your face.

"You're not seriously standing here trying to cockblock me. You—" his audacity has you stammering, "You have no idea what I'm like. Maybe I'm just naturally quiet in bed."

Ghost stares at you for a solid minute before he shrugs and goes back to your roommate.

Unbelievable asshole. Why does he have to look so good shirtless, the berk.

You start noticing that Ghost is there a couple of hours before your roommate gets there and you'd think it's weird if you weren't too busy being distracted by the fact that he's always taunting you one way or the other. And then one day, you question him on it.

"You do know your girlfriend won't be home until the evening? It's barely 3."

Ghost turns his head from the TV to look at you and grunts.

"Not my girlfriend." That's news to you.

"Then why you spendin' so much time over here? You're gonna have me thinkin' you like spending time in my delightful presence." you banter with a teasing smile.

Ghost continues to stare at you and the heated look in his eyes confuses you but then he turns back to the TV.

"I can't stand ya, ya daft bint."

You pretend you don't hear the muted tenderness in his voice.

And on a sunny day, it all comes crashing down. The boys are over again, but this time Ghost is boring holes into the back of your head as you both go into your respective rooms. You're straddling your boy's hips shirtless when you hear your roommate's furious yelling from the other side of the flat and then stomping towards the front door before it slams closed.

After your bedroom door is busted open, the bolt being broken out of the faceplate from the brutal strength behind the force— and you're jumping off the bed and crossing your arms over your exposed chest.

It's Ghost and he's staring directly at your friend on the bed.

"No." He stomps over to grab your friend by his shirt and drags him off the bed and towards the front door before tossing him against it with a nasty-sounding slam.

"Get the fuck out."

Your friend is spluttering when Ghost cuts him off.

"If I see you here again, I'm turnin’ those silly little glasses," and he taps a lens with his finger, "into contacts. Now get the fuck out. I won't repeat myself." And with that, he trips over his own feet running out the door.

You're standing in the living room. eyes are wide in disbelief. What just happened? There's a moment of silence before Ghost breaks it.

"Your roommate won't be coming back today." He walks over to you picks you up to sit you on the kitchen countertop and lifts his mask over his mouth.

"Now. You're going to come on my tongue before I fuck you and personally test out this 'I'm quiet' theory, pet." You look down at him and sigh.

"I think I'm gonna need a new roommate," you lament.

Pulling the gusset of your knickers to the side, he says, "Don't worry your pretty little head over that. I'll be moving in with you. Also, no. You don't have a choice."

He digs his fingers into your thigh and purrs against your skin, “If you find it in you to scream, my real name’s Simon.”

And with the way his usually sharp tongue delicately rubs against your clit, you can't find it in you to argue.

A/N: dreamt of this and it had me in a chokehold.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod

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ikaroux · 2 years

Text

How are they with their pregnant companion? Al Haitham, Dottore, Pantalone.

Synopsis: Pregnant, your husband/partner is over the moon. But how would he take care of you during pregnancy?

Style: Cute, fluffy, female reader.

Bonus NSFW (18+) I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content.

Alert: May contain story spoilers for some characters.

Characters: Al Haitham, Dottore, Pantalone.

Next on the list: Ayato, Itto, Heizou, Cyno.

Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.

Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.

Note: For this headcanons, I assume that the reader is of age and that she is in a relationship with the genshin boy for a while! For Al Haitham, I don't know the character yet, I haven't met him during the main quest. I wrote him as I imagined him in a serious love relationship, like for Dottore and Pantalone. For Dottore, in the manga he is portrayed as a cruel man, who does not hesitate to play with the lives of others. I like the idea that once in love, he can completely change. You are beginning to know me, I never write anything cruel or violent. Dottore, Pantalone and even Pierrot (if I were to write about him one day), I would always soften the characters in their relationship, so don't be surprised to see no torture, insult or abuse.

PS: I'm trying to do a rewrite of part 1 with Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya etc… I would like to add more details to what I already wrote…

masterlist

Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.

Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.

Vomiting, fatigue, late menstruation. Alhaitham would quickly notice the signs of your pregnancy. And, by the archons, if his deduction proved correct, you would make him the happiest man in Teyvat.

He would not tell you immediately, preferring to take you to a doctor first. Nevertheless, he won't be able to hide that sweet little smile every time he meets your eyes. No matter how much you ask him why he looks so cheerful, Alhaitham will just tell you in a calm voice, "You'll know soon enough."

When the doctor tells you the good news, Alhaitham will warmly welcome you into his arms, tenderly kissing the top of your head. "You knew, didn't you?" You tell him against his chest, which vibrates against your ear from his laughter. "Why didn't you tell me?" He gently pulled you away from his embrace to look into your eyes. "I didn't want to see your face devastated if it turned out I was wrong." His lips met your forehead. "But I'm glad you weren't."

Alhaitham was a scholar, a man more often occupied with furthering his knowledge than frolicking about the city. He spent most of his time reading, writing, studying or observing and, of course, improving his fighting skills. He was a man with a cold and distant appearance, often considered an unpleasant person, but as soon as you appeared in his field of vision, his expression would soften and he would stop all his activities to take care of you, and even more so since you were pregnant. The people of Sumeru as well as the scholars who knew the man well will be amazed at the change in his personality as soon as you entered the same room.

The man would personally take care of your meals, preparing each dish with care to ensure your child's good health as well as yours. He would select every ingredient and buy it for you. He would ask (or order, depending on your point of view…) Tignari and Collei to bring him the best fruits of the forest. Cyno would also be part of the game, whether willingly or not…

Alhaitham's hands are perfect for massages. He will use on you essential oils made in Sumeru to massage every painful part of your body. He will also apply it to the areas where your skin is more susceptible to stretch marks.

When he was not with Lady Kusanali, you will find him at the academy, sitting at his desk with several scrolls spread out in front of him. He has always allowed you to visit him, but where once his focus was on his work, since your pregnancy, Alhaitham now wants you close to him, pulling your body into his lap, one of his hands resting comfortably on your now beautifully rounded belly. His lips gently kiss your cheek before one of his hands picks up his quill between his fingers to continue taking notes. The gentle rubbing of his hand on your belly, the sound of the pen against the paper, and the peaceful breathing of your lover will accompany you into a pleasant sleep.

Alhaitham could sometimes see your face light up with intense joy when you felt the baby move. Curious, he would try to understand your feelings by touching your belly. The first time, his child had stopped moving as soon as he put his hand on you. "Sigh why do I feel like this child will be a strong head"; "Because he will be stubborn like his father!" You laughed and reassured him as best you could, one hand tenderly caressing his cheek before kissing him.

Alhaitham accompanied you on every visit to the midwife. She advised both of you to try haptonomy in preparation for the birth. It was a therapy that allowed you to create an emotional bond with your baby. She was to teach you both how to communicate with the baby. Touching was a fundamental thing and your lover did a great job of that, applying gentle pressure to feel the baby move.

With each touch, Alhaitham could feel his child respond as he "played" and stroked your belly, your hands gently placed over his to accompany him. He would often talk to your belly, his deep voice seeming to soothe your baby.

Sometimes he would stop whatever he was doing just to look at you. The more your belly rounded, the more he felt moved… You were so beautiful, standing there in front of that flowerpot you were watering, one hand on your belly while singing a nursery rhyme to your child. You were so precious to him, a jewel in his life.

Since your pregnancy, you had been moody. The midwife had already explained to him that this was normal, so Alhaitham did not worry about it. However, he stayed by your side through every bad patch that came your way, calming your fears. He knew you would be a good mother, and he told you so whenever you were in doubt.

At night, Alhaitham already had a habit of holding you close to him while you slept. Now that you were pregnant, every time you lay down next to him, he would massage your belly and your aching chest until you fell asleep. He will look at your sleeping form for a long time, his hand still on your belly before tenderly kissing your forehead, whispering a warm "I love you". He will fall asleep against you, his hand continuously brooding over your baby, who seemed to react to his father's warmth by giving gentle strokes against you.

Alhaitham was always lovingly tender with you. Throughout your pregnancy, he would bend over backwards for you, taking care of everything in preparation for the birth. He was the one who took care of decorating the baby's room, as well as everything administrative. He wanted to remove all the unnecessary stress from your head and take on his future role as a father.

Alhaitham will be an exemplary father, always encouraging his child to excel, to believe in his abilities. He will show great patience in his education.

NSFW Bonus:

Pregnancy hormones made you insatiable. The first time you begged your husband to take you, he was lying comfortably on your marital bed with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. Without him having time to react, you straddled him, gently pulling what was in his hands away to focus his attention on you. He knew immediately what you wanted and was neither surprised nor shocked. His lips met the sensitive skin of your neck as his hands came to rest on your waist to help you sway against his hips. You could quickly feel his sex rising up under his clothes as you rubbed languidly against him. You were driving him crazy. Crazy with desire, and your pregnancy wasn't helping.

Alhaitham would always go easy on you, he didn't want to bully you or hurt the little being in your belly. He would undress you calmly, his lips worshipping the parts of your body that were offered to him. By dint of rubbing against him, you were wet enough to take him inside you, nevertheless, Alhaitham preferred to prepare you for him, thrusting a finger then two between your lower lips, making you moan at the sudden invasion. As he pumped his fingers inside you, you clung to his clothes, begging him to remove them and penetrate you as deeply as possible. He couldn't resist you, but still decided to make you cum once on his fingers before tearing off his clothes and giving you the object of your desires.

As soon as he got what he wanted from you, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you panting and sweaty. He slid his tunic over his head as quickly as possible before opening his pants to pull out his manhood already soaked by his own excitement. His heart pounded against his chest as he helped you stand over him. You straddled him in one go, without giving each other time to adjust. Grunts filled the room. Both of you had red cheeks as you slowly rolled your hips against him, whispering his name over and over in his ear.

It felt good. Terribly good. Alhaitham helped you with your movements, using the strength in his arms to lift your hips up and down with more speed and precision. He was surprisingly loud, moaning loudly, his head pressed against the back of the bed. At this rate, he wasn't going to last long. Knowing you were pregnant, full of desire for him because of the hormones was making him dizzy.

He made you cum several times that night, before retiring to take care of your exhausted, but finally satiated body. After cleaning you up, Alhaitham took you in his arms to let you sleep. His hand, warmly placed on your belly, rocked you. He whispered loving words in your ear to help you fall asleep. Before he fell asleep, he made sure to tell you and the baby that he loved you more than anything.

"Dottore! I have good news for you!"

Dottore never thought about having children. Not with the life he was leading. He was known to be a cold-hearted man with little to no regard for human life. So when you happily told him of your pregnancy, Dottore would cease all movement with a grim look on his handsome face. His ruby eyes seemed empty as they remained fixed on the bottle filled with a strange liquid that he handled carefully before you arrived in his laboratory. "Good news, you say?" His calm voice nevertheless hid a hint of horror. Shivering at his chilling tone, you slowly moved away from him, understanding that he was not happy about the news. Quickly, you ran out of his laboratory, tears in your eyes. "Tsk… Shit!"

Dottore didn't care about people, much less their feelings… Many women had coveted him for his intelligence or his looks, but none of them had interested him enough to make him feel affection. His relationships had always ended in the same way, as soon as one of his suitors started to annoy him, Dottore killed her in cold blood, using her body for his experiments… So why was it so different for you? Why did your distress affect him so much?! Why, by all the gods, did he have to fall madly in love with you? Abandoning everything he was doing, he ran out of his laboratory to catch up with you. Dottore was a man of incredible intelligence, but he always felt like a complete idiot when it came to you. He easily hurt you with his words or his behavior. Yet, you had always stood by him, faithful and loving. So when he finally managed to grab your wrist, he vowed never to be the cause of your tears again.

Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, letting you beat his chest as hard and as long as necessary if it would earn him your forgiveness. Losing you was not an option… "Let me go! " He tightened his arms around you a little more as he heard your words. "I'm sorry…" He whispered in your ear in a broken voice, which stopped all your movements instantly. You weren't used to hearing him apologize. "A baby? The idea's not so bad." You sniffed against his shirt, plunging your face deep into his chest. "You really are just a jerk…"

After that, Dottore had a completely different demeanor with you. Where he was once obsessed with his research and experiments, his mind now wandered to you, often imagining you with a round belly. A gentle smile would sometimes appear on his lips as he tended to a few vials filled with some herbal liquid or poison. Seeing him like this often frightened his subordinates, who would ask him in a hesitant voice if everything was all right, which usually erased his soft, happy expression to find that cold, threatening façade.

Your companion was not a very popular man, either among the Fatui or anywhere else on Teyvat. He was feared for his experiments on humans and hated for being the cause of death of many. He knew that your relationship with him could harm you, so for your safety and that of his unborn child, he decided to have you live near the Tsarina's palace, only a few steps away from his laboratory. The only people Dottore trusted absolutely were his copies of himself, who took care of your protection in his absence.

At your request, Dottore will cease his research on human beings (though not willingly), claiming that your child does not need a murderer for a father. The two of you argued about this for a long time, but Dottore had found someone who could stand up to him, even finding you frightening at times (and even more so since your pregnancy), when you got upset about the methods he used in his experiments.

Dottore would go to great lengths not to upset you. He knew that strong emotions were not good for you during pregnancy. As a doctor and scientist himself, he knew the risks of miscarriage. He refused to have you followed by a doctor out of nowhere and preferred to be the one to follow your pregnancy and delivery.

During the first six months of pregnancy, Dottore would continue to spend a lot of time in his laboratory, asking Pulcinella to look after you and your needs when his clones could not.

Your husband would leave work in a hurry if one of his copies came to warn him of a problem. You'd be surprised to see him come running, breathless and disheveled, slamming the door to your house and calling your name in a hurry. If you complain of stomach pain, Dottore will lay you down on the bed, taking his medical equipment with him to examine you. As soon as he was reassured of your health, his body would relax as he continued to examine your belly with his stethoscope, a small chuckle making his vocal cords vibrate. When he removed the object from his ears, his amused gaze turned to you. "Would you like to hear it?" For the first time, you could hear your child's first sounds. A softly beating heart… Dottore tenderly kissed your forehead as the first tears of happiness rolled down your cheeks.

After the seventh month, Dottore would spend more time with you. It was strange not to see him working on one of his experiments or even just seeing him in a more casual outfit. Now that he was home more often, Dottore personally made sure you rested properly, sometimes forcing you to lie down on the couch where you were sitting and rest your head on his thighs to fall asleep. Of course, you didn't say anything, enjoying these moments of affection between you and him. Dottore was more tender than he wanted to be, his hand caressing your hair until your eyes closed. You were the one who had made him like this, affectionate, tactile, in love… He had become completely addicted to you, to the idea of building a family… He couldn't deny that a little bit of fear was making his heart twirl.

The more your belly rounded, the more your back became painful, often forcing you to sit or lie down. Dottore would work on massaging your back until you felt nothing.

"I'd rather it be a girl." he once told you. You laughed, knowing exactly why he was saying that. "You'll take what comes, honey." Dottore had seen and lived with younger versions of himself, ranging from childhood to adulthood. You had always thought he was a bit of a father to them, even though it seemed strange.

Dottore always made sure to keep you away from his work to avoid any danger from the Fatui. But, when people hostile to Fatui had attacked you during a moment of inattention on his part, you had seen a face of your husband that you had never seen before. Anger invaded his features, distorting his beautiful face into a mask of hatred. You knew that Dottore already had a lot of blood on his hands and you didn't want your child's father to have any more. Just as he was about to kill those who had hurt you, your voice brought him back to his senses. So, since he couldn't punish them himself, he would let the Fatui justice system do it for him. Perhaps it would have been better if he had killed them…

Your child adored his father, you could tell by the way he wiggled in your belly whenever he heard his voice or felt his hand on your belly. Dottore may have told you it was ridiculous, but you could still see his ruby eyes sparkle every time he felt his baby press against the palm of his hand.

Overall, Dottore will be a very strict father, hoping that his child will follow in his footsteps. He won't be strict to the point of being scary or hateful, he was just what was needed to keep his child from straying from the straight and narrow. Nevertheless, his child will love him unconditionally, seeking his approval, attention and affection every time he comes home.

NSFW Bonus:

You had reached the second trimester of your pregnancy, and you were beginning to feel a rather ferocious carnal appetite. Dottore would be the one to claim you first, though, not waiting for you to come begging. Of course, you were happily guided by this man. You didn't know if it was the pregnancy that made you want to be one with him all the time, and frankly, you didn't care. The only thing that mattered to you was to feel him inside you, to have him claim you, to desire you. Maybe it was a subconscious need to feel desirable again as some of the curves were coming in with the pregnancy?

When Dottore came home, he quickly threw his long fur coat on the coat rack before looking for you in the house with the only idea in mind to make you his. You were used to his roughness in bed, but now that you were pregnant, he was more gentle. He'd take the time to prepare (or rather torture) you with his fingers, caressing your slit and then massaging your clit before his lips took over after tending to your sensitive breasts. Even if you were wet enough for him, Dottore would always add extra lube to his fingers and member.

Your round belly prevented you from getting into certain positions during sex. Most of the time, Dottore would dominate you with all his form, just to save you from any unnecessary physical effort. But sometimes he would simply lay you down on the mattress with your back to him, spreading one of your legs to facilitate the penetration of his member into you.

The swaying of his hips would be torturously slow at first. Dottore liked to play with your nerves, putting aside his desire to hammer you to listen longer to the small moans of pleasure that you offered him. You were so sensitive that it made him lose his mind. But there comes a time when his restraint breaks, and as his lips marked the skin of your neck in a possessive gesture, his hips would increase the pace of their thrusts. Your husband's grunts of pleasure along with the moans of your name would eventually send you over the edge.

Dottore would wait patiently for you to calm down before continuing, his hips slowing in a languid circular motion. He wouldn't cum yet, preferring to savor you for as long as possible. His hand would come to rest on your belly for a while, caressing it gently. He would silently claim your lips with his eyes, kissing you deeply, tangling your tongues together. Dottore was a cold and cruel man, but in your arms, passion and warmth would emanate from him like a fire.

"Sweetheart, I have a gift to give you."

Pantalone was a Fatui enforcer, a wealthy banker known throughout Teyvat as a false, calculating and unscrupulous man. Who would have thought that such a person was capable of loving anything other than his money and starting a family?

When you offered him this small rectangular box carefully sealed with a blue ribbon, Pantalone first looked at it with a doubtful air before displaying his usual smile. "Do we have something to celebrate my dear?" Your sweet, innocent smile always cracked him up. As you remained silent and your gaze grew more insistent, the man sighed before one of his hands tugged at the ribbon that surrounded the package. When he opened the box, he was surprised to find inside a small knitted sweater, obviously made by you. He remained silent for a long time, observing the garment in his hands. "Um… isn't this a baby garment?" He fell silent, realizing what he had just said. When his eyes met yours in a silent question, you nodded sharply, confirming his suspicions. Trembling, he dropped the box to the ground, treasuring the sweater in his hand as he pulled you into his arms. You had both been trying to have a child for several months, and so far, it hadn't been a real success. He was going to do everything he could to take care of you both…

The first few months were complicated for you. You had every morning violent and unbearable nausea. But Pantalone always managed to help you get over it, sitting you on his lap after giving you a cool glass of water. He would massage your belly until you felt better.

Pantalone is rich. Excessively rich. It's almost indecent. Next to him, you felt like a smile. Yet your husband had been poor and that was the same reason why he was spending a lot of moras on his unborn child. He wanted to give him a luxurious and comfortable life, everything that he had not had in his youth. The furniture was made of the best wood. The sheets, mattresses, and all the fabrics covering the surfaces were made of the most expensive materials in all of Teyvat. Of course, he also showered you with gifts, giving you clothes, bringing you all the food you wanted. He spoiled you and fulfilled your every wish.

When the two of you go out, Pantalone always keeps a protective hand on your lower back, warning those who would want to hurt you. He wants to keep you from any unnecessary stress, especially if it's work-related.

You'll be quite surprised to learn that Pantalone has told all of his harbinger colleagues about your pregnancy. Sometimes he would sit in Dottore's office and tell him about your growing belly with unconcealed pride. Dottore would often growl at him, asking him to get out of his lab. The man hated to see his colleague, usually wearing a cold, manipulative smile, so gaga over a "baby.

In the early stages of pregnancy, Pantalone sometimes didn't come home all week, too busy managing Snezhnaya's bank. He hated to leave you alone for so long, even knowing that you had bodyguards protecting you. And although Pulcinella would come to see you from time to time, sometimes bringing you some sweets or your favorite fruit, it didn't make him feel any better. Every day he would write you a letter and you would rush to answer it. He was always so anxious to hear from you…

Pantalone is the kind of man who will talk to your belly, hands gently encircling your hips and an ear pressed against you, hoping to feel his movements and hear his child. If you're sitting comfortably on a couch, the man will come between your legs, face against your belly, eyes closed, savoring your hands combing his long silky hair. He would be perfectly capable of falling asleep in this position, totally serene in your hands.

Sometimes your companion would come home late from work and find you asleep on the couch in the large living room, patiently waiting for him to return. The man would let a long sigh escape him before displaying one of his rare tender smiles, approaching you to kiss your forehead, your nose and then your lips. His hand would warmly caress your rounded belly, until he was startled by his baby's movements. "Well, aren't you still asleep my precious? Be good, don't wake up mommy…" Gently kissing the spot where he had felt his child's thrashing. He would eventually lift you gently off the couch, carrying you in his arms to lay you down in your bed.

Every time Pantalone passed you, he would pull you into his arms, kissing your lips and whispering about how beautiful he thought you were with your rounded belly, brooding over his child. "How is it that every day you get more and more gorgeous?" You would often roll your eyes, cheeks flushed and a slight smile on your lips before silencing him with a kiss.

Pantalone has a deep, gravelly voice, perfect for soothing your child's fidgets as well as your nerves. He will gladly lay you on his lap with a Snezhnaya storybook in hand and read it slowly until you fall asleep.

Your mood swings will never disturb this seasoned businessman. He will find the right words to calm you down.

Your husband will be very affectionate with you. He'll always speak softly to you, the warmth in his voice soothing your often frayed nerves during pregnancy. He will put aside his evil eye, wanting to live many years with you and your child.

Pantalone will be a very loving father and like Kaeya and Zhongli, extremely gaga over his child. He would spoil him to excess if you weren't there to temper him.

NSFW Bonus:

Your partner did not hide his desire for you. After all, he never stopped telling you that he found you beautiful and desirable… Pantalone was not in the habit of asking for you at any time of the day, often too busy with his work. But he couldn't help it, your pregnancy made it impossible for him to control his urges.

Your sexual relations were always slow and languid. Pantalone had never been a rough or brusque person. He liked to sit you on his lap in his office, his fingers penetrating your wet slit. He wanted to hear every moan, every whisper of his name in your mouth. His free hand took hold of your sensitive breast, gently pinching and pulling your nipple. His lips would mark the skin of your neck before moving up to your jaw and then your ear, gently whispering to you to cum for him… His deep voice, marked by lust, will make you rock on his fingers.

Pantalone likes to take you from behind, sticking you against a wall before penetrating you. His hips will slowly sway behind you, first in a teasing circle before moving in more forcefully. One of his hands would be under your belly, helping you bear the weight, however lightly, while the other would draw your hips into place. A smirk would appear on his lips as you begged him to go faster. "Oh? Don't you appreciate the way I take you? It seems to lull our child to sleep though, don't you think? " And indeed, it was possible for sex to lull a baby to sleep in the womb. Reluctantly, you gave in to your husband's slow rhythm.

As soon as he felt your walls tremble on his member as your orgasm approached, Pantalone accelerated his thrusts, surprising you in the process with a shrill cry of sudden pleasure. "Pantalone! The baby he-"; "I never said it was enough to be slow to rock him honey." You quickly climaxed, screaming his name over and over until he released his load inside you, his head collapsing onto your shoulder, his breath tickling your bare back. Both of his hands would rest on your lower abdomen, tenderly caressing it as he whispered his love for you in your ear.

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house-of-daena · 8 months

Note

Requesting for sub!dottore having his virginity taken in the akademiya by reader :3

Just imagining being his first,, he'd be so cute!!

obviously a virgin [dottore x amab.reader]

contents: no pronouns specified, dom reader/sub dottore, nsfw, akademiya zandik, slight exhibitionism, virgin taking, vanilla-ish, praise, dacryphilia, degradation, biting, blood, choking, overstimulation, (wc: 2.6k), tell me if i miss anything.

꒰ hi! thanks for being my first rq ❤️❤️ i do like me virgin taking ideas hehe, rqs r open btw n sorry this took too long :( ill be working on another dottie rq,, also holy shit thanks for 500??? i literally hit 400 a week ago... haha hi.. theres so many of you guys.. 😥😥(ty for all the support!)꒱

it's entertaining to mess with zandik, the cute boy who always gets paired with you for projects, since you're the only one who willingly sits beside him whenever you have class together.

you could definitely see why people are both intimidated and suspicious of him. you wanted to get to know your partner more, so you had asked him what he was writing in his notes all day long instead of listening to the professor, and just hearing him talk about his most recent research was enough to get the matra to do a thorough investigation in his flat.

you should've really backed away from zandik and refrained from interacting with him anymore aside from your projects, but the way his eyes turned from his usual bored and cold stare to turn into sparkling rubies when you said you wanted to learn more about his studies, the way his behavior slowly went from snobbish and irritated whenever you were around, to getting giddy at the idea of someone finally showing interest and understanding of his views and perspective while also trying to keep pretending that he's not growing fond of your company at all, has you completely hooked on zandik.

it was only a matter of time before you've managed to get zandik all wrapped around your fingers, all putty in your arms whenever you hold him, and finally able to call him yours.

before you asked him out, he was very... shy, for lack of a better term. whenever you think he feels flustered by something you say or do, he starts swearing at you and insulting you for no apparent reason. of course, you were taken aback at the sudden attitude, but he'd be all red in the face as he tried to hide away from you, a hand on his chest and muttering curses to himself under his breath.

and he proceeded to be a cutie even in a relationship. the boy can not express himself at all, and you can't blame him. he was used to being alone for the majority of his life, people casting him out, his own village even banished him, so you know he has never felt a lick of love ever since. zandik was just very lucky that you had the patience of a god despite his deranged self and rather less-than-humane ideas. he was aware enough to be grateful for your loving sincerity.

it's always so entertaining to see his face turn completely red, brows furrowed and lips curling into a terrifying scowl as he stumbles over his words, yelling at you for flustering him, making him feel loved.

really, it's not your fault that his reactions are so amusing. hugs, and kisses, he was slowly getting accustomed to. he was also getting bolder day by day, grabbing you by your forearms as he shyly pressed a kiss on your lips. he's so assertive, but at the same time, he's seconds away from punching you in the face because of your big dopey grin.

one day, you thought, "what if i take it a step further?". it was your own experiment to conduct, and you merely wanted his reactions as a result (or maybe even a green light to proceed...) and so, you began subtly touching him on his erogenous zones.

it started off innocent, your hands caressing the skin of his neck while you pull him into a deep kiss, tenderly squeezing him as you grab him by the waist, nipping on his earlobe and even going as far as lightly giving his ass a slap. and just as you expected, he'd immediately glare at you, sharp teeth exposing themselves as he glowers at you. of course, you don't miss the way his hands shaky slightly and how he becomes extra jittery when you get too close, your hot breath fanning into his ear.

then you took it even further when zandik never told you to stop.

in the middle of a class, you'd place your hand on his thigh. you'd pretend to be listening to your professor, writing down notes and humming to yourself as he shoots you a pointed look. yet he didn't move away from you, only letting out a small sigh as he melted when you absentmindedly circled your thumb on his skin, gently squeezing and kneading his thigh.

he didn't mind it at all... until you decided to slowly move your hand closer to his crotch, which made his breath hitch and close his legs, his nails digging into the book he was reading. but you keep your hand on on him, forcing your hand into his inner thigh to give it teasing squeezes. zandik almost gasped when your fingers slipped inside his shirt, featherlight touch grazing the smooth skin of his pelvis, ghosting over his quivering abdomen, then massaging onto the dip of his hips.

then you pulled your hand away, resting your chin onto your palm, and spun your pen in your other hand, ignoring zandik's looks of frustration with a big smirk tugging on your lips.

and this continued for weeks on end; pinning him against a wall in an empty hall and then making out with him so good his knees would buckle underneath him, only to leave him yearning for more when you remind him you've got classes to attend to—openly talking about very sexual topics that would make his jaw clench and narrow his eyes at you, his mind reeling from all the fantasies that you've been planting into his imagination—eyeing him so intently and making sure he sees you lick your lips, leading him to throw his book at your face.

you can easily tell it was driving him mad, for you to push and test his limits, only to fuck with him and pull away. his carnal desire only grew at your ridiculous behavior, and truthfully, zandik doesn't know what to do with himself. he's not a stranger to the warmth that pools in the pits of his stomach, but he has never done anything about it, and it got overwhelmingly intense when it came to you.

and frankly, he has had enough.

here you go again, trailing wet kisses all over his neck and collarbones, in a fucking library. zandik had to hold back screaming at you when you pinned him against one of the shelves and started making out with him. at least you had half the mind to do it somewhere more secluded.

your hands were inside his shirt, grazing his skin with your nails, fingertips ghosting over his hardened nipples. he couldn't help but whimper into the kiss, his knees growing weak as you press yours onto his crotch.

zandik really wanted to be the one in control so bad. he wanted you to be quivering beneath him, moaning his name and begging him for pleasure. but fuck, just by your touch, the warmth of your palms, how your lips leave his skin tingling and muttering sweet nothing's in his ear, he can't possibly fight against it. it was like all his previous thoughts have escaped his mind, and now he's reduced to some dumb, needy slut who can't get enough.

the ever so smart and arrogant zandik, now just a pathetic, quivering mess in your arms, desperate for more. it was obvious how his hips erratically moved against your knee, though sloppy and without a rhythm. it was obvious how his hands kept grabbing you; from your arms, shoulders, and wrapping his arms around your neck, he was restless. he squirmed and whined, nipping at your lips and refusing to let you pull away.

he was so fucking horny that he is not going to allow you to fuck with him again this time.

so, as soon as you leaned back, he grabbed your arms and yanked you back toward him. brows furrowed as his sharp, crimson eyes glower at you, his hands gripped you so hard, you were convinced it was bound to leave bruises. you tensed at his sudden actions, and your expression grew sheepish.

uh oh, you thought, guilt quickly overtaking you. immediately, you assumed that you've finally reached the limit of his patience, and now you're about to get it—especially with how angry he looked. but then he smashed his lips against yours, catching you off guard. you groaned against the kiss, teeth clashing against each other, the iron taste of your blood making you shiver.

zandik pulls away, licking his lips, "if you're gonna keep touching me like this—" he pants between breaths, growling and digging his nails into your arm, "then go through with it! i can't take it anymore!"

"oh," you say dumbly, blinking at him with wide eyes. zandik groaned at your response, his cheeks reddening as he grew flustered when your lips curled into a dark, mischievous grin. "oh my, in a library of all places?" you shook your head teasingly, pressing your body closer to his and making his breath hitch when he felt your lips against his ear. "how naughty you are."

zandik shuddered at your words, his arms now wrapped against your neck, biting his bottom lip to suppress any embarrassing noise that threatened to leave his throat. "y-you're the one who started it!" he whispered angrily in your ear, his face completely red, chuckling at the way he stumbled at his words.

that's how he ended up getting his virginity taken by you in a library. he didn't expect you to, but it seemed like you couldn't wait any longer either.

you tried to be gentle. really, you did! you love zandik to death that you wanted to take it easy on him on his first. but then he was complaining and rushing you, pleading for you to just put it in and that he could take it. you can't help but click your tongue, a bit annoyed, but still understanding. he was really needy, a bit cute, especially when you've embarrassed him.

"just put it in!" he bemoans, wriggling his hips impatiently whilst your fingers scissor his hole. you frown at him, shoving your fingers deeper, soliciting a silent moan from his lips, his heart pounding hard against his chest. "i have to stretch you out first, it'll be painful if i don't." then you tilt your head to the side, a curious glint in your eyes as you smile, "lest you want it to hurt?"

zandik scowls at your suggestion, but you can tell he is flustered by how you read his mind. your smile only widened, ideas forming in your mind as you curl your fingers into a certain spot, and he had to swallow down his screams and bury his head onto your neck.

"gods zandik," you chuckle, watching his shoulders shake at your condescending tone, "you're such a fucking whore."

you don't trust him to keep quiet for his first time. his sharp teeth bit onto the flesh of your hand, hissing at the pain the more his teeth sink into your skin. your blood mixed in with his drool that dribbled down his chin, muffling his whorish moans as you pound into him.

zandik clawed at the wooden shelves, books falling to the ground as he tried to desperately hold onto something, anything to make him feel even a bit of stability. it felt so fucking good, the way your cock stretched his insides, his walls convulsing to your girth as you push deeper into his hole. he could feel it pulsating inside of him, so warm and big, easily stuffed as you bury even deeper into him. he regrets that he didn't let you fuck him sooner, easily growing addicted to your cock.

beads of his precum dripped onto the floor, creating a pathetic puddle of his arousal. his poor neglected cock, red and throbbing, bobbing in the air and flicking bits of his juices everywhere at each thrust, making a mess onto the books on the shelves. he couldn't stop it even if he wanted to, he doesn't understand why his cock is leaking so much, twitching and practically begging to be touched by you. too bad you're ignoring it.

you had to hook your arms under his, unable to stand on his own with how good you were fucking him. his legs could barely function, trembling and weak whenever your cockhead harshly hits his prostate.

he keens at the burning pleasure that's spreading all over his body and all the way down to his toes. it was better than he could ever imagine, your cock was so big, and he never wants you to stop—all he could let out were mantras of fuck's and faster! and harder! and don't stop! he almost forgot that he was inside a library.

you feel him tighten when you wrap your hand around his throat, squeezing his neck. he choked on his own spit as he grew lightheaded, the smell and taste of your blood sending shivers down his spine, the corners of his eyes darkening as he's gasping for breath in between his moans. he squirmed against you, throwing his head back as he raked his nails onto your arms and leaving bright red scratches, but you only groaned at the pain and slammed your hips against his ass, your cock abusing his poor prostate.

zandik couldn't take it. it was too much! he cums, hard.

ropes of his thick cum flung onto books and onto the floor, his eyes rolled back as his body shook. your hand remained wrapped on his throat and your thrusts slowed to let him ride his high, whimpering as tears rolled down his cheeks. his head was in the clouds, screaming your name against your hand as his body quivered.

his head laid against your shoulder, so fucked out that his mind was completely blank. he wanted to scold you for driving him mad for weeks, for fucking him and taking his virginity in a library, of all places! but most important, he wanted you to bend him over his desk and fuck him harder. to use him, keep fucking him to your heart's content, as long as you're burying your cock that he loves so much into his hole.

then, you start moving again, your thrusts now held more vigor than before. zandik arches his back, his body trembling, sensitive from his previous orgasm. he looks at you with wide eyes, his teeth biting onto your hand once more. he's afraid he might scream at the top of his lungs if he doesn't bite on your hand.

he wanted to tell you to stop, that it's too much for him to handle, but the burn, the pain, it felt too good. the way his dick drooled when you started fucking him again had his head spinning. it stings, and his cock was still painfully throbbing from how neglected it was. it's not like he can say anything coherent anyway, you have your hand preventing him from pleading for mercy.

"don't forget about me, love." you purr into his ear, squeezing his neck and choking him, watching his tears clump his lashes together as he claws at your arms for oxygen. you grin at the pathetic display, struggling to breathe even if you've let him go. you don't stop, forcing his body to bend to your will, using him until you've had your fill. or at least, he's finally lost his mind to the pleasure. "you're gonna let me cum, right? fill you up until you're full?" you're not sure if he could even understand your words at this point, but zandik nods, like a good, obedient slut.

oh, you are going to have so much fun with him.

#» asmo's writings #» dottore #dottore x reader #dottore x male reader #sub dottore #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #sub genshin #sub genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #sorry if it got a bit boring i kinda rushed to finish this #it was a spur in the moment type of 'finishing' it hijskaddas #i opened my drafts and went 'hm ill force myself tofinish it'

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from-the-clouds · 1 year

Text

savior complex - joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | song inspo | gif: @joelmjller

All the skeletons that you hide Show me yours, I'll show you mine

summary: Joel shows up at your doorstep, battered and bruised. Despite the bad blood between you, do you have the heart to turn him away? Enemies to lovers. Takes place pre-television series/game. Was written as a companion piece/prequel to my other joel fic, but can be read on it's own. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, implied age gap. Enemies to lovers. Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, implied death of a family member, canon-typical suffering! Descriptions of injuries, blood, stitches (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: I haven't seen the enemies to lovers trope written for joel yet, and I'm also obsessed with the trope of a character showing up at their enemies house because they don't have any place to go. So maybe this is a little self-indulgent. Special shoutout to @ay0nha for letting me talk to you about this fic! Please enjoy, I'm really proud of/excited about this one. ♥

“What do you want?”

The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.

“I need your help,” he says.

You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”

It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference.

The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second.

He’s covered in blood.

It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow.

Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.

“Why should I help you?”

He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained.

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.

“Please?”

He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.

“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave?

Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.

You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile.

Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.

“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”

His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.

“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.

“It’s none of your business,” he quips.

“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.”

“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”

“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue.

Joel doesn’t answer.

“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple.

“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard.

“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”

You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that.

“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict.

“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.

“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?”

“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage

“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.

It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.

When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side.

“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”

“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.”

He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”

The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.

You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.

You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.

“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one.

There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.

“Open up.”

He glowers at you like a defiant child.

“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips.

When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.

You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest.

It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”

You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”

Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable?

As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand.

It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.

“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”

He nods.

“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction.

He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.

Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage.

“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy.

He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.

Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.

The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.

Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”

You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.

You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.”

“Thank fucking-”

“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”

His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell.

“Why me?” you ask, finally.

“What?”

“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”

Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”

One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.

“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.”

Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do.

“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers.

“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….”

He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard.

You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.

Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”

“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you.

You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes.

Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.

He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…

— — — — — —

The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching.

Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.

It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges.

There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling.

– Take pain meds

– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle

– Change dressing

– LEAVE

The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper.

‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.

He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide.

When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up.

“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again.

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration.

Instead of correcting him, you say nothing.

“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.

“Ben was just leaving,” you say.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.

Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.

You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder.

“Who was that?”

“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.

“How often does he–?”

“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?”

Joel doesn’t answer.

“You probably needed it.”

You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”

Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed.

“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”

He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”

You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you.

Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.

Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought.

No, is his answer.

He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk. Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.

The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask.

“It was sitting out.”

You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”

The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits.

“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”

Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”

He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound.

He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”

“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.

“Suit yourself.”

“I will.”

You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them.

“I’m sorry.”

Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.

You balk at him. “For what?”

Everything. “Your brother.”

“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head. “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.”

“Yeah.”

“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection.

He nods, takes a beat.

“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-”

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”

“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”

“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool.

“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”

“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done.

Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it.

I’m sorry.

You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once.

“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”

A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward.

The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.

“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”

This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film.

“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.

Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy.

“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.

“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”

It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide.

He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?

But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap.

He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to.

You break away first. “Fuck.”

Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase.

“I do want you.”

“Then have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.

Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?”

He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes.

Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts.

You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.

What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.

But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.

Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur.

“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.

“I know.” But I still do.

Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement.

Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.

“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans.

“Take these off.”

Yes. There’s no protest.

It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.

“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”

“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you.

You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you.

The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”

You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.

You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.”

“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”

“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well.

He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time.

It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate.

You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.

“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.”

His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.

“I’m not - fuck.”

The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again.

You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”

Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known.

He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer.

“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing.

“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”

He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.

The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.

Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling.

We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.

Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him.

When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.

You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved.

“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles.

“She knows I can take care of myself.”

Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.

“You should probably go.”

His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.

The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.

He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.

“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.

Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”

You look up, nod, and he’s gone.

— — — — — —

part ii

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #enemies to lovers #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine

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hanwiore · 9 months

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Armins friend group knew eachother like the back of their hands. Having to grow up with eachother and sticking with eachother through arguments and dislikes.

The friendship first rule being never to hide anything.

And i mean anything.

But armin has been a good boy, atleast that’s what people thought because why has his friends never knew he was sneaking around with the most popular girl known on twitter and instagram for her big ass and juicy tits?

The one who had mutiple viral videos with whip cream dripping down her dark brown areola, as her over dramatic nails gripped them and bounced them with her pretty smile showing over her pink tongue as she sticks it out in the camera?

Why have they never knew?

Well that’s because sneaky, little armin wanted to keep her to himself!

He gets fucked to good, gets turnt on to easily to have anyone look at her. But that was before today.

Before he gave you consent to post a video with armin.

A video on your popular twitter. Free and willingly.

Armin sat on your satin blue bed comforter, back against your chest and legs spread wide against yours. Your phone recording on your nightstand, perfect lighting from two ring lights so they can see everything.

So they can see his flushing cheeks and ears that even followed down to his neck, they can see his hardened nipples that squeezed between nipple clamps. And oh his dick….maybe not that big in length but so thick and so pink!

He was adorable that’s why you had to get your greedy dirty hands on such a sweet boy.

Your hello kitty nail set, extra long and slightly curved complimenting his dick as one stroked it and the other holding your vibrator that settled on his balls that was now soaking wet from your orgasm before and his messy pre-cum that ran down. “M-mommy!” He gasped and shook.

From the beginning you trained armin, him being a virgin and you being a slutty thing. Training him how to cum on demand was what he was really interested in so you made sure that to be his first content with you.

“Yes baby?” Glossed lips says closely to his ears. His eyes rolled back and thighs twitched and shook, “feels so good mommy, i-i oh.” You looked over his shoulder and into his eyes that now opened and was staring right at the camera. You saw a smirk slightly form on his face.

You squeezed his dick and pressed the vibrator harder onto his full balls, “oh? whats funny?” You hummed as he moaned loudly, fingers gripping on your thigh and moving all over you. “T-that, nghh, how no one else can do thi-this fuck! Do this but m-me.” Armin finally stutters out, you make him hold the vibrator now against his frenulum, his whines grew more louder and shaky.

Your now free hand grips his neck to turn him slightly so you can kiss his cheek, “that’s right baby, no one else but you, cause i’m yours right?” That made armin legs pull up and tried to clench them to hide his dick but your stroking turnt ruthless, gripping him just like your cunt would. “Ohh yes! yes yes yes. Can i cum hm? Wanna cum so bad for you mommy- s-shit.” He was a babbling mess.

“Not yet. Cause your also what armin?” You asked, nonchalantly is what armin would say but your pussy was soaked, you can feel it.

His fingers gripped on your thighs tighter, head thrown back on your shoulder, “i’m yours hnnn yours !” He bit his redden lips, tightening his stomach so he won’t cum and disobey because he’s a good boy. Just like you trained him to be.

“Exactly so you listen to what mommy says, but your a good boy aren’t you my sweet armin?” His pre cum sliding down your fingers and it gets so wet and messy you hear squelching sounds in the back other then his whimpers and cries. “Y-yess mommy.” He moves the vibrator over his tip, lips chapped and mouth opening, spit train connected both his bottom and top lip as no sound comes out, slight “hnns.” And “nghhs.”

You smiling at the camera and wink then you turn to armin to kiss his neck, your hand moving from his neck to his sensitive nipple and you squeeze, “you can cum baby.”

He almost goes forward if it wasn’t for you arm around his chest, “imcummingimcummingmommy! Im fuckin- cumming oh mommy!” His thighs shook and he actually cries. Tears forming and slipping “nghhh oh…” big spurts of cum moving over his chest and his thighs.

“Wait till your friends see this.”

#armin x reader #armin arlert #armin x y/n #armin smut #black reader #black woman #aot x black reader #aot smut #aot x y/n #aot x you #smut #armin x black reader #imhornyaf #sub armin #dom reader

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dmitriene · 2 months

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THOUGHTS ABOUT BIKER SIMON AND HIS ATTRACTION TO YOU.

cw: fluff, comfort, smut, established relationship, brief mention of simons past, coul be slightly ooc simon, unprotected sex, p in v, public sex (on motorcycle), creampie, kisses, mentions of posessive behavior, simon having a hard time to confess his love to you, that's all. pairing: bf simon ghost riley x gf fem reader

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

simon's behavior comes down to how a black cat behaves next to a person he has taken a closer look at, he is as affectionate as a cat can be, whom miss fortune has been desperately avoiding all his life, but at the same time still going towards affection, in this case, to you, the one who gives it.

it is very easy to notice that he accepts care for him slowly, meekly, but in response he cannot squeeze out a word, he responds with actions, and to almost every “i love you, si„ there is not an expected confession, but a gesture that shows his affection wider than a few fleeting words.

if you needed to get somewhere quickly or leave somewhere, simon was right there, the motorcycle parked near the place where you were waiting, while both of his gloved hands held the second helmet, bought especially for you as soon as you started dating — with the aim of not only protecting you, but also carefully introducing you to part of his life, riding and fiddling with bikes.

you carefully extracted information from him about his life and hobbies, every time you drove together along the wide streets at high speed, your arms gently wrapped around his waist and clung to his leather jacket, he answered your every question willingly, with a gentle chesty growl, sometimes laughing hoarsely under his breath and teasing your desire to get to know him better

— “curious thing you are, darling„

and you always playfully pouted, resting your helmeted forehead against his back and lightly pinching him where your hands were placed on his waist, squeezing tightly so as not to slip away, and at the same time touchingly playfully attacking him through the fabric of his clothes with small pinches, to which he just laughed, listening to your mutterings

— “just wanna know you better, si.. you don't tell me anything„

and you’re right, he knows this, but his service in the task force and the nightmares he experienced forbade him to talk too much about himself or his feelings, the person hidden under the balaclava of the skull was considered forever dead and hiding in the shadows, and the absence of a photograph on his dossier in the army will be remembered there forever, but little by little there is less and less of that ghost of a man left, because you are definitely bringing back that side of him that he managed to bury.

simon gave flowers to someone for the first time in his life when your relationship just started, he didn’t even buy them for his own grave from which he fled, but he knew that he had to buy them for you, and the colorful fragrant petals became the beginning of your relationship, as bright as a lipstick mark on his bare cheek that day, and he would happily never wash it off, but you both know that you will put more and more of them, marking his whole face.

his affection is reflected in reverent touches, sometimes obsessive, every time you go out somewhere together, the heavy hand on the bottom of your back feels like a pleasant weight, with the care of which he later outlines your waist, holding you close to him not to control, but out of concern.

despite the fact that he is slightly unfamiliar with being so close to women, to signs of attention, you still notice that he is not afraid to take your hand in public, hug you, allow you to slightly lift his mask to kiss his lips or cheek, but it is even more tactile in the warmth of the walls of your home.

hugs from the back, arms exploring your body completely openly, small kisses on the back of your neck and face, he practically carries you around the house in his arms — all just for the urgent purpose of having you close, so that he can cuddle up to you and feel you close, while are you gently teasing him with the words — “aren't you clingy, si?„ but simon only grumbles and buries his nose in your chest while you carefully sorting the light strands of his hair, stroking.

but at a certain moment he breaks down, unexpressed feelings gather in an uncomfortable lump that worries simon, you are so affectionate for him, so beloved, but he cannot even answer a word of mutuality to you, he feels that he is not enough, feels helpless, and therefore solves everything with intimacy, squeezing your body in his arms carefully, gloves are hastily thrown off at the feet so that bare, rough, warm palms touch your soft skin, squeezing your hips and rising to your waist as you spread your legs for him, so lovely, leaning on his motorcycle.

your legs wrap around his waist, trembling slightly with each powerful thrust as your bodies press against his bike, balancing in a dangerous, uncomfortable position, elbows rubbing against the leather seat and the smooth surface of the bike, but it’s nothing compared to the heat in your body and the heaviness in bottom of your stomach.

simon's kisses are hot and demanding, his tongue sliding wetly into your mouth, muffling your moans and whimpers, the taste of his lips mixing with the overwhelming sensations rushing through your body as he greedily captures your mouth, his lips and tongue exploring every inch, making you to suffocate and at the same time desperately demand more.

he breaks the kiss, his completely darkened caramel eyes meet yours, silently ordering you to remain silent, before he nevertheless exhales into your wet and swollen lips, holding back his moans at the very edge

— “gonna be quiet for me, love, can't let anyone stop and go check from where all this pretty sounds go, yeah?„

and the need for discretion can't help but intensify the tension of the moment, igniting the thrill of the forbidden even more, causing you to hastily nod your head and moan into his open mouth as he again pushes his tongue to intertwine it with yours.

with each quick and desperate thrust, his cock plunges deeper into your sloppy cunt, allowing the wetness and heat to envelop his meaty cock all the way to his pelvic, as the sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mixing with the quiet whimpers escaping your lips despite your best efforts to remain silent and obey simon.

he can feel your orgasm approaching, telltale signs evident in your moan and the way your body trembles against his as simon's tongue explores your mouth with newfound eagerness, sucking on your tongue and eliciting muffled moans from your lips that he swallows.

with every deep thrust, his cock hits your spongy spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, causing the tight muscles of your cunt to clench around his girth, wet, squelching sounds filling the night air as simon's cock slips out slightly, but then pushes back into your tight, slick warmth, pushing you closer to the edge, making you practically scream, babbling

— “si, simon, hmnhrgh!! c-close, i'm close„

and then your hands slide with a slight creak from the surface of his motorcycle, and you instinctively reach out and grab his neck, your fingers curling, clinging to the back of simon's head, somewhere brushing the fabric of his leather jacket and the blond strands of his hair as you give in to the all consuming pleasure, falling completely silent.

every movement of his hips elicits a moan from your lips, your body eagerly responding to his primal dominance, all his feelings poured out into his erratic and rough thrusts as he strokes your waist carefully before pulling you close and straightening up, allowing you to be literally impaled on his girthy cock, muffling the loud sobs in his shoulder as he leans one hand into the seat of his motorcycle, white knuckled, and the other squeezes your thigh, impaling you again and again.

simon's hips snap with more force, driving himself deeper into your slobbering and throbbing cunt, he enjoys the way you clench around him in this new position, almost milking him, making his cock throb with every thrust into your slickness and squirm against your soft walls.

the feeling of his cock kissing your cervix sends a wave of pleasure through your body, coiling the tension in your belly tighter and tighter, and then it snaps, your walls clenching around him, milking him out as you reach your peak, practically biting down on his shoulder from the intensity of the feelings rolling in like a wave of heat.

your slick fluids and cum coat his cock, further lubricating the already slippery rhythm between you, the pulsing, gripping sensation driving him over the edge, his sighs and moans mixing with your incoherent mutterings, and you sing almost in unison about your feelings for each other

— “si, si, fuck!! aahn, l-love you, si, i love you„

— “i know, sweet girl, i know, mngh! f-fuck, love ya too, i love ya too„

his cock throbs inside your walls as he releases his hot cum, filling you up with his potent seed, painting you inside with his milky release and letting it drip down from your clenching cunt, coating his messy, wet from both your liquids cock and down his balls, somewhere there on the ground are still his gloves, on which white drops of your vulgar encounter now falling, the shared release creates a raw, intimate connection between you, the words he has kept for so long fall from his lips incessantly, and he whispers them in your ear, covering the side of your face with hurried, warm kisses.

he doesn’t care about the gloves, he doesn’t care about the roar of cars passing in the distance, which can turn here at any moment, the only thing that worries him is your warm body in his hands and the confessions that he can’t stop whispering to you, he kept them inside himself for so long, and finally gave them a path to the surface, and you will remember this for a long, long time, but for now, let simon take care of you and bring you two back home.

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