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ken-jaku · 2 months

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pretty nose, pretty boy. zayne from love and deepspace

there's a huge chance my phone may have distorted the quality to make it look like he has a dorsal hump but idc! i like the idea of it sm that im gonna lie to myself!

content warnings. suggestive content (smut), pussydrunk!zayne, both fem!reader and zayne are virgins, fingering, oral via face riding, zayne has a dorsal hump, semi!public sex (at akso hospital for the plot😼). vague mentions of zayne's asphyxiation kink, brief mentions of pining, nervous/anxious reader. verbal consent (zayne strictly wants words, no hums or nods). zayne is naturally dominant in this... idk what came over me. overstimulation. cumming right after an orgasm cause "love knows no bounds" :D mention of jealousy towards rafayel. reader has doctor/patient kink? all this on the first day of dating is crazyyy shit writing, haven't published anything since 2016 and that was a 5 chapter, 300 words each, wattpad story on hanahaki💀 huge chance i might edit this again later

word count. 5.09k words

"zayne?" your words are almost like a whisper as you squirm on the couch, impatience and anxiety riddling you as you can't wait to get dinner and execute your plan of either a.) finally getting a longer kiss compared to the two-second one you had earlier or b.) getting said kiss and have him hang out for a few more minutes after he walks you to your apartment. your boyfriend of just a few hours, which still feels rather unreal, sat across the room from you, hard at work. his long, scarred fingers tap away at the keyboard before him. a soft, short hum leaves his lips in acknowledgement of you.

said hum goes, unintentionally, ignored as you couldn't stop staring at him. the way his long eyelashes gently graced his lids, his nose twitching ever so slightly to shift his glasses as he focused on the computer screen. his beauty- his very being was captivating.

you never noticed it before but his nose had a small, almost unnoticeable, dorsal hump. soon enough, your mind went where no one's should be, especially on the day you confess and start dating. you wanted to fuck his face, plain and simple. sure, it was a bit too soon to have those thoughts but, really. who cares? you cuffed a pretty man with a pretty nose- you just can't help yourself!

"are you alive over there?" your physician's monotone voice almost makes you jump, "you've been staring at me for quite a while," his voice now laced with faux concern, "i couldn't get your attention for almost a minute."

you clear your throat, smoothing out your dress as you stand up. your fingers picked at each other as you got closer to him. zayne's mind drifts briefly from the task at hand as he watches you through the corner of his eyes, taking in the long silk sundress you chose to wear. the dress hugged all the right places and was quite flattering on you. for it to be the first formal piece of attire he'd see on you- it was like a blessing.

"when are we gonna leave? our reservation's in thirty minutes." you sigh, leaning over his desk and taking a peek at his computer before ultimately resting your head on the wooden surface, staring at his hands as the unfamiliar terms and long words on the screen annoyed you to no end.

"soon, my love, and stop hurting yourself. we won't be late." he places his left hand in yours, eyes not leaving the screen before him as he holds his breath in your presence. that was the end of it. you knew him well enough to know that. your begging would only result in the same monotone voice, the only difference being the almost unnoticeable annoyance that laced his words. it made no sense to fight back. you struggle not to release another sigh, your eyes never leaving the handsome man in front of you.

well, at least he has his beauty going for him despite being strict.

your hand reaches up to his face, delicately tracing the lines of his nose, following the curve of his high nose bridge upwards with your finger. just as you barely tilt his glasses, he stops you— his large, cold hand gripping your wrist. the interaction sends shivers down your spine as his eyes stare into yours with an intensity that leaves you wanting.

zayne finally lets out a breath, "is there something on my face for you to be staring at it for so long? the more you distract me, the longer this will take." your nickname follows— the word leaving his mouth sweetly in comparison to the others.

a murmur leaves your pretty, glossy lips, having swiped your tongue over them one too many times in the past three minutes, "you just have a pretty nose..." you trail off.

your physician tilts his head, eyes never leaving your face as he reads your body language. you were nervous- that was obvious but you were also hiding something, "what do you like about it?"

your cheeks feel warm and you find yourself averting his gaze as your head leaves the desk, the area now occupied with your elbows, "you have a dorsal hump."

he hums, "that i do... is that all you like?" your breath hitches and you cross your legs.

planting your palms on the wooden surface, you quickly attempt to rise from the desk only to find yourself being pulled back into place. zayne had dragged you back to him with the same singular hand that gripped your wrist. he was enjoying this, you could tell. it was never in his nature to pry so deeply even when it pertained to him so to see him show his true colours the day you begin dating...

"zayne..."

"come here." he hoarsely whispers as he stands up, taking a step closer to you before pulling you towards him, closing the distance between you two. his hand finally lets go of your wrist, opting to place both of them at the sides of your body, resting them on the desk behind you. you feel yourself leaning further against the table as he gets closer, until eventually, you find yourself almost sitting on it. he had you trapped.

zayne sighs, his head now resting on your shoulder as you eye the way his hand moves. just barely brushing your hip, he slides his hand down from your lower arm into your palm. one thing about zayne: he frequently has dreams about you- perverted ones at that. he was never proud of them but, god, did he indulge in them whenever they came along. you'd walk around the hospital every week, clueless about how he wished to secretly take you, not in front of everyone, though- he wants it to be away from prying eyes, but never prying ears.

while roaming akso and attending to duties, he'd regularly spot you in the corner of his eye- he doesn't like to admit it but he does make an attempt to cross paths with you at least once before seeing you in his office when you come for appointments. in your little skirt, you'd bend down to receive the same drink from the same secluded vending machine- the plush of your thighs on display for him to see. the sight would always leave his throat dry as he either speaks to you, forcing himself to let go of all the lewd thoughts and have a proper conversation, or he turns around quickly, as if he'd committed a sin, only to come back to that very same area every two weeks to commit the same act.

sometimes, just as he's about to address you, he hears your friend calling out to you with a sulky demeanour. it was always that same friend named rafayel too, never anyone different. deep down, he wishes for that kid to stop clinging to you like a lost puppy, showing up at akso, begging for your attention as he claims he fell down the stairs or got a cramp in his finger. he also occupies a hospital bed from time to time by admitting himself when he really doesn't need to but that's the least of zayne's grievances with him. zayne's always dreamed of wanting everyone, especially rafayel, to know you're his. and now that you two are dating, he's one step closer to said desire.

you feel two pecks on your shoulder blade and one on your palm. he brings your hand up to cup his cheek, "tell me what else you like about my nose, (name)." his tone was more commanding than anything, seemingly laced with jealousy and annoyance- not towards you, of course- never towards you. he'd never spoken to you that way before but, god, do you like it.

you watch as his fingers graze yours softly, his eyes only ever leaving yours when he closes them, revelling in the warmth your hand brings his cold, freezing body.

"i... " you feel his knee grazing your thigh as you try to spit something out.

"you can say it. no matter how vile and vulgar your thoughts may be... i want you to say it," after reassuring you, he asks once more, "what else do you like about my nose, (name)?"

a soft gasp leaves your lips as you feel his knee push further up your dress, "say it," he whispers, his lips now grazing your ear as his hand reaches for the back of your neck.

"i love how easy it looks to ride, zayne, fuck-" your words get muffled as zayne kisses you intensely. the feeling has you dizzy as the farthest you've gotten were the pecks initiated by you earlier that day and the ones he initiated just a few minutes ago.

his other hand grips your waist tightly as he presses himself into you further, his hands now the only thing keeping you from falling back onto the table. with the way he handled you, it was like he couldn't get enough. your very scent allured him.

"is this okay?" his lips withdraw yours as he begins leaves pecks on your cheek and neck as he awaited your response.

a nod and hum left you as you stared at the windows, looking at the reflection and taking pleasure in the way he kissed your body. but he stops.

as you were about to turn to him and ask what was wrong, a strict stare was all it took. his brownish-green eyes pierced into yours in the reflection of the glass. his eyebrows raised as he waited for something from you. he wanted words. he needed to hear, through proper verbal communication, that you wanted this.

"yeah..." you sound almost breathless facing him, "yeah, i wanna do this."

a small smile reaches his lips before he kisses you again. more deeply, more lovingly. he was relishing in your very being. the girl who he'd pined for was finally his after fifteen long years.

the hand gripping your hip would soon spread around your waist as the other rested on the fabric covering your thigh—a fabric that he would push up in annoyance as he needed to feel you bare.

his thumb would involuntarily twitch, grazing and pushing at your cunt as he squeezed and rubbed the plush of your inner thigh, the cold pressure being felt through the sheer panties you wore had you shivering.

"zayne.." your impatience was getting the best of you and zayne could see it. he chuckles as he bunches your silky sundress up at your waist and hooks his long pointer and index fingers around the last piece of fabric that bars you from him- teasing him with the dampness that left it looking a deeper colour than usual.

before he can ask, you give him the confirmation he needs, raising your hips, "take it off... please?"

he obeys, a little too willingly as if his patience was also wearing thin, and a soft 'fuck' leaves his lips as he stares at your dripping cunt, the vulgar word shocks the both of you.

he can only chuckle as he eyes the dress straps that had fallen off your shoulder, "the things you do to me." ever so slowly, his cold hands push the straps further down, pulling your arms from out of it. your breasts were now on display for him as the dress slid down, grazing your sensitive nipples in the process and stopping at your diaphragm.

you look away, gnawing on your lip. it set a weird feeling in your stomach knowing he was fully dressed in his doctorly attire while you were bare, exposed for him to see- for him to examine. you feel his hand rest back on your cunt, the other hand grasping your chin to look at him. he wasn't overly rough but the hold was quite strong and decisive. every breath and movement from zayne exuded dominance.

"don't hide from me, pretty girl, you know better than that." the pet name has you shuddering, paired with the fact that he began to gently prod at your entrance with his index finger before allowing you to suck him in completely, his thumb softly touching your clit occasionally as he inspects you.

his lips find yours once more, his tongue prodding your mouth and you can't help but whine at the feeling as he slowly introduces another finger. with every touch from him, you feel your breath leaving and your hands gripping harshly at the edges of the tables, almost piercing your skin.

zayne eventually touches something. something that leaves you even wetter than before. his fingers prodded and rubbed at you- at that spongy spot in your cunt that's been begging to be touched by him for a while.

"oh, wait- fuck!" you break the kiss as an involuntary hiccup leaves you. zayne grunts in annoyance, pushing lips back onto yours in an instant- his fingers increasing in momentum as he targets that pleasurable spot.

you find yourself sliding off the edge of the table as your body trembles with every thrust. despite still gripping the table, you almost collapse onto your knees if not for the man in front of you catching you. all while holding you, zayne doesn't let up- the squelching sounds your wet entrance makes flood the room, fueling him to keep going. he was so hell-bent on making you cum one way or another.

"c'mon, be a good girl for me. do this one thing for me 'n i'll let you ride my face. c'mon pretty girl." you couldn't see his eyes anymore. his fringes covered them as he looked down at your cunt, taking in the lewd noises that followed with every thrust of his finger and the clear, wet mess that started to drip down your thighs.

you can't help but nod, "anyth-ing for you." the abuse on your cunt and the way his mouth kisses at your nipples and sternum were taking your breath away. he was touching at all the right spots at all the right times.

your head throws itself back as the increasing pressure builds up in your stomach and you can't help but hold his wrist in an attempt to try and push him off of you. zayne, still, is relentless in his actions but he does raise his head to read your expressions and listen to your mumbled, repetitive 'yes's affirming him of how badly you want it.

"gonna cum. gonna cum, please lemme cum." you repeat over and over again as your nails dig crescent moon shapes into your lover's lower arm.

zayne chuckles, his fingers continuing at the same pace, never ceasing, "you can come whenever you want to, lovely. your hand is what's pushing me away."

your eyes shut tightly as the orgasmic feeling washes over you, basking in the complete and utter loss of the control you have over your body. you feel your eyes roll into into the back of your head behind your lids and your mouth parts as broken, whiny moans leave your lips. your lover smiles as he feels your walls spasm, clamping around his fingers repeatedly, harmonious with the way your thighs shiver.

you come down from your high rather slowly and zayne lifts you up, helping you move closer to the couch while you try to get your eyes to focus and attempt to beat the fatigue washing over you.

"you said you wanted to ride me, hmm?" zayne hums, itching in anticipation unbeknownst to you. you nod a bit nervously as you try to catch your breath, watching as he sits down and brings you to him by your waist, bunching your dress at your hips in the process. your cunt was almost lined up with his mouth.

"zayne, wait. i think i'm still s-ensitive," you say between gasps as you feel his breath fanning out onto your clit.

a hum leaves his lips and he looks at his watch briefly, "i don't think we have that much time, my love. it'll feel good, i promise. but if you want, we can wait until later tonight?" he kisses your thigh. there was no way in hell you were going to 'wait until later tonight.' the ache in your cunt from the anticipation would be too much for you to handle.

"hmm, it's okay..." you shake your head as you whisper tiredly, the post-orgasm drowsiness hitting you hard. he smiles as he lays down, taking you by the hand and leading your body closer to his face. his hands reach up towards his glasses. daintily holding them by the frame, he slips them off his face to place them on the glass table to the side of you.

the sight makes you pout and zayne, being zayne, catches it.

"what? do you also like my glasses too?" he smirks, bringing your hips to lay on him. you nod as you hesitantly let yourself be guided onto his chest.

"and when you get too rough and you break them, what then?" he questions, sass lacing his tone while his eyes focus on your cunt, watching it drip all your cum all over his shirt. the fact that he said 'when' and not 'if' had your body twitching. still, annoyance riddles your body and you roll your eyes. he's always ten steps ahead of you.

“ugh.. you’re so…” you’re at a loss for words and zayne can’t help but smile at your reaction.

he grips your hips roughly pulling you up to his face, "hmm...that's enough banter for now. don't be shy. 'm gonna ease you into it. and yes...i'll be fine, i promise."

with the constant reassurance, you build up enough courage to sit on him and almost immediately does his tongue find your clit, occasionally tracing around your labia and prodding your entrance.

"ha— zayne. wait!" a high-pitched strangled moan leaves your lips and the man grunts under you as your body lifts itself off of him in shock. zayne feels his eyes almost roll into the back of his head as he briefly catches a glimpse of how your pretty, puffy cunt pulsates around absolutely nothing. as he comes to his senses, his arms quickly lock around your legs, bringing you back down and keeping you in your rightful place— on top of him.

your moans get louder and louder and soon enough zayne finds himself humming satisfyingly into you, sending vibrations all throughout. to hear your cries of pleasure just from this, alone? while you tasted so good? zayne was in his own icy wonderland.

"waited years for this pussy and it's finally mine." he mumbles deliriously, and you nod, "all your— hmpf, fuck, all yours." he was fucking insatiable, arms tightening around your thighs as he forced you to press further down onto him. tears start to well in your eyes.

at this rate, zayne's cock was harder than ever before and you, yourself, notice that as you lean back, palm accidentally pressing down onto his erection, touching on the bounds of both pain and pleasure for him. a soft moan leaves him as he takes his mouth off of you for a moment, thick cock throbbing with want.

"wait," he says between shallow gasps for air, "not yet. i just want to focus on you right now... can you let me do that?" you nod and he slaps your thigh, which quickly has your spurting out multiple 'yes's in an apologetic tone.

you feel your body lifting to which you whine, tears falling in thick globs as you unconsciously hump the air for some needed friction, your pussy once again clamping around nothing, as you assume some sort of punishment was about to begin.

zayne watches you amusingly. it was quite a pathetic sight- one he loved, don't get him wrong but the thoughts that flowed into his mind weren't nice— slapping your ass, pinching your thigh or edging you every time you forgot to properly address him, tears falling down your face as you apologize and pout, begging to be fucked. god, he could feel his cock twitch in his pants.

it was the first official day of dating, though, so he wanted to cut you some slack and slowly ease you into things.

he finally puts you back down- noticeably, a bit further up his face. his arms lock you back in place, preparing himself in case you decide to run away from him again.

if anything, he'll ease you into things by forcing you to fuck yourself one orgasm into the other on his face.

"ride my face. fuck yourself using my nose." those words have your cunt spasming as you don't hesitate to listen to him.

your body jerks slowly as you ground down on him, his tall nose repeatedly tapping and prodding at your clit. zayne doesn't hesitate to continue his past ministrations, his tongue flat against you, sliding across your folds with every thrust from you.

"z-zayne. fuck." you moan as you grip the couch's arm for dear life, your body unconsciously speeding up as you look at the boy beneath you sitting so still and pretty for you with his eye half-lidded as his mouth softly parted. and, of course, the stimulation from his nose was just not helping.

zayne was drenched, soaked with your juices and he wouldn't let up. air lessened with each breath for him but he didn't care. in fact, he pushed his head further up into you. he loved it. he loved drowning in you.

"would love to have you sit on my face more often," he murmurs to himself as he feels your fingers entangle themselves in his hair, thighs locking and trembling around his head from the vibrations. zayne pushes his head up into your cunt even further, the hump on his hose throwing you for a loop.

"zayne. zay—fuck, fuck. oh, god!" you just couldn't get his name out of your mouth. it's as if he was currently conditioning you to focus on him— to know only him in this moment. he smiles, "it's alright, you can cum, baby. no one's stopping you. get off on my nose and mouth, baby. that's it." the sounds his face created with your pussy were oh, so lewd. it filled the entire room as your physician acted like you were a cup of fresh water waiting for him after he stayed in the sahara for a little too long.

soft whimpers leave your lips as you feel yourself sobbing. the pressure building up was too intense.

"come on, give it to me." the man under you grunts as he feels his dick twitch incessantly. no matter how badly he wanted to, zayne just couldn't resist palming himself. his tongue continues to fuck you sloppily, relishing in the act as he lapped up the savoury, dripping cum from you and spit from him like a dog. all while he played with your nipples, either groping, slightly grazing, or circling them. you name it.

you feel your legs thrash as a loud moan rips from your throat before you even realize what's coming. your body can't stop shaking and all you see is white yet zayne doesn't stop eating you out, his lips now encircling your clit and as he grips your legs even stronger, forcing you to relish in the harsh suction and vibrations as he moans along with you from the sight of you before him.

you squirt all over him, short bursts leaving your cunt to shower the man under you. the shock and embarrassment don't even last long as a gasp in pleasure leaves you- zayne was still on you, eyes closed as he lapped up every last drop you had offered him. he realized you came, his dick leaking pre-cum and twitching from the fact, but never truly processed it, fucking you through your orgasm and into the next one while not taking into account your sensitivity. you had no time to catch your breath.

"h—hey. wait... zayne!" you squirm. he hums unconsciously as he digs himself further into your cunt, overstimulating you with the flicks of his tongue. it's as if he can't stop. it's as if can't hear you. or maybe he just doesn't want to hear you.

"no more! hmphf— shit!" you repeatedly tap his shoulder as you continue to shake, your hips unconsciously still grinding into his face while your upper body rocks with sensitivity, nipples harder than ever and goosebumps riddling your skin. your thighs were practically squeezing his head now.

"one more for me baby, one more. please. just one more for me." zayne murmurs as he gasps for air. he looks as if he's lost his mind. his hair is dishevelled, with some parts of his fringes sticking up while the rest just barely covers his eyes. he really looks like a pervert that came straight out of a hentai in the moment. it was quite a sight.

the longer you stare, the more he looks blurry- your vision was becoming obscured, your senses simultaneously heightening as a result while the pressure in your tummy begins to build once more.

"hng— zayne, 'm gonna cum!" you sob, voice booming throughout the entire office as you feel yourself twitch, overstimulation ravaging your body. zayne's nails dig further into your hips, breaking skin, and the sharp pain allows you to finally let go. your back arches as your orgasm engulfs you, cum squirting out of you in bursts smaller yet more powerful than earlier.

"oh fuck—" a low, cracked whine leaves your boyfriend, his neck arching as he struggles to contain himself from quivering. his body shudders as he gently kisses your cunt and thighs. a fucked out look paints his face as he tries to catch his breath, his hand softly rubbing your waist in an attempt to calm you— and himself— down as he feels unusually lightheaded.

silence follows for a bit as you come down from your high and push yourself off of your lover's face who seemed very quiet—and not the usual quiet. there was something different about the air. hesitantly, you sit on his chest.

"zayne," you whisper nervously, "are you okay?"

zayne clears his throat, blinking harshly at the ceiling with his chest still heaving as his ears and cheeks are dusted red- his pretty mouth red, swollen and glistening with you. he swallows, avoiding eye contact with you as he tries to collect himself. you've never seen him like this... so shy, so embarrassed.

the silence that follows as your question goes unanswered causes anxiety to riddle through you, "did i do something wron-" "no," he interrupts not wanting to upset you in any way, "just... a minor miscalculation."

feeling relaxed, you push yourself down further onto his waist in an attempt to lay on top of him, "a minor miscalculation? what-"

oh.

you're shocked... and flattered as you feel a deeply soaked wet spot on his pants.

"i was too distracted and forgot about resisting my orgasm," he murmurs, not making eye contact. you smile, "hmm, i can tell. but don't be embarrassed, zayne. i find it a little hot... well, very hot." you chuckle. the reassurance was nice but, truth be told, he wanted his first load with you to be inside your glistening cunt, with you begging and pleading with him to give it to you, just like in his dreams.

one side of his lip curls up slightly, "i still can't believe i orgasmed untouched. though, this is my first time so i suppose it's not unusual."

just as you're about to lay on his chest, your body jerks upwards, "wait, what? you're a virgin, too? how'd you even know to do all th-"

"human anatomy," he interrupts, "being a surgeon, your physician and your boyfriend- it's quite necessary. and though i don't watch, a common assumption would be pornography."

embarrassment riddles your face and you mentally berate yourself for asking a stupid question as he kisses you, "... and i may have read some forums." his tone was soft and wispy, almost slipping past your ears. curiosity runs through you as you look up past his head at the computer. oh, that search history needed to be investigated.

"don't even think about it. i have a computer for work and another for personal use." he rolls his eyes.

gently, he lifts you from his waist and places you onto the couch just as he rises from it. he begins unbuttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt, wiping your cum residue from off his face onto the sleeves, "relax a bit. you need to come down from your high. we shouldn't miss the reservation if we leave in a minute... or three."

"wait, what about your work?"

zayne stops untying his tie to look at you. his head tilts and his eyebrow raises in the most comical way possible as if to say 'you can't be serious right now.'

"okay, fair. and.. your clothes? do you have an extra pair?" the moment you close your mouth you see zayne open a large closet filled with various button-ups and dress pants for varying occasions. as you take a closer look, you notice that they're organized by gradient and paired. not a single piece of clothing was out of place.

it was your turn to give him 'the look' as you scanned the closet before pointing at a paired outfit, a black turtleneck with matching dress pants. looking in that direction, zayne nods, taking the clothes from out the storage unit and undressing himself.

you feel your cheeks warm as you catch a glimpse of his bare back. you have yet to see him undressed and, to be honest, you don't want it to be now considering the two of you had plans after dinner. the sooner you fix your clothes the faster that time will arrive so that's what you do.

looking away, you notice something is missing- your panties. you quietly search for your underwear and it's nowhere to be seen. you scan the concrete floor and the velvet couches before directing your attention to the akso employee, only to catch him pushing sheer material into his pocket in silence just as you were about to query the fabric's whereabouts.

the two of you make eye contact once more. his face holds no emotion but he does turn around rather quickly, blush blooming at his ears once again as he looks at his computer before closing it and gathering the rest of his belongings.

note(s)💀. no one can come for me about the dorsal hump cause i found someone that happens to think the same thoughts as me! also i just finished day 2 of the valentine event??? zayne may have a sensitive neck ??? or am i just delusional??? + fav zayne edit if u care😼 also if i forgot something in the warnings plz dont hesitate to tell me! + i would love constructive crisitism just be nice abeg.

#i need some rum after this #and a nap #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #love and deepspace smut #l&ds #love & deepspace #lads #love & deepsace x reader #love and deepspace zayne #l&ds smut #l&ds x reader #l&ds zayne #lads zayne #zayne x mc #zayne smut

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sleekswosobession · 2 months

Text

a bad batch

barça femeni x teen!reader

request: here

A/N: do you guys ever wonder what showers in the diff teams lockerooms look like? is it just a big room with showers and they’re all naked together or is there cubicals? if anyone knows please enlighten me

TW: Vomit, illness, swearing

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It wasn’t your fault really, it was whoever decided that the KFC given to you was actually safe to eat. Don’t they have quality managers for that? Despite it literally having feathers on it still, it was pretty meh. Not even enjoyable chicken.

That’s how you find yourself hunched over a toilet bowl, throwing up all contents of your stomach and more. You’re sweating but cold, you definitely know you have a fever or sorts but you’re uncertain how bad.

Worse thing is, training was supposed to start in 5 minutes. No way you were getting there now, not like this.

You shoot a quick message off to Jona explaining you don’t feel well and it’s probably something you ate. He replies quickly saying the usual of taking off however long is needed to get back to full recovery.

What’s the one thing you don’t consider in all this? You’re very overprotective teammates.

You end up puking more, and passing out on the bathroom floor due to exhaustion, the cool tiles feeling magical against the heat your body radiates.

- - - - -

You’re awoken by harsh knocks on your door. Your head hurts, your throat is scratchy, you’re dizzy and delusional, you feel like shit.

You stumble toward the door, opening it to see Frido and Keira.

“Jesus.” The Englishwoman says before pressing a firm hand and against your ablaze skin.

“Jona told us you said it was a light sickness? This is bad.” She says, rushing inside with the blonde Swede behind her. You were teammates with Frido on a national level as well so she took on more of a role while you settled in Barcelona.

“Come on, you shouldn’t be standing älskling (darling). Sit down, come.” She rests her hand on your back guiding you to the couch to sit down.

“Have you eaten?” She wipes away the sweaty hair away from your forehead.

“No.” You whisper softly.

“Ok, we’ll get you to eat and then into a bath ok? If we don’t get this fever down we might have to take you to a hospital.” The words compute in your mind, you don’t want a hospital. You just have to follow what the older 2 say and you’ll be fine. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

- - - - -

After eating a couple spoons of chicken broth Keira gave you, you’re taken to the bathroom and stripped into your sports bra and bike pants.

“Get in the water älskling, you’ll feel better I promise.” Frido kisses the side of your head, helping you in the bath.

It’s cold, and you do not like it.

“Frido, cold.” You whimper, trying to get out.

“I know but you have to stay. This is needed, trust me?” Her heart breaks at the sight of you in so much discomfort. But she knows it’s for the better.

You cry, along with everything else you’re feeling now, you’re cold and not allowed to move. Keira starts to stroke through your hair whispering soft words of affirmation.

“Shh bub, stop crying. You’re ok, it’s all gonna be ok.” She looks over to her teammate who is measuring your fever.

“It’s still a bit high, 37.8. Just a little longer älskling, then you can go to sleep does that sound ok to you?” You can’t even recognise her statement, only focusing on the cold your body feels.

After a couple more minutes, the girls decide you’ve had enough time to cool down so they change you into fresh pajamas, putting you to sleep in your own room before coming up with ways to hopefully get you to feel better.

- - - - -

When you wake up again a couple hours later, you feel even worse. Every body part aches and you feel the need to throw up again. So, you muster up all the energy you have and make a bee-line to the toilet.

Luckily making it in time, you spill more contents of your stomach. Someone has tied your hair back but you can’t will yourself to move.

“Hey, relax.” The accented voice says. You do as told and fall into Caroline. When did she get here? But you do as told, not wanting to feel this way any longer.

“Feel like shit.” You mumble, exhausted.

“I know, Marta and Ingrid are also here now. We will check your temperature soon ok? Right now you just need to not stress and stay here alright?” She runs her fingers up and down the sides of your torso until Ingrid comes in.

“I’ve got the thermometer. Could you open your mouth for me?” You open it without question, and she visibly cringes at the reading when she takes a look at it.

“This is not good, this isn’t normal. Look.” She shows it to her national teammate. Who also cringes.

“Tell the others to pack her stuff, get Frido here. Tell her the temperature and we need to go to the hospital.” This is when you start to worry, even in your delirious state.

There’s commotion outside the walls of your bathroom but you can’t will yourself to care, slumped against Caro hoping you’ll feel better soon.

Frido rushes inside, picking you up off the floor. She rushes to the car and gets in the backseat. In the front is Keira and Ingrid, in another car is presumably the other couple.

- - - - -

Arriving at the emergency department, you’re immediately taken to a private room where they hook you up to machines and an IV. You try to fight them, feeling too overwhelmed by the situation but Frido takes the chance to hold your hand in hopes of calming you down.

“Deep breaths älskling, it’s not too long before they’re gone.” Her words are a comfort to your ears, and she’s right because the doctors leave soon after that.

You look down at the little thermometer on your finger, showing the temperature of your skin. 41.5°.

You cringe like all the other girls who had seen it previously. Despite your hatred for hospitals, you’re happy because it means that the pain should go away sooner.

Frido has been on the phone for a bit, and she walks over to you.

“Magda wants to speak with you.” She smiles lightly, and you take the phone holding it against your ear.

“Hi Magda.” You say, voice an octave higher than usual.

“Hey little one, heard you weren’t feeling too great. Are the girls treating you right?” You hum.

“Yeah, they’re good.” She seems content with the answer.

“Ok good, we need you healthy for the next camp. Can’t have the mini star gone.” You laugh slightly at the given nickname.

“Alright pass me back to Frido, stay well and don’t do anything stupid. Please.” She begs over-dramatically.

“Come on, I’m not that bad!” You laugh, even if it made your stomach slightly hurt.

“Sure, sure. Talk to you later little one.”

“Bye Mags.” You pass it back to the older Swede and the door to your room opens revealing Mapi and Alexia.

Alexia walks over to you, concern visible between her brows. Mapi heads straight to Ingrid. (Not a surprise).

“You don’t look well at all. I’m not sure how you managed to text Jona.” You shrug, she takes a long breath.

“We’ll talk about saying how sick you actually are later, for now you should get some rest. We’ll be here when you wake up.” You do as told, quickly falling asleep without fight.

- - - - -

Over the coming days, the girls watch over you like hawks until they’re sure you’re better and you won’t snap in half at a slight gust of wind. It got annoying, but you couldn’t really say no when they were just trying to make it easier for you.

Whenever you threw up, cried in pain or overall didn’t want to do anything. One of the girls would be there to take any anguish you had away. No matter what, Barca isn’t just a team. But also a family.

—————————————————————————

sleekswosobsession: number 1 writer for cringe ending lines

anyways i need help from you anons, i have an english short story (800 word) narrative coming up but i need ideas.. i’m a writer not creative producer. but i do know that YOU have some ideas so please give it to me. these are the topics:

1. betrayal of trust

2. consequence of bad timing

3. Individual against society

(go wild but not too wild cuz i have to give it to my teacher)

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni #barca femeni #barcelona femeni x reader #barca femeni x reader

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kissatoru · 6 months

Text

𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓

pairing. sub!vampire!levi ackerman x dom!gn!reader

synopsis. in 19th century society, everyone has secrets they want to keep from seeing the light of day — so what will happen when you unveil levi’s?

content. implied virgin/touch-starved!levi, ooc levi at some points cause of vampire hormones, plot before porn, blood/blood-drinking kink, oral fixation, dry humping, handjob, inappropriate use of cravats, petnames (dearest, darling)

notes. first fic of hornyween!! the others won’t be as long lol this took FOREVER. anyway, please consider reblogging if you enjoy it<3

wc. 5k

Sparkling chandeliers adorn the ballroom’s high ceilings, making the polished floor gleam like honey as stylish figures twirl and glide across it. The rest of the guests are gathered by the walls in clusters, their lively chatter and chuckles mixing in with the night’s melodies.

You stand by one of the pink brocade curtains, sipping a glass of champagne. Your stance is relaxed but mannerly; not seeking nor avoiding attention, just observing and occasionally humouring a fellow guest that takes notice of your presence. Among those who approach you, admirers are plentiful, with faces of various qualities and contours, and characters both pleasant and not, but none who gain more than a few minutes of your time before you’re politely concluding the conversation or excusing yourself entirely.

As you’re meandering through laughing circles and swaying couples, away from yet another adamant admirer, you scan the room for him: the main reason you attended this ball at all. He rarely arrives for the banquets, and when he does, he even more rarely eats more than is expected of him. Now that the dancing has begun, he should be here, but you’ve yet to spot a single trace of him. It has made you restless, your eyes desperate in their pursuit. Each time you catch a glimpse of dark hair and pale skin or a short stature and a neatly tied cravat, you’re just as suddenly disappointed when you realise it’s not him. Eventually, you fall back into the same routine as before — entertaining married couples, faking laughs at bad jokes, listening to shallow gossip.

“Goodness, me,” Baroness Azumabito gushes at you, “you are as charming as they say, Your Grace.”

You chuckle courteously. “You’re too kind, Lady Azumabito.”

She offers you a closed-eye smile, her crow’s feet pinching together. “I truly must ask,” she begins, unfolding her peacock-feather fan and speaking a little quieter now. You already know it’s certainly not something she must ask. “What are your plans on marriage? You have no small number of choices, I’m sure!”

She giggles a little too hard for your liking, and you are reminded of the not-so-pretty piece of gossip you heard only a mere ten minutes ago — her husband’s gambling problems, her unmarried child. Quite the ideal motive for her to talk to you; someone who has both higher status and greater wealth. Of course, you know not all hearsay is true, but with a smile like Lady Azumabito’s, cunning as a fox and twice as sneaky, trust is a risk you’re not willing to take.

You laugh again. “Oh, none at the moment,” you say, feigning ignorance, “I’m so busy these days, I feel as though a partner might be…”

At the edge of your vision, a dark-haired silhouette passes. Your head moves in search of it, your eyes following, flicking this way and that. However, amidst the sea of extravagant gowns and upscale suits, the glimpse you had managed to catch slips from your grasp all too soon.

“Might be what?” Kiyomi asks.

An uneasy sense of disappointment hollows in your chest, but you ignore it. “Uh, a distraction. Would be... a distraction.”

Another flash of shadowy hair, porcelain skin.

Kiyomi clears her throat. “Do you care to elaborate, Your Grace?”

Just as you’re about to turn back to her, a figure stops in clear view before you: a metre and a half tall, raven black locks, eyes as sharp as falcon talons, an intricately tailored waistcoat — and the swan-white ruffles of a linen cravat.

A huff is your only warning before the short woman is stepping in and obscuring your line of sight, her round eyes now pressed into slits by her strained smile. “Please forgive my impudence, Your Grace, but what has you so–”

You abruptly but gently take her hands into yours. “Pardon my manners, Lady Azumabito,” you say, already shifting on your feet in preparation for your departure, “but I’ve spotted an acquaintance of mine with whom I’d like to discuss some private matters with.” You let go of her hands and give a curt bow. “If you’ll please excuse me.”

Her dumbfounded expression is the last you see of her before you swiftly take your leave. You track the person with your eyes and feet in tandem, each step purposeful and your eagerness barely contained. Once you’re in arm’s length, you cheerily call out:

“Viscount Ackerman!”

Several people turn their heads. The Viscount in question stops no later, though seemingly reluctantly. He turns to face you, a question perched on the peak of his raised eyebrow.

Your shoes clack as you stride the rest of the way up to him. Once beside him, you lean over and flash him a cheeky smirk. “Fashionably late as always?” you remark, but it fails to prompt any sort of perceptible reaction. The only change in his expression is his eyebrow returning to its relaxed position.

“And I see you are…” Silver blue eyes wash over you, up and down, in a single steady motion. “In attendance. As always.”

“Of course,” you reply with a practised smile. “I would not dream of missing one of the Duke of Trost’s parties.”

He hums. “I don’t doubt that.”

You hum back, thoughtful. “And what of yourself, my Lord?” you ask. “What brings you here?” You pause to smile knowingly. “Certainly not the food, seeing as you were absent for that.”

His eyes narrow and his lips press together in a firm line. “If you must know, the Duke was very insistent that I attend,” he explains, eyeing a passing servant before picking up a flute of champagne from their tray. “As for my tardiness… I prioritised taking care of some business affairs, first and foremost. Though I suppose I shouldn’t expect you to understand.” He swirls the liquid around in his glass and takes a sip.

You chuckle heartily. “Oh, come now!” you exclaim. “Why so hostile? Are we not friends?”

“Only in public,” Levi corrects in a low tone.

You turn to face the room, smirking against your glass. “That’s not true and you know it.”

A newly-engaged couple you were conversing with earlier passes by, waving. You smile and wave back at them.

Levi makes an exasperated noise. “Do you never tire of that?” he grumbles into his glass.

You bring your own glass up to your lips. “Whatever do you mean, my Lord?”

He grimaces. “That.”

You giggle. “Keeping up appearances is just the way I was raised,” you reply with a gesture of nonchalance, “but not all my smiles are fake, you know. It’s quite pleasant, smiling.” You beam at him, as if to prove your point. “I think you ought to try it some time.”

Levi scowls. “I know how to smile.”

“Oh, I never said you didn’t, my Lord,” you quip. “I have no doubt that you understand it in theory, just that you should try putting it into practice.” You point to the corner of your mouth, lifting it to mimic a smile.

He sucks his teeth and tears his gaze away from your own. “You’re infuriating.”

“And yet, here you are,” you say, stepping closer. “For longer than ten seconds, might I add. Surely a feat, no?”

Levi scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He raises his glass, speaking over the lip of it. “You just happen to be the least infuriating one here.”

You bite your tongue — “Well, by your standards, being the least infuriating is, in fact, quite flattering!” — and instead, you glance around and lean in. “In that case, what do you say we go find a place away from all this poor company?” Your voice takes on a lighter yet all the more meaningful tone. “Perhaps somewhere just for the two of us?”

There’s a glint of interest in Levi’s eyes that doesn’t go unnoticed by you as you pull away to look at him. “I would say that’s highly inappropriate,” he says, hushed, but not in a way that matches his words; hushed in a way that suggests intrigue.

“Inappropriate?” you echo, lips curving into a smile. “You really needn’t worry so much, my Lord! We shan’t be away for long, I promise.”

Levi’s thin eyebrows angle up. After a moment of contemplation, he closes his eyes and sighs. “If you insist,” he concedes.

Without further discussion, you set aside your and Levi’s drinks, then go ahead and stroll over to the arched doors with Levi not far behind.

With how often the Duke hosts such extravaganzas, you’ve had plenty of occasions to become familiar with the layout of their home, hence why you know where all of the rooms are. You navigate through the narrow hallways with an air of confidence, occasionally stopping to praise or snicker at family paintings and decor choices, much to Levi’s chagrin.

“What is it now?” Levi asks, attempting to pinpoint the subject of your attention this time.

You stand by a window that faces the rear garden, peering through the glass with squinted eyes. “Do my eyes deceive me or is that the Countess of Ehrmich and her handmaid kissing out in the gazebo?” You turn to Levi with a theatrically outraged jaw-drop, making him roll his eyes.

“You are no better than those gossiping simpletons we left in the ballroom,” he scolds as he draws the curtains shut.

You chuckle. “Apologies! Only a jest!” He glares at you but otherwise doesn’t complain. You watch him for a moment, how his nimble fingers tug and adjust the curtains, how he mutters expletives under his breath at the dust that transfers to his hands from the curtains.

Feeling mischievous, you lean in, so your lips are almost touching his ear. “It’s just so fun to tease you, I can’t resist.”

Goosebumps raise on Levi’s skin as he flinches away from you, fingers hovering over where your breath brushed his earlobe. He swallows. “Maybe you ought to practise some self-restraint.”

You smirk. “Maybe you ought to have less of it.”

He frowns. “How would that benefit anyone?”

You take a step closer. “Try it and find out.”

Levi takes a step back, but you take another step forward. His back bumps into a solid surface as your hand reaches out. He freezes in anticipation.

The click of a door handle, then a quiet creak.

“I believe,” you say, smiling cattily and circling around him, “I have found the drawing room.”

Levi huffs. “Finally,” he mumbles and pushes past you through the door. You follow after him, shutting the door behind you.

The room is a size you’d expect given how large the rest of the residence is. A ceiling mural depicting an Ancient Roman legend; tall windows and velvet curtains. At the centre of the room, atop a patterned rug, gold and beige furniture is arranged in a thoughtful composition. Dainty — yet no doubt expensive — decorations and trinkets adorn various corners, shelves and walls.

In one of the armchairs, Levi sits down, exhaling long and heavy, as if he had been holding his breath all night. You, on the other hand, decide to explore the room first, ambling between the furnishings and admiring the cosiness of the space. Absent-mindedly, you run a finger along the spines of some books piled on top of a small table, tracing the ribbed leather and embossed text.

“At last, some peace and quiet, hm?” you say, mostly just to occupy the air with something of substance, as you glance at Levi.

He’s sitting with one elbow resting on the seat’s floral print armrest, the pads of his fingers massaging the area between his eyebrows. “Until you spoiled it, yes,” he grunts.

The beginnings of a witty remark form, then just as quickly dissipate from your tongue. The corners of your lips sink, the lines in your face waning into nothing.

With his face cast down, Levi is oblivious to the change in your expression. It isn’t until you take two, five, ten or so steps — when the silence drags on without a response of your own — that he raises his head.

“Actually,” you start, standing by the armchair across from him, only a few feet away, “I brought you here to discuss something with you.”

His reaction is stalled but still comes in the form of a puzzled frown. “Go on, then.”

The floorboards squeak under your weight as you take another few steps forward. Levi shifts in his chair. “We agreed to be honest with one another, Levi. To not keep secrets,” you say, “yet I have good reason to suspect you haven’t entirely been maintaining your end of the agreement.”

As he opens his mouth to defend himself, your approaching footsteps finally seal the remaining distance between you. You step in to occupy the space between his knees and the contact is enough to make them jolt away as if from flames. Levi stares down at them until he catches the movement of your arms in the corner of his vision.

In your hands is a book, presumably from the stack you were observing earlier. He had been so absorbed in the shrinking space between you that he didn’t stop to consider that perhaps the arms linked behind you might be holding something.

His eyes roam the book, then fall on the shining yellow words etched into the front cover:

The Vampyre

by John William Polidori

Electric impulses fire through his body. His mouth goes dry. “I told Hange to get rid of that.”

“Really? Why is that?” you ask, turning it over in your hand. “I hear it’s quite good.”

Levi can’t stop the irritation from showing on his face. “The problem is not with the book itself.”

It’s the influence it has on imbeciles like Hange, he finishes in his head. Imbeciles who’ll believe anything with enough coincidences and paranoid witness accounts. Sure, Hange is a special case, because they’re not so much afraid of the rumoured existence of ‘vampires’ as they are curious, which is arguably worse — especially since, for once, the imbeciles are right.

“Then what’s the problem?” Your frown seems to be of genuine confusion, but Levi knows better. There’s an underlying something just waiting to reveal itself.

Levi folds his arms across his chest. “What does this have to do with our agreement?”

The smile returns to your face, but it is unlike any that Levi is used to seeing; not fake, but not entirely trustworthy either. “Surely you’ve figured out that much by now.” You set the book aside. “Really, Levi. Do you take me for some kind of fool?” Your hands come forward and clasp the armrests of his chair. “Did you really think I don’t know that… you’re a vampire?”

Levi scoffs. “Do you hear yourself?” He narrows his eyes at you. “Vampires are a baseless conspiracy. A ludicrous superstition fabricated by the English that only a credulous halfwit–”

A hand grabs him by the cheeks, cramming the rest of his words back behind his teeth. “Open your mouth,” you order.

The suddenness of the command evaporates any and all thoughts from Levi’s head, replacing them with a purely chemical reaction in the form of heat striking through him. Gradually, you push his head back — and he lets you — while a hard mound he can only assume is your knee eases between his parted legs, coercing a gasp from his mouth. As soon as his jaw loosens, your fingers are poking through the gap between his lips, moving as if hunting for something. They settle around his upper canines, sliding over and prodding at them, over and over, until eventually they begin to grow, extending down, down into a sharp, tapered point, much too long for what can be considered human.

Levi groans, but the sound is much too airy for pain or discomfort to be the cause of it. Drool is gathering beneath his tongue and blood in his cheeks. How humiliating it is to have his fangs coaxed out by the close proximity of his carnal weakness — by someone who should be his prey in this dynamic — and how all the more humiliating it is to have the strike of heat from before already invading the rest of his body.

Only once the fangs have stopped growing do you cease your petting, opting instead to drag a single fingertip along the newly-revealed length of bone. “My, my,” you coo, “it seems that the truth has spoken for itself.” You remove your fingers from his mouth, but Levi’s head remains in its position against the backrest. “Whatever shall I do with you, now that I have you at my mercy?”

Your fingers travel down his exposed throat. Like a frightened prey animal, Levi’s body digs into the cushioned upholstery, trying to comprehend the foreign feeling of being touched in this way. Breaths beat out through his nose in quickening puffs and miniscule tremors rattle through his chest as he attempts to control, or perhaps conceal, the frantic rise and fall of it. Beneath your fingertips, you can feel his heartbeat, the pulse so solid that if you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was hitting his ribcage with every beat.

“Are you afraid?” you ask him quietly, your fingers continuing their path downward.

Levi swallows, lets out a heavy breath but doesn’t answer. You watch him, analyse him. His tightly closed eyes, the sweat coming through his clothes… “Then perhaps you’re—” His unsteady breaths, his contracting muscles— “aroused?”

His Adam’s apple lifts and then drops. You follow the motion with your eyes, then lower, lower and lower, until you find the answer you’re looking for in his oh-so-conveniently open thighs. He immediately attempts to shut them, but your own prevent him from doing so.

“No need to be ashamed,” you assure him as you smile that knowing smile and carefully climb on top of his lap. “I can help to relieve you. If you wish.” You rub your bottom half against his hardened groin as a testament to your words.

Levi’s neck stretches over the backrest, an open-mouthed moan escaping him, then retracts back to his chest. His eyebrows cinch together in thought, but the way his hips rut into you has already declared his decision, so when his eyes finally flutter open and peer up at yours, you are unable to suppress your look of delight.

“Please,” is all he says — and all he needs to say to send your mind and self-control reeling.

You pounce forward, ravaging his lips with your own, while you grind down again; harder than before, and with more finesse. The noise that Levi makes into your mouth is much too heavenly for a creature of such damnable origin, yet as addictive as if it had been produced by a devil of temptation itself.

The swipe of a sleek surface has you parting from him on instinct. “Careful of your teeth, darling,” you warn and he nods as if in a daze before pulling you back in. He paws at your clothes, helpless and wanting, as though he aches to bring you closer. You let out an enraptured sigh at his aggressive gesture. After all, what an honour it is to have the stoic Viscount Levi Ackerman falling apart and moaning pathetically beneath you; what sacrilege to be a mortal defiling its natural predator. You feel as though you’re going mad, losing all sense of self from the sheer thrill of it.

You drag yourself away from his lips, only to see the full effects of your actions. Strong features softening as though he’s melting from the pleasure. Eyes squeezed shut while his glossy black hair, usually so perfectly combed, fans out in loose strands over his forehead. Razor-sharp nails mauling the armrests. Two fanged teeth poking out from under his lip.

In minutes, Levi is curling into you and crying out against your skin. You guide him through his climax, raking your fingers up from his undercut and through the strands at the top while whispering caring words to him, in soothing repetition. He collapses into you, his arms limp at your sides and his panting breaths warm on your neck. Before you can push him away, he’s mindlessly nuzzling and lapping at your throat like a dog, coating your skin in spit, sucking and occasionally catching his fangs on the fragile flesh. It would be a lie to say you aren’t enticed by the prospect of them breaking through; moving with more purpose and sinking into your–

Levi whines against your shoulder. “Please, let me have a taste. I’ll do anything, please,” he mumbles. “It’s been so long, I– I cannot wait any longer, please, I beg of you…” He pulls away, licking his lips, as if the taste of your skin is enough to last and cherish. “Please,” he begs, “let me drink your blood.”

You smile, wide, and brush back the hair tickling his eyes. “Only since you asked so nicely.”

As soon as the words enter the air, Levi lunges at you. You’re almost not fast enough, but manage to get a hold of him.

You pin his wrists on either side of his head, and the tightness of your grip seems to snap Levi out of his ravenous trance. “That wasn’t very polite,” you reprimand. Levi only looks up at you regretfully, which is likely the closest thing you’ll get to an apology from him. You sigh. “Don’t worry.” You let go of him and slide your palm under his chin. “Open–”

His jaw falls slack in an instant, granting you access to the inside of his mouth. You trail your fingers around his wet lips first, this way and that, slow and soft, just to hear him whine. You giggle but finally slip a finger inside and Levi groans in time with it. His tongue is the next thing to fall from his mouth, hanging over his lip and dripping saliva onto his shirt.

“What a sight,” you breathe. “I wonder what our fellow nobles would think.”

Levi moans softly as you poke your fingertip into the point of one of his fangs. You hiss as it pierces the skin and wait for the blood to collect before turning your finger over.

“Tilt your head back, dearest,” you say, and Levi does so with haste. You dangle your finger above his eager tongue and watch his eyes roll back as the first drop hits his taste buds. He savours the flavour like a man starved of water, his mouth pooling with drool, and whimpers in anticipation of the next drop.

Your eyes are fixated on him, as if hypnotised, and engulfed in sick amusement from the power you have over him. Your thumb sits under your fingertip, forcing out the liquid with steady presses, but for Levi, it’s still not enough. Animalistic hunger and impatience possess him. His arms come to life to grab your wrist and yank it toward his mouth. He manages to swallow your finger whole before you can react, though the sight is much too precious for you to deny or scold him anyway.

The grip around your wrist turns vice-like as he feverishly sucks the blood from your finger. His closed eyelids twitch and runny spit oozes down his chin. You look on in adoration at the sweetly depraved state you have him in. Who would think that a blood-sucking monster could be this docile and helpless?

Levi’s panting grows heavier until you begin to feel him rutting against you. When you look down, the lump of his crotch has regained hardness, already straining against the dark material. “Aroused again so soon?” you taunt.

He is so engrossed in sucking that he doesn’t seem to hear you, so you tug your finger out of his mouth and hands. He grunts in protest, but you ignore him and try again. “Would you like me to take care of that for you?”

As if freshly woken from a daze, or perhaps still in one, those folds you’re so used to seeing between his eyebrows take shape in a show of gentle confusion. “Take… care of what?”

You bring a hand down to his lap and lightly tap the bulge that’s formed there, making him tense and spasm under you. He must still be sensitive, you think with a smile.

“Of this,” you clarify.

He swallows. “Okay.”

“Okay?” You stifle a chuckle. “It’s a yes or no question, Levi, so answer with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’.”

He sighs and evades your eyes as he hisses out a reluctant “Yes.”

“Good boy,” you praise and begin to make quick work of the buttons on his trousers.

Levi frowns. “Don’t call me that. I am not a dog.”

You laugh through your nose, amused. “Yet you drool and whimper just like one.” You playfully stare up at him through your lashes. He doesn’t say anything back, just blooms a deeper pink, so you accept your win and finish unbuttoning his trousers. Next, you unfasten the strings of his undergarments, freeing his leaking length.

As soon as your fingers make contact with it, Levi writhes. His legs squirm and his hips buck up into your touch. In seconds, the wet head of his cock is dripping with bead after bead of precum. In your awe of his intense reaction, you find yourself experimentally toying with it; squeezing, tugging, kneading, fingering. Obscene noises created by the remnants of his previous release make colour fill Levi’s usually colourless cheeks. His glinting grey eyes are lidded, his head dizzy and delirious. His mouth is hanging open in surrender to the erotic sounds he cannot help making, tongue dyed scarlet from your blood and glistening with saliva. You adore it — are spurred on by it, even — but his volume is now teetering on too loud, and the last thing you want right now is to be caught.

So with one hand on his dick, keeping him distracted, you hurriedly untie his cravat and stuff it into his inviting mouth. A startled, confused but thankfully muted moan rumbles through the cloth. You grin at the conflicted eyes and knitted eyebrows you get in response to your actions, entirely unbothered as you continue to take him apart with your touches, to watch him become the embodiment of debauchery. Moonlight skin shiny with sweat, teeth gnawing around his makeshift gag, pelvis involuntarily meeting your movements, elbows pointing to the ceiling as he desperately scratches and claws at the back of the chair, surely ruining it beyond repair with his needlepoint nails and vampiric strength. So effortlessly picture-perfect.

No more than a few seconds later, he’s arching his back against the chair and wailing into his linen gag. The wood of the backrest splinters and the upholstery tears loudly under his fingernails. Warm fluid gushes out over your fist and dribbles down it as you continue stroking his length. Your other hand takes out the cravat from Levi’s mouth and wipes up the mess. He lets out a few wet little warbles and whimpers at the overstimulating feeling, but quietens down once you finish.

You don’t allow him a second to recuperate from his high, instead satiating your own desires; snatching his face up in your hands and latching your lips onto his in one smooth motion. Tongues curl together and the metallic tang of your own blood swarms your senses. Levi keens and grips the fabric at your waist. By the time your mouths separate, you’re both breathless and gasping against each other, and the allure of his dishevelled state has you unable to resist trailing a few extra kisses on his skin; from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, on the soft spot behind his ear and down his delicate neck. Levi grabs at your shoulders weakly, but when you pull back to check on him, his gaze drops to your laps.

“How did you find that?” You tilt your head. “Good?”

Better than good, so much better — is what he thinks, but what he settles on saying is “Yes, it– it was good.”

The smile that stretches across your cheeks is inevitable, and the most sincere one you’ve had the entire night. “Well… as much as I would like to keep going,” you say, chewing on your inner lip corner, and making Levi flush, “I think it’s time we go back.”

You climb off of the chair and straighten out your clothes. Meanwhile, Levi tries, and fails, to stand up, his knees buckling and sending him flopping back into the seat.

You sigh sympathetically and caress the side of his face. “You should rest for a moment,” you tell him. Your fingers glide down to his chin, take it into your hand and wipe the spit, along with the traces of smeared blood, from his lips. “Perhaps neaten up your appearance, in the meantime?” you add with a smirk.

Some awareness seems to have awoken in him, perhaps as a result of your teasing, because he pouts and replies with, “I was planning on doing so anyway.”

You don’t say anything else, taking that moment to appreciate the silence, just the distant echo of music and the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. Luckily, it does not take long for Levi’s ragged breaths to calm, and for his thighs to reclaim their strength. You help to clean up his image, fastening up garments, flattening out creases and wiping away or concealing the evidence of your activities. Kisses are exchanged in between; some of them stolen, some of them followed by giggles, and some by lustful gazes.

Once you’re ready to leave, you head for the door, but you only go as far as clasping the gold handle before stopping and turning to Levi. His eyebrows shift in that way they’re so good at, speaking when words don’t need to. Your eyes sketch out a path down his face, all the way to his lips, where you find yourself already missing the blood, drool and pearly fangs…

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for his nape and wrapping your plush lips around each other.

“If you’re well-behaved tonight,” you rasp against his lips, “I’ll treat you to more than just a finger next time.”

taglist. @jazzyluuv <3

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chlorinecake · 8 months

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If it's possible, could you make a yandere enhypen story, where the reader usually goes out late at night to a convenience store for some late night snacks, but some pervert tries her, but one of the members had been following her and help her, I'm sorry if it doesnt make any sense but yeah...😀 (recently my delusions have been getting to me)

“convenient chances” 🎱

pairing: stalker!yandere!enhypen x afab!reader

cw: harassment, violence, mentions of smoking, paranoia/anxiety, language, kidnapping, bad-ish ending lol

wc: 3.1k — read part ll and lll here

LIKE A DUNGEON with fear cementing every corner, you struggle to savor the silence in your waking life.

Doubting all and believing none, your close friend Sunoo convinced you that your nervous aches and night sweats were a mere result of paranoia. He always judged the way you’d peek over your shoulder in public as if waiting to be attacked.

Clicking sounds from your window startled your rest during the night, with nightmares of seven tall hooded strangers blinding your judgement.

You're sure everyone's experienced the phenomenon of “gaze perception” at least once in their lives, in which a person might sense or assume that a pair of predatory eyes are stalking them from afar.

You didn’t like to use the word trauma to define your past experiences, but this wasn’t your first time feeling like a cloud of trouble waited to pour down on you. At this point, all you could do was hope that your intuition wasn’t right this time.

It was only a few months ago when you broke up with your abusive ex-boyfriend, Jay. The memories still linger as if they occurred yesterday, freshly cryptic in your mind. From your point of view, he started off as a charming casual acquaintance, which soon developed into a crush and then a toxic relationship. He outlined a list of rules for you to follow when he was away, ordering you around like a child. Anytime you even came close to breaking one of his orders, he’d beat the shit out of you, saying that his rage was out of love.

From Jay’s point of view, you weren’t just an obsession, but a belonging—his favorite humanoid toy to play with. He threatened that if you ever left him, he’d come back for you one day, saying that he’d never stop watching you.

And so, you moved. Not far, but a good distance away. You didn’t feel protected anymore in your usual environment. Though, there was one place in which you felt completely safe—free from watchful eyes and hostile hands. It was the tatty old convenience store a few blocks from where you live. The place hadn’t developed much since what appeared to be a decade or two ago, but they always supplied the most tasty, high quality snacks you could get your hands on.

As silly as it may sound, the fallout shop was your haven, and you grew particularly fond of shopping there late at night when it was less crowded.

You walked passed the familiar electronic doors, the fluorescent ceiling lights sparkling off of the bleach-mopped tiles. The usually uplifting radio station was replaced with the chilling whoosh of air circulating through the vents.

“Hello! Welcome to Goldman’s 24-hour convenience,” a friendly accented voice chimed. “Hello,” you returned with a nod, a bit confused by the new face. The usual cashier was an elder women by the name of Mandy. Her laughter alone could make some of your darkest nights glimmer again.

The young man wore a name tag on his dark blue collared shirt: Jake. You couldn’t help but wonder why Mandy wasn’t working her usual night shift, but you didn’t care enough to interrogate the seemingly content boy.

Picking up a hand basket, you explored the aisle's shelves in search for something savory or sweet to snack on. Your gaze swiveled ahead of you before landing on the sight of two hooded strangers blocking your path. This time, a bit of their faces showed, revealing the devious smirks that spoke so many silent words through their sealed lips:

You can run, but you can’t hide from us, ____. For as long as we live, you’re not allowed to feel safe anywhere.

Goosebumps sprouted on the surface of your skin, nerves dancing around in your fingers until they became wobbling rods. It’s almost like you forgot to breathe due to the overwhelming terror, feeling frozen from within as the plastic basket slipped from your grasp, a loud clatter echoing throughout the store.

You remembered all of the horrible things Jay said he would do to you once he found you again. The bruises you concealed with makeup that Jay referred to as his "strawberry kisses” would have nothing on what you felt was coming your way.

“Are you okay, miss?” A kind male voice asked, snatching you from your trance and back to reality. You turned to meet the man behind you, revealing his concerned yet warm features. He picked up the basket you dropped, still processing that your mind successfully tricked you into seeing something that wasn’t actually there.

“Yes, I’m alright, t-thank you,” you smiled but it didn’t reach your eyes, looking more awkward than reassuring.

He pressed three finger's against your forehead, “I don’t think you’re being honest with me,” he frowned, your hot and damp forehead telling him that something was wrong. “I’m sorry, I haven’t even introduced myself yet,” he stuck out one hand for you to shake and the other to pass you back your basket. “My name is Heeseung,” he smiled, “I’m new in town with an affinity for convenience stores.”

“____, with an affinity to drop flimsy baskets in public,” you replied, suddenly feeling at ease from the humor. You started trailing to the ramen section and Heeseung was walking behind you. If it wasn’t for his kindness earlier, you’d probably be freaking out about how close he was. You reached for a spicy udon noodle pack that came with dehydrated tofu and seaweed sheets. Meanwhile, Heeseung grabbed a can of Spam and chicken flavored ramen.

“Speaking of your liking for convenience stores, I come here almost every night and I’ve never seen you before.“

“Well, yeah, I’m usually here earlier in the day. I just happened to need some gas and got hungry while waiting, so I decided to stop by for my favorites,” he peered into your basket, "You might wanna get some milk with those, too. It's ungodly how spicy they are!"

"I know, right? They're just so delicious, I can't resist them..."

"Still, Sapporo Ichiban instant noodles are the best! They always cook perfectly. Never too soft or too firm. It's my comfort food, honestly. I wanna hug the person who created them," he replied passionately.

"Eh, you're just gonna ruin 'em anyways."

He gave you a double look, "Are you passively judging my cooking skills or fat shaming me?"

"Neither. I'm shaming that pink block of salt you're gonna punish your organs with."

He scoffed, "This anti-Spam movement is outrageous! I'm starting an online protest where you'll be the number one convert."

"As if I'd ever try that...stuff," you rejected.

"Welp. More for me, I guess," he mumbled, digging into his jacket pocket.

“Dammit, I forgot my wallet in my car,” he said, placing his basket high up on the shelf. “If you see anyone try to take my stuff, kick ‘em in the shin for me,” he said before running out of the shop.

Analyzing your surroundings, you noticed that a few groups of shoppers and some solo snackers began raiding the bread aisle. You distracted yourself by heading to the refrigerator section, considering Heeseung’s recommendation of getting a smooth beverage to accompany your spicy noodles, tossing in a pack of strawberry flavored Pocky's on your way.

That’s when you felt an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in before giving your head a sniff, his nose was wet and cold like a dog as he inhaled your scent. “What the hell are you doing?” You barked, pushing the creepy stranger away.

He was a middle aged man with a receding hairline and a few scars decorating his thin chapped lips. You wondered how many of those scares came from women he tried that “arm around the waist” shit on.

“Sorry, doll. I’m a hugger and figured you might've needed one,” he grinned, revealing the gnarly set of teeth that lined his grey gums. You couldn't tell if it was his foul breath or filthy clothes that smelled more like smoke. Either way, you were thoroughly disgusted by him.

“Well, you should learn to ask before throwing yourself on people,” you retorted, reaching for a container of banana milk.

“You like swallowing bananas, cutie? I bet I could force four of 'em down that pretty mouth of yours,” he slithered while adjusting himself in his pants.

What the hell is wrong with this guy, you thought to yourself.

You tried to ignore his lunacy, only for him to grip your ass like a stress ball, landing a harsh slap across the curve of your jeans. You yelped at the sting, your own words being caught in your throat from the shocking act. You couldn’t believe that this freak actually just did that to you.

He met your eyes with a wink, smelling his hand as if you just provided him with an expensive perfume sample, "You got a lover at home, sweetheart?"

Tears dared to pour from your rage-ridden eyes as you balled your fists so tight, your bones might break. That's when a protective figure filled your blurry peripheral vision, stepping in front of you to block the man off as he tried grabbing you again, pushing him with such a force that he lost his balance.

“The hell do you think you’re doing, y'scrawny mother fucker,” he growled, pulling up is pants.

“You can’t do that kind of sick shit to people, pervert! Now get the hell outta here or I'll call the police,” the younger boy fought back.

“I was just trying to have some fun, kiddo. Ain’t nothin' wrong with that. I bet honey doll misses me already,” the older man went on, licking at his lower lip.

“I’ll knock every last rotting tooth from your mouth if you don’t leave in the next five seconds-"

“Hey, what’s going on over here?” Jake asked in the middle of the commotion, the older man already fleeing the scene. Jake looked at the younger boy first before eventually meeting your eyes. You wish you could hide how shaken up you felt. The container of milk was bleeding out its strong banana scent on the once spotless floor, tears finally streaming down your cheeks.

“Oh my God, Jungwon, what happened,” Heeseung came running over, asking the boy who defended you. “It was nothing,” you interrupted before Jungwon could answer, the three boys standing dumbfounded around you in a puddle of banana milk. “Do you need a ride-" “Don’t worry about me,” your voice cracked in embarrassment.

Is there any way to explain how the world made you ashamed of your own tears?

You left your basket behind, apologizing to Jake who had to clean up the sticky mess. You didn’t wanna leave just yet, afraid that the older guy might be waiting for you outside, so you went to the ladies restroom instead to call your friend Sunoo.

“____?”

You cleared the lump in your throat before answering, “Sunoo,” you began shakily, “I need you to come and pick me up from Goldman's.”

“You sound terrible, is everything okay? You’re worrying me, what happened?”

“I’m sorry, Sun. Everything’s okay, I just really need you right now.”

“____,” he sighed. You suddenly felt guilty for even calling him.

“Sunoo, if you can’t make it, I won’t be mad at you,” you said in between the silence, trying to encourage him to make a choice.

“I-I can’t, well, I can, but, not soon, at least. I’m only an hour away, if you’re willing to wait that long.” The pity in his voice made you wanna cry all over again. Looking at the time on your phone, it was six minutes til midnight, and you refused to haul your best friend out on the road this late. “No, that’s alright, Sunoo. I’ll just call an Uber.”

His side of the phone fell quiet for a moment. “____, I know how much you hate Uber's. Don't do that to yourself because of me."

"I'll be okay, Sun, just get yourself some rest."

He paused before asking, "Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Of course! Call me when you get home!”

You finished up in the bathroom, mentally preparing yourself to face the strangers beyond the not-so-comforting walls of the restroom. To your surprise, Heeseung and Jungwon were still in the store. Huddled around Jake at the checkout counter, the three of them took loud sips from steaming cups of ramen. “Hey, ____,” Heeseung began, resting his snack on the counter. “We could help you file a report against that guy, if you want.”

Jungwon met your eyes with his own sincere ones, “He should pay for the way he treated you.” Jake put your basket from earlier on the counter, dry items taking the place of the previously wet ones.

“Do you still want these," he asked shyly. After everything that happened, you felt empty in more than one way. Some warm broth and noodles is exactly what your body needed at the moment. You nodded, handing Jake a $20 bill. Beeping sounds immediately met your ears as he scanned your items with a strange haste. You looked back to Heeseung and Jungwon.

“Getting the police involved will only make it harder for me to forget this ever even happened. Thank you for your concern, though,” you smile at the humble pair before they took the final gulps from their ramen cups before discarding them.

“Here’s your change,” Jake chirped, handing you the plastic bag of goodies. “Thank you,” you bowed, heading to the exit.

“Y'sure you don't need a ride?” Jungwon asked. You flashed him your phone screen. “Uber,” was all you said before walking into the black of the night, the sliding doors closing behind you.

According to your smartphone, you should expect your chauffeur, Sunghoon, to arrive shortly in a black truck with tinted windows. The vehicle came speeding through the parking lot, a chill wind hitting your features. The truck was so dark, that it almost blended into the night. He rolled down the window, looking you up and down.

"Name?"

"Uh, ____," you said, his blunt question catching you off guard.

"Get in," he replied, directing a thumb to the back seat, unlocking the door as you slid in, bumping into another passenger. Immediately caught by his dark eyes, the boy waved slightly, muttering a deep “Welcome aboard,” before fixing his gaze out the window again. The truck sat idly as Sunghoon delayed taking off, exchanging a few hushed words to the guy sitting in the front passenger's seat.

Click.

The backseat doors opened from both ends, Heeseung, Jungwon, and Jake joining you in the black vehicle. "Scoot over, Niki," Jungwon complained, trying to get comfortable in the crammed space. That's when you saw one last person join you all in the truck, his face capturing the moonlight like a thief.

"Sunoo?! W-what are you doing here? I thought you were an hour away!" All he did was frown in response. He always made that face whenever he was hiding something from you. "Sunoo," you pressed, nudging his shoulder.

"Oh please, would you just shut the hell up already," the hostile driver growled at you.

You screwed your eyes brows in confusion, "What's going on here," you inquired, now feeling anxiety start to creep up on you.

"The very thing I warned you about before you abandoned me," the front passenger bit back.

That voice. You knew exactly who it belonged to.

It was Jay, your looney ex-lover, sitting right in front of you. An angry yet pitiful scowl contaminated his handsome features.

You pushed through Heeseung, reaching for the door handle, only for Niki, the quietest yet scariest one, to snatch your wrist, pulling you into his tantalizing grip. "Let me go," you yelped, only for Jungwon to harshly cover your mouth.

Screech.

Sunghoon pulled off at a dangerous speed, causing your bodies to shake in the truck. Heeseung crossed his legs cooly as if he wasn't just casually talking with you in the store, “So when do we get to have fun with her, again? It’s not like she did any good entertaining me through conversation.”

Jake rolled his eyes at Heeseung, “I could’ve used your enthusiasm when I had to stuff that fat old chick in the freezer. Alone. On top of that, I had to mop the floor quintillion times before the blood stains got out.”

“At least you’d make a good house husband,” Sunghoon joked.

You felt your heart sink to the pit of your stomach at Jake’s confession: He killed Mandy.

"I'm sorry, ____," Sunoo whispered, fighting back tears as he hid his face from you.

Everything was starting to make sense now.

The visions of seven hooded boys.

The clicking sounds you'd hear from outside your window at night.

The way you could never shake the feeling that you were being watched.

Jay’s past words echoed in the back of your mind:

"If you ever decide to leave me, don't ever think that you'll get very far before I catch up. I'll always be watching you."

You bit Jungwon's hand, causing him to retreat his palm from your flushed face. "Sunoo, you betrayed me! You told me that I was paranoid when you knew exactly what was going on behind my back! I felt safe with you...I trusted you! And you fucking lied to me!"

"God, I've had just about enough of her nagging," Niki said, landing a fisted blow across your face. As you faded out of consciousness, Jay tried to soothe your daze.

“Even though I betrayed you and beat you, it was only my funny way of expressing how much I love you. Can’t you see that I did all of that out of love?”

You could still hear Sunoo pleading for your forgiveness in the background as you held onto the last strand of your consciousness.

"I've been watching you for a long time, love. You always try to escape me and I never understood why you just wouldn't listen to me. All I've ever done is love you and try to protect you. This time, I’ll make sure you’ve learned your lesson.”

And that was the last thing you heard before retreating to the vacancy of your mind, floating around in the silence of your oblivion. Left in the hands of seven reckless boys who’d successfully lured you into their cat trap, you didn’t know what to expect once you’d open your eyes, but you knew it wouldn’t be anything good.

In that time, you came to the unsettling conclusion that broken toys were Jay’s favorite, and if you weren’t already broken upon being found, you would be by time he’s done playing with you.

☆ ᴀ/ɴ: in no way, shape, or form does this fanfic intend to romanticize unhealthy relationships or abusive behaviors. i simply write for entertainment and creative purposes. thus, reader discretion is always advised.

☆ ᴘ.ꜱ: special thanks to the fabulous anon who requested this piece! i played around with the plot a bit, but I hope you all enjoyed reading it! if you guys would like a version of this story with a happier ending, let me know in the comments!

☆ taglist (based off of users that personally requested to be on my taglist, my faves, and people that I've noticed interacting with my yandere content) ~

@fanficfactoryfoxxx @ashgonedash @yourmomscuntis2tighy @yngwife @03sunoos @kaykay11sworld @maryismad @gigiramirezsblog @hoonsyo @en-thralled @haechansheart @night-en-shining-armor @cutiejseong

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artdotpage · 6 months

Text

Problems facing modern artists & creators

I've talked with hundreds of artists and creators about the difficulties they face trying to earn a living from their craft.

This post covers two of the big ones (social media algorithms & bargain basement marketplaces), and what tools are available to grow your business despite these issues.

Social Media Algorithms and Audience Ownership

Social media platforms are a godsend for getting your work in front of potential clients and building a loyal fan base.

However as you will all have experienced, it can take a mastermind to figure out what kind of content the algorithm wants you to post, and if you don't do that you'd be as well throwing your content into the void as even your own followers might not see your post, never mind new viewers.

It also means you don't truly own your audience, if you post something slightly controversial your account could be deleted without warning, or perhaps a billionaire buys the site and everyone flocks to a new platform where you have to start growing your following all over again.

Solution: Build a mailing list

This is perhaps the single best marketing tool available to any business, and is sorely overlooked by artists and creators.

It's cost effective and because you own your mailing list it doesn't matter what's happening on social sites, you can always keep in touch with them.

The tricky part is converting people into mailing list subscribers. However I've seen plenty of creators successfully build one by offering incentives including free digital downloads, early access to content, discounts on your store etc.

Those who sign up to your mailing list would be considered high quality followers, someone who is much more likely to convert to a paid client and buy from you again in the future compared to the average follower on social media.

Tools

https://art.page/

https://substack.com/

https://convertkit.com/

Losing clients to undercutting competitors on the same platform/marketplace

If you run your business on a marketplace or platform, your clients are one click away from finding plenty of other choices who are willing to undercut everyone else to land a sale.

These sites have no incentive to make sure that traffic you drive to your profile actually purchase from you. Whether a sale is made through your listing or another seller, they collect their fee either way.

They also use uniform designs which reduce you to a generic product listing. Whilst this can simplify the customer experience, it means you have no control over the sales funnel and ability to differentiate yourself, making it harder to convert potential clients into paying customers.

Solution: Direct clients to your own site

Use your own personal website to make sales from, there are plenty of options with no monthly charge and lower fees than marketplaces. This lets you make dedicated marketing pages showcasing your best work to make a client excited about doing business with you, instead of just being a generic product listing.

Take advantage of marketplaces purely for their customer base. Don't rely on them as your sole business platform. This way, any fees you pay are worthwhile to generate sales you wouldn't have had otherwise.

Tools

https://art.page/

https://www.bigcartel.com/

https://squareup.com/

Interested in more?

There's plenty more I have to share on this topic, including:

How to properly use Print on Demand without getting ripped off

Streamline managing your business so you spend more time creating and growing your business.

How to better utilize your brand to connect with clients and increase sales

So let me know if you’re interested and I’ll get writing!

Transparency

I'm building https://art.page to solve these exact issues, with the goal to create the best all in one site builder for artists and creators that makes running your business easy.

#artdotpage #artpage #artists on tumblr

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sonarspace · 10 days

Text

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACTION!

content: actor au. actor!nanami x actor!reader. movie scenes are indented. slight nsfw action. (not proofread) wc: 2.7k

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

Being a new actor in the industry can be challenging, especially when your co-star is well-known—a little too famous for your liking. Kento Nanami, an award-winning actor loved by his co-workers with a continuously growing fandom. You find it a little intimidating working with him, as he's been in the industry a lot longer than you have.

You weren't exactly unfamiliar with the world of cinema. Still, you were surprised to see how much work goes on behind the scenes and the effects of actors' consistency on the quality of scenes. You kind of underestimated the hard work and persistence it takes to memorize your lines and separate the character from yourself. But a good actor can always find something similar to the character they're playing, right?

You were surprised when you got a call from the casting directors after your audition—after all, you just wanted to try something new. What surprised you the most was being asked to play Kento Nanami's love interest. That was not the role you auditioned for, but they insist that you would be a good match for him onscreen, so you say yes.

It's been three months on set—three months of playing Nanami's love interest, three months of longing for Nanami just as your character longs for him, three months of shy touches shared between you two—trying not to cross that line, and three months of him trying to comfort you through every intense scene.

A knock sounds through the door, and one of the crew members' voices follows, "Rolling in five minutes." With a deep breath, you adjust the sleeves of your nightgown and make your way onto the set.

Nanami follows in attire that matches the Regency era: a ruffled dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up halfway. His waist is accentuated by the high-waisted pants. His hair was done in a way that looked messily put together, like he had been running his hand through his blonde locks. Before you can stop the thought, it manifests itself in your brain. The idea of running your hand through his hair. Soft and blonde.

You're nervous as the director asks you to take your position. Before you do, though, Nanami steps in close to you. "If it gets too much at any point, just tap twice," he whispers. He always makes sure to make you feel comfortable filming intimate scenes—whether just holding his hand or making out on screen.

"And action!" the director's voice resounds throughout the set.

"Cassian," you call out his name softly. He's standing by the window, hands on his hips. He sighs as he turns around. "Marcella," he replies stoically, his gaze unwavering. You move closer to where he's standing. You feel his hand inch closer to yours, wanting to touch you but holding himself back. "Why are you here," his voice is deep and loud. "you're leaving tomorrow," you state. "I just wanted to wish you a safe trip," you pause, and then you continue, "I wish we met earlier," you smile sadly. He could've given you the life you've always wanted. A life full of simple pleasures — a simple love. He leans in closer. "Run away with me." Tears well your eyes, “I can't," your breath hitches, "I can't do that to him." "You can," he says, frustrated. Go away with me. I can protect you from him." He pleads, but you shake your head. A tear escapes the corner of your eye, and his finger comes up quickly to wipe it away. You hold his palm in place, letting yourself feel his comforting touch once more.

His touch was soft and delicate. The callouses on his palm were rough but he still held you with a softness of a lover. Your heart was beating fast, anxious for what was coming next.

His lips were so close to yours. You could feel his breath on your lips. Your eyes flutter close as you feel him take in your upper lip in between his. His lips are feather-light atop yours. He pulls back to take in your expression – did you want this the same way he did? Your breathing grows erratic, and your eyes dart between his dilated irises and soft lips. He takes it as a yes when you lean in and your noses rub against each other, a gasp slips past your lips in anticipation – silently asking for more. He grabs your face with a need – a desperation. Trying to convince you to run away with him, the only way he could. The ruffles of his shirt are clutched between your fingers as he kisses you fully. Your lips so plush and smooth, he has a hard time holding himself back. He deepens the kiss and slides his tongue over your lip. A low hum elicits from his throat when you part your lips to let him in.

An involuntary action like your mind wasn't in control of your body. He plays along and slides his tongue over yours. You could taste the mint after the taste of gum. Suddenly, you're overtly aware of the number of people surrounding you. You try to concentrate on the way his tongue moves in tandem with yours, but you fail. Lost in the feeling of your tongue against his—alas, he barely registers the taps on his chest. He pulls back almost immediately.

"Cut! What happened?!" the director yells. You're about to apologize for the interruption, but Nanami cuts you off. "My bad, Milo. A fly was buzzing in my ear." You mouth back a silent thank you to him, and he just nods curtly.

"That was a good shot. Let's pick it up from the kiss," Milo tells you both. He looks at you and notices your eyebrows creased in discomfort. He turns back to the director and asks if you could take a break. Unwillingly, Milo yells, "Let's take ten," to the rest of the crew.

You leave the room and sit on the ground, trying to calm yourself. "Here," Nanami hands you a bottle of water. You meek out a thank you, and he invites himself to sit next to you. "Are you okay?" he asks. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just not used to all that," you tell him.

"Not used to kissing?" he queries. Your cheeks feel warm as he compliments, "You're a good kisser; you have nothing to worry about." You chuckle shyly, "Not that. I meant being intimate in front of so many people."

"Oh, that. I understand that but just try and concentrate on me, okay? It's just this one scene, and then we can leave." he tries to comfort you. Little does he know his mere presence was enough to get you overwhelmed. The fact that you were kissing him in front of so many people got you overstimulated.

You redo the kissing scene but struggle to give your all into the scene the director wanted. You feel too stiff. "Cut! Redo!" The director calls out, and you sigh, lowering your head in slight embarrassment. Nanami walks over to Milo before you can take your position. You're not sure what he says, but you see them whispering, and Milo pats his back in understanding.

"Everyone but the camera and lighting out!" Milo orders, and they all file out quickly. "Let's try again," Nanami tells you, a comforting smile on his lips. His hands cup your cheeks once more, pulling you in closer. His lips meet yours, and an unusual sensation builds in your stomach.

His right hand moves to your neck, and his thumbs rub over your pulse, trying to comfort you.

He pulls you closer by your waist, your chest flush against his. His hands are firm on your waist and neck as he walks you back to the windowsill. He pushes you up on the ledge of the windowsill, and your legs wrap around him. He bunches up your nightgown and goes down on his knees, kissing up your legs. "Cassian," you whimper.

Your thighs tense as he plants feather-light kisses. The feel of your soft, ample thighs under his lips is something he didn't know he needed to feel until now. A carnal need is evident in both of you as you lock eyes with each other. His gaze pleads for something more, and you give him a short nod in understanding, urging him to go on.

He keeps his eyes on you, his gaze intense as he pokes his tongue out to lick and suck on the tender flesh of your thighs. You grow wetter when his mouth comes close to your clothed pussy. He licks a stripe from where he thinks your opening might be up to your clit. He groans as his eyes shut close in pleasure for the camera. You feel the noise deep in you. A sound gets stuck in your throat as your head lulls back, hitting the window, and your hand tangles in his hair - your grip on his hair tightening.

"Cut!" And everybody walks back in, unaware of what just went down between you two. Nanami pulls away. He's never done that before and never had the urge to. He's unsure what it is about you, but you drive him insane. Every time he was in your presence, his breathing changed, his heart beat a bit faster. Perhaps it was the way you looked at him with so much conviction.

Everybody holds their breath when you stumble in his arms as you get off the windowsill. The tension between you two is palpable. The director's voice brings you both out of the trance: "Good work, everybody. I'll be back on Wednesday, so have a good long weekend. But you two."

The director gestures towards you and Nanami, motioning you both to come close. "Your chemistry is good, but I need it to be great. I want you both to get more comfortable with each other. Rehearse your lines together. Practice the scenes. Let's wrap the movie this month, alright?"

Nanami shoots you a glance, "Alright, Milo. See you on Wednesday." You make your way back to your vanities. Nanami follows behind, and your heart picks up a beat. His phone rings, and he answers, "Hi, sweetie." You feel a pang of disappointment as he walks past you quickly into the room beside yours. Was he... Your heart drops at the thought.

You do a quick Google search 'for Kento Nanami dating.' Nothing but old articles about his only public relationship come up. They were long broken up now. So who was he talking to? Why did he do that with you? However, you can't stop wondering what else Nanami would have done if the director didn't yell cut. What else would he do if it was just the two of you? A knock brings you out of your thoughts. "Come in."

"Hi," Nanami walks in with his wet hair pushed back. He's changed into black pants and a grey hoodie, making him look more attractive. He looks kind of cute, you think to yourself. "What're you smilin' about?" he asks, noticing your smile. "What?" caught, you quickly wipe the smile off your face. "I asked, what're you smiling about?" he repeats himself. "Uh, nothing. I thought you left. Do you need something?" you ask, trying to sound casual.

"Can I take you to dinner?" The question catches you off guard. "What?" your eyebrows raise. "Can I take you to dinner?" he repeats, his voice a little louder this time. "I heard you fine. I'm not deaf," you snap. Annoyance takes over as you remember the little stunt he pulled earlier. Why did he do that if he had a girlfriend?

"Okay, so will you go to dinner with me?" he tries again. "No, I'm busy," you say, pushing past him to leave.

He follows. "What about tomorrow?"

"Still busy." You retort.

"The day after?"

"Busy."

"But we have to practice..."

"Well, Milo's not here to see us, is he? And you're the one who agreed, not me." You side-eye him as he stops.

"Did I do something?" he asks hesitantly. You stop walking as well and turn around. "Did you not want me to..." he trails off, unsure how to address that little incident between you two. He thought you both felt it—the attraction, the need to keep holding each other, the need to keep kissing, and the need to keep his face buried between your thighs. It wasn't something he'd felt before.

You let out a deep sigh and ask him blatantly, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Nanami's face scrunches up in confusion, "How is that related..."

"Yes or no, Nanami!"

"No! And call me Kento!" he replies, visibly annoyed. It was rare for him to lose his temper like this. He couldn't understand why you were suddenly asking him all these questions. He thought he'd made it clear he was into you with the way you both interacted with each other.

"Are you seeing someone, then?" you ask further. You didn't want to get caught up in a scandal so fresh in your career. "No, I'm single," he confirms. "I wouldn't have... I wouldn't have done that if I was in a relationship." His face picks up a flush.

"Okay..." you respond, a feeling of relief coursing through you.

"Okay," he repeats, rolling his shoulders. The sun has long set as you both reach the parking lot. You pull out your phone to check how far your Uber ride was. The '40 minutes' flashing on your screen has you frowning and twisting your rings in discomfort. But Nanami notices, as he always does. "Come on, I'll drop you off," he offers.

You shake your head. "No, it's alright. I'll wait in there," you point toward a dimly lit diner. "I don't want you to go out of your way," you give him a tight-lipped smile.

"I don't mind," he insists, walking away. He opens the car door for you, and cocks his head for you to get in. You take a deep breath and get in. "Relax, I'm not going to eat you." He chuckles lightheartedly, trying to get you to loosen up.

"Here, put in your address," he hands you his phone. "Huh, you live close," he murmurs in quiet wonder once he sees your location. "Where do you live?" you ask curiously. "Across your building," he glances, a small smile on his lips, and you find yourself doing the same. "It's weird how we've never crossed paths with each other," he adds.

"It's not too weird, actually. I moved in two weeks ago. I haven't really had the time to explore the area. I've barely unpacked." You chuckle awkwardly.

"I'd love to take you around sometime if you're up for it," he glances at you briefly. "Sure, thank you," you whisper quietly.

He parks in front of your building. Quickly unbuckling his seatbelt, he runs over to open your door before you can. A small smile on his lips. You return his smile, and he walks you inside to the lobby.

You stand there awkwardly, wondering if you should invite him over or not. The elevator dings, and you expect him to follow you in, but he doesn't. He stands outside and gives you a nod as the doors close, separating you two. You squeak a "Goodnight!" before the elevator takes you to your floor.

He walks back to his car, feeling a little defeated. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he sees your name across his screen. The end of his lips tug into a small victorious grin as he reads your message.

⁞ You to Nanami: Sorry about my little tantrum. Thank you for the ride. Let's have lunch tomorrow?

Your heart races with anticipation as you press 'send' on the message. What if he doesn't want to do anything with you? What if you mistook his kindness for something more? All your doubts are erased as he replies back almost immediately.

↳ ⁞ Nanami to you: No worries. It was my pleasure.

⁞ Nanami to you: I thought you were busy tomorrow? 🤔.

↳ ⁞ You to Nanami: Well...

⁞ Nanami to You: I'll pick you up at 1?

↳ ⁞ You to Nanami: Alright :)

A giggle slips past your lips as you put your phone down and contemplate your reflection in the mirror. Your face is flushed, and your cheeks ache from smiling for so long. It's been a while since you've felt this way; it was almost unfamiliar. Meanwhile, Nanami feels a similar feeling in his chest as he crosses the street to his apartment complex, excited to see what tomorrow holds.

a/n : what do we think y'all? part 2? 👀. let me know your thoughts or any suggestions -> here! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

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emjayewrites · 1 month

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Private Landing (Lewis Hamilton Fanfic)(5/?)

SUMMARY: In the high-speed world of Formula One, Lewis Hamilton subtly introduces a mysterious partner via Instagram after a slight mishap during an interview. Sparking media intrigue, everyone wants to know: who is the enigmatic figure that calls herself Mrs. Hamilton?

INSPO: this post

PAIRINGS: Sir Lewis Hamilton x Aurora "Rorie" Phillips-Hamilton (faceclaim is Justine Skye)

WARNINGS: drama, angst, sexual content, formula one b.s., pre-established relationship (with flashbacks). RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @queenshikongo3 @cocobutterqwueen @httpsserene @mauvecherie-writes @galatially @pausmoon @a-moment-captured @yeea-nah @sirlew44 @melodichaeuxx-lacritquexx @weetjy @lewisroscoelove @hxneyclouds @questionable-behaviour @lovebittenbyevans @tian-monique @alika-4466 @saintslewis @cherry2stems @mitruscity @burberryfilms @planetmimi @woderfulkawaii @d3kstar @liamundi @trinitoldyouso @scorpiobleue @pharaohanubis0 @certifiedlesbianbaddie @blveeeeeee @sugardontbesweet @omgsuperstarg @bluesole16 @serpenttines-library @peyiswriting @royallyprincesslilly @jasmindaughteroftheworld @laptiteantillaise @motheroffae @hrlzy

A/N: Please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the taglist. The headers/dividers are by @inklore

CHAPTER 5: Ups & Downs

Summer break came to a bittersweet end and they were soon gearing up to return to the thrill of racing once more. Everyone had an amazing time exploring Turkey as well as spending some quality time with family in Colorado. With the Dutch Grand Prix just around the corner, anticipation hung heavy in the air as fans eagerly awaited the pulse-pounding action that was sure to unfold on the historic circuit of Zandvoort.

Meanwhile, the news of Lewis signing on for another year at Mercedes sent ripples through the racing world. His decision was met with both celebration and anticipation, as fans eagerly awaited another season of thrilling races and nail-biting finishes. With his focus now shifting back to racing, Lewis immersed himself in rigorous training sessions, honing his skills and pushing himself to new limits. He left a few days before Rorie and Lyric, anxiously wanting to test drive the updated car prior to the race.

The bustling streets of Amsterdam buzzed with excitement as Rorie drove to the quaint town near the racetrack, eager to soak in the vibrant atmosphere that surrounded the Grand Prix weekend. The winding roads leading up to Zandvoort were adorned with colorful banners and flags, a vivid display of national pride as fans from all corners of the world gathered to witness the adrenaline-fueled spectacle.

Rorie made her way through the crowded paddock, she couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity and comfort. She had become accustomed to the hustle and bustle of race weekends, the constant adrenaline rush and the intense competition that filled the air. But this time, things were different.

As usual, she was there supporting her man, yet this time, as with all the other races, her presence was no longer unnoticed or overlooked. The media had taken an interest in their relationship, and Rorie was now under constant scrutiny from paparazzi and fans alike. She could no longer walk around the circuit incognito like she used to and was now photographed just like the other team members' spouses and girlfriends. All eyes were on her wherever she went.

The chaos and clamor that followed her everywhere had magically dissipated for once. It was a refreshing change from the incessant screaming and pushing that usually surrounded her - perhaps the fans and media finally understood the importance of privacy, especially now since she had Lyric with her.

They still continued to take photos however, but maintained a respectful distance nonetheless. The warm scent of fresh stroopwafels wafted through the air, adding to the joyful atmosphere of the moment.

“Ooh, do you want a treat, sweetheart?” she asked her toddler, pausing for a quick second to lift up the canopy. No surprise, he was asleep. “Alrighty then, a treat for Mommy,” Rorie laughed to herself as she continued on her way, pushing the stroller towards the stroopwafel station.

As she stood in line for some warm stroopwafels, Rorie’s mind drifted off to her journey to motherhood and the difficulty of getting pregnant. And now, she and Lewis were thinking about having another, which scared her a bit, making her worry if she would have to go through the same hoops as she did in order to get pregnant with their son.

Rorie was deep in thought when a pack of enthusiastic fans noticed her and excitedly approached her.

"Oh my gosh, you’re Lewis’ wife, right?" one fan exclaimed, causing others in the line to turn and stare at her.

Rorie nodded. “That’s me. How are you all doing?"

"I knew it was you!" another fan interjected, nudging her friend. “I told you, Ella!”

The first fan, Ella, looked down at the stroller. "Did you bring Baby LH with you? Can we see them?"

Rorie felt a small frown forming on her face. Her baby was more than just a prop, but these girls couldn't be much older than fifteen so she let it slide. "Baby LH is sleeping at the moment, ladies. But we can take a picture or I can treat you to some stroopwafels. Your call."

They looked at each other before agreeing on a group selfie.

Rorie smiled warmly as they gathered around her for the photo. After a few minutes and deciding that the photos were satisfactory for their teenage standards, the girls thanked her and went on their way.

Pushing the stroller with one hand while holding a steaming stroopwafel in the other, Rorie made her way towards the Mercedes hospitality motorhome where she was greeted by familiar faces – Toto Wolff, his wife Susie, and their son, Jack.

“Surprised to see you here. How are you, Rorie?” asked Toto.

“Hi, Rorie,” Susie smiled, giving her a hug.

“Hi Toto, Susie," Rorie said with a smile, returning her warm embrace. She then turned to Jack who was busy playing with his toy cars on the floor. "And how's my favorite little racer doing?"

Jack looked up and grinned when he saw Rorie. "Hi Auntie Rorie!"

Rorie chuckled and ruffled his hair affectionately. "You're getting bigger every time I see you."

“Jack was just asking about his buddy Lyric," Susie stated with a grin.

“Yeah, Lewis said that he can walk now, so we can go on the scooter together,” responded Jack with a bright smile.

"Well, here he is," Rorie said, lifting up the canopy to reveal Lyric who was still sound asleep. "But we might have to wait for him to wake up before he can play and I don’t think Lyric is big enough yet to ride the scooter.”

She settled into one of the plush couches in the motorhome, enjoying her stroopwafel and a cup of hot coffee as she caught up with Toto and Susie. They chatted about their families and upcoming races.

Lyric let out a cry as he stirred awake and flashed a smile at Rorie when he saw his mother.

"Hey there little man," Rorie cooed as she picked him up, planting a kiss on his chubby cheek. "Did you have a nice nap?”

Lyric gurgled happily in Rorie's arms as she sat back down on the couch. Toto and Susie couldn't help but smile at the sight of Rorie with her baby.

"He's gotten so big, it feels like just yesterday he was born," remarked Susie.

Rorie beamed with pride. "He's growing up so quickly. And he's such a happy baby, but he's always trying to get his little hands on everything."

Sure enough, Lyric reached out for the rest of Rorie’s stroopwafel

"Uh-uh little man," she said playfully, moving the treat out of his reach. "You're not quite ready for that yet."

Lyric cried out in protest. “No!”

Toto chuckled. "Looks like Lyric inherited his father's sweet tooth."

"Unfortunately, yes," Rorie laughed uneasily as she tried to placate her whining son. He wriggled in her arms, so she decided to put him down on the floor and give him a snack from her diaper bag. "Just one though, okay?"

Lyric replied with a defiant "No!" before grabbing the treat and toddling over to Jack.

"So sassy but so cute," Rorie commented bemusedly at the whole situation. “He also gets that from his father.”

"What about me?" Lewis asked as he entered the motorhome. He had just finished a meeting with his engineers, and seeing his family was a welcome sight. "Hey beautiful," Lewis greeted Rorie with a kiss on the lips before turning to Lyric with a big grin. "And hello my little man!"

Lyric giggled in response as Lewis tickled his stomach lightly.

We were just talking about how much Lyric takes after you with his sweet tooth and sassy attitude.”

Lewis chuckled. “Well, I can’t deny that, he’s my son through and through.”

“He definitely has your charm,” Toto added with a grin.

Lyric reached out for his father, wanting to be held. Lewis happily obliged, scooping him up and settling him on his hip.

“So, what have you guys been up to?” Lewis asked as he took a seat next to Rorie on the couch.

“We were just catching up and having some stroopwafels,” Susie answered, offering Lewis one from the bag she had brought.

“Thanks, Susie,” Lewis said gratefully as he took the treat. “Jack and Lyric getting along well?”

“They are inseparable when they’re together,” Rorie replied with a smile. “It’s so cute seeing them together.”

“Jack is learning a lot from you, Lewis,” Toto commented, proud of his son and the relationship he had with his hero.

Lewis shrugged modestly. “I just try to be a good role model for him.”

“Well, it’s working because Jack wants to be just like you when he grows up,” Susie said sincerely.

Lewis grinned from ear to ear. “That means a lot coming from you guys.”

The sound of engines revving in the distance became more pronounced as the afternoon steadily wore on, signaling the start of the Dutch Grand Prix. The paddock was bustling with activity as everyone prepared for the big race.

As the minutes ticked down before lights out, Lewis got dressed in his racing suit. He double-checked all his gear, making sure everything was in its proper place as he mentally prepared himself for the intense race ahead.

Lyric, who was comfortably nestled in his father's arms, looked up at Lewis with adoration shining in his eyes.

"Ready to see daddy in action, little man?" Lewis asked with a smile as he bounced his son gently inside the team’s garage. It was a tradition for Lewis to spend a few minutes with Lyric before every race. It helped him relax and take his mind off the pressure of competing.

Lyric let out a happy squeal in response, causing some of the mechanics to chuckle at the adorable scene between father and son.

"Looks like you have your biggest fan right here," Bono commented with a grin as he watched Lyric playfully tug on one of Lewis's braids.

“I believe I do,” Lewis smiled proudly at Lyric before turning back to get into race mode. He placed an AirPod in his left ear, turning his music on the highest setting possible then hit shuffle on his Race Weekend playlist. Bopping his head to the music, Lewis paced around the garage with Lyric perched on his hip, trying desperately to not make eye contact with the various cameras that surrounded them.

Between the usual F1 media and the camera crew from Netflix, the garage was somewhat filled today; a bit too much for his personal liking, yet fortunately, all of the cameras kept a comforting distance. Though Lewis had an inkling of pride of having footage of these moments with his son during race weekend, Rorie still remained a tad apprehensive with having Lyric in the spotlight.

Silverstone Grand Prix changed their original plan of privacy a little, with some grainy pictures of their son’s face appearing on the internet, thus they had to compromise – allowing pictures and videos to be taken, within reason of course, by various media outlets during races.

The sound of engines revving outside grew louder and more intense as the cars began to line up on the grid.

"I have to go now, little man," Lewis said regretfully as he handed Lyric back to Rorie so she could take him out of the garage before it got too noisy and chaotic.

Rorie gave her husband a kiss on the lips before leaving with Lyric to watch the race inside the paddock club.

Lewis took one last deep breath and focused on the task at hand - winning another Grand Prix, which was proving to be difficult due to the awful car they had this season. After this year, he never wanted to see this model ever again. Between the unpredictability and imbalances, Lewis was beyond the point of being frustrated and his focus was just making it through the remainder of the races.

Nevertheless, the show must go on.

He removed his AirPod and placed it in the designated case then handed his electronics off to Bono for safekeeping. After that, he put on the halo and his helmet. Climbing into his car, Lewis stood on the seat to adjust himself before eventually settling down. With a thumbs up for final confirmation to his team, he drove the car from the garage and onto the grid.

Lewis’ breaths came out in labored pants as he awaited for the familiar sound of "lights out".

When the signal echoed through the circuit and the adrenaline rush kicked in, Lewis's heart raced as he revved his engine, pushing onto the gas pedal at full throttle. The cars ahead of him began to move faster as they approached the first turn, and Lewis followed suit, leaning into the turn as he maneuvered the vehicle with expertise.

His car sliced through the corners, his focus unwavering amidst the chaotic ballet of speed and skill, and Lewis felt a surge of determination course through his veins with each overtake and lap.

Meanwhile, in the luxury of the paddock club, Rorie stood front and center of the large television, her heart pounding in sync with the roar of the engines below. She cradled Lyric in her arms as the toddler rested peacefully on her shoulder, watching with bated breath as Lewis navigated the twists and turns of the circuit with unmatched precision.

"Come on, baby,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the thunderous noise of the venue. "You've got this, baby.”

Pride and adoration shone in her eyes as she witnessed her husband's mastery on display, a testament to his unwavering passion and commitment to his craft as he overtook one driver after another, somehow managing to go from P13 to P6.

“Come on, get this fuckin’ podium, baby,” she cheered, bouncing on the balls of her feet. The entire ordeal was edging to the max and Rorie couldn't shake the gnawing sense of apprehension that lingered in the back of her mind. With every daring maneuver Lewis executed, she felt a pang of fear tighten around her heart, a reminder of the inherent risks that came with his chosen profession.

Yet, even amidst her worries, she couldn't deny the undeniable thrill that pulsed through her veins, mingling with the electric atmosphere of the paddock club.

"Go, Lewis, go!" she cheered, her voice rising slightly above the din of the crowd. In that moment, as she held their son close and watched her husband chase his dreams on the track, Rorie knew that they were exactly where they were meant to be—bound together by love, courage, and the unbreakable spirit of a racing family. And when he finally reached the checkered flag, three places below a podium, Rorie rooted for him just the same as she would if he won the Grand Prix.

However, a nearby Verstappen fan couldn't resist chiming in. "Why cheer for him? He didn't win," he remarked snidely, pointing to Max Verstappen's victory.

Rorie turned to the fan, a hint of sass in her voice and a smirk playing on her lips as her eyes slowly scanned the disheveled-looking man. "Oh honey," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "you do not know who you’re starting with. Talk to me again when Max becomes the face of F1. And besides," she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, "who needs a first-place finish when you’re the fuckin’ GOAT?”

With a flick of her hair, she turned away from the fan, her unwavering support for her husband shining brighter than ever as she sashayed out of the paddock club to parc ferme. After waiting for ten or so minutes, Lewis appeared, making a beeline to a waiting journalist for his post-race interview, his mind still buzzing from the intensity of the race. As he approached, the journalist greeted him with a smile, ready to delve into the events of the day.

"Hey Lewis, tough race out there," the journalist began, holding out the microphone.

"Yeah, it was a challenging one for sure," Lewis replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion as he wiped his face with a towel.

"Let's talk about those last few laps. You were making some incredible moves out there, starting from P13 and finding your way to P6. What was going through your mind?"

Lewis paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before responding. "Honestly, I was just trying to stay focused and push as hard as I could. Every position counts, especially on a track like this."

Before the journalist could ask another question, a small voice interrupted from behind them. "Dada!"

Turning around, Lewis's face broke into a grin as he spotted his son, Lyric, grinning at him from his mother’s arms not too far away.

“Dada! Hi!” the toddler said with a happy wave.

"Hey there, little man," Lewis chuckled. "Sorry about that," he said, turning back to the journalist. "Looks like someone wanted to say hi."

The journalist couldn't help but smile at the heartwarming scene unfolding before him. "No worries at all," he replied, his tone softening. "That was actually quite adorable. How does it feel to have your son cheering you on, even after a challenging race like today?"

Lewis's eyes softened as he looked at Lyric, his heart swelling with pride. "It means everything," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "No matter how tough things get on the track, knowing that I have my family supporting me every step of the way gives me the strength to keep pushing forward. I couldn't ask for anything more."

The journalist nodded, touched by Lewis's heartfelt words. "Well, it's clear that you have an incredible support system behind you. And speaking of support, your fans have been rallying behind you all season. What would you like to say to them after today's race?"

"To all my fans out there," Lewis began, his voice carrying a note of appreciation, "thank you for sticking by me through thick and thin. Your unwavering support means the world to me, and I promise to keep fighting for you every time I step onto the track. Today might not have been our day, but with your continued support, I know that we'll bounce back stronger than ever. So, thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

With a final smile at the journalist, he turned to leave, making his way over to his family, and scooping up his son. The cameras absolutely adored this, and tried to take as many pictures as possible as the Hamiltons meandered through the congested paddock.

“It’s the beginning of another great race weekend and we’re in Monza for the Italian Grand Prix!”

Monza held a special place in Rorie's heart, not just because of its rich racing history, but also because it was where she and Lewis had said their vows in a picturesque ceremony at Villa Reale di Monza. Surrounded by close friends and family as well as the beauty of Italy, it was a moment she would always cherish. Things seemed to be falling into place for Rorie - her article for Bustle was receiving positive feedback, she had been invited to some shows during New York Fashion Week, and there were other exciting opportunities on the horizon.

On her way to Monza after dropping off Lyric with Nina, Rorie made a stop in Milan to spend time with Hailey, shop a little, and enjoy lunch together. Although buying overtly expensive items wasn't her thing, Rorie couldn't resist treating herself to something special from Hermes to celebrate her current successes.

The roar of the crowd brought Rorie back to reality. With Lewis starting at P8, she was praying for a miracle, hoping that he would get a podium. She beamed with pride as she watched her husband expertly navigate his car around the track, overtaking his competitors one by one. With each passing lap, her excitement mounted and she couldn't help but dance in her seat. The entire garage was filled with tension and anxiety as Lewis climbed up in the rankings.

But in a split second, disaster struck.

As Lewis attempted to overtake Oscar Piastri, they were side-by-side through Curva Grande, fighting for every inch of space before they soon made contact at the chicane.

Oscar's front wing sustained damage, forcing him to make a pit stop. With his adrenaline pumping, Lewis pushed himself harder than ever before.

"Fuck, didn't see him," Lewis muttered over the radio. Rorie's heart raced at his words, but she tried not to let it show on her face. Instead, she clenched her jaw in frustration - things were not going according to plan.

“You need to box after this lap,” noted Bono as he sat along with the rest of the engineers. “New tyres.”

"Alright," her husband responded.

Leaning over to Bono, she asked, "Will he receive a penalty for this?"

"Yes," Bono replied sadly. "The FIA mentioned a five-second penalty."

“Fuck me,” she groaned with an eye roll just as Lewis was pulling into the pit lane for his tyre change.

"Five second penalty, Lewis," Bono confirmed.

“Fuck me,” was Lewis' response as he sped out of the pits. "I swear I didn't see him; he was in my blind spot."

"I know, I know. Let's just focus on finishing the race," Bono said softly, trying to calm him.

Once the checkered flag flew, Lewis crossed the finish line in sixth place. It was an nice recovery from starting at P8, but it wasn't enough to secure a podium finish.

“I’m sorry,” Lewis said as he climbed out of his car and walked towards her. He looked defeated and exhausted, but Rorie could see the fire still burning in his eyes. She smiled softly and wrapped her arms around him.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” she whispered reassuringly, trying to comfort him. “You did your best.”

Lewis leaned down and kissed her before pulling away to talk briefly to the media waiting for him. When he finished talking to the them, he walked over to Rorie with a tired but content smile on his face.

Lewis's expression softened as he looked at her. "Thank you for always being my rock," he said sincerely.

Rorie smiled and leaned up to give him another kiss before they headed back to their motorhome. As they walked back hand in hand, they were greeted by cheers from the fans who had been waiting for them outside.

“I love you, Lewis!" one fan shouted as they passed by. "You're the GOAT!"

"Thanks so much," Lewis called back with a wave, genuinely touched by their support.

Once inside their motorhome, Rorie watched as Lewis collapsed onto the couch with an exhausted sigh. She grabbed him a bottle of water and sat next to him, running her hands through his braids soothingly. Lewis closed his eyes and let out a content hum, grateful for her touch.

For awhile, despite how noticeably defeated he was, he made a few jokes. He had a habit of using humor to lighten the mood, even in tough situations.

“Seriously though, thank you for always being there for me,” Lewis said, opening his eyes and looking up at her.

“Of course, that’s what I’m here for,” Rorie replied with a smile. “Wifey for lifey.”

“Wifey for lifey.” Lewis smiled tiredly and angled his head closer onto her lap. “You know what would make it even better?” he asked playfully.

“Hmm, I wonder what,” Rorie said, sardonically as she continued to massage his temples.

“Consolation sex,” Lewis grinned mischievously.

Rorie rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” Lewis teased, winking up at her.

Rorie leaned down and kissed him gently before pulling away with a smirk. “Yes, I do.”

“You know we still have some time before your flight in the morning…” Lewis trailed off suggestively. Rorie had a flight back home to Monaco early tomorrow morning. She was planning to spend a few days with Lyric before she had to go to New York.

Rorie raised an eyebrow at Lewis and smirked. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

Lewis gave her a crooked grin. “I’m always up for some consolation sex.”

“I know you are with your little freaky ass. I have an early flight,” Rorie reminded him, trying to be responsible. “Like a real early flight.”

“Oh come on,” Lewis pleaded playfully. “We can make it quick.”

“That’s what you always say,” Rorie teased, knowing full well that Lewis was never satisfied with just a quick session.

“Throw me a bone here, woman,” he said with puppy-dog eyes. “My car is shit and I’m not performing the way I want to perform. Can’t a man try to impregnate his wife in peace?”

Rorie shook her head at Lewis’s attempt to convince her to have sex with him.

“Fine,” she relented, giving in to his puppy-dog eyes. “But make it quick.”

Lewis grinned and wasted no time in jumping up excitedly, pulling Rorie onto his lap and kissing her passionately. “Bring that ass over here, Mrs. Hamilton.”

Rorie giggled into the kiss, knowing exactly how this would play out. “Yes, Sir.” That comment earned her a growl from Lewis.

“Don’t tease me,” he warned as he carried her towards the bedroom.

“And if I want to?” Rorie quipped as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeper, feeling the familiar electricity between them. They stumbled into the bedroom, and Lewis kicked the door shut behind them and gently laid Rorie down on the bed.

“God, I miss you,” he mumbled against her lips as he began to remove her blouse.

“I miss you too,” Rorie said between kisses as she ran her hands down his torso.

“You drive me crazy, do you know that?” Lewis’ eyes never left hers as he parted her legs wider to fit in between them. “You like that shit, don’t you, baby?” He lifted a leg, leaning closer to place a soft kiss on her ankle. Rorie moaned at the tender sensation, arching her back into a bow, her lids heavy with desire as she allowed him to pull off her pants. “You know how crazy I get ‘bout you right?”

She squirmed when he kissed her bare inner thigh. “Yes…baby…I know.”

“You know?” he whispered against her thigh, inching closer and closer to her panty-clad sex. His nose glazed over her womanhood, inhaling deeply as he savored her scent. “You know I’m ‘bout to tear this shit up, right?”

Fuck, I need you right now, she thought. Words escaped her at that moment, so all she could manage to do was nod.

Chuckling softly, Lewis wasted no time in taking off the last remaining clothing that covered her bottom half, delving into her pussy with unimaginable fervor. His fingers eventually joined his tongue, exploring her moist depths as the sounds of her slickness and cries of pleasure reverberated across the room.

"Just like that, baby," she moaned and Lewis hummed in acknowledgment, which sent a buzzing sensation through her body. He knew exactly how to touch her, how to make her lose control. And as much as Rorie wanted to hold on to the moment forever, she also craved for the release that only Lewis could give her.

Her hands found their way to his hair, tugging and pulling as he continued his ministrations. Lewis groaned against her skin, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting from her. His fingers moved faster, his tongue working harder until Rorie's entire body trembled with pleasure.

"Fuck," she cried out as she finally reached her peak, waves of ecstasy washing over her. Lewis didn't stop though; he continued to pleasure her until she begged him to stop, tears of pleasure streaming down her face. Rorie lay on the bed, panting heavily as she tried to catch her breath.

"That's a good girl," he smiled, very cockily as he moved from her to sit on his haunches. She watched him curiously as he spread her juices into his beard.

"You’re nasty as fuck," she commented breathlessly.

"What?" Lewis grinned boyishly. “This shit helps the beard get fuller.”

"No, it doesn't," she stated matter-of-factly. “There’s no scientific proof that pussy fluids does that.”

“Mind your business, woman,” Lewis chuckled, pulling her to him.

Their lips met in a passionate embrace, his tongue teasing hers as he explored her mouth. As they kissed, Rorie could taste herself on his lips and it only made her want him more. She moaned into his mouth, lost in the moment and the intensity of their chemistry.

"Shit's good, huh?" he murmured against her lips before nipping at her lower lip. "You taste like nirvana."

“Nirvana? Really?”

“Yes.”

"You're such a weirdo," she teased as she straddled him.

"I'm a weirdo that knows how to please you," he countered, his hands gripping her hips tightly. “Are you gonna ride this dick or are you gonna play?”

There was never a dull moment with Lewis, that was for sure. But she couldn't deny the fact that he did indeed know how to please her in ways that no one else ever had. Rorie discarded the rest of his clothing. Moving her hips against his, she grinded into his hard length before sliding fully down his shaft. Lewis groaned and bucked up into her as she picked up the pace, riding him as if there was no tomorrow.

"Fuck," he muttered, gripping her hips tighter as she rode him harder. "You're so wet for me."

"I always am," she replied breathlessly, feeling herself getting closer to another orgasm. “Only you can make me this wet.”

Lewis smirked and flipped them over so he was on top, thrusting into her with a newfound intensity. Rorie wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer as their bodies moved together in perfect sync.

"You feel so fucking good," Lewis groaned, his face inches from hers.

"You too," Rorie managed to say between moans and gasps.

Their bodies moved faster and harder, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing through the room. And just when Rorie thought she couldn't take it anymore, Lewis leaned down and whispered in her ear.

"Come for me," he said huskily before biting down on her neck.

That was all it took for Rorie to shatter into a million pieces, screaming out Lewis's name as waves of pleasure washed over her once again. Lewis collapsed next to Rorie on the bed and pulled her close to him. They lay there in silence for a few minutes, just basking in each other’s warmth and presence.

“I needed that,” Lewis finally broke the silence, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Me too,” Rorie replied, sighing happily. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

They lay together in quiet bliss for a while longer then Lewis sat up and reached for his phone on the nightstand.

"What are you doing?" Rorie asked curiously as she propped herself up on one elbow.

"I'm ordering us some food," he replied with a grin before placing an order at his team’s hospitality center. They usually had everything set up until late on race weekends to feed all the staff and crew.

Rorie laughed at his predictability but snuggled closer to him nonetheless. They were interrupted by a knock on the door not even a twenty minutes later.

"Damn, that was quick," Rorie commented as Lewis wrapped a towel around his waist to get their food.

He came back with two large containers of food and a huge smile on his face. "I told you they're getting better with everything, but honestly I don’t think it takes much to fuck up fries, hummus, and black bean burgers.”

"Wow, you really went all out," Rorie said as she opened one of the containers and took a bite of the burger.

"Well, I wanted to make sure my girl is well-fed after that workout we just had," Lewis replied with a wink.

Rorie rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "You're such a goofball."

"But you love me," Lewis teased, cupping her chin.

"Unfortunately, yes," Rorie joked, playfully swatting his hand away.

They continued to enjoy their food in comfortable silence until Lewis broke it by asking, "So what do you want to do tonight?"

"Hmm, how about we watch a movie?" Rorie suggested.

"Sounds good to me," Lewis agreed before getting up to put on some sweatpants and choosing a movie from Netflix. They cuddled up on the couch and watched the movie while finishing off their food.

“Are you gonna miss me when I’m in New York?” she wondered, batting her eyelashes adorably at him. Lewis was silent for several beats and then he shot her a look. “Lewis!”

“What?” he answered in feigned innocence, a laugh escaping him. “Oh, baby, you know I will,” he clarified in a serious tone, pulling her into his arms.

“Mmmhmm.” Rorie gave him a dismissive wave. “I don’t believe it.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow at her. “Why not?”

“Because,” she replied offhandedly, “you probably won’t have time to think about anything else but racing.”

Lewis chuckled and hugged her tighter. “That’s not true, baby. I’ll always make time for you. And that tight, wet pussy of yours.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing her to throw a balled napkin at his face.

Rorie rolled her eyes at Lewis’ playful antics and let out a laugh. She knew he was just trying to lighten the mood, but she couldn’t help the twinge of sadness she felt at the thought of her leaving for New York in a few days.

“Stop it,” she scolded with a smile.

“Sorry, sorry,” Lewis apologized, trying to contain his laughter. “I promise I’ll miss you like crazy when you’re gone.”

Rorie gave him a mock glare before snuggling back into his chest. “You better.”

“Promise me something?” he asked.

“Anything,” Rorie replied without hesitation.

“Promise me that you’ll take care of yourself and be safe,” he said, his voice laced with concern. “I know it gets crazy everywhere, but make sure you check-in with me throughout your time there.”

“I promise.”

They continued watching the movie in comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s presence.

Rorie emerged from the taxi, taking a moment to absorb her surroundings. New York City's energy and constant bustle never failed to rejuvenate her. She still couldn't believe she was here, about to be a special guest at New York Fashion Week. Before meeting Lewis, she had only been to a few post-show parties as a regular attendee, but now she had VIP status and her entire week was filled with front row seats at top designer shows and exclusive invitations to the hottest parties.

She quickly sent a text to Lewis, letting him know that she had arrived safely. She waited for a response but when none came, she assumed he was still on the plane to Singapore.

As she made her way into the lobby of her hotel, she couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous about her upcoming schedule. But she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on checking in.

The concierge greeted her with a warm smile. “Welcome to The Ritz-Carlton. How may I help you?” he said.

“Checking in for Aurora Hamilton.”

The concierge typed on his computer's keyboard. “Ah, yes, Mrs. Hamilton. We just finished cleaning your suite and someone will be escorting you up there shortly.”

Rorie raised an eyebrow in confusion. “My suite?” she questioned.

“Yes, we received a last-minute request for an upgrade,” the concierge explained.

Rorie couldn’t believe it. “I’m sorry, what? Who requested an upgrade?” She only booked a room with a view of Central Park, still pricey but nothing like a suite.

Before the concierge could answer, a bellhop appeared and gestured for her to follow him. She thanked the concierge before making her way towards the elevators with the bellhop and her luggage trolley in tow.

When Rorie entered her suite, she was amazed by its spaciousness and elegance. A small dining area greeted her, followed by a large living room furnished with comfortable sofas. The floor-to-ceiling windows provided a breathtaking view of Central Park.

“Thank you for choosing The Ritz, ma’am,” the bellhop said as he finished unloading her luggage. Rorie smiled and handed him a generous tip. “Thank you,” he replied gratefully.

Without another word, he left her to her own devices. Rorie placed her shoulder bag on the dining room table then made her way to the bedroom to freshen up. As she walked into the bedroom, she let out a squeal when her eyes landed on the huge bouquet of roses on the bed.

“No fuckin’ way!”

She walked over to the bouquet of flowers and took a deep whiff as she read the card attached. No surprise that it was from her husband.

I saw that you booked a room and I had to fix that. My queen only stays in suites. Love you Aurora Borealis and enjoy your time at NYFW. - Your Baby Daddy P.S. Hurry back so we can finish our job of making a sibling for Lyric.

Rorie couldn’t help but laugh at Lewis’ note. He always had a way of making her feel special and loved, even from thousands of miles away. She took a picture of the flowers and sent it to Lewis with a message thanking him for the surprise.

Rorie decided to take a quick shower before heading out to explore the city some more. As she turned on the water, her phone finally buzzed with a text from Lewis:

Just landed. Glad you’re safe and like the suite. Call you later?

She quickly typed out a reply:

Yeah. Call me whenever you’re free.

After her shower, Rorie dressed in a lounge set and sifted through emails while she waited for Lewis’ call. Around eleven in the morning, Rorie’s phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime request from her husband. Despite the time difference, and being almost midnight in Singapore, he still managed to call her.

Rorie eagerly answered and was greeted with a tired but happy-looking Lewis. “Hey, babe,” he said, his voice warm and filled with love.

“Hi, baby,” Rorie replied, her heart melting at the sight of him.

“How was your flight?” Lewis asked as he settled into bed, propping himself up against the headboard.

“It was good. No delays or anything.” Rorie replied as she made herself comfortable on the couch in her suite.

“That’s good to hear. How’s the hotel?” Lewis asked, glancing around at the luxurious surroundings behind Rorie.

“It’s amazing. Thank you for surprising me with the suite.” Rorie smiled gratefully at her husband.

“I know how much you love your space and comfort. Plus, it’s only fitting for my queen to stay in a suite,” Lewis said with a smirk, making Rorie laugh.

They chatted for a while longer before Lewis announced that he needed to get some sleep since he had an early start in the morning. As they said their goodbyes and ‘I love yous’, Rorie couldn’t help but feel grateful for having such a loving and supportive husband.

Rorie decided to take advantage of her free time and explore the city. She started by walking through Central Park, taking in its beauty and serenity. She then made her way to Fifth Avenue to do some shopping.

As she walked into one of her favorite designer stores, she was greeted by friendly staff who recognized her from previous visits. After trying on several outfits and discussing options with one of the sales associates, she finally settled on a stunning red dress that hugged her curves perfectly.

Feeling satisfied with her purchase, Rorie continued exploring Fifth Avenue before heading back to the hotel to get ready for dinner with KiKi and some other friends. They decided to go to TAO Downtown for dinner. Rorie arrived at the restaurant and was greeted by KiKi and their friends with enthusiastic hugs. The group settled into their table, surrounded by plush velvet booths and dimly lit lanterns.

“Girl! You really out here doing big things!” KiKi exclaimed proudly at her beloved friend. “Thank you for the shoutout in your Bustle interview. Business has been crazy!”

Rorie smiled humbly, "You’re welcome, sweetie, and thank you."

The group ordered a variety of dishes to share, catching up on each other’s lives and reminiscing about old times.

After dinner, they headed to a rooftop bar nearby for drinks and dancing. They sipped on cocktails and danced under the stars, and it was nearing midnight when Rorie decided it was time to call it a night. Her body clock was still adjusting to the time difference, and she didn’t want to be exhausted for her first day of fashion shows tomorrow.

Couple Days Later....

Fashion Show. Photoshoot for a campaign. Meeting. Another meeting. Party. Fashion Show. Interview. Party.

Rorie’s schedule was packed for the week. Thus far, she attended three shows: Kate Spade, Brandon Maxwell, and Ulla Johnson. Tonight, she was attending the Khaite fashion show. The Khaite fashion show was held at a beautiful, ornate mansion in the Upper East Side. Rorie arrived early to ensure she could catch up with designer, Catherine Holstein.

As she walked through the doors of the mansion, she was greeted by the sounds of live music and the smell of fresh flowers. The venue was stunning, with high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers and marble floors.

Rorie found Catherine backstage, busy making finishing touches to her models' outfits. She hugged Rorie excitedly before showing her around and introducing her to some of the other attendees.

The show began shortly after, with Rorie seated in the front row amongst other A-list celebrities. She watched in awe as the models strutted down the runway in stunning pieces from Catherine’s collection. The designs were elegant, yet modern, and Rorie could see herself wearing many of them for future events.

After the show ended, Rorie posed for the paparazzi, flashing her most glamorous smile and striking a few poses. She knew these pictures would be all over the media tomorrow. Making her way out of the mansion, Rorie was stopped by a group of fans who wanted to take pictures with her. She happily obliged, feeling grateful for their support before hopping into her waiting SUV to be driven to yet another afterparty.

The afterparty was hosted at a popular hot spot in the Meatpacking District and filled with top models, designers, and other notable figures in the industry. The music was loud, and the drinks were flowing as Rorie mingled and caught up with everyone.

As she made her way to the bar for another drink, her phone began to vibrate with an incoming FaceTime call from Lewis. She made her a beeline to the balcony of the party venue, eager for a quiet place to catch up with her busy husband.

“Hey baby,” Rorie greeted him with a smile, admiring his handsome face on the screen.

“Hey beautiful,” Lewis replied, returning her smile. “How’s your day been?”

“It’s been amazing,” Rorie gushed, taking in the sights and sounds of New York City in the background. “I’ve attended some incredible shows today and met some amazing people. I've been keeping updated on everything. How do you feel about quali today?"

Lewis smiled at her question, knowing that she was always supportive and interested in his career. “I feel really good about it. I’ve been practicing hard and I think I have a good chance at qualifying well.”

Rorie nodded, impressed by his determination and dedication. “I have no doubt that you’ll do amazing. I wish you could be here with me though,” Rorie sighed wistfully.

“I know, baby,” Lewis said sympathetically. “But we’ll have plenty of time together after this hectic week is over.”

Rorie's phone rang, indicating another call, and it was Yael on the line. At the same time, Lewis’ phone chirped repeatedly from receiving texts.

"Baby, I have to take this," she said. "Yael keeps calling me about something."

"That's strange," Lewis remarked. "Penni won't stop texting me either. Let me call you back, my love."

Rorie quickly ended the FaceTime call with Lewis and answered Yael’s call. "Hey, what’s going on?" she asked.

"Rorie, we have a problem," Yael said urgently. "Penni and I have been on the phone for the last three hours trying to stop this, but we can’t."

Rorie felt her heart drop. "What happened? Is everything okay?"

"No, it's not okay," Yael replied. "The Sun just posted a story about your family. Something about an affair between your mother and her former boss."

"What do you mean they posted a story?" Rorie asked, feeling confused and a tad irritated.

"I mean exactly that," Yael said with frustration evident in her voice. "Someone leaked this story to them and now it's blowing up all over social media."

A feeling of despair washed over Rorie as she considered the repercussions this could have on her family. She had never had any contact with her biological father, and there were countless reasons for that. One being his irresponsibility and refusal to acknowledge her existence, despite being just as involved in the affair as her mother. But all that didn't matter, because her stepfather stepped up as a father figure and provided for her and her sister. Rorie never held her mother's mistake against her, but that didn't mean she wanted the whole world to know about it.

"We've been trying to do damage control, but it's spreading like wildfire," Yael said. "That’s not the worst of it though."

Rorie had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she listened to Yael's words. "What else is there?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"They were snooping around in your health records. They know about Lyric," Yael said, gravely. "I mean his full name, how he was conceived, everything, but they way there are twisting it…Jesus Christ, it’s fucking disgusting."

"What should I do?" Rorie asked desperately.

"We need you to come back to the hotel immediately," Yael said firmly. "We'll figure out our next steps from there."

Feeling overwhelmed and anxious, Rorie rushed out of the party and made her way back to the hotel as fast as she could. She tried calling Lewis on the way, but he didn't answer.

Once she arrived at the hotel, she was bombarded by reporters and paparazzi asking for a statement about the leaked information.

"I have no comment at this time," Rorie managed to say before being ushered inside by members of her team.

In their suite, Yael briefed Rorie on what had happened so far while mentioning that Penni was working on damage control.

"We're doing everything we can to contain this," Yael stated. "Obviously, this is a huge privacy violation. Penni spoke with your and Lewis’ lawyers—"

"Lawyers?" Rorie interrupted with surprise. "Why do we need lawyers? Did Lewis agree to this?"

Yael looked at her in disbelief. "You don't see this as a potential legal issue? Your personal information and your child's information was leaked without your consent."

Rorie felt a wave of panic wash over her. She hadn't even thought about the legal implications of this situation, she was too focused on the emotional toll it would take on her family.

"But we don't know who leaked it," Rorie said, feeling overwhelmed. "We only know that it was The Sun, correct?"

"Yes, but we have some leads. Nothing concrete yet," Yael replied. "And the story they published about your parentage is really fucked."

Rorie's heart sank as she thought about how this would affect her mother and stepfather. They had worked so hard to build their reputation and now it was being tarnished by tabloids.

"Have you talked to them yet?" Rorie asked, feeling guilty for not being able to protect them from this.

"I've been trying, but they're avoiding my calls," Yael said grimly. "I don't blame them, I wouldn't want to talk to me either if I were in their shoes. You should give them a call later."

"Yeah, I should. Fuck me." Feeling helpless and overwhelmed, Rorie slumped onto the couch in her suite. She couldn't believe how quickly things had spiraled out of control.

"Okay, let's go over our plan," Yael said, trying to stay focused.

"Plan?" Rorie asked confused.

"Yes, our damage control plan," Yael replied firmly. "We need to get ahead of this story before it gets even more out of hand."

Rorie nodded and listened as Yael outlined their plan of action. They would release a statement threatening legal action against anyone who violated her privacy and released this information.

Once her meeting with Yael was over, she spoke with her parents, who were understandably upset about the leaked information. They were worried about their reputation, but ultimately how this would affect Rorie and Lewis.

"We'll get through this together," Rorie assured them over the phone, fighting back tears.

"I just can't believe someone would do this to you," her stepfather, Greg sighed. "We'll have our lawyers look into it as well."

Rorie appreciated their support, but she couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal. Someone close to her must have been involved in leaking the information.

"How are you holding up, honey?" her mother, Marian, wondered. "They’re so nasty towards you about your IVF journey. Lord knows the pain you and Lewis went through in order to have Lyric…and they…I-I’m so sorry, Aurora."

Rorie took a deep breath, trying to hold back her emotions. "It's okay, Mom. We've been through worse," she said, though she didn't quite believe it herself.

"How’s Lewis? We didn’t hear from him yet," wondered Greg.

"He’s still speaking with Penni and our lawyers. He sent me a text not that long ago. I should be getting a call from him soon."

After her conversation with her parents, Rorie spent the rest of the night in a daze. She couldn't believe that someone had invaded her privacy and used her struggles with fertility against her. And to make matters worse, they were now dragging her family through the mud as well. As she lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, Rorie's mind raced with questions: Who could have done this? And why now?

She promised herself that whoever was responsible would face the severe consequences. Rorie never played games when it came to protecting her family, especially when it involved her child.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

#emjayewrites #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton fanfic #sir lewis hamilton x black!reader #lewis hamilton x black!reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one x black reader #private landing

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artificial-transmutations · 8 months

Text

Class Change

"Halt, criminal scum!"

Brolar's voice boomed through the small alley and some pigeons flew up, startled by the loud noise.

Brolar knew he had won now. The thief he had been fighting and following through half of the city had maneuvered himself into a dead end now. The walls of the surrounding buildings were too high to easily climb and Brolar doubted the thief would have been able to, even if they were. Both the thief and himself had exchanged some blows before, although the knight's armor on Brolar's powerful frame prevented more serious injuries. Still, the stealing scum had been surprisingly nimble and had managed to land some hits on the lesser protected parts of his body.

It mattered little. As it was to be expected, Brolar had won in the end, and the little rat had nowhere to run now.

The dark haired man he was following had apparently notice his mistake and his hands shot up in defeat.

"I yield! Please spare me!" he squeaked, with a voice like a rat.

Brolar smirked. Even though the newly returned prince Alaric had a questionable reputation, the kingdoms knights were upholding honor and righteousness. And Brolar was proud to be one of them.

"Empty you pockets!" He commanded.

"Alright, alright! Don't hurt me, please." the thief pleaded.

Slowly and with trembling fingers, the dark-haired man pulled out the stolen jewelry from his pockets and offered it on an open palm to the knight. Among the gold and silver rings and necklaces there were some other items as well: Some coins, a velvet handkerchief and a crystal vial, filled with a red liquid.

Brolar recognized the vial immediately: It was an item the kingdom's alchemists were selling, and the red liquid was a healing potion - a potent, yet not overly valuable mixture.

"You even stole from the apothecaries." Brolar said and shook his head. He carefully pocketed the valuables and looked at the potion. "And you couldn't get anything better than a health potion."

The thief looked like he was about to say something, but a single glare from the knight shut him up.

Such a remedy wasn't a big loss to any alchemist. For Brolar on the other hand, it was a welcome way be able to make his way back to the castle with less pain. With a quick motion, he uncorked the bottle.

"Sire, please, this isn't..." the thief began anew, but it was too late. Brolar had already downed the contents of the vial in one single gulp.

"...a healing concoction." the thief ended, eyes wide at Brolar's impulsive action.

"You rat!" shouted Brolar and pointed his sword at the other man's throat. "Did you poison me?!"

"No, it's not poison." the smaller man squeaked, with sweat on his forehead. He didn't mention that the knight had decided to drink the unknown potion all on his own - it would hardly have bettered his situation.

"Then what is it?" Brolar asked, still aiming his blade at the other man.

The thief gulped. "It is an ... elixir of class change."

"A what?" the knight asked. He had never heard about such a thing before.

"Please, put your sword away, and I'll explain."

"Very well, but the slightest attempt of escape will be the last thing you'll ever do."

The thief nodded. He didn't know the details, but what he knew is that the effects should start soon. With any luck, whatever was going to happen would even help him get out of this situation. He just had to bide some time.

"My name is Cerric, by the way." he started.

"Cerric." the knight repeated before snorting. "As if I care. Now, what is an... elixir of class change? What did I just drink?"

"Well, Sir Knight, I know little more than the name, but... it is said to have some quite transformative qualities."

Cerric watched Brolar carefully. If he was not mistaken, the effects were starting already. The clean shaven chin of the noble knight was showing some signs of stubble. Of course, the knight's hair was blonde - what other color could it have - but the small hairs appearing on his chin were darker, clearly visible against the fair skin.

"You're lying." Brolar said and raised his sword again, ready to strike.

"I swear, I'm not, Sire!" Cerric squealed. "You will see soon."

In fact, Brolar felt strange. He was feeling the heavy weight of his armor more than usual right now. He had long since gotten used to the weight of the metal plates that protected him, and he had developed muscles to support them. But right now, it felt as if he was lacking these very muscles. The longer he stood the less comfortable his breastplate became: It wasn't just becoming heavier, but also bigger on his frame. It was as if his torso thinned out and he got more and more wiggle room inside the rigid plate armor.

At the same time, his armor's pants were getting looser. His once trunk-like legs thinned considerably, until only a lean shadow of their former selves remained.

"What... is happening to me?" Brolar dropped his sword which fell to the ground with a metallic sound and touched his face with both hands, just in time to feel it get slimmer. His once square jaw would have gotten considerably less manly hadn't it be for the coating of brown stubble that now adorned his chin and upper lip.

Just as the weight of his armor was becoming too much to bear, the transformation reached his clothes. His sturdy armor pants changed texture and material, transforming from shiny metal and blue fabric to worn, brown leather that was being fastened to his thinner legs by multiple straps of the same material. Moving up, his metal belt turned into a slightly darker shade of brown leather, complete with a cheap bronze buckle.

Next to go were the plates protecting his arms. They became cheap green linen, not providing any protection but highlighting his unimpressive arms. They were lean and slim, and, compared to their former shape, twig-like. The sturdy, yet fine leather gloves on his hands dissolved entirely, exposing his now way more agile fingers. Brolar had never been a man who was good with his hands, but these hands could probably play an instrument well or undo a man's buckle in seconds.

Wait! Where did that thought come from? Brolar had sworn an oath to remain pure - and the very few instances he had to fight unclean thoughts were directed at women. Yet, now the picture of manly bulges came to his mind unbidden - and caused a swelling on another part of his body.

Just as his mighty metal pauldrons turned into cheap leather shoulder guards, Brolar's mind became fogged by lust more and more. He couldn't stop thinking of men! His leather pants showed a clear picture of his arousal. Apparently, his rather mediocre member had grown to a truly animalistic size - at least, that was the only explanation for his bulging pants front.

Suddenly, a big weight was removed, as the last piece of his armor, the chest plate, dissolved into nothing, exposing his lean and slim torso under his open shirt for the world to see. This was a peasant's way to dress, and a raunchy one, too. Brolar exhaled as body hair crept onto his clean upper body (and probably onto other parts of his body as well). It was brown and common, and made him look like a simple person.

However, what was not common, at least to Brolar's knowledge, was the massive bulge in his pants, straining the seams with its size. Brolar was a knight! He shouldn't be feeling these feelings. He closed his eyes in an attempt to cling onto his identity but was interrupted by a sudden touch on his privates. His eyes flew open, and he looked down to a grinning Cerric in shock.

"Need some help with that, stud?" The thief asked with a wink. Brolar wanted to slap away his hand, behead the other man for his insolence, but the pleasure he felt was far too great. He was so confused!

"I'll take that as a yes." the smaller man said and began to work his hands on the massive cock, making the once mighty knight moan uncontrollably.

He had lost the fight as Cerric took his massive rod into his mouth. Brolar's hair grew out longer and turned brown as well. When he rolled back his eyes in pleasure, they, too, changed color: From the steel blue eyes of a knight to dark brown ones, more fitting for the rogue he was now.

What a great change of class, requested around the time of Baldur's Gate release from a subscriber over at riot. While there are no subscription benefits anymore, you can still use my riot page as a tip jar.

#male transformation #straight to gay

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astro-royale · 9 months

Text

Observations: Part 3。・゜・・゜・。★☆

Disclaimer: my personal opinions& observations

I have noticed that Sagittarius Rising men will have no problem settling with a woman they don’t actually love; if it means they have other benefits. They have no problem being strategic and methodical. Yeah; all men do this to some extent, but I’m seeing a pattern here. But I’ve noticed Sag Rising Men will really pretend they love a woman so they can build themselves up through her, while bread-crumbing her in the process.

Pisces women can really be go getters and go after what they want... Pisces men on the other hand will keep dreaming in dreamland about their dreams…

I’ve noticed there’s two types of Geminis,, one will either be up in everyone’s business and super community oriented and the other won’t care at all and just be super introverted. Those types of geminis tend to gravitate towards things over people.

People with Capricorn Sun remind me of the MBTI type ENTJ/INTJ

Libras remind me of the ENFJ MBTI type

I feel like many people with Aquarian placements and degrees do really well online, like they seem to attract a lot of followers especially if their page includes sharing knowledge of some sort.

Cancer Sun Women will have probably been with a man much older than them at least once

I’ve noticed men with cancer placements can be jealous of women/ who get the benefits of a traditional relationship. Or if they’re with a woman who looks much better than them they will be super attracted to them and jealous at the same time lol. Like they remind me of Prince Charles and his jealousy towards Princess Diana lol.

But funnily enough men with cancer placements seem to give women princess treatment the most as well.

Men with earth sign placements will really say the wrong thing at the wrong time and not care about it.

Never have I ever: met an aesthetically unpleasant Libra. Like there is no such thing as an aesthetically unpleasant Libra.

If you want to support this blog as well as my research there’s a Tip option in the bio. Or CashApp me £astroroyale .This way I can keep posting high quality content for you as it encourages me in the process <3 :) Thank you & Much love

ANYWAYS have a lovely day （╹◡╹）☆彡

。

#astrology notes #astrology observations #astrology #scorpio #aquarius #cancer #capricorn #gemini #libra #virgo #taurus #aries #sagittarius #pisces #leo zodiac

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estherax · 1 year

Text

Generating plasm and stacking matchboxes: how to build a better future through collective consciousness.

Alternatively - Steban and Ulixes were building Tatlin's Tower so I have to talk about the symbolism or I will explode!!

While completing the communist vision quest you get an opportunity to build a model of "The Tower of History", depicted on the last page of "A Brief Look at Infra-Materialism": a leaning tower wrapped in a dramatic helix. The scale model you make is a mirror image of Tatlin's Tower - a design for a grand monumental building to the Third International: the government organization advocating for world communism.

The main idea of the monument was to produce a new type of structure, uniting a purely creative form with a utilitarian form. Meaning it would function as an office building while also serving as a symbol of cultural significance. And let me tell you, this bad boy can fit so much symbolism in it.

Tatlin was commissioned to develop a design in 1919, after the 1917 February Revolution - a parallel to Disco Elysium's Insulinde we're witnessing post-Antecentennial Revolution.

Tatlin's work was inspired by high revolutionary goals, which are evident in the visual direction of the tower as well, expressing the ideological strive for achieving something that has never been done before, overcoming the odds. The structure "oscillates like a steel snake, constrained and organized by the one general movement of all the parts, to raise itself above the earth. The form wants to overcome the material and the force of gravity..."

The tower has meaning packed even in the materials. For example, the glass structures (marked A, B, C on the architectural rendering) were meant to serve legislative, executive and informative initiatives while rotating around their axes at different speeds. The material signified the purity of initiatives, their liberation from material constraints and their ideal qualities.

But here's the best part. The spirals.

"The spiral is the movement of liberated humanity. The spiral is the ideal expression of liberation: with its base set in the earth, it flees from the ground and becomes a symbol of the suspension of all (...) earthy interests." They are "the most elastic and rapid lines which the world knows" that represent movement and aspiration, continuing the themes of progress and freedom, but they also refer to something else.

In the process of building the matchbox model Rhetoric points out: "It's almost exactly as Nilsen's sketch imagined, a physical manifestation of the dialectical spiral of history."

The shape of the tower is a representation of dialectical development of history, first visualized as a spiral by G. W. F. Hegel. He pictured transformational change as "both linear and circular in order to be short-term responsive, i.e. possibly negating itself, and long-term strategic, i.e. a process of development."

Hegel's dialectics would later be reinterpreted through the prism of materialism by Marx and Engels to create dialectical materialism - the basis for historical materialism.

"Still, this idea, as formulated by Marx and Engels on the basis of Hegels’ philosophy, is far more comprehensive and far richer in content than the current idea of evolution is. A development that repeats, as it were, stages that have already been passed, but repeats them in a different way, on a higher basis, (...) a development, so to speak, that proceeds in spirals, not in a straight line; a development by leaps, catastrophes, and revolutions; (...) the interdependence and the closest and indissoluble connection between all aspects of any phenomenon (history constantly revealing ever new aspects), a connection that provides a uniform, and universal process of motion, one that follows definite laws - these are some of the features of dialectics as a doctrine of development that is richer than the conventional one."

The tower embodies progress in materialist understanding of history while also indicating the connection to ideological plasm, a manifestation of "the proletariat's embrace of historical materialism", necessary to create a better future.

According to Nilsen, the proletariat of a revolutionary state can generate enough plasm to create extra-physical architecture that "disregards the laws of 'bourgeois physics' and instead relies on the revolutionary faith of the people for structural integrity."

This function of plasm implies that The Tower of History can be created only under revolutionary circumstances - without a sufficient amount of plasm even the matchbox model didn't stay up. The exact same sentiment is expressed about Tatlin's Tower: "We maintain that only the full power of the multimillion strong proletarian consciousness could bring into the world the idea of this monument and its forms. The monument must be realized by the muscles of this power, because we have an ideal, living and classical expression the pure and creative form of the international union of the workers of the whole world."

Nilsen called it "the highest expression of Communist principles, a society whose literal foundation is the faith of its people."

Tatlin's Tower was a symbol of faith in the revolutionary future, the global triumph of Marxist socialism. A monument "made of iron, glass and revolution."

It was never built in real life, and neither was The Tower of History in the world of Elysium.

But you can try to see if there's enough plasm between the three of you. And the matchbox tower stays up for a long moment, quivering with an improbable energy. You believe it can say up - and it does.

So you have to believe; whether it's for collective action or generating ideological plasm. Then, together, maybe you'll be able to build as much as 0.0002% of communism.

#i tricked myself into reading leftist theory for disco elysium #never thought i would be reading Lenin to write about videogame worldbuilding #tower related quotes are from ''The monument to the Third International'' by Nikolai Punin #infra-materialism #disco elysium #de #de meta #disco elysium analysis #disco elysium spoilers #disco elysium meta

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ameliora-j · 3 months

Note

CAN YOU PLEASE DO ROUGH DOM NIALL. i’m actually begging. maybe the reader acts up on purpose for attention because niall is busy with his new album and he has to put her in her place 🫢 btw i love ur work, your like my fav author on this app xx

pls ur gonna make me cry :’) thank u angel ♡

content: mean dom!niall, fem!reader, brat!reader, edging, cumplay, impact play (flogging, slapping), spitting, humiliation, degradation, tummy bulge, creampie, breeding kink, lots of pet names, dominant/submissive themes, no aftercare written but it happens!, THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR SO LONG I’M SO SORRY BAE DODOWNEN, THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG MDNI !

you’re grumpy—and you have been for the last week and a half. had niall been paying any attention to you at all, he’d have realized as such earlier. however, he is deep into the finalization stage of his new album. you’re proud of him—more than proud of him. niall turns your world that much is obvious. you praise any and everything he does. so of course you’re overjoyed he has a new album coming, and so proud of all his hard work.

you just can’t help but feel a little… jealous? neglected? you’re not a hundred percent sure exactly what you would call it in truth. it feels like a big dark cloud of grump is sitting above your head and you can’t do anything about it. niall is your boyfriend, the love of your life… but first and foremost he is your dominant. he keeps you in check, makes sure you’re always on track, and fucks you into oblivion every night.

the problem is that with his new album, he hadn’t fucked you in almost two weeks. to go from having sex every day—multiple times a day—to none at all for a whole two weeks was really taking a toll on you. it’s niall’s own fault, anyway—your sex drive wasn’t nearly this high before you’d met him. you don’t realize that your sexual frustration is building up until you’re already on the brink of an explosion. waking up in the morning with only one thing on your to-do list: be the biggest brat known to mankind.

unbeknownst to you, niall had taken the day off. he realized that he was neglecting you a bit—it’d been too long since he saw your pretty face when you were awake. you’re surprised to see niall still laying in bed beside you, sleeping peacefully when your eyes flutter open. you look to the bedside table and read the numbers on the alarm clock before pushing his shoulder.

niall wakes with a grunt, gasping a bit as he turns to look at you. “wha’s a’matter?” he mumbles tiredly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“you’re late” you mumble grumpily as you move to get out of bed. “wouldn’t wanna keep the love of your life waiting” you slightly grumble as you walk to the bathroom.

“love of my life? what’re you on about, pet? you’re right here” he chuckles softly, shaking his head as he sits up. “come back to bed, i took the day off. wanna cuddle.”

your heart flutters at the statement, nearly blowing the grump-cloud away, but it’s already hard-set on remaining there for the rest of the day. “i can’t i have things to do.” you say simply as you move to walk downstairs.

niall frowns a bit, clambering out of bed to follow you. “hey wait a second, where are you going?” he asks. you’re never out of bed this quick—even if you do have plans for the day. furthermore, no matter if you’re late, you’re always keen to lay down and have a cuddle with niall.

“since when does my life interest you?” you snark. niall’s jaw clenches. it’s barely been fifteen minutes and he’s already fed up with your attitude. he takes a breath to calm himself, wanting to get to the root of the issue before taking things too far.

“your life always interests me. you’re my girl, don’t be ridiculous” he shakes his head. you simply scoff, rolling your eyes and shoving past him and going to take a shower.

niall is quick to grab your wrist, dragging you back to his chest and squeezing your jaw. “listen here you little brat. i took the day off to spend quality time with you but i can just as easily spend it beating the brat out of you. so what will it be?” he growls lowly. you seal your fate when you suck in your cheeks, pursing your lips and spitting on him.

his eyes go dark and he chuckles lowly, slapping his palm against your cheek roughly. “i’m gonna make you regret that” he murmurs.

niall all but drags you back to the bedroom, shoving you roughly onto the bed. you whimper a bit, squirming in anticipation as he walks over to the closet, grabbing his duffel bag full of toys, ropes, and all of his ‘dom essentials.’ “what are you doing?” niall asks when he turns around—noting you hadn’t moved from where he put you.

“sitting” you hum, snark still lacing your tone. niall chuckles, shaking his head a bit as he walks over to you. he grabs you by your neck, forcing you to stand before tearing your nightgown from your body—practically tearing the flimsy fabric in two.

you squeak as niall spins you, forcing you down onto the bed before pulling your hips up so you were on your hands and knees. you hear rummaging before one of niall’s hands rubs over your ass. “pick a number between one and five.”

he’s angry—really angry—he usually always adds a pet name even if you’re in trouble. you bite your lip, thinking hard about what number to pick. you knew how niall’s spankings worked. you would pick a number, and if you got it right then that’s how many spanks you got. if you got it wrong, then he’d double whatever number he was thinking of. you squeeze your eyes shut tight, going with the safest option smack dab in the middle. “three?” you say hesitantly.

niall smirks, rubbing his hands over your ass. “oh, princess” he hums in a sickly sweet tone—and you nearly smile before realizing that you’re being mocked as his hand strikes your ass cheek. “it was five” he says lowly.

the number is the only warning that you get before niall winds up his flogger and slams it down on your ass. you practically scream into the comforter, tears already pricking the corners of your eyes. he doesn’t start off gentle or work his way up, and he gives you no respite as he continuously whips his flogger on different areas of your backside.

you make sure to call out numbers clear and concise—not wanting to start over with niall in this mood. by the time he’s finished with you, you’re a wet mess—in more ways than one. tears spilling down your cheeks, drool falling from your lips, and cunt sticky with arousal.

“okay okay okay” niall hums as he turns you around. “i know baby, i know. you’re okay… you’re fine” he coos tauntingly as he pulls you to his chest. “‘s okay, i’ll give y’what y’want… quit y’tears” he mumbles as he tugs his sweats down. he lays you back on the bed, making sure you’re comfortable on top of the pillows before kissing your head.

“oh there’s my girl” he smirks as he runs his cock through your sticky folds. you whine softly, arching towards him before he pushes your hips down. “stay still, y’brat” he grunts, slapping your cunt a few times. you shriek with each hit, your legs wiggling in an attempt to get away as you look at him tearily. “jus’ lay there and take my cock.” he mumbles as he slowly pushes into you.

the both of you moan as he bottoms out, you gripping niall’s shoulders as he holds your hips tightly. “fuckin shit babydoll” he groans, pressing down on the bulge of his cock your tummy. “forgot how goddamn tight you were” he gasps a bit, slowly pulling his cock out before thrusting back in.

niall is in heaven… he’s practically pussy drunk off one stroke alone. his head falls back and his eyes roll as he feels your gummy walls gripping him. you’re like a vice, almost as if you wouldn’t let go even if he begged you to. your pussy is sucking him in, leaking around him like a fountain of eternal youth and he’s so close to busting that he has to take a deep breath and distract himself. “this what you needed baby?” he mocks. “just a big cock to fill up your tight little cunt?” he hums.

“ni…” you whine softly and he simply chuckles before setting a pace. once he’s adjusted to your tightness and calmed himself down, he’s able to fuck you how he wants. he holds your hips down against the mattress setting a brutal and punishing pace in your cunt.

“that why you had an attitude? haven’t fucked you properly lately?” he laughs at you. actually laughs at you, and you can’t even bring yourself to care. “you’re so pathetic” he mumbles, spanking your clit. “all it takes is some dick n you’re all smiles again.”

“yeah daddy” you moan in agreement, nodding dumbly as your eyes fluttered closed. you barely even register the words niall is saying to you—all you know is that they’re mocking and unkind. but, this is all you wanted—what you’d been dreaming of for so long so you had not a care in the world. not a thought bouncing around your skull other than more more more.

more love. more affection. more close. more cock. more niall. he engulfed you, not just due to his much larger stature. he had you pinned between the bed, your bodies so close that you could feel the beads of sweat dripping off of his forehead and onto you. he was everywhere—on top of you, inside of you, touching you, his scent engulfing your nostrils as you lay on his pillow.

your head was swimming in a pool of niall and you were content to drown in it until niall forces your leg up over his shoulder. he reangles his hips and slams his cock back directly into your gspot. “daddy!” you shriek out loudly, your back arching high off the bed.

“yeah baby, daddy’s here” he mumbles, reaching to rub your clit. “daddy’s right here baby. jus’ lay pretty and take my cock, yeah?” he flashes a bright smile your way, winking at you—his hips never breaking rhythm as he punishes your cunt with his cock.

you can barely choke out a response your cunt pulsing around him as your orgasm dangles so close, yet so far away. “are you gonna cum baby? i can feel you squeezing me” he hums, fucking you faster. “do you want to cum princess?” he mocks.

“yeah! yeah, yeah, yeah!” you chant, nodding rapidly as your hips begin stuttering against his. “oh fuck yeah!” you whine.

“awh… ‘s too bad i didn’t say you could then, isn’t it?” he hums, slapping your clit once more and laughing meanly. you whine in frustration, tears wetting your lashes as you force your orgasm back. “jus hold it baby, you can do it” he teases, but begins rubbing your clit in small, deliberate circles. “right? for daddy?” he smirks.

you gasp, nodding dumbly as your eyes roll. “f-f’daddy” you nod, your legs beginning to shake. you feel niall’s cock give a twitch at that, his hips stuttering a few times before he finds his pace once more.

“daddy’s gonna cum baby” niall moans in your ear, beginning to nip and suck the skin of your neck. “gonna fill this tight cunt… give you m’babies you want that?” he smirks.

“yeah daddy… yeah gimme your babies please” you whine, beginning to rock your hips in time with his.

“then cum with me, princess” he whispers, squeezing your throat just as your orgasm starts. you moan loudly, unable to stop the spasming of your body as you cream around niall’s cock. you distantly register his slew of swears through loud moans as you feel his seed painting your walls. you moan softly as he pulls you into a hot and heavy kiss—filled with love and passion.

niall pulls away breathlessly, smiling down at you in adoration as he gently pushes your hair from your face. “is my good girl back yet?” he hums softly, gently peppering kisses over your face.

the airy giggle you let out is enough to let niall know he’d fucked you nine ways from sunday and you were now deeply submerged in a submissive headspace. if that wasn’t enough for him, then your soft: “yeah daddy” as you nose against his neck seals the deal for him.

he hums a bit in relief—pride maybe?—before kissing your neck again. “good… you keen for a cuddle now?” he smirks softly at you.

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nomazee · 6 months

Note

hihi!! i love ur writing sm and was wondering if u could do a chuuya x also mafia executive reader (similar to the dazai friends to lovers u did a bit ago) with the unestablished relationship but so obviously in love trope

thank u sm!!

i went so overboard omfg FORGIVE ME... i hope this is cohesive i kept working at it at like deep into the night so it's a little hazy omg but i loved this so much im such a sucker for this trope and chuuya and dazai are like the best characters for this kind of genre i feel

pairing: chuuya x gn reader word count: 2.8k content: fluff, hurt/comfort (an abundance of it), friends-to-lovers, mentions of sickness (vomiting, fever, etc), domestic fluff, sweet stuff, also hand-wavey teenage timeline because i didn't read all of stormbringer forgive me...

°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.

“They said they might promote me, did you hear?”

Chuuya glances to the side at the sudden sound of your voice. You’re leaning over his shoulder from behind him, face mere inches from his as you grin widely. He has to fight the twitches of his own lips to stop himself from smiling back. “And who’s they, exactly?”

“Oh, you know. The grapevine. Just some whispers in the organization. And Kouyou.” You lean back, the radiating warmth of your body suddenly escaping Chuuya. He walks behind you as you make your way down the hallway, a little jump in your step as you recount the news to him.

“It’s what you get for working so hard. Guess it paid off.”

“You think I’m hardworking! You’re a flatterer, Chuuya Nakahara.”

“Sure am,” he quips back with amusement. Banter with you is different than with Dazai. With you, it’s lighthearted, and silly, and makes him feel like he’s fourteen and messing around with the Sheep again. With Dazai, it’s… charged, and fast-paced, and builds up a kind of aggravated energy within him that works well in fights but not in a room of Kouyou’s antiques.

“But guess what,” you start again, looking over your shoulder where Chuuya follows close behind. Your pace slows down to let him catch up to you and walk side-by-side, now. “I think you’ve got a good chance, too. You’ve got some executive qualities, you know?”

It makes Chuuya pause for a moment, because he hasn’t really thought about it before. After the mess that was the Sheep, he hadn’t considered taking up any kind of leadership or executive position in the Port Mafia. It wasn’t really his thing—too much work, too much responsibility. And as much as he loathed to admit it, it would probably mean even less time to spend with you and Dazai. Being mentored by different people already limited your time with each other.

He tries not to think too hard about the implications of it—of you and Dazai working under Mori’s hands while Chuuya gets Kouyou’s firm, but gentler palms. A vague kind of sickness washes over him that he tries to shake off.

“I don’t know about that. I think I do better in a quieter position, don't you think?”

“Nothing is quiet about you. Especially not with that partner of yours,” you joke back. “I could put in a good word for you! Once I get promoted, I’ll have, like, a bunch of power and influence, and I’ll be all high and mighty, and you and me and Dazai can all take care of the Port Mafia and be all cool, and everything.”

It’s a pipe dream. Both of you know that. Chuuya knows best about your hidden resentment of this organization and all that it stands for, all that it does. He’s heard whispers about your plans to take over—plans that would never come to fruition. Plans that were more like dreams and wishes and hopes. Something to get you through the day. The budding smile on his face falters when he turns and sees that distant look in your eyes. A sigh bubbles in his chest, but he holds it down.

“Hey, slow down. You don’t even know if you’re getting the position or not.” His comment is met with a roll of your eyes and a chest-deep groan. You launch into a big speech about how qualified you are for the job, and all the different things you’d institute as a mafia executive (nap time, stress room with cats, petting zoo, iced tea dispensers), and Chuuya nods along and laughs for as long as he can.

===

You do, in fact, get promoted to an executive, but at the cost of a lot of things. Dazai leaves the mafia with no warning to you or Chuuya. You don't see him at all for two weeks leading up to his defection, and it all happens in a blur that leaves your head swimming with vertigo and your body much too frail to handle everything.

Chuuya finds you sobbing in your en suite bathroom, kneeling on the floor and crying so hard that you’re dry heaving. He hasn’t seen you like this before. Even in your rare moments of vulnerability, it was never something so visceral and uncensored. He stands in the doorway, looking down at you, and freezes. His palms itch with the desire to do something, something that he hasn’t learned.

“You… Hey, hey,” Chuuya drops to the floor once he snaps out of his daze, crouching next to your curled up form as you shake with the force of your tears. He tentatively reaches out a hand, easing onto your shoulder. When you don’t give any sort of negative reaction, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you in for an embrace.

It’s odd. This isn’t something that the three of you did. For all that you and him and Dazai kicked and pushed and shoved each other jokingly, this kind of touch is unfamiliar. It’s scalding in the way that sitting in front of a space heater in the dead of winter burns you.

He shushes you like a child because he’s not sure what else to say. He’s just as shaken by Dazai’s defection, but he knew that you and Dazai had become so close over the last few years. Being trained under Mori together does that. His chest squeezes at the sight of you like this, broken down and shivering and sick at the loss of your friend.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. Shhh, it’s— it’s okay.”

Chuuya smooths a hand over the top of your head, sliding down to rest between your shoulderblades. His mouth presses against your temple in a gentle kiss, feeling how cold and clammy your skin has gotten. He doesn’t know how to heal you. His hands are made to weigh people down and hurt and subdue, and he’s not sure if he can handle the gentler things like holding you and swathing you in blankets and cooking you soup.

But, he thinks with a renewed determination. There’s no harm in trying.

Three months later, you take Dazai’s executive position at the age of nineteen. Chuuya follows suit after another year and a half and becomes executive at twenty. You only think of Dazai when your head swims in gin and when you can’t feel the heat of Chuuya’s hands near you.

===

The both of you find yourselves in Chuuya’s apartment drinking the night away. At this point, you’re both twenty-one, and being in the mafia has offered you countless resources for alcohol and the like. A warm haze has blanketed you as you take another sip of whatever sweet fruity drink Chuuya has concocted for you. He drinks a glass of wine, because he’s weird and bougie, which you tell him straightforwardly.

“Wine’s just an acquired taste,” he tells you.

“It’s glorified grape juice. It tastes like yeast.”

“That’s… kind of what it is.”

You laugh so hard that tears bead in your eyes and you hit him on the shoulder hard enough to bruise. It’s not even that funny, really, and he wasn’t even trying to make you laugh, but it’s so late into the night that you don’t even know what time it is and everything is funny when you’re this drunk.

“I’m hungry, Chuuya. I miss your soup,” you say, a whine in your voice as you throw your head back against the armrest of the couch. You’re stretched out on his velvet upholstered couch with your feet in his lap, and he’s been tracing circles against your bare shins while some documentary plays in the background on the TV. “You haven’t cooked for me in forever. I thought it was your duty as a househusband to cook every night, or something.”

“Hey! I’m not anyone’s househusband,” he shouts in protest. When you push your head up from the armrest to glance at him, his tanned face is flushed a warm red and his brow is furrowed in playful indignation and you’re struck with the urge to bite him like a chew toy. Instead, you let out a soft kind of laugh and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, you are. You’re my husband. Have been since the day I met you.” In a burst of newfound energy, you propel yourself up and off the couch, swinging your legs off his lap and standing up. “Let’s go make some soup. Your pantry’s probably stocked, right? Since you’re on top of all your housekeeping.”

“Geez. You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Of course not! Come on. You have to teach me how to cook now.”

Chuuya has reserved bone broth in his freezer, because of course he does. You submerge a container of it in hot water and wait for it to defrost while he helps you dice and saute vegetables in a pressure cooker.

(“Don't pressure cookers, like, explode, or something?”

“...who taught you that.”)

It’s a miracle you can even use a knife safely, because your head is still swimming a little bit and the line of empty bottles on the coffee table taunts you and your bad decisions. You also blame it for the way you stick close to Chuuya, bumping your hips together and leaning your head on his shoulder for a few fleeting moments until the pressure cooker starts hissing.

He serves you a heaping bowl and when you tell him you’ll puke if you eat the whole thing, he pushes the bowl at you from across the counter and says, “I’ll guess I’ll just clean your puke for you too, then.”

“Gross. You’re really a househusband if you’re brave enough to do that.”

“Househusband this, househusband that. All I do is cook.”

“And clean up the vomit of your lovely lovely spouse.”

“Sure,” he says, and he turns back to you and puts his own bowl next to yours. Then, in a swift, undeterred motion, he reaches across the kitchen island, over both steaming bowls of soup and kisses you straight on the mouth. It shocks you right into lucidity, eyes blown wide and lips nearly parting at the sudden contact. Before you can really think about it, Chuuya pulls back, circling around the kitchen island to sit next to you with two spoons so you can both eat. “As long as that lovely lovely spouse is you.”

You feel—light. Airy, sick, nauseous, more at peace than you have been in the last three years. A stupid smile starts forming on your face and you hide your giddy laughs into your soup.

Chuuya would never act like this sober, you think, still cherishing the little moment you have. Thankfully, you’re proven wrong when he keeps doing it—walking you back to your apartment the next day, going out to a mafia-affiliated diner the next week, in an empty meeting room after everyone has left.

===

Another year passes. You find yourself in the throes of the cannibalism incident—not as a bystander, but as a victim. Because that’s just your luck, really.

You don’t know how you were caught in the crossfire between Fyodor and Mori, but somehow you were infected with the cannibalism virus and bedridden for nearly three days, in-and-out of consciousness while you hoped and prayed that somebody would save you. For the entirety of the conflict, you were left alone in the PM infirmary, sweating off your perpetual fever and coughing up stomach bile into a metal garbage can.

It was awful. There’s no blame to put on anyone, though. Everyone who was able to stand was on the front lines, so to speak, and from what you understood you weren’t as big of a target as Mori. Three days alone in a sterile bed was worth it for the survival of the organization.

At the end of it all, in the calm after the storm, sitting in your dorm, Chuuya visits you.

You don’t look too great, still recovering physically and emotionally, but you can’t find it in you to care. The second you hear the familiar cadence of his knock and the shuffling of his stupid heeled boots, you rip the door open and are met with his wide-eyed expression.

“Hey,” he says, and you burst into tears because god. It hasn’t hit you until now, seeing him in front of you, his warmth radiating from his hands as they reach out to hold you, but you could’ve died or he could’ve died and then what would’ve happened? Years and years of knowing each other, seeing each other at your worst, taking care of each other. Cooking in your kitchen and sleeping on his couch and kissing him like it meant nothing. It could’ve all been gone.

The mafia isn’t a safe occupation to begin with, but this entire thing has made you realize how fleeting everything is. So you sob, and you let him hold you and bring you to the couch, and you let yourself be weak.

“Hey,” he says again, tone now placating, gloved hands resting on the back of your head and between your shoulder blades as he sits next to you on the couch. You have no regard for where your body is right now, legs sprawled out somewhere beneath you and arms reaching up to grab at Chuuya’s clothes in any way you can. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

You cough wetly into his shoulder, a whine forming from between your violent sobs. Your body shakes with the remnants of your sickness and the exhaustion of the week and a small voice in the back of your head tells you that it’s embarrassing, that it’s unbecoming of a mafia executive to be so affected.

Death threats and poisonings and shootings—you deal with it every week. You choke out another whine of distress as you press the heels of your palms against your closed eyelids in an attempt to quell the tears. It doesn’t work. You’re still weak, no matter how hard you hurt.

“Shit, Chuuya,” you cough out a weak sob, shivers wracking your body as the weight of everything crashes onto you. “I was so sick. I was alone. I thought I would die. God.” You pull back from his hold to rub at your eyes with your raw palms.

“Stop that,” Chuuya says, with a gentleness you swear you haven’t heard in so long but in truth it’s been with you for the last two years. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.” Cold fingers wrap around your wrists and pull them away from your face.

The white-hot heat of embarrassment scalds the back of your neck. You feel like a scolded child with the pitying look he gives you, and with your hands locked between his there’s no way to hide.

“Stop,” you tell him, “quit it, Chuuya,” and you don’t know what you’re begging for, but it’s the lowest you’ve ever felt—a feared member of the mafia on their knees crying and asking for some kind of mercy.

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” he mumbles, and he pulls you just a bit closer with the grip he has on your hands. His chin rests on top of your head and you shove your face into the crook of his neck.

For once, he doesn’t smell like his gross luxury perfume. He smells like your laundry detergent and grass and the city and even more tears spill over your cheeks. Your fingers curl into his and you clench his knuckles until you feel them creak through the gloves.

“I wouldn't let you die,” Chuuya’s voice is no more than a whisper, but it’s the most determined you’ve heard him sound. “I wouldn’t let it happen.”

“I don’t need your protection,” and it’s a weak protest, and you’re grasping at straws to argue with him and push him away and make him stop before you make yourself sick with how hard you’re sobbing. You feel one hand slip from yours and slide up between your shoulderblades and start trailing along the nape of your neck, tracing circles in a lulling gesture.

“I know you don't,” he says, “but I would really like it if you let me. Just once in a while. Let me cook you soup alone and wash your face and clean your hair. All that stupid stuff.”

You cough out a weak laugh. Your househusband shtick from a year ago comes back to you, and so do all the warm evenings spent together in the kitchen and the kisses left on his cheek and the ones left on yours. You feel the warm press of his mouth against your temple and let out your last weak sob before you hold him tight again, squeeze him hard against you to make sure he’s still there. And that’s where he’ll stay.

#chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #nakahara x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya nakahara x you #bsd oneshot #chuuya oneshot #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x you #nakahara chuuya x you

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makeyoumine69 · 1 year

Text

Destroy Me

◥ PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader

◥ SUMMARY: Your first interactions with Mr. Bateman, your potential owner, made you sure that he's a sick dangerous man.

◥ WARNINGS: 18+/ NSFW │dark content, non-consensual touching, kidnapping, misogyny, human trafficking, Patrick grabbing a handful of reader's p*ssy, teasing, nipple play, toxic and obsessive behaviour, swearing, humiliation, dirty talk, pet names.

◥ WORDCOUNT: 2k

◥ A/N: The dark vibes of Mr. Kitty's songs seem like paradise to me. I hope you like this chapter, thank you for the reading! Big thanks to my dear @lissasharp for the help!💞

◥ SONG REC: Mr.Kitty - Destroy Me🖤

◥ LINKS: [Shadow Lady Masterlist⛓] [Main Masterlist]

A dark desperation occupied your mind, not giving you even a chance to think about any viable options to run away from this place.

With your hands pressed against your chest, you heard the door closed behind your back, that sound remained in your head for a long time. Shaking like a leaf, you were following the ‘boss-lady’, moving through the barely lit corridor to the place where that awful man was waiting for you.

“Now, listen here, (Y/N),” she paused near the big wooden door. Her face looked so tense, when she turned to you and added: “If you don’t want to get into trouble, you better behave yourself.”

“Or what?” you questioned, curling your fingers into a fist. “You will kill me like a dog?”

The boss-lady just giggled in response, and there was something really evil in the way she did it. Slowly, she opened the door before you; the dark smirk never left her face. “Come on, get in.”

With a sharp breath, you made one step into the void, sensing millions of shivers running down your spine, and it was not because of the cold. To your surprise, the room turned out to be a marvelous place, you could even say it was pretty luxurious with all of this expensive furniture and big antique lamps.

Pulling yourself together, you looked over the people, sitting in the leather armchairs and smoking their cigars. One of them was that ‘customer’, who just bought you, but this thought still couldn't implant within you; it never would. Another guy looked much older compared to the other, his eyes were shamelessly gliding all over your body, and that made you almost cry out in disgust, as you wanted to run away from here more than anything in your life.

“You have a great taste, Mr. Bateman.” The old man asserted, puffing on his cigar and crossing his legs.

“I know,” he replied before taking some papers. “Can’t see any dates though…”

“Don’t worry! These documents are most recent, and the information is beyond relevant! We just used some… Well, a friend of mine did it to avoid any problems with the law…”

“Uh-huh,” Bateman nodded, inhaling the smoke of his expensive cigar. For all this time, he didn’t even glance at you. “If any of these aren't true,” he pointed at the documents as he put them back on the small table between the armchairs. “I think you already know what will happen to all of you. Don’t cha?” Patrick smiled and looked at the man next to him, and then at the boss-lady; she was obviously so scared of him–you could hear her rapid breathing behind your back.

“O-of course, Mr Bateman…”, the old guy swallowed hard, losing his tie a bit and kept blubbering: “But I assure you! We care about our customers, therefore ensure you high-quality service and-”

“I got it,” Bateman cut him off, taking the last sip of his whiskey. Only now, his hazel eyes found your lost ones, and the picture of your frightened face caused his lips to curl into a pleased smirk of satisfaction. “Now, I want to finish things and conclude this transaction.”

“I brought the girl!” The blue-eyed woman suddenly blurted out, and you almost flinched in your place.

“Thank you, but I’m not blind,” Bateman chuckled, turning to the old man once again. “Can everybody just get out of here, please? I don’t want to make my girl embarrassed.”

My girl?

Hugging yourself, you shriveled from these words, expecting nothing but the horrible things, which were going to happen so soon, you didn’t even have time to prepare yourself, but was it even possible to be ready in such a situation?

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bateman,” the guy paused as he was so afraid to say what he was planning to. “But according to our rules we can’t leave you alone to avoid any accidents and-”

“I’m ready to pay half of the price right now,” Bateman almost spit in the old man’s face as he picked up his case to get the money; you’ve never seen such thick wads of cash. “Besides, I don’t want anyone to gawk at her. Is that enough?” Carelessly, Patrick threw a few wads of cash on the table, waiting for the answer.

The boss-lady and the unknown guy looked briefly at each other, before he consented: “All right, but you have limited time-”

“Leave already.” Patrick husked and puffed on the cigar, his lips tensed around it from anger, so you could almost see his white teeth.

After a while, there were only two of you in the room.

Trembling, you couldn’t look at anything but the floor, as your heart was beating so fast, it was almost painful.

“What a bunch of stupid dicks,” Bateman laughed abruptly, leaving you completely confused. “Doll… You can’t even imagine how lucky you are… That I’m going to take you out of here. Trust me, this place is worse than hell.”

Did he really expect you to fall on your knees and kiss his feet for his generosity? Arrogant son of a bitch…

“All right, (Y/N). Let's forget the formalities,” Patrick sat himself more comfortable in his armchair, throwing his one leg on another. “Take your clothes off. Let's see what you got.”

You had to clear your throat before speaking, as it felt like your mouth was full of sand: “Excuse me?”

Patrick let out a tired sigh, rubbing the bridge of his perfectly shaped nose. “Do you want me to do it myself?”

“No!” you almost screamed, when you watched him standing from his place. “I’ll do it… Just, don’t touch me, please…”

Saying nothing, he put on that devilish smile again, leaning on the back of his seat, his hands were thrashing around his knees in undisguised anticipation.

Timidly, your shaking hands reached the clasp of your bra. Before you eventually undid it, you cast a scornful gaze at him, sensing how anger and despair were mixing up in your blood. It seemed like your heart fell down on the ground along with your bra, when you heard his deep exhale.

“Mm-mh, keep going, doll.” His voice definitely got lower on some octaves.

Totally embarrassed, you were trying to convince yourself to do what he ordered, with no reflection or sorrow–your life was in danger, that was the actual point.

With one quick motion, you pulled down your panties, leaving yourself fully exposed in front of that smug bastard, whose eyes now were dark as the midnight sky. But, despite your sudden surge of boldness, your hands were instinctively trying to hide your naked body from his vision, inducing the corners of his lips to twitch in amusement.

Scoffing haughtily, Patrick shook the glass to make sure it was empty, asserting: “You don’t need to be ashamed in front of me, honey,” Bateman opened his arms expansively and finally smiled with his usual delight. “(Y/N), you belong to me now,” he directed, looking into your scared eyes. “Every little piece of your body belongs to me. So, be an obedient girl and turn around.”

“Just turn around?” Why did you even ask that, damn?

“You can bend over, after you turn around. I want to see what I’m paying for.” All of your insides seemed to tighten like a string and your knees nearly buckled.

Breathing sharply, you spun around and did what he told you to, with your eyes watering by the second.

“Spread your legs wider,” Patrick pressed his elbows against his knee, leaning on them, as he couldn't stop looking at your luscious unused pussy. When you did so, he claimed: “Such a good girl… Can’t wait to find out how it feels to be inside of this innocent little hole.”

By saying that, Bateman stood up and got closer to you, right when you turned around, so you nearly bumped into his solid frame.

“A-ahm, Sorry… I…” You froze, with your hands pressed against your breasts and your mound, as you were trying to cover yourself. Goodman, he was so tall and broad, he was towering over your like a fucking skyscraper.

“It’s okay, Sunshine,” he carefully stroked your cheek, wiping away your tears. “We’ll have a lot of fun together…” slowly, his finger traced down to your clavicle, and then you flinched from the feeling of the soft fingertips, brushing along your cleavage. “And, I promise, I’ll make you happy...”

“Please, d-don't…” you sobbed out loud, when he possessively took your hands away to touch your taut nipple. “S-stop!”

“Such a subtle blossom,” Bateman was about to kiss your lips, but he stopped himself. Instead of it, he pinched your engorged peak, making you moan barely audible. “No one ever touched you like that?”

Breathless, you wanted to grab his hands and push them away, but you were too scared of him being angry. Desperately stifling the upcoming nasty sounds, which were languishing in your chest, you had to sink your nails into your delicate skin almost till the blood.

Meantime, Patrick seemed not going to stop his ravenous assault on your quivering little body, as he pressed his other palm against your belly, tickling you a bit, making you wince and he couldn't help but snigger in enjoyment. All of your coy reactions were turning him on like nothing else in this cynical corrupted world.

“Mr. B-Bateman…” shivering under his touch, you felt yourself so abashed by how your body was responding to his caress. “Enough… I… I beg you, ahh-”

A strange, but insufferable blissful sensation hit your mind like a lightning strike, when Bateman reached your sensitive clit, giving it several rubs. With every second, his ministrations were becoming more and more persistent, inducing you to close your eyes and bite your lip to suppress a loud moan from the longing feeling in your lower belly.

“You like it, don’t you?” Patrick asked, watching you struggling with yourself.

“No…” you whimpered, but he only simpered in response, before trapping your blushing nub between his sneaky fingers, rhythmically massaging it. “Aa-aww… Mr. Bate-”

Selfishly, he shushed you with a palm, leaning over to your neck to inhale your sweet scent and lick your touchy skin. And then, Bateman suddenly blabbed:

“What is that?” squinting, he traced a thumb along the artery on your throat. “A scar?”

Vexed, Patrick removed his hand from between your legs and you could finally heave a sigh of relief. “Yes… I've got a couple of scars…”

“Couple?” he issued in a stern voice, looking at you from above. “Who dared to touch such a sweetheart like you-”

“Mr. Bateman, are you done with inspecting?”

You both recoiled from unexpectedness, before he retorted: “Yes, come in.”

When the door clicked, you watched him concisely sucking up his fingers, which were slightly covered in your juices–that scene made your cheeks inflame with humiliation.

“So… What do you think?” The bitch with blue eyes asked, staring at your naked body absolutely emotionless.

“I’m not gonna pay twenty-five thousand for her, cause she has several scars,” Bateman stated, strolling away from you to take his cigar. “Let's make a deal. Twenty thousand.”

“Twenty-three-”

“Twenty thousand, that’s my last word.”

For some period, they were looking at each other like two predators before their deadly jump, but then you heard the boss-lady’s lament. “Argh, all right! Twenty thousand…”

“Wonderful,” Patrick exclaimed, opening his case once again and taking out the rest of the money. “That’s all?”

“Yes, Mr. Bateman… I’m glad we negotiated,” right after her words, you saw a group of unknown men, entering the room. Then, one of them handed her a thick folder with some papers. “All information about her is here.”

She came to the table, took the money and put down the folder. Everything that happened next, you didn’t remember, as someone pressed a cloak of fabric to your mouth, making you black out and limp.

“Hey, careful!” Bateman shouted, pointing at your direction with a finger. “Was that necessary?”

“She’s very troublesome, it’s for her own good. Believe me.”

“Wait, I will carry her…” overprotectively, Patrick reached your unconscious body and took you in his arms, before musing: “Don’t worry, Dear. Soon, you will be at home.”

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader

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