#so if i had just let myself dig my heels in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thetriumphantpanda · 6 months

Text

I Could Use Somebody | Joel Miller

The Checklist - Free Use

Chapter Summary | Joel, coming home from work frustrated and pent up, doesn't seem to care you're in the middle of a serious work meeting. He wants you? He'll have you.

Chapter Warnings | Basically porn without plot, this is a free use fic so please keep that in mind, consent conversations beforehand, oral sex (M&F), unprotected PiV sex, creampie, cum eating, fingering, these two get up to some questionable things on a zoom call, dirty talk, pet names (baby), established relationship, No Outbreak AU, No Use of Y/N.

Word Count | 3.2K

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Authors Note | I'm going to out myself so hard by telling you all this specific scenario is such a fantasy of mine and imagining Joel Miller being the one to give it to me was too much. The amount of pacing I had to do writing this is not worth imagining haha. I know this isn't for everyone, but I hope those of you into it enjoy it! Shoutout to @swiftispunk for starting off the flurry of voting for this next part - enjoy y'all. If you do enjoy this, reblogs and comments are always appreciated, and if you'd like to support me further, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

A reminder that whilst this is part of a wider series, this can be read as a standalone if you wish.

Beautiful divider by @saradika

I no longer have a taglist, to keep up to date with my work, please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs and turn on notifications.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

You’re finishing up dinner, plate empty, sipping from a glass of water when Joel slips the now worn piece of paper over the table to you. Some things crossed off, some still waiting to be explored. You grin at him over your glass of water.

“Baby, I’m tired tonight.”

“I know, I ain’t fishing, I promise, just wanted to talk to you about this one.”

You look down at the little checklist, one of Joel’s fingers pointing to your handwriting, free use. You bite your lip a little, looking at him through your eyelashes.

“You know what it means?” He asks.

“Yeah,” You nod simply, “Means I let you have me whenever you want, right?” You shrug a little, “Why, you been doing your research, Miller?”

He snorts a little, shaking his head with a little laugh, “Sounds like you have too,” He takes a drink of his water, “Means you agree t’let me do whatever I want t’ya, whenever I want, but I need t’know if there’s anythin’ you don’t want me to do.”

You think for a minute, biting at your lip, “You can do whatever, just as long as I’m not asleep.”

Joel nods his head in agreement, sliding the piece of paper back over the table and into his pocket.

“I’m going to be living in pure anticipation over this now.”

“I know, baby,” He smirks, standing up to clear the plates from the table, dipping to kiss the top of your head as he pike yours up, “That’s part of the fun, right?”

You sigh, heel of your palm digging into our eyes. This meeting was dragging. This meeting definitely could have been an email. It’s now thirty minutes after you were meant to log off, and Jean from Finance won’t shut up about budgets and correct invoicing. Mark still hadn’t said his piece, and he’s known for droning on as well, so you’re going to have to wait at least another thirty minutes to give your update and leave.

Reaching over to pick up the now lukewarm cup of coffee on the desk, you hear the front door open. Sighing again, knowing that Joel is very rarely done with work before you are.

“Hello?” He calls into the house.

“Still in a meeting, baby!” You call back, office door ajar so he can hear you.

You can hear him climbing up the stairs, even without his boots on you can hear his heavy footfall coming down the hallway, his head peaking around the door frame.

“Camera’s off, thankfully.” You smile, turning in your office chair a little to reach your hand out to him.

“It’s late.” He comments, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips when you tilt your face up towards him.

Motioning your head to the screen, you say, “Jean won’t stop droning about budgets, I’m probably in it for the long haul.”

Joel runs a hand down the back of your head, fingers digging softly into the back of your neck which has you leaning back into his palm, rolling your shoulders as he works his thumb through the stress knot, “Did you say it was camera’s off?”

You nod your head, closing your eyes, leaning back into his touch. You can feel him running the tips of his fingers down your arm, fingers circling your wrist, which he then brings up, placing your palm again the front of his jeans where he’s already half-hard. The hand on the back of your neck is gentle, but firm, as it pulls you back a little, making you open your eyes to look up at him.

“You’re gonna suck my cock, baby,” It’s not a question, he isn’t asking, and he’s firm with it too, unbuckling his belt, “Been hard all day thinkin’ a’you, and I want you t’fix it.”

You swivel the chair a little, so you can bring your hands up to pop the button on his jeans and pull the zipper down. You pull his jeans down just to his mid-thigh, bringing your face forward to press soft kisses to the skin where the legs of his boxers are sitting, your palm rubbing gently up against the growing bulge tenting his underwear.

Joel reaches down, palm cupping your cheek softly, but when you look up at him, his eyes are dark, face stoic, “I said fix it baby, not tease me.”

You hook your fingers into the elastic around his hips, dragging the material down slowly, watching as his cock springs free when you’ve pulled his underwear down to meet his jeans. You can already feel the flicker of heat in your abdomen as you wrap your palm around his base, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the skin around him, focusing your attention anywhere but where he wanted it, as your hand moves up and down his length.

Before he can chastise you again, you lean back a little, guiding the head of his cock to your mouth. You bring your lips the the underside of him, pressing your mouth all the way down, before using your tongue to lick all the way back up, relishing in the way Joel exhales, all shaky, when you flick the tip of your tongue to the underside of the tip of his cock. You let him rest on your tongue a little, fisting the base of his cock, before you wrap your lips around him, tongue swirling wet and hot around it.

Joel has always loved when you do this to him, and you’ve always loved the way you can make him come undone with just your mouth. He’s already groaning a little when you flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock, moving your head down, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can before you feel him nudge at the back of your throat. You drag your fist up his length as you pull your mouth back off him, pumping him a few times to wet his cock with your spit, before you carry on exactly as you were, slowly running your mouth up and down him, following the movement of your lips with your fist.

You’re still half-aware of the sound coming from your laptop next to you, you can still hear Jean talking, which is no surprise, but there’s something about her talking about the new budget codes for the next financial year, knowing you’re paying no attention to her and instead sucking your boyfriend’s cock, that makes you rub your thighs together. You’re so wrapped up that when Joel uses his palm to cup your chin, you think he just wants to look at you with his cock stuffed halfway down your throat, but then he’s tilting his head towards your computer.

“I think someone just asked you a question, baby.”

Joel is smirking as you pull your mouth off him, scrabbling to unmute yourself, “Sorry Jean, I didn’t quite catch that, could you repeat the question?”

She sighs, and you can see her in the tiny rectangle, shaking her head. Joel reaches down, taking hold of your hand to bring it back to his cock, his own hand covering yours as he guides your movements, jerking him off whilst Jean repeats her question.

“I said, can you send me your budget reporting by the end of the week so I can get it all imported into the master finance sheet ready for auditing?”

You’re keenly aware that although your camera is off, your hand is currently fisting Joel’s cock whilst you’re having a conversation about fucking budget sheets. You’re pretty sure if you put a hand in your panties right now you’d be soaked from the situation alone.

“Sorry Jean,” You apologise, “Yes, that should be fine, I can email those over before the end of Friday.”

You don’t even wait for her response, just click the microphone button again to mute yourself, turning back to Joel, who is moving your hand off of his cock, fisting the base of it himself to bring to back to your mouth.

He cups the back of your head in one of his wide palms, inching his cock back into the wet heat of your mouth, “What would Jean think baby?” He asks, starting short thrusts into your mouth, “If she knew you’d been jerkin’ me off whilst talkin’ to her?”

It’s a rhetorical question really, considering he won’t pull himself from your mouth to let you answer, but he knows her, he met her last year at the Christmas party, she’d be horrified, clutching the gold crucifix necklace she always wears and praying for your salvation probably.

“Want you t’get nice and sloppy, baby,” Joel coos, “Y’know how I like it.”

And you do, you know exactly how he likes it. You move your palms around his body, palms resting on the meat of his ass, fingers digging into the skin ever so gently as you you slacken your jaw around him, finally letting the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. He loves it when you get messy, when he can hear you gagging around him, when you pull back and he’s covered in your spit.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” He encourages from above as the tip of your nose brushes against the soft skin of his tummy, “Takin’ me so fucking deep.”

His palm is still on the back of your head, holding you still as he starts those shallow thrusts into the back of your throat. You can feel saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, the sounds of gulping and Joel’s hisses when you gag around him all that you can hear. You bring your hand lower, cupping his balls and almost preen when he gasps, massaging them gently as he fucks your face.

He pulls himself out of your mouth, holding you still, his cock still so close to your mouth, with trails of spit still connecting the two of you. As you take a breath, you’re aware that it’s now Mark’s voice you can hear, which still means you’ve got time until you say your piece, but time is running out.

Joel clutches your cheek in his palm, rubbing away the trail of tears he’s caused from fucking your face, “Gonna fuck you now, baby,” He says, stepping back to kiss your mouth, “Stand up.”

You do, Joel pushing the office chair away from you so he can stand behind you, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your leggings, pulling them down your legs to pool at your ankles, along with you underwear. He’s behind you, pressing himself against your ass before you know it, cock sliding through your slick folds. You’d be embarrassed that you’re so wet without him even touching you, but the way he slides himself into you, burying himself to the hilt in your aching cunt, has your brain blank immediately.

“So fuckin’ wet, baby,” He hisses from behind, hands holding your hips to keep you still, “All from suckin’ my cock, huh?”

Your palms are face down on the desk, body placed just to the side of where your laptop sits. You turn your head around to look at Joel behind you, catching Mark in his little rectangle on your screen - you have no idea what he’s talking about, but the thrill of knowing that you’re not paying attention because Joel is dragging his thick cock out of you, holding still before he slams himself back into you, and they have no idea that’s what you’re doing, makes your indifference to the conversation even more noticeable to you.

He’s rough with it today, not uncomfortably so, but you can tell he’s had a stressful day of it, you always can, when he grips your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints on your skin and does nothing but use you for his own pleasure. He’s always one to return the favour afterwards, getting you off with his fingers or his mouth, but there are just some times when he needs to let out his own frustrations first.

Joel snakes a hand up your spine over your t-shirt, letting his hand tangle in your hair before he pulls back harshly, arching your back into him, it causes a strangled cry to fall from your lips as his cock punches back into you, the thick sound of his skin slapping against yours as he brushes that spot inside you enough to cause tiny black spots to appear in your vision.

“Feel good baby?” He asks from behind you, leaning his chest across your back, tagging at your hair to pull your face to his, his teeth nibbling at the skin of your jaw, tongue licking across it afterwards.

The change in angle, with him led flat against your back is insane, his thrusts now deep and short inside you, his weight pushing you flat against the desk now as he presses his mouth to yours. You open against him immediately, tongue melding with his own, moans swallowed, breaths tasted as he keeps a firm grip in your hair.

“Fuck me,” He groans out, almost pained, “Feel so fucking good baby, gonna make me come.”

You gasp into his mouth, not so much kissing him anymore than you are just lips to lips as he presses further into you, head of his cock nudging painfully at your cervix as he chases his high. You can feel yourself clenching around him, walls tightening and fluttering around his cock as you can feel him start to falter, until he’s biting down on your shoulder through your shirt, groaning out into your skin as you feel him fill you.

It’s a feeling you’ll never tire of, unsure of how you ever went so long without letting him do it, when it feels this good to feel him pulsing inside of you, your name whispered into your ear with a press of a kiss behind it. The feeling of him so desperate and full for you that he’s dripping down your thigh before he’s even pulled himself out of you.

He doesn’t give you much time to recover. He’s pulling at the hem of your shirt to get you to stand, his other hand reaching behind him to get hold of the chair, which he guides you into.

“I think that’s pretty much it from me,” You can vaguely clock Mark saying in the background, signalling that you’re up next, “Does anyone have any questions before I hand over?”

Mercifully, someone does have a questions, which at least gives you time to smooth your hair and try and tamp down the fact you’ve just been fucked by your boyfriend when you should have been listening to the meeting. As you’re reaching down to your ankles to pick up your leggings and pull them back on, Joel’s hand circles your wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing, baby?” He asks, settling himself on his knees between your open ankles, pulling your leggings off completely, tossing them to the side.

“I’ve got to present in a minute.” You pant, pointing to the screen.

He nods his head in understanding, “You’re good at multitasking though, aren’t you?”

It takes a second for what he’s suggesting to settle in your mind, and you think about denying him, but then you remember the agreement, and the fact you’ve not come yet, and then a smirk appears on your face. You’re scooting your office chair further into him, widening your thighs as you do it, reaching out to drag your laptop to the edge of the desk as Joel settles his face into your cunt, tongue already flicking gently at your clit.

“I’m going to hand over to HR now.”

You take a deep breath, unmute yourself, and start talking, just as Joel sinks two of his fingers into your cunt, dragging a gasp from your lips, “Sorry everyone, my camera doesn’t seem to be working, but can you all hear me okay?” You ask, biting your lip at the end to stop a groan from escaping when Joel curls his fingers up into you.

There’s a muttering of agreement across the screen, so you launch into your usual end-of-month spiel, “We’ve had a good response to our employee survey,” You start, the flat of Joel’s tongue working over your bundle of nerves, you let out a cough to stifle the need to moan, “If you haven’t already, please encourage all of your team members to complete it so we can get an accurate picture of what people are feeling.”

You drop a hand to your thigh, where Joel’s hand is splaying your legs apart from him, squeezing onto his fingers as you whimper slightly, “We’ve also attempted to start streamlining our onboarding process, which we’ll test with teams who have new starters in the c-coming w-weeks.”

You look down at Joel, face between your thighs, looking up at you, his fingers pulled from you now, replaced with his tongue. You’re about to protest, tell him you’re a mess there, that he’d only just filled you up with his cum not minutes before, but the way his dark eyes are looking up at you, that familiar twinkle settling across them, and the fact you’re meant to be talking right now, you keep quiet.

“A-and finally,” You try and continue, feeling his tongue dragging through your folds, back up to your clit, “I know it’s only August, but we’re starting to plan our Christmas celebration, so keep an eye out for the date holder and please accept the meeting invite so we can have an idea of numbers, more information to follow.”

It’s a miracle that you mute yourself in time to complete fall apart when Joel sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling his warm tongue across that nub of nerves. The pressure, teamed up with his fingers back inside you, have you falling apart with a scream, your hand flying to his hair, tugging at his curls as he works you through it, thighs shaking, clenching together until he’s forcing them apart, dragging his tongue back down to your entrance, swirling through your combined slick and his cum. He pushed up from on his knees, clutching his palms to your cheeks before he’s putting his tongue on yours again, letting you taste the mix of you and him on his tongue.

“We taste good, huh baby?”

You bite your lip, “That was hot.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, “What about it?”

“Apart from you eating me out whilst I give a very serious company update?” You shrug, “The fact that you ate your own cum from my pussy probably did it.”

He leans forward, pressing another kiss to your mouth, “Sounds like that’s all done,” He comments, you look over his shoulder to the now empty Zoom meeting, with just you left in it, “You hungry?”

You reach over his shoulder and leave the meeting too, closing your laptop down for the night, “Starving.”

617 notes · View notes

moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

Hi 💜

I sent a request a while ago about Spencer x reader academic stress. It was absolutely perfect. Thank you so much 💗

I just read the james one about reader skipping meals (it was so sweet and lovely) and I tend to do that myself sometimes not eating anything between dinner one day to the next simply because i got busy with classes and forgot until i get a migrane or get a bit dizzy. So, I was wondering if you could do a similar prompt with Spencer and reader being busy all day with work or classes or whatever and simply forgetting to eat until a migrane / dizzy spell occurs and he finds out.

I just feel like he'd be so kind and give facts about importance of not skipping meals for brain function, while coddling, feeding and spoiling reader, maybe cooking or handfeeding too I don't know whatever works for you. Thank you 💕🌸

Sorry if i wrote too much😅

Thank you for requesting lovely (and no sorries necessary) <3

cw: mention of skipping meals, dizziness/nausea

Spencer Reid x bau!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Spencer finds you sitting down in the stairwell. You recognize him by the sound of his footsteps, lighter than Morgan’s but less clicky than JJ’s heels. Neither of you typically use the stairs, so you can only imagine that he’s come looking for you.

“Hi,” you say to let him know you’re alive inside the tiny cavern you’ve made of your own body. You’re bent over to rest your forehead on your knees, one hand on each of your temples as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. Overall, it’s a pretty dramatic pose. And you’re definitely getting the butt of your slacks dirty on these stairs.

Spencer’s footsteps pass you, and for half a second you think he really is just using the stairs. He stops a few steps below you. You can feel him scrutinizing the top of your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks in that soft, careful voice of his. “You just disappeared.”

You had sort of fled the scene. You still feel too new to the team to feel fully comfortable, and with Strauss here for the case everyone is on their best behavior, so when you’d all been walking in the hallway and a dizzy spell had nearly collapsed you into the wall, you’d dropped back from the group and stepped into the first door you saw rather than risk bringing attention to yourself.

“I’m fine,” you say through an exhale, lifting your head from your knees. “Sorry, I just got dizzy and didn’t want to cause problems.”

Spencer’s eyebrows bunch. He lowers into a crouch in front of you, looking up into your face. “Dizzy—do you know what caused it? Is this something that happens often?” He bypasses your rudeness in abandoning the team immediately, and the questions come almost too fast for your addled brain to keep up with. You think you need protein. Or carbs, or something.

“Yeah—I mean no, it doesn’t happen all the time,” you say. “I just forgot to eat lunch.”

The notch between Spencer’s brows digs in and he brushes a piece of hair behind his ear. “What happened?”

You shrug, embarrassed. “I packed a lunch so I wouldn’t have to take a break, and then I just forgot about it. I’ve been…” you glance up at Spencer, but his eyes are too safe and open to even contemplate deceiving. “I haven’t been keeping up with my work like I should. I didn’t want to take a break, and I didn’t even remember my lunch until now.”

“It’s on your desk?” he asks.

You blink. “My work?”

“Your lunch.”

“Yeah,” you say. It comes out curved like a question.

“Okay.” He straightens, lithe limbs extending until you’re craning your neck to look up at him. “Wait here.”

You turn, starting to protest, but Spencer sets a pacifying hand on your head as he passes. Objections acknowledged, but ignored. Following him is out of the question; just pivoting sitting down had sent your head swimming again.

The door bangs shut after him, and a minute later he returns with your sad paper bag and a bottle of gatorade.

“I saw you have water in here,” he says, sitting back in his place a couple steps below you, “but I thought electrolytes might help more.” He twists the cap off and hands it to you. Rather than passing you your lunch bag, he sets it in his own lap to dig through the contents. “You want your sandwich first?”

You lower the gatorade from your mouth, wiping self-consciously under your lower lip. “Yes, please,” you say, and Spencer hands it to you. You set the gatorade down beside you. “Do we keep these in the fridge?”

“Morgan does.” You must look as horrified as you feel, because Spencer goes on quickly, “He won’t even notice it’s gone. He likes the blue ones the least anyway.”

You nod hesitantly, raising the bottle to your lips for another sip. “I’ll get him a replacement in case.”

His smile is understanding, and you’re reminded that before you, Spencer was the youngest on the team. You imagine he knows how it feels to be constantly wary of getting on someone’s bad side.

“You really don’t have to,” he says anyway.

You take a bite of your sandwich, shrugging. “Thanks a lot for this, but you don’t have to stay here with me. Won’t we get in some kind of trouble?”

“I think we’ll be okay here for a little while,” Spencer says. “Actually, I don’t think most people on the team even know where this door goes. None of us ever use the stairs. And they might not have noticed we’re gone yet.”

You give him a deadpan look. “They’ll notice you’re gone.”

He shrugs. It’s not a denial. “I don’t mind waiting with you.”

It means more to you than it reasonably should. “Thanks,” you say quietly, and take another bite of your sandwich as an excuse to look away.

You haven’t even polished it off yet, and Spencer’s already dipping into your bag for more. He takes the cap of a container of grapes.

“Here, have some of these.” He holds it out, and you shove the last bite of sandwich into your mouth to take it from him. “You probably need some vitamin C,” he muses. His eyes fall to the nearly full bottle at your side. “Don’t forget to drink.”

You almost grin, covering your full mouth with a hand as you speak. “I can’t actually do all this at once.”

“Oh, sorry.” He looks abashed. “Take your time.” You do, swallowing before lowering your hand to give him a small smile. It’s returned. “You know, skipping meals is actually pretty dangerous.”

Your smile fades, but Spencer holds your gaze. His eyes are gentle.

“I know you just forgot, but low blood sugar impedes brain function. We need to be able to think clearly and quickly to do our job. So, being nourished is really important to that.”

You nod, chastised. He taps the container of grapes, and you pop one into your mouth.

“Are you going to tell Hotch?” you ask him quietly.

Spencer blinks, brows twitching together. “No,” he says. “It’s not really that big of a deal, and anyway I think Hotch would just tell you the same thing. I just think it’s important for you to know.”

You rub your lips together, bobbing your head again. “Okay, thanks.” You look at him seriously, dropping your voice into a terrible imitation of Hotch’s deep timbre. “I won’t let it happen again.”

Spencer grins, surprised by you, and you mirror him. You’re a bit surprised by yourself too.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks.

You nod automatically, not taking even the barest inventory yourself to see whether that might be true, but Spencer can obviously tell. His brown eyes search yours, scientifically probing, like they might tell him something you won’t. You’re well aware that Spencer’s a certifiable genius, and yet you’re still learning not to underestimate him.

“We can probably go back now,” you tell him.

His stare holds yours a minute longer. You feel pleasurably crushed under the weight of his attention.

After a few seconds, Spencer’s expression settles into decision. “Let’s sit here for a minute,” he says. “You should finish your food. You’re owed a lunch hour anyway, no one’s ever stipulated when or where you have to take it.”

You crack a smile. “What about you?”

“I’m staying with you,” he says matter-of-factly. Like it’s the only option even worth considering. “I don’t want to leave you here by yourself, and it’s probably best if I take the gatorade bottle back up with us. If Morgan sees, it’ll be easier for me to take credit if I’m holding it.”

371 notes · View notes

milf-murdock · 6 months

Note

Can I make a request? 🥹 Ghost when you joke to him about joining the military hehe. Thank you!

A/N: Okay wow thank you beautiful anon for sending in this ask and inspiring the FUCK out of me. I was really in my feels about not feeling up to writing anything (the imposter syndrome can be so real even in fandom spaces), but this ask set my brain ablaze. so thank you, dear <3 let me know if you like it!!

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Civilian!Reader (Established relationship)

“Who knows, maybe I’ll just say ‘fuck it’ and join the military,” you half-joke, before taking a sip of your tepid earl grey.

“Absolutely fucking not.” Simon’s abrupt growl catches you off guard, causing you to briefly choke on your final sip.

“Come again?” You manage to get out between coughs, raising your eyebrow in confusion, thoroughly taken aback by his rigid body posture and brash response. You both had been enjoying a quiet Saturday morning together, a treasured treat that were few and far between. The empty plates from the morning’s breakfast still sat between you two as you both enjoyed the last of your tea, the conversation veering from your typical work complaints to the casual idea of starting over fresh in a new career field.

It had all been rather pleasant, but you sense the mood shift, a familiar tug in your stomach telling you a fight was brewing.

“I said,” Simon continued in that deep voice, his tone taking on a bitter edge. “Absolutely. Fucking. Not.”

Your stubborn side flares up in indignation and you suppress a bitter laugh, finding yourself digging in your heels at the idea. You mentioned it as a joke, not even really thinking twice about it, but like hell you were going to be told no like that.

“And why, pray tell, the fuck not?” You shoot back at him from across the table. You practically slam your teacup on the table, the satisfying thunk emphasizing your question. “What? You don’t think I can do it? You don’t think I can handle myself?” You don’t slow down—oh no, you’re on a roll now. “Or is it that that specific role is only reserved for you? And I’m just supposed to stay home and be the doting housewife that sits around and waits for you to get back?”

At that final remark, Simon rises out of his seat, his dark gaze meeting your own as he steps around the table to you. You’re not even close to done though, quick to rise up out of your own seat to meet him.

“You have some real balls, Simon, acting like you get to just say no like that. I swear to god I will march down to the nearest recruiters office before you so much as finish your tea and I will—“ your thrown off mid-sentence as Simon’s hands embrace your face, his thumb tracing against your cheek bone in a gesture of pure tenderness. It’s a stark contrast to your fiery words, and you can practically feel the fire start to wane at the sweet touch.

Simon takes a step closer to you, and you find yourself inches away from his burly chest, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him.

“I will—“ you try to continue your argument, but even you have to admit your words are wilting at his closeness.

Even after so many years together, you never get used to the way your body responds to him. Your heart rate picks up, your breathing ever so slightly unsteadied, and you find yourself leaning in even closer, drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

Simon’s thumb moves from your cheek down to press against your lips, silencing your argument.

You blink in response.

“You would make a fine soldier, darling,” his tone is low and even now, in clear opposition to your red-hot spirited words. “There’s not a doubt in my mind you would be pure dead brilliant and rise through the ranks."

Your rage starts to settle as you practically preen at the compliments. The tension leaves your shoulders, just enough to keep Simon going.

"It’s absolutely nothing to do with you, love. It’s me.”

“You?” You mutter against his thumb, brows furrowed in confusion, and he slides the digit down to your chin and caresses your jawline.

“Yeah...me,” Simon’s tone has a note of finality in it, and you know that he doesn’t want to explain further, but you need more than that.

“Explain.”

Simon’s exhale follows your demand, but he knows you well enough to know you’re not going to let this go.

“I do some pretty hard shit, yeah?” He starts, and you nod in response. “And I’ve trained for it. And I’m good at it. But it can still be pretty fucking brutal.”

Simon’s gaze trails to the side, and you recognize the far-away look in his eyes. You know specific memories are playing back in his mind, ones that he only mumbles about in the dead of night as you do your best to root him in reality from the night terrors. You’re scared to even breathe too loud at the risk of shattering the moment.

Simon takes a steadying breath before he continues, his gaze coming back to yours.

“The one thing that gets me through all of that shit is knowing that you’re here. That you’re safe.”

“What you do—waiting for me, not knowing if I’m okay, not knowing what’s going on, being in the dark like that. I can’t imagine that. I don’t think—“ he breaks off, swallowing hard before continuing. “I don’t think I could do that.”

His words hit you like a blow to the stomach.

“Simon,” you sigh, your shoulders deflating, all of the fight leaving your body at his admission.

“I’m not here to tell you what to do,” he soldiers on, “And I know I sound like the world’s biggest hypocritical prick right now. But please, love,” his tone takes on an exasperated edge and his hand leaves your face as he runs it through his hair. Another sigh falls from his lips, and you wish you could take back every word of this stupid spat. “Please just think about it for a while longer. For me?”

Simon’s pleading eyes fall to yours and you can’t hold back anymore. You rise up on your tiptoes, though even still he has to lean down to meet your lips. The kiss is a tender, soft thing. Simon’s hand rises to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair and pulling you even closer to him.

You break the kiss first, tilting your head back only slightly, giving yourself just enough room to utter your acquiescence.

“Okay,” you mutter breathlessly, at a loss for words after such a pure proclamation of affection from your otherwise indomitable lover.

“Okay?” Simon asks, relief dripping from the singular word, and you silently curse your stubborn streak for causing such unease in the man you love, even if only momentarily.

“Okay,” you sigh into his lips as you lean in closer.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon “ghost” Riley

614 notes · View notes

bellewintersroe · 8 months

Text

Max Verstappen x HornerDaughter!

Part 1, ahh yes my fav trope to write about, Leni is Christian’s daughter and has practically grown up with Max. It’s fair to say her feelings are more so than platonic, but after years of repression, and Max drunkly opening up about his sour relationship, can something become of them? Here is Part 2.

here I am writing another series when I can’t even finish my other ten 🙄- also no disrespect to real life Kelly im just using her for my story rn lmao. Warnings: mention of skinny dipping, alcohol consumption, no cheating (hell no) but Max goes on a rant about his unhappy relationship to an unsuspecting Leni…

“Are you going in?” Max questioned, fisting at the dry sand below. We were lazing on the dark beach, several of our friends had stripped and run into the Monegasque sea, others were dotted around, snogging their partners or random people that they’d picked up from the bar. It seemed like it was just Max and I weren’t fancying the water so much.

“In the water? I don’t think so.” He laughed as I attempted to spot the several people in the water, the darkness made it too difficult and I shuddered at the idea of getting lost out there. I glanced back over to Max, scanning over his face that was lit up by his I phone torch.

“Are you?” The Dutchman asked, drunkly swaying as he sat in the sand like a child. “In the dark, in my clothes, nuh uh.” “Just take your dress off.” My teeth sunk into my bottom lip with a gentle breath of laughter. The only thing being friends with Max was that I’d had an unwavering crush on him since 2014, when he signed up to Red Bull and started working with my dad, Christian Horner.

We’d been close. We always were close friends, a little awkward when we were younger, the three year gap made that teenage stage feel uncomfortably tense between us, but now we were on the other side we’d come out even closer.

“I can’t.” My cheeks warmed, as I hiccuped, taking a sip of the champagne bottle I’d taken secretively out of the bar. Max reached over, fingers swiping over mine as he took the bottle, taking a few sips of the bubbly alcohol.

“I’ll go in if you do.” He shrugged as I picked up some sand, letting it fall out of my fist, piling up below. “No I don’t… I don’t have a bra.” I awkwardly admitted, it was a good thing he couldn’t see me blushing. “Oh!” Max exclaimed, that familiar tension growing between us. I always felt unbearably guilty when I felt it, especially now I was single. Max had a girlfriend, they’d been together a year, but I couldn’t intercept their relationship. Morally it wasn’t right.

“Max, where’s Kelly?” I then inhaled, turning the conversation back to his girlfriend. I prodded at my thigh with my acrylic nail uncomfortably. “She’s at home.” He simply answered. “She should’ve come.” I twisted my acrylic further against my skin.

Max hummed, nudging me with the bottle. I didn’t realise he’d been holding it out for me. “Oh.” I took it again, taking a few more swigs.

“Take it slow on that.” Max laughed as I giggled, digging it into the sand. “Sorry…” I then glanced back to where our friends were screaming and laughing from. “Maybe I’ll… maybe I’ll go in.” I began pushing myself up, phone stuffed in my bag.

“Oh, you are?” Maybe his comment prior stirred something up inside of me, I felt all hot and bothered, like I needed to rid the adrenaline from my body. “Yeah.” Standing up, I watched Max stand up too, tossing his phone under my back as I slipped out my heels, shaking my head in amusement. “Fuck it.” Clearly I didn’t think it through, putting this tight dress back on when I was wet and sandy would feel vile. I reached back, attempting to unbutton myself, but I felt Max’s warm hands brush over the fabric, unfastening the clip for me, bringing my zipper down so I could reach with my own hands. My lower stomach warmed and flipped, my core tightened and I felt an undeniable sense of becoming aroused at his touch.

“Thanks.” I swallowed, unzipping myself fully. “Just- don’t look.” I warned, part of me wanted him to watch- no Leni that was wrong. I stripped without turning back, hearing him do the same before I covered my breasts with my arms, hurrying towards the water.

As soon as my toes hit the water I was numb to the cold, the alcohol warmed me and I stumbled in, hearing cheers from further out in the water.

“Max! Hurry!” I gasped, roaming deep enough to where my nipples were covered. The swell of my breasts were still dangerously close to being exposed, when I turned around he was a few feet away, cringing at the cold of the waves, rolling against his exposed skin. “Can you even swim?!” He questioned out with a gasp. “Can I swim? Of course I can swim!” Did he think I looked like I couldn’t swim? Because that was offensive.

“Let’s go deeper then.” He swim past me, wading out to where our friends was. “Nuh uh, I’m too scared I’ll drown!” “Leni, you won’t drown!” He exclaimed. “Yeah, why would you?” Our friend, James made his way over, I knew he was trying to tug me out. “James no! I’ve got no top on, don’t!” I panicked out a laugh, spinning around in circles like I was being surrounded by a shark. We must’ve been in the water for a good half an hour before I got too cold and the motion was making me feel sick. When I’d got back to the shore I sat for a while on my phone, kept warm by the sticky night hair. “Are you cold?” A voice approached and I held my dress tighter over my chest. Stand was clinging to every crevice, and it was taking a lot longer to dry than I hoped. “Im just too wet to put my dress back on.” I cringed at the sensation.

“Here.” He handed over his shirt, holding it out. His torch was switched back on as he glanced over my bare body. The only thing covering me was a tiny pair of white thongs.

“Oh, no, it’s okay.”

“No, no take it, you’re naked… almost.” Max glanced down again as I tensed my jaw. “What will you wear?” I took it from his grasp, fingers sliding over his wet ones.

“I’ll be fine.” He adjusted his boxers slightly, clinging to him from being so wet. He flopped to the floor, groaning as the sand covered him before grabbing at the bottle that was still half buried into the sand below.

“Thank you.” I slipped the shirt on, kneeling up as I buttoned it up twice, the material covering my perfectly. The scent of Max’s cologne filled my nostrils and I hugged the large too tighter around myself. “You suit it.” He nodded in amusement as I spun around, dropping my phone back onto my bag. “You think?” I giggled, sitting across from him once again. “Yeah.” He rasped, nodding as I snickered to myself. Max took another swig of the bottle, holding it out for me. When I had a mouthful of the alcohol, Max spoke again.

“How’s it being single again?” I almost choked, swallowing a rather large mouthful of champagne before dropping the bottle back down. “Um…” I felt a smirk growing. “Interesting.”

“Because you were with him for quite some time? Right?”

“Four years.” I nodded, my eyebrows perking. “Wow.” Max hummed. “Mmm, I just grew out of it. He was my first everything when I was, what? 17? I loved the boy but… things just didn’t feel so- the same.” “The same as in how?” Max gently asked as my gaze landed on his. “Well, I just… things changed, I didn’t feel as close to him, my feelings went- I think I hung around with him for a whole year because of guilt.” I admitted, the alcohol spurring on my thoughts.

“A year?” Max asked as I sadly laughed. “Yeah… but I’m happy being single, I mean I have been for what? 4 months? I’m really happy.” My voice faded as Max smiled gently.

“He wasn’t so nice to you was he?” He then blurted out as my head snapped up. “What?”

“Nothing- just, well your dad- he mentioned a couple things.” Max stammered as a slight embarrassment filled me.

“I didn’t realise he told you about all that stuff.”

“He doesn’t really. It was just a passing comment.” Max shrugged, gaze falling down to the sand below. “He just got a little controlling, you know? Didn’t like what I was wearing or who I was friends- ah, anyway, I got the ick effectively.” I straight up admitted.

“Great.” Max laughed as I smiled to myself. “Besides all that- how did you- how did you know it was… you know.” He awkwardly spoke as I rested my chin on the back of my hand. He sounded vulnerable, like he was about to open up, maybe it was the alcohol talking, but it made my heart beat faster. Max and I always had conversations, rarely those that were deep. “Know what?” I softly asked, sensing his tension. “How did you know it was fully over?”

“Well, the idea of his friends and family was more appealing than him- as in I was scared to lose them not him.” I spoke. “I didn’t have that attraction anymore, he wasn’t my priority, like, what used to be fun felt like… it felt like a task almost.”

“Yeah.” Max responded. “And- and I never think I truly was into the relationship. I was so young when we got together, I don’t think I knew what I want.” I giggled, but his lips only reached into a crooked, half smile.

“To completely honest I didn’t want to have sex with him.” This comment made him smile a little more, something I enjoyed to see knowing I’d made him smile. It fell quiet between us once again. “How’s your relationship going?” I then asked, hoping it wasn’t too personal. Max took a sharp inhale, sitting up straighter. “It’s okay, yeah.” I winced at the insincerity in his voice. The two of us sat there in a second of awkward silence.

“Good.” My voice barely reached above a whisper. “Yeah.” Max’s head dropped once more. His next words startled me into a speechless shock. “I don’t think I love her, Leni.” My heart felt like it exploded, my eyebrows perked and he could see my shock openly on my face.

“What? You don’t think? Maybe that’s just a stage though, maybe it’s too early-” “No, no. I know.” Max cut me off. It was like he’d just gotten something off his chest that he’d been holding for a real long time.

“How do you know?” I was dumbfounded, I felt an uncomfortable sense of guilt that I knew all of this about Kelly, before she did. “Everything that you’ve just said. I love P, I don’t really like her family that much- god we just… we don’t click.” Max ranted as I tightened my jaw, staring down to the glow of his torch.

“How can I be with somebody for a year and tell them this?” Max asked as I winced. “How long have you known?”

“Leni.” Max drunkly sighed into his hands. My heart continued thumping furiously in my chest. “I just know this feelings been there after she lived with me.” Max rubbed his face, looking back up to me again. “That was six months ago.” “Yes.”

“Oh, Max.” I sighed. “You just… you should just tell her.”

“She put herself on the mortgage which doesn’t end for another year.” He groaned again as I felt my lips stretch in an ‘oh shit’ manner.

“That’s…” I glanced around back to where all the houses were, searching for something to say. I was just riddled with a sense of guilt for feeling oddly happy about the admission, it was a horrible way to feel- I hated myself for it.

“Shit.” He answered for me as I looked back to him with a sad smile. “You need to tell her. You can’t keep it going, for both your sakes.”

“I know.” He nodded as I smiled gently, offering the bottle back to him. “Here, Max. You’re gonna need it…”

#max verstappen angst #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #f1 x reader #HornerDaughter

629 notes · View notes

sailoryooons · 9 months

Note

Okay hear me out, but maybe a little bit of enemies to lovers, little bit of smutty goodness between witch hunter!yoongi and witch!reader?? Idk why this popped in my head but I’m kind of desperate to see a little something now lol.

Also, I love you ❤️

❀ Pairing: Witch hunter!Yoongi x f. witch!reader

❀ Summary: For years, you and Yoongi have played cat and mouse. It’s his duty to rid the world of witches, but he always finds a new excuse to let you slip through his fingers. When you find yourself at his mercy, you wonder if the great witch hunter will finally end your game of chase, or if there’s something that will stay his hand.

❀ Word Count: 4188

❀ Genre: Urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, a hint of angst, smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: On screen character death (not permanent though), depictions of blood and intense action sequences, scary demon thing, depiction of weapons, hints at violence between two groups of people, mild world building, a bit of angst, explicit language, explicit sexual content featuring light nipple play, unprotected vaginal sex, emotional sex, a lot of spit, UNEDITED.

❀ Published: August 3, 2023

❀ A/N: I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to control myself with some of these ideas because god dammit Sarah, I want to turn this into more than ~4k of a work. Like this idea inspired me so much, you have no idea how insane I wanted to go on this but I had to CONTROL MYSELF because I promised that this year I would keep it tame. I love you so much and I’m so sorry that this is like 90% plot and 10% smut but I kept inching toward 5k and I was like I HAVE GOT TO STOP MYSELF JESUS CHRIST and dkfgjdiogjfoigjg I am telling you right now, I want to come back and revisit this fic and makie it like a four chapter thing or something because GOD I LOVED THIS IDEA AND YOU KNEW JUST WHAT TO REQUEST. Also this is unedited!!!!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Most nights, Yoongi dreams of you. He knows better, and yet he can’t help himself. It’s like you’re living under his skin, a virus that has taken root in the marrow of his bones. He doesn’t know how he would dig you out if he tried.

If he tried.

If anyone from the Conclave knew the dangerous game that Yoongi is playing, he would be ousted or killed. Killing would be the mercy, but he’s garnered enough hate within the elite members of the Conclave to know they’d rather him suffer cut off from his resources. His friends. His family.

Still, Yoongi walks a dangerous line. He knows it’s wrong, letting a witch infect him like a sickness. He is sure that he’s under your spell. There’s no other explanation for the way he always lets you slip away. For the way he closes his eyes and imagines the flutter of your heart against his, the sound of your gasps, the warmth of your hands.

Stars explode behind Yoongi’s eyes as he presses the heels of his hands into them. He’s exhausted, limbs heavy and sore from a day of bloody work. The activity downtown has only worsened the last few months, making Yoongi hunt multiple times a day and return home banged up.

The pain he can handle. Witches and their demons are nothing new to him. But he knows there’s something he’s missing, something lurking beneath the surface of the increased activity and the strong demonic presence in the city.

Yoongi knows he could ask you. He’s thought about it a few times over the last few weeks but he’s talked himself out of it each time. The curiosity has always lingered there, waiting for him to ask in those moments where you cross his path, coy and sharp as ever. In the minutes you linger, shooting him insults he thinks you don’t mean and playing little word games.

He doesn’t ask, though. And you never offer, despite the fact that your sharp eyes and knowing smirk lead him to believe you know he wants to ask.

Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t. Not giving you what you want is part of the fun. He likes the way it makes you bristle, magic crackling at your fingertips. He loves the way it makes you narrow your eyes at him, lobbing empty threats that make him want to purr.

Whatever this effect you have on him is potent. He can’t shake you off, can’t outrun you.

And worse, he doesn’t want to.

Rain begins to beat on the bedroom window outside. Though his limbs are heavy from slogging through the sewer system downtown after a witch and her ivax demon, he’s a little too keyed up to sleep. Yoongi senses something staticy in the air, an energy that he can’t name.

Opening up his phone, he flips through his text threads with members of the Conclave. It seems everyone is in it tonight, the demonic activity buzzing and the monsters worse than usual. He frowns when he sees Seokjin mention a prowler crawling through the warehouse district. Yoongi knows that’s where you live and an unexpected sense of unease slivers down his spine.

He locks his phone and tosses it on the bed. He doesn’t need to worry about you. You’re one of the most skilled witches in the city and you’ve killed scores of demons and others alike. He should remove your head for the number of hunters you’ve put in the ground, but you’ve killed triple that in witches.

Which is why you’re alone. It’s not lost on Yoongi that you’re a witch without a coven and with unusual alliances living in a warehouse all alone with a prowler on the loose. If you know it’s there - you have to know it’s there, being you - he knows you’ll go after it.

“Fuck,” he sighs at the ceiling.

Grabbing his phone, Yoongi sends off a quick text.

Yoongi: Anyone dispatching to take care of the prowler?

Councilman Haer: Negative. The Conclave will not be dispatching. The Warehouse District is not critical and it’ll go back down after it’s satiated. Prowlers aren’t controlled by witches, it might even take a few out for us.

Yoongi stomach flips as he squeezes his phone tight before getting up. He’s tired of the Conclave’s inaction. He knows he’ll get in trouble for going after something so dangerous without backup, but he can’t ask Seokjin and Hoseok to back him up on this one. Not unauthorized, and not for something so dangerous.

Unsanctioned hunts is exactly how Yoongi has ended up at the bottom of the pool among Conclave members, but he doesn’t care. Politics can’t erase the fact that he’s the best fucking hunter in the city, and no councilman who won’t get their hands dirty can give him grief for doing what needs to be done.

This isn’t about the Conclave, though. Yoongi knows it. Seokjin would know it, if Yoongi told him what he was doing. But the thought of a prowler tearing through the low-income streets in the Warehouse District doesn’t resonate with him. Neither does knowing that you are one of the witches in the line of fire.

Yoongi dresses and arms himself with military proficiency. A black, long-sleeved shirt with a form-fitted leather vest over it to prevent most stabs and cuts, knives sheathed along the ribbing of the vest, breathable pants with a tactical belt and pockets full of hunting necessities, and his necklace with the Conclave helix.

At the last second, he grabs a jacket and pulls the hood up to keep the beating rain from soaking him through. While he has some talent with magic to help him heal faster and make his blows stronger and faster, he’s not skilled in the way of weather or anything advanced enough to keep him dry and comfortable.

Nervousness settles into him as he takes the subway to the Warehouse District. It’s not far, but the train is empty and filled with dirty puddles left behind from passengers. Lights flicker above as the subway rockets unevening on the tracks, making him dizzy.

When he steps off the train and into the wet underground of the station entrance, he knows something is amiss. His fingers twitch as he jogs up the steps, boots splashing loudly as the rain comes down. Wind whips at him here and when he hears a crack of thunder too loud and rumbling to be human, his instincts kick in.

Yoongi takes off running. He knows where your warehouse-turned-loft is. He’d originally scouted it out to eliminate you. Now, it’s something he’s always kept an eye on, steering other hunters away from your home. It’s silly, he knows. You’d call him weak if you knew, probably. And yet he does it, diverting danger coming your way when he can.

Now, danger is already there.

The storm rages harder as he heads your direction. Wind pushes at him, making Yoongi lock his muscles as he fights the freezing cold rain and the debris that blows down the street with the force of the storm. He hopes that it keeps people indoors and away from the prowler.

But Yoongi sees the purple lighting lance out of the sky, an explosion of radiant beauty for a moment before it strikes nearby, blowing transforms into white sparks and he realizes what is so uncanny about this storm.

It’s you. You’re the storm.

A roar of rage shakes the air as he comes around the corner to your street. The warehouse you live in is at the end of the road right up against the bay. The wind is mixed with salt spray, stinging his eyes as he runs towards the shadowy outline of your building, nearly impossible to see in the rain and night.

Yoongi manages to roll one of the heavy doors open to your loft, muscles screaming with effort. Stepping inside, chaos greets him. The ceiling is blown out above your home, rain pouring in from the sky. It tastes like lightning and blood. No doubt your storm is what ripped the ceiling apart, but when he sees the prowler, he doesn’t blame you.

A massive creature stands ten feet tall, rippling with leathered hide and spikes on its back. Long, gangly limbs drag on the floor with black, sharpened talons on the end of each of its three fingers. The prowler walks awkwardly and Yoongi notes the scorch mark in its left shoulder, making it lean as it drags itself toward its intended target.

Which is you, laying on the ground bloody and rain soaked. Yoongi doesn’t even think. He has no idea if you’re conscious or not, but he’s moving across the room, putting power into his step as he pulls out two of his daggers and jumps high up into the air.

Yoongi’s intent is to land on the back of the prowler and sink each blade in as he falls. He doesn’t anticipate the demon to turn away from bloodied prey, but it does, swinging its arm wildly to bat him away. He’s lucky that the forearm catches him in the stomach and sends him flying and not the flaws.

Closing his eyes and bracing for impact, Yoongi is surprised when he doesn’t slam into a wall. He opens his eyes to see himself floating toward the floor, suspended briefly before the phantom energy drops him gently. He lands with shock, looking up to where you’re sitting up, one hand extended toward him.

At least you weren’t out cold or dead. Yoongi is really happy that you’re not dead, but it’s cut short as the prowler charges him.

This time, Yoongi’s ready. He runs at the beast, waiting until he’s right outside of the window of its swiping claws before he dives to his knees, sliding under the creature and between its legs. He twists his hands, cutting the inside of the creature’s thighs as he goes.

It shrieks, shaking the building and scattering Yoongi’s thoughts. He feels fizzy and confused for a moment, the mind breaking scream of the prowler enough to make him vulnerable. He feels a hand on his face and he looks up, momentarily stricken with the thought that he sees an angel.

“Thank you,” you breathe, and he recognizes your voice. Usually it cracks like a whip, but this is soft. Strange. It terrifies him. “I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. Just know that I liked our game, Hunter.”

“What are you doing, Witch?”

Your smile is like the sun. He doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful. Your face is covered in blood and rain, turning your neck scarlet as it runs. There’s a gash above your brow and he sees a blackened wound in your stomach.

It is amazing, how a creature like you, bred to be an evil, wicked thing can look radiant. Holy. Wonderful. Your hand is cradling his face and it feels warm, despite the rain and blood on your hands. Your thumb is soft as it sweeps across his cheek, a touch more reverent than he’s ever known.

“Witch,” Yoongi starts, unsure what you’re doing.

“I’ll miss that. Take this.”

Before Yoongi can react, your hand falls from his face. You move past him with absolute confidence, lifting your chin. You have a limp as you do, and Yoongi reaches after you but you’re already out of his grip.

Something stirs in the air. He’s only felt power rippling like that once before when he was a child, and the entire Conclave worked together to slaughter an Eldritch Witch that had attacked them and taken out more than half of their hunters.

Now, Yoongi feels that dark presence again, energy buzzing against his ears as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. The prowler senses the power disturbance too, backing away from you as dark particles begin to gather around your hands.

Above you, the rain hovers, disrupted by the frequency of your magic. The buzz in Yoongi’s ears gets louder as he climbs to his feet, clapping his hands firmly over his ears, wincing as it gets higher and louder. He thinks it might burst his ear drums or crack his skull open.

Disks of dark particles circle you as you approach the demon, which is now roaring once more, trying to disrupt your thoughts. It doesn’t work, the air vibrating with dark matter. You’re at the center of the swirling darkness, the rings rotating around you like an access.

The sound stops suddenly, and for a moment, Yoongi thinks he’s deaf. Black matter pulses from you, exploding outward. Yoongi hits the floor, realizing if he gets hit with your magic, he’ll die. Never before has he witnessed the Eldritch Blast of a witch, but he knows that it's only used as a final stand.

I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me.

The finality of your words shreds him open as the shockwave of your magic barrels at him. He thinks he’s going to die as it expands toward him, but instead, it arches over him, battling down against a magical barrier.

Take this. Yoongi realizes you’ve warded him from your destruction, keeping him safe as your blast levels the world around you. He feels the magic beating down on your ward like raging fits, vibrating and shrieking under the pressure of the magic.

It even keeps him from being injured by the collapsing debris.

Yoongi looks at you as the world falls to pieces. You go down to one knee, then the other, swaying as the darkness cascades around you in a final flutter of power. Then you fall over, heavy and unmoving as the rest of the building comes down.

All he can do is scream.

Most nights, you dream of Yoongi. You don’t know when it started - perhaps that first night after you met him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that at some point, the hunter poisoned you from the inside out, a disease taking root and rotting you all the way through to your core.

You always knew that dreaming of him would get you killed one day. But Yoongi was different. Wiser than the rest of his wretched Conclave. Smart enough to question his way of life and his faction’s merciless killings. You think he’ll start asking the right questions soon, that maybe he’ll start seeing the signs that who he has sworn loyalty to isn’t who they say they are.

But Yoongi never asks questions.

It’s easy to tell he wants to. There’s always that little pause at the end of your meetings. You used to think it was perhaps he was trying to decide whether or not to kill you. Perhaps it was that at first, but now it’s something a little different. A little more. Like he is on the edge of finally asking you what exactly is going on in the city that he protects from monsters.

Yoongi is simple, though. He likes his little life tucked away in the Art District and he likes the wash, rinse, repeat of killing demons and corrupted witches nightly. You think he likes your little run-ins.

Now, you’ve finally paid the price of letting him live these last two years. Had someone told you before you’d met Yoongi that you’d sacrifice yourself for him and the rest of a small neighborhood, you’d have laughed in their face. You weren’t a hero, though some might think slaying your own kind and their creatures was worth praise.

Penance and praise are not the same, though.

Dying seems like a good way of paying off your list of wrongs. Especially to save Yoongi. If only to save Yoongi, if you were being honest.

Witches have a lot of lore about death and where one goes in the afterlife. You’re not sure where you are, if you exist, or if you’re even really a thought. It feels like nothingness and everything all at once, a void of floating consciousness. There’s no pain, but you remember the warehouse. Remember the prowler ripping down the door and coming for you specifically.

And him. You remember Yoongi coming in, looking like a fucking angel of old as he leapt through the skies. Together you might have taken on the beast. But prowlers are notoriously difficult to destroy, and you were in no shape to protect Yoongi, much less fight by his side as a reliable partner.

That left you with one option, and though you knew it would end you, you’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s face swims in your mind. Soft and round, eyes like the bottom of the ocean, a single pink scar carved through his right eye. Mouth soft and petal pink, hair silky and dark, reaching to his shoulders. He’s small for a hunter but he’s strong and broad, his mind his best weapon.

Witch, Yoongi had said. The last words you’d hear from him, spoken with a softness that you’ve never heard from him before. Rain-soaked and wide eyed Yoongi, looking at you like you held the flame of life, like you were something more than a creature on the other side of the trench.

The best thing you could do for him was die.

So you summoned your magic from deep within you, that ancient, sleeping thing. You try not to think about what Yoongi’s last memory of you will be, an eldritch horror that will remind him of the creature that slaughtered his family as a child.

Yoongi will never get to ask his questions. You’ll never get to tell him why you haunt the streets killing your own kind. Yoongi will never know the softness of your kiss. You’ll never know the gentle press of his hands.

Something brushes across your forehead. You feel now and you frown. Or can you frown, in whatever plane of death this is? You’re not sure, but you feel… the weight of your own body. The beating of your own heart. The rush of air through your lungs as you breathe.

Awareness prickles at the back of your neck like a needle. Slowly, you begin to feel solid. Your fingers twist in soft sheets, and when you turn your head, you feel the plushness of a pillow. Smell petrichor and cedar.

It smells like… Yoongi.

“Hmmm?” you feel the vibration in your throat at your unspoken question, nothing but a rumble of noise and confusion. Something cradles your face. “Hunnn..?”

A deep, throaty laugh. “Mmm, I take care of you for a week straight and we’ve moved on to endearments?”

Your eyes flutter open, lids heavy. The world swims into view, a little blurry as your eyes try to focus in the dimly lit room, taking in the bed you’re in and the face hovering above yours.

“Yoongi,” you breathe, your heart expanding with unfettered joy.

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”

“What?”

“Say it more often.” He leans forward and you watch as his dark eyes drink you in. “And never do that to me again.”

Before you can ask him what that is, Yoongi’s mouth is pressing against yours. You melt immediately, going boneless in a bed you’re unfamiliar with, lost in the citrusy taste of his mouth and the gentle press of his lips. His kiss is soft soft soft, blurring reality as he pulls at your bottom lip teasingly before pulling away.

Eyes fluttering open, you stare at him in wonder. He hovers above your face, haloed by inky-black hair. “Yoongi.”

He smiles. “It sounds much better than hunter. Hun can stay, though.”

“You’re not calling the shots.”

“You’re in no condition to fight me.”

“I killed a prowler, I think you’re no problem.”

His eyes glow. “I think perhaps you’re right. But for now, you’re at my mercy.”

“Kiss me again.” You lift your hands and bring them toward his face, brushing a finger over the bottom of his scar. “And don’t stop this time. I’ll ask my questions later.”

“Of course, witch.”

Yoongi’s kiss is hungrier now. Desperate. Full of all the questions he never asked and you meet him with equal fire. You don’t care that you’ve beat the odds and lived. You don’t care about anything else but the weight of Yoongi straddling your waist and the feel of his velvet soft skin beneath your hands.

Every inch of him is warm, filled with the heat of the hunter’s fire that burns through every member of the Conclave. This hunter burns brighter than the rest, though. Warmth blooms where your fingers press over his stomach and chest, ridding him of his shirt. Fire burns where you grab his arms, arching into him as his teeth skim your throat.

You’ve never felt this in sync with someone, bodies twining together like you were made for one another. Yoongi’s hand is scorching as his touch ghosts down your body, his touch light and teasing as he lowers his mouth to your hardened nipple, catching it and giving a gentle suck.

Honey-dipped moans slip from your mouth. Yoongi’s mouth is wet-hot against your skin, tongue laving hungrily as his hand seeks the heat between your legs. Your thighs open for him easily, giving Yoongi access to the dripping mess of your folds. He curses when his fingers slide between your slit, gathering slick to circle his digits around your clit.

“Fuck,” you hiss, hips twitching. “Don’t bother. I can take you now. Want you now.”

“I told you that you were at my mercy.” You summon your magic, rattling his shelves. Yoongi leans over to your neglected nipple and plucks it with his teeth, making you squeal and shiver, pleasure rattling you. “Fine,” he agrees. “Greedy witch. Should have known.”

“Not greedy,” you shoot back as Yoongi sits up and sheds his pants. Your hands follow him, tracing the faint scars on his stomach, pressing against the muscle of his tapered hips. “I’ve waited for months for you to do something. To say something.”

“I’m not good at that.”

You hum. “It takes me dying for you to take initiative?”

“A lesson hard-learned and never to be repeated.”

Yoongi’s cock is hard, bobbing heavily as he shuffles you under him and presses your thighs open for him. The brown tip is sticky with precum, his shaft long and thick enough to make your cunt ache for him more.

“Nice cock,” you tease as he pumps himself, hand gliding and spreading his precum down his shaft.

He grunts. “Can’t wait to feel this fucking pussy,” he mutters, leaning forward and pressing the tip to your entrance. You make a breathy sound, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure-pained stretch. “Think you can take it, witch?”

“Yes.”

Yoongi sinks in and you second-guess your statement for a second, but the stretch of his cock pressing you open feels good. Deliriously so, your back arching as he bottoms out. You feel him in your gut, deeper than anything ever before and you whine as he draws his hips back before snapping them forward, punching the breath from your lungs.

He sets a deep, hard pace. You grip his biceps, feeling the muscle flex in his arms. Every part of you is on fire, lit up from the closeness of your bodies as Yoongi leans down and melds your mouths together, continuing to fuck you so deep you know you’ll never forget what it feels like.

Every brush of his cock against your g-spot drives you mad. Every whisper of your name - your name, not witch - makes you shudder. His tongue is hungrily as it brushes against yours, his moans deep and throaty as your pussy grips him tight.

“Fuck,” he pants, sliding a hand down your body to grab your thigh and hoist your leg higher. It changes the angle, making his stroke somehow deeper. Your eyes roll back and your head digs into the mattress as you fist at the sheets. “You can fucking take it.”

“Keep going.”

“As if i could fucking stop.”

You never want him to stop. Fucking you, kisses you, teasing you, shadowing you as you take on the world. You want every part of your life colored with Yoongi. You want him to be a part of your mornings, your fights, your weaknesses, your strengths. You want to rile him up, needle him with little insults that get him going. Tease him to make him laugh and share that secret smile.

Every moment has led to this. You don’t know how you never saw this outcome, here with him, crying out his name as your orgasm crests into an unstoppable force. When you come around him, it’s with his name in your mouth and so much need for him in your heart that you think you might explode with energy for a second time.

After, when you’re wrapped in Yoongi and you feel his hunter’s skin blaze against you, sweat-slick skin pressed close, you think that finally, he’ll ask those questions. You’ll give him answers.

“Don’t do that ever again, witch,” Yoongi warns. “I will follow you into death.”

#yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts suga #bts fanfic #minors do not interact #minors dni #bts suga smut #yoongi angst #halis happy agust

435 notes · View notes

oliversrarebooks · 15 days

Text

The Rare Bookseller Part 47: The Maestro's Diversion

Prev > Masterlist > Next

September 1925

TW: mind control, body control, captivity, kidnapping

Despite Alexander's attempt at soothing him, Oliver felt himself growing more and more anxious as the ballet continued. As much as he tried to focus on the dance, but now that he knew about the strange man's identity, he couldn't help but sneak glances over at him and fret.

Objectively, he didn't look that dangerous - a very slight older man with a sharp gaze -- but there was a certain something dreadful about him that Oliver could sense from across the theater. Or perhaps it was just his imagination, borne of the fact that Alexander was still very much on edge.

The ballet itself did not calm his nerves either. The dancing was growing more and more feverish and abstract, the costumes wilder, with bright red beads and ribbons that seemed to signify wounds. The climax was what appeared to be a human sacrifice, where the prima ballerina danced upon an altar, red ribbons tied around her hands and feet and neck, finally collapsing among raucous, atonal music.

Oliver's anxiety was reaching a fever pitch as the ballet came to a close. He clapped politely as the dancers took their bows, glancing over at the strange man.

He was clapping, but he wasn't looking at the stage any more. No, his eyes were trained directly on Oliver. They locked gazes, and Oliver felt a chill run down his spine.

"We will wait until most of the audience has cleared out," said his master. "Then we'll go attend to my master in his box. We may be in luck. He may be in an unusually pleasant mood."

Oliver had no idea how that icy gaze could count to Alexander as "unusually pleasant." "Must we meet him?"

Alexander didn't answer.

"Couldn't we just... leave?"

"No."

Oliver had never imagined he could feel so much dread simply watching men in tuxedos and women in fancy evening dress chatter and mingle as they made their way to the exits. His hands hurt, and he realized that he was gripping the arms of the chair so hard that they were making imprints. Alexander said nothing, stoically staring down at the empty stage.

Alexander was being so terse, so stiff, so unlike his normal self. But Oliver, of course, had no choice but to follow, no matter how badly he wanted to dig in his heels and not go. He feared that any struggle right now would not be met with Alexander's gentle spell correcting him, but with something far worse.

They made their way around the theater in silence, entering the box and entering the presence of Alexander's sire.

He looked upon Alexander with harsh judgement in his eyes, which Alexander took stoically, and then he looked upon Oliver with...

It was something like approval, perhaps even the ghost of a smile, and it was somehow even worse than his look of disdain.

"Good evening, sire," said his master with a practiced bow. "Was the ballet to your liking?"

"It was passable," the Maestro said, his voice like a musical instrument from another place and time. "While far from perfection, the bold direction was at least more interesting than what usually passes for art in this city. Unusually, I find myself craving the new more and more these days." He was staring at Oliver, not Alexander, as he said this.

"It seems as though you've spent the last few seasons confined to your chambers, sire," said Alexander, with measured words. "That may account for your desire for novelty."

"...A fair observation, child," he said. "Let's speak more of the new and novel, then. This must be your recently acquired thrall, young Oliver, is it not? I've heard that there was quite a stir at the auction house."

"He has very fine blood, sire, as you no doubt can tell. He is naturally docile and obedient, and has great potential."

The Maestro nodded slowly as he looked Oliver up and down. "Come, Oliver. Kneel."

Oliver's breath caught as he felt the tug on his body, puppet strings entangling his arms and legs, as he stepped forward. He remembered his master's words, and had been bracing himself for this, willing himself to relax and stay calm. Oliver would be unharmed, Alexander thought, as long as he behaved. So he didn't resist as his body fell to its knees before the Maestro, his posture straight, his hands clasped in his lap, his head tilted slightly downward, demure.

Alexander's sire took him by the chin and brought his face upwards, his fingers delicate and cold. He examined Oliver as though he were a specimen under glass, searching every inch of him for something that Oliver didn't understand. Oliver could feel the control wrapped around him, as though his very heart was forced to beat in time with the Maestro's whims.

"You've made an appropriate choice for once, Alexander," said the Maestro after what seemed like an eternity. "This is a fine acquisition, and you were quite right to not let him fall into the hands of the likes of Jameson. Well done, child."

Alexander looked every bit as surprised as Oliver felt. "Thank you, sire."

"In fact, I find myself inspired for a new acquisition of my own. As you've correctly observed, existence has become ever so dreary, and I need a new diversion." He leaned back in his seat. "Which is why you're going to pluck the prima ballerina from her perch."

Oliver nearly choked on his breath as Alexander's eyes went even wider. "The ballerina from this show, sire?" he said in a strained tone. "I don't mean to question you, but are you absolutely sure? She's well known and her absence will certainly be noticed."

"Of course. Don't take me for a fool by stating the obvious." His glare was boring a hole into Alexander. "It doesn't matter how well known she is. Once she's in my grasp, she will not be found."

"Yes, sire. My apologies."

"You must fetch her for me. Your power is much gentler than mine, befitting a lovely flower. Bring her here, so that she may dance for me and only me."

Oliver couldn't help his gaze flitting over to his master, who seemed to be struggling to keep his composure. Was he actually going to do it? Simply kidnap the ballerina, on his sire's orders?

"As you wish, sire," he said, meekly. "Oliver, come along."

"No, that won't be necessary," said the Maestro, laying his hand on top of Oliver's head before he could stand up. "I will be content to watch over your thrall while you take care of business."

The hand on his head felt oppressive, and Oliver fought down the urge to beg his master not to leave him here, alone with his sire -- to not steal away a dancer with a bright future and plunge her into a nightmare. But he could already tell from the look on his master's face that he was going to follow his sire's wishes.

"Thank you for watching over him, sire. I will return with your new thrall."

With that, his master left the box, and Oliver was left alone with his master's sire, whose full focus had turned back to him. The Maestro ran his hand through Oliver's hair, and then tilted his head up to look at him once more.

"Hm, yes, a precious find indeed," he said, more to himself than to Oliver. "You will answer my questions truthfully, child. Do you fear me?"

The correct answer, Oliver thought, was to tell the Maestro that he did not fear him, that he was always happy to serve a vampire. But Alexander had warned him so strictly about being honest... "Yes, sir."

"Good. You're correct to do so," he said, apparently satisfied. "What do you fear from me?"

That question was far more complex, a half million nightmare scenarios crowding Oliver's mind at once. "Many things, sir," he said. "Primarily that I'm aware that you have the power to harm me at any time, in any way you wish. I hope you will be merciful, sir."

"Merciful, hm." He seemed as though he were considering an idea he'd never heard of before, and Oliver worried he'd overstepped. "Well, you have been honest so far, so I will be honest with you, child. If you continue to be as truthful and obedient as you are now, I will have no reason to do you harm tonight."

"Thank you, sir," said Oliver, not feeling all that reassured. He felt the control over his body loosen, but before he could move, he realized what the meaning of this was when combined with his previous words -- this was a test, an obvious one at that. He steadfastly remained in the position the Maestro had placed him, trying to keep his posture straight.

"Perhaps I'm in a rare good mood from the fine night air and a half-decent ballet, but I find myself enjoying you, child. Do not take this as an invitation to be bold," he said in his musical voice. "Tell me, do you like being enthralled by my Alexander?"

Although his feelings on this were somewhat complicated, the first response that came to mind was both safe and sufficiently honest. "Yes, sir, I like it very much."

"Does he treat you well?" the Maestro intoned.

"Yes, sir," said Oliver with uncertainty, increasingly worried about this line of questioning. "I want for nothing, and the feedings are gentle and pleasant."

"I see. And does he afford you a great deal of freedom?"

So that's where this was leading. He was trying to get Oliver to admit to his master's soft treatment of him, no doubt so his master could be scolded or punished. His instinct was to protect Alexander -- to tell the Maestro that Alexander was very strict and kept him on a tight leash.

But Alexander had been adamant that Oliver must be honest, and he felt sick at the idea of disobeying a direct order from his master. "He offers me some freedoms, but not others, sir."

"Elaborate. What freedoms do you have?"

"I am not allowed to leave his manor, sir, but I am allowed to inhabit any part of it, except for my master's private chambers. When I am not feeding or waiting on my master, I am given free time to do what I wish." His heart thumped. He knew that was the wrong answer. He fought to keep himself in position, and felt the claws of control tightening around him again.

The Maestro's gaze drilled into his soul. "That is disappointing, but wholly unsurprising," he said after a long, tense minute. "Interestingly, that's the first time I've felt any sort of resistance against my control. You're otherwise obeying perfectly. Why choose that moment to struggle?"

"I want to be honest, as you ordered, sir, but I also don't want to say anything that could bring down punishment upon my master."

"Loyalty, then. An instinct to protect your master. Despite his continued shortcomings, he seems to have done a passable job when it came to enthralling you, especially compared to previous thralls," he said. "That's also my sweet Lily's work. I could sense it in you from the moment you opened your mouth. Obedient, loyal, but with too many thoughts in your head, as is her preference. Unfortunate, really." He gave Oliver a long look. "I suppose it can't be helped. For once my wayward children have brought me something worthwhile. You can always be perfected in time."

Oliver's heart filled with dread. "...Thank you, sir," he said, not knowing what else to say to that.

Before the awkward interaction could continue, Oliver heard a gorgeous, ethereal voice coming from outside of the box. He breathed it in deep, and it filled his mind with a sensation like morning fog, dampening the racing thoughts that the Maestro had criticized. The melody was beckoning him, wrapping around his limbs, enticing him to stand and follow.

Alexander. His master had returned. Follow me, follow me, he sang, a vampiric pied piper.

The pull of his song was strong enough that his master's previous command to obey the Maestro and not resist was completely overridden. He would have sleepwalked to Alexander's side in a heartbeat if it weren't for the Maestro's control preventing him, weighing down his body even as his heart yearned, and Oliver felt that he might be torn in two if this continued.

The struggle was ended when Alexander entered the box and bowed to his sire. Behind him was a young woman, thin but athletic, wearing a simple house dress that contrasted sharply with her dramatic stage makeup and the elaborate hairdo that was halfway to falling down.

It was, of course, the prima ballerina, who had apparently been ensorcelled in her dressing room, just after changing out of her elaborate costume. Her eyes were so far away, so dreamy, as she walked gracefully, a soft smile on her lips.

Oliver's heart sank. He knew from experience how hard it was to escape Alexander's power -- and even worse, she was being given over to the Maestro's thrall. She might never see the stage again, never dance for an audience, never see her family or friends, never laugh and talk with her fellow dancers after a rehearsal. She was to be locked away like a doll in a music box, rotating slowly on command, and she most likely didn't even realize her fate yet.

The Maestro rose from his seat and wordlessly examined her as he had done to Oliver. Alexander was still humming something under his breath, something intended to keep the ballerina calm, and Oliver let the spell soften his thoughts as well, all too eager to dissociate from this scene.

He watched as, with the slightest change in expression and quirk of an eyebrow, the ballerina struck one pose, then another. She was nearly up on her toes despite wearing slippers and not proper shoes, twirling so slowly, and although her face maintained a placid expression, there was fear in her eyes, now.

"Acceptable," the Maestro murmured, as she turned and assumed a different pose. "This will do for a diversion this winter, I think. Well done once more, Alexander."

"Thank you, sire."

"It's been a long time since I've come calling, hasn't it? I do believe I have the evening after next free. I trust I'll be offered quality refreshments?" He gazed at Oliver meaningfully, as the meaning of his words penetrated through the fog.

This strange, distressing vampire wanted to drink from him. Surely his master wouldn't allow that. Surely he was only for Alexander.

"...Very well, sir," said Alexander through gritted teeth. "You're welcome at my manor at any time, of course."

"Excellent. You're dismissed, then. Take your sweet Oliver home, and I'll take my new prize." He picked the ballerina up as effortlessly as he might a kitten, and she lay unmoving in his grasp.

"Good night, sire."

"Good night, child."

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Well, this went well.

Next week, Fitz has a plan.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin @whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist @xx-adam-xx @ivycloak @irregular-book @whumpsoda @mj-or-say10 @pokemaniacgemini @sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @shinyotachi @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @pirefyrelight @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada @typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia @a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @enigmawriteswhump @foresttheblep @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot @cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme @strawbearydreams @ghost-whump

#whump #whump writing #vampire whump #mind control #body control #vampire whumper #ballet whump #rare bookseller #alexander #oliver #maestro

90 notes · View notes

regrettablytifosi · 5 months

Note

i have been MIA bc i’m tired and not in a good emotional state

but i now want cnc!oscar

that is all

oh my goodness was this fun to write! thank you for the prompt my darling! pairing: oscar piastri x female reader, wc: 1737, cw: smut, cnc, minors dni!

It wasn’t a bad practice session by any means, but it was a frustrating one. So much of the hour had been red flagged, and the running the team had managed had been frequently interrupted. Despite that, Lando had finished a strong second on the leaderboard - and Oscar tenth.

He wasn’t happy about that, but he seemed more angry than usual. Even after showering, attending the debrief, and talking through the amended programme for tomorrow morning’s practice session, he was still pissed. You’d been a mechanic at McLaren long enough to tell when to leave a driver alone, but Oscar wasn’t just a driver - he was your boyfriend - and you weren’t about to let him storm off without speaking to him.

“Osc–” you called out as you saw him, nostrils flared and hair being pulled back roughly with one hand as he walked alone through the back corridors of the complex. You followed him, calling his name a second time, and this time he reacted. He stopped in his tracks and spun on his heels, placing his hands on his hips and looking at you impatiently. This wasn’t the Oscar you were used to. Even when something went wrong on track, he never took it out on you.

“What do you want?” He asked flatly, his tone unamused and irritated.

“I… Just wanted to see if you were alright…” You said, your voice quieter than usual. Clearly he wasn’t, and it broke your heart. You wanted to help him but you had work to be getting on with. It wasn’t like the entire car needed rebuilding - thankfully you had enough time to slip away for this conversation - but you weren’t able to follow him back to his hotel room and hold him. At least, not for a few hours.

“Can I help?” You asked, because maybe you could do something in the few minutes you had before your presence was missed.

Oscar’s face flashed with emotion. Something dark, something greedy, something you couldn’t quite name. It made you feel uneasy. Before you had a chance to speak up about the nausea that churned inside your stomach, you felt yourself being grabbed by the collar of your shirt and tugged along. Oscar was taller than you, his legs longer than you, and you had to run to keep yourself from falling.

“Oscar, what are you–”

“Be quiet,” he hissed. “Or I’ll shut you up myself.”

The words were laced with malice and you found yourself falling silent out of fear. This wasn’t your Oscar - this wasn’t even close to your Oscar. He threw open a door (his driver’s room, your mind supplied) and dragged you inside, closing and locking it with one hand whilst continuing to hold you with the other.

Despite the questions racing through your mind, your heart beating quickly in your chest, and the fright flooding your bloody, you continued to remain silent. Even as Oscar shoved you against a chair and used one hand to force you to bend over. Even as his other hand reached down your shorts and pushed your underwear aside. Calloused fingers moved roughly over your body - pressing too hard and too fast over your clit, then two pushing too quickly inside you.

Oscar had always been so soft, so gentle, so loving. He’d always taken care to consider your needs, to make sure you were happy with what was going on, to constantly check in and make sure you felt comfortable: this was nothing like it. You felt tears prickling at your eyes, blurring your vision as you took in a shaky breath and moved your hands to grab as tight a hold of the chair as you could.

“Osc– It hurts– Please stop–” You whispered quietly, afraid of the consequences of speaking up. He confirmed quickly that you were right to be afraid.

The hand not touching you came to your face in an instant, his palm pressing over your lips and fingers digging harshly into your cheeks. His nails would leave an imprint, maybe even bruise. You let out little sobs against his hand, as he continued to roughly fuck his fingers into you. His body moved closer, his hips pressed firmly against the small of your back, and you could feel just how hard he was. Normally you’d be proud of causing such a physical reaction, but not now.

“I told you,” he hissed into your ear, your muffled sobs replaced with a sigh as his fingers left your body. The relief of no longer being touched without your consent was short lived, though, as you felt your shorts being forced down over your ass and heard the sound of a zipper being undone. You felt Oscar adjust his position, and then you felt his bare cock pressing against the skin of your ass.

He lined himself up with your wet cunt, the hand on your mouth making it impossible to protest what was happening to you. Even as you shook your head and desperately begged him to stop, there was nothing you could do to change Oscar’s mind. He pushed into you roughly, and you cried out against his palm. Tears were falling now, covering his fingers and thumb with a slight salty wetness.

The worst part of it all was how good it felt. In the months that you’d dated, Oscar had always gone out of his way to be gentle with you. You’d tried to convince him that you weren’t going to break, that he could handle you more roughly, but he hadn’t wanted to do anything but worship the ground you walked on. Now that he was taking you without sparing a thought for you, it felt incredible. The pace of his thrusts, the feeling of his hips colliding with your ass, the tightness with which he held you - it turned the sickening feeling of being violated into something you wanted more of. More and more and more. You could feel the heat of your orgasm gradually building as Oscar’s teeth grazed your neck and he sucked at your skin.

Everyone was going to know what you’d done. Everyone would see that he owned you. You liked that.

You didn’t want to like it. You want him to treat you roughly but you didn’t want him to ignore you when you said stop. You didn’t want him to think of you as an object - you were supposed to be a person that he loved.

His motions were becoming more and more erratic as he went on, and despite everything it felt so wonderful. He was hitting all the right places inside you, and you couldn’t help yourself but push onto your tip toes so his cock would hit even deeper.

“Fuck,” he growled lowly. “You’re a little slut, aren’t you? I should’ve known. You were my mechanic, you came onto me.”

The retelling of how you’d first started dating made you moan against Oscar’s hand, and finally - finally - he moved it. He moved both hands. They grabbed a tight hold of your shirt and pulled, ripping it open so his hands could roughly wrap around you and slide beneath the underwire of your bra, groping at your breasts and pinching roughly at your nipples.

“Such a whore. Just desperate. Fuck, I can’t believe I spent so long being gentle. You feel so much tighter when you’re scared.”

“Oscar, fuck,” you breathed, leaning your head back and closing your eyes. “Need you, need to cum–”

“Thought you didn’t want this,” he chuckled, pinching both nipples as he spoke and making you squeal. “Changed your tune real fast, didn’t you sweetheart?”

“Please–!” You begged, his lips moving to find your throat.

“Go on, baby, cum for me. Admit that you liked this. That you wanted it.”

As you moaned, your legs trembling beneath you, you felt the wave of your orgasm rolling over your body. You felt it in your toes, in your fingers, in your stomach - your hold body stiffening as pleasure consumed you. Oscar didn’t stop moving (though the hands on your breasts moved to your waist to hold you in place). He kept fucking into you, your cunt fluttering around his cock as you came. That sensation seemed to be enough to push him over the edge, and you felt his cum flooding you.

If you weren’t still riding the high of your own orgasm you might’ve panicked more, might’ve said something about the fact that he’d just cum inside you, but you didn’t. Your body melted into his hold, and the roughness with which he’d been treating you evaporated in a second. His gradually softening cock slipped out of you and cum leaked down your thighs, and you felt his arms slipping beneath your knees and around your shoulders as you were carried away from the chair and over to the massage table you’d seen him use as a bed on particularly exhausting weekends.

“You okay?” He asked softly, and you nodded your head - humming your approval.

“Was good,” you whispered, rolling your head to one side and burying your face in your arm. You could hear Oscar wandering around the small room - zipping up his own clothing, opening up a cupboard to fetch something that hadn’t been ripped for you to wear.

“D’you wanna go back to the hotel now?” He asked. “I’ve got a really nice strawberry bubble bath mix for you.”

“Need a minute,” you replied, and you heard Oscar’s footsteps approaching you once more. You opened one eye, peering at him as he knelt down before you.

“Are you sure you’re okay? It wasn’t too much?”

“It was perfect,” you told him, smiling to prove to him just how happy you were. “Just tired. Felt really, really good. Thank you.”

You’d thank him a lot more later. He’d organised this whole thing - he’d told you to take some time off this weekend, but still to come along in your usual gear and hang around in the garage during sessions. You’d brought up the idea of roleplaying something darker and he’d been on board after you’d explained all the various safety mechanisms involved. He’d done everything you’d asked and it had felt so, so good, but for now all you could do was lie there in your post-orgasm haze and think about just how much you loved your boyfriend.

And God, did you love Oscar Piastri.

#golden-flora #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #f1 driver x you #f1 x reader #writing

289 notes · View notes

asterias-record-shop · 10 months

Note

Can I get a song filled with a switch Ethan Landry and a reader femdom? I just love the idea of him being a psychotic killer but also a softie. So like he gets soft from praise and anything sensual but will go feral if you tease or try to control him or if he doesn’t get what he wants. I like to think that he’s always getting punished (cause he’s kinda bratty)and constantly using the safe word because he’s so sensitive. Or also he always finishes without being told. This doesn’t have to be BDSM you don’t need that to have a dominant female, although it would be nice. Just no pegging or anything having to do with anal please 🙏🙏Ethan’s just like my fav fictional boyfriend

╭════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╮

— naughty, naughty

╰════• ೋ•✧๑♡๑✧•ೋ •═══╯

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪

You and Ethan had rules. The first rule was simple; Ethan was not allowed to touch himself without your permission.

Today, Ethan broke that rule. Maybe it was the vibrating cock ring you had been controlling all day because the night before he came without your permission, but tonight, tonight would be even worse — you had promised him that before you hung up on him and left your practice to go back home.

He had been taking advantage of your kindness way too much these past few days, and you were not going to let him think it was going to stay that way.

You don't even have to knock or unlock the door, Ethan's usual routine of opening the door as soon as you set foot on the mat in front. "Are you trying to make up for it, baby?" You asked him, even though he doesn't respond as he slipped off your heels and pressed a firm kiss to your ankle. "Ethan, speak."

"I-I... I'm just trying to do good for you, mistress. Be a-"

"A what? A good boy after being naughty?" You lean down, catching his jaw with a raised brow. "Naughty, naughty Ethan."

"I'm sorry, I-I am so sorry, mistress-"

"You don't sound sorry," you responded, looking down at the wet patch on his jeans. You never allowed him to change out of them, that way he could see what would get him punished later on. "You sound... like a slut."

"No, no! I'm not a slut, please, I just- I couldn't help myself," he whimpered, end of his sentence going high as you pressed your foot against the bulge of his cock. "Pl-Please!"

"No, that sounds exactly like what a slut is." You hummed as you dig in your blazer pocket, grabbing the remote of the vibrating cock ring and shaking it in his face. "I would torture you more with this, but I think you would disobey me and cum again."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He started to sob as you looked to the side, smiling.

"If you're going to act like a bitch in heat, I might as well treat you like one."

It wasn't long until you had him on his back, the collar around his neck attached to the chain in your hand, the vibrating fleshlight milking his cock until every last drop made a mess on his thighs. He was making your body hot and your pussy ache — his loud moans that bounced off the walls, his sobs and pleads for you to take the toy off of him because of how overstimulated he was, the rattling of the handcuffs as he tugged against them — for fucks sake, you really wanted to jump his bones right now.

You couldn’t, though. He wanted to act like a bitch in heat and cum without your permission, he was going to be treated like one.

“What’s wrong, honey? Doesn’t it feel good? I thought sluts liked to cum as much as they wanted?” You teased him, pressing your finger to his nose with a slight tilt of your head. “I thought you wanted to cum? Mistress is even being nice and not having you ask for permission.”

“N-No! No, mistress, I’m sorry! I-I’m so sorry, f-fuck!” He screamed out his apologies as his eyes rolled back, cumming once again inside of the toy.

“Hey,” you say it loudly, full of assertiveness as you tugged on the chain making his mouth fall open. “You better watch that mouth, Landry, before I put it to better use.”

For fucks sake, would you please?

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry mistress! F-Fuck, it just feels so fucking good — fucking this toy like it was your pussy, fuck.” He was cursing as you rolled your eyes, sitting up to slip off your slacks and fix the skimpy underwear you had put on after your shower.

“For fucks sake, I think you like being punished, Ethan,” you crawled up his body, tugging on the chain to get his attention as you looked down at him, tilting your head to the side. “Do you like being punished like a pussy-whipped whore?”

“Y-Yes! Yes, by you, yes mistress,” he groaned as you hovered over his face, the wet patch on your underwear making his eyes roll back. “I’ll do anything you want, mistress, I promise!”

He lets out a loud groan when you release your weight, his mouth going up to meet your cunt and easily slip your underwear to the side to push his tongue inside of you. “Well then, get to work Landry. You need to make it up to your mistress.”

Your punishment for Ethan was cut short whenever the vibrating fleshlight died from dead batteries. You had planned it to go on for longer, but it was probably a good thing it stopped before Ethan passed out from overstimulation.

You pulled it off his cock, his tip bright red and it flopping down covered in his own cum as it made a mess all over his thighs. He was so fucked out from pleasure, barely able to speak as you pressed a soft kiss to his tip, only a whine coming from his mouth as you softly pumped him.

“Will you get hard again for your mistress, Ethan? You didn’t think I was done, right? You were very bad, and I need to make sure you don’t do it again.” You could feel his cock twitch as he shook his head, whimpering.

“I-I’ll try, mistress, I promise- I just don’t know if I can.” He sobbed as you pulled your hand away, slipping his soft cock inside of your cunt as you laid on his chest, exhaling in contentment as you undo his cuffs and take off the collar. “Thank you mistress, thank you for making me feel good.”

“You’re welcome, darling, you okay? I’ll clean you up later, your mistress is tired and thinks you need to be in your mess for a while longer as a punishment.”

“Wh-Whatever mistress thinks is a good punishment,” he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple. “Thank you mistress.”

You giggled slightly, pushing a hand through his sweaty curls. “You’re welcome, darling.”

Taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪 𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪 𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪 𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪 𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪 𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪 𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪 𓆩[@c78r]𓆪 𓆩[@dizscreams]𓆪 𓆩[@asrt5]𓆪 𓆩[@xoxomoonlightbabe]𓆪 𓆩[@wenvierismycomfort]𓆪 𓆩[@copypastedaphne]𓆪 𓆩[@f-aggotry]𓆪

#asterias-record-shop #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x fem!reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n #scream #scream fanfic #scream six #scream vi #scream movies #ethan landry scream #with love asteria ♡

361 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 6 months

Text

Bright Eyes | 1

Part 2

Prince Aemond's marriage was borne out of necessity and political advantage. Let it never be said that he did not know duty, for duty was what kept Aemond Targaryen grounded. But in truth, the prince felt cheated by the match, for he felt his wife was getting scraps as her dowry. After all, she was chosen for him because of her family's wealth and resources. It was then rather scandalous when the icy prince became temperate to his bride.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, arranged marriage au, smut (virginity loss, vaginal penetration), reluctant lovers ig, typos, etc.

A/N: HIIII THIS IS PART OF THE HOUSE OF THE DRAGON BIG BANG CELEBRATION 🎉🎉🎉 I split mine into 3 parts but I can only post the other 2 parts here on Tumblr after the whole event has ended to respect and give way for the other submissions. It will be available on AO3 to read though so yeah! Thank you so much to the love of my life @ewanmitchellcrumbs for making the art for me (and in such short notice too cos my artist unfortunately deactivated their Tumblr). I'm so luv youuuu Also i haven't written anything for hotd in a while so i don't remember who I'm supposed to tag so kejhshs surprise! And enjoy ig!!! HIHIHI

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa

"Perhaps," I extend a hand to him, "you ought to hold my hand."

Aemond straightens from where he stood, lone eye darting from his feet, to my hand, to my face. He finds offence in this offer, a line threatens to dig deep between his brows.

"The-" I trail off and look away, my gloved hand, however, does not retreat, "-terrain is quite bumpy." I look back to him expectantly, "I know the land well. It would be easier for me to lead you through-"

"Then lead me," Aemond cuts, both hands going behind him, "skip the fussing."

I purse my lips and watch him for a moment.

The wind strengthens. It blows past me yet I do not move with it, even with my thick dress pulling me back. In contrast, Aemond shuffles in his spot, his coat catching the gush of wind and his hair raking his skin. I had offered to braid Aemond's hair to keep it out of his face and he said he could manage because what was the breeze on a meadow compared to the ripping air at the back of a dragon?

He realizes meadow was too kind a term for this patch of land I was showing him. It was a hellscape, not lush or flowery like a meadow at all. The field stretched out to a cliff, and below it laid viscous waves that added to the horrible weather.

I nod and bring my hands to my skirts instead, "please watch your step. A few more paces, we'll reach the area that has many-"

Aemond grunts when he steps on a hidden divot. His heel digs into the mushy surface and he nearly twists his ankle.

I whip my head back and look at him, finally completing my thought, "-holes in the ground."

He clenches his jaw and yanks his foot out of the muck. I silently turn away and continue walking.

The prince mumbles to himself as he follows me.

Finally, I reach the top of the slope. I situate myself atop a rock and look down at the land. I clasp my hands together as I feel the man walk up beside me. I make it a point to really just let the silence simmer, to let him take in the view, though in truth, there really wasn't much of it. It was just-

"Dirt as far as the eye can see."

I turn to Aemond when he says this.

"How good," he purses his lips and brings his hands behind him, "I've always wanted a hill of dirt all for myself."

I slowly step down from the rock and lift my eyes up to my husband-to-be.

"Vhagar might even like it," he says, lone eye scrutinizing me then the land, which was part of my dowry.

It was the worst pickings from my family, that much was clear. But with my three older brothers set to inherit much of my house's estate, I couldn't really complain, after all, I was the youngest... and a woman.

Aemond, of course, would do the complaining, as he has been.

"I am glad to hear that, my prince," I offer a smile.

The look Aemond gives me is one of astonishment. I can practically make out how his covered eye widened underneath his eye patch. He mutters under his breath, "gods, she's fucking thick."

I pretend I don't hear it and follow after the man when he begins to walk away.

The long haired blonde struggles yet again against the uneven terrain. I no longer make the mistake of offering my assistance. For his sake, or perhaps my own, I leave a good distance between the two of us, so that if he were to topple, even if I did instinctively reach out to him again, he would be too far to reach.

I mirror his steps, right leg moving only after his did. Of course, I did not step in the holes and bumps that were so obvious to me. Still, I tail him diligently.

This was why I froze when he turned back and scowled at me.

"What are you doing?" asks the prince with furrowed brows.

I part my lips, "I-"

"Come here," he reaches out, "I have things to discuss with you."

My eyes turn to his extended hand. I look at his large, ruddy palm and feel my belly swirl in reaction. Apprehensively, I place my hand in his, and he rather discourteously snags me close to him. It nearly costs me my balance, but I'm glad it doesn't.

I watch as Aemond links our arms together before he walking off. My eyes dart from his bicep to his profile. I take in the shape of his nose and think about how our children would inherit it. I press my lips into a line at the thought.

"Our marriage is that of convenience," he turns to me, "and duty."

When Aemond does not continue, I tighten my lips together and nod.

He looks away and walks at a slower pace, "we are to be married in a few days time, and after that, you will no longer belong to your house, you will belong to mine," I notice how his expression hardens, "you will belong to me."

"I understand this," I retort.

He tilts his head, "do you?"

I nod, "I do," I tighten my grip on his arm, "my whole life I have been groomed to be the perfect wife. Once I am yours, everything that I am will be for you."

Aemond's face is blank when he looks at me, and yet I can tell he wishes me to clarify.

So I do, "I will be your wife, your princess, the lady of your house, the mother of your children. I am for you... and you for me."

"Mmm," he looks away and adjusts my grip on him. He loosens it, "yes."

For a moment, we both simply walk on the rocky ground.

Aemond draws a deep breath and turns his head to gaze upon the façade of what would be his castle after our marriage. It was a shabby little thing, run down and without servants, but it was situated in a strip of land that would prove to be beneficial if, say, war came.

"Your father is character," Aemond starts, "a rather ambitious man, wouldn't you agree?"

"He is," I chew my lip, "if he could, he'd take the stars and put them on his walls."

The prince hums, "do you share in his ambition?"

"I-"

He squeezes my arm. He throws a look, as if displeased that I would answer so quickly.

I raise my brows, retaining what I meant to answer, though saying it much slower than I would have, "I have no other ambition than to be a dutiful bride. My ambition is your ambition."

Aemond does not respond nor speak up until we make it back to the carriage.

There, both our mothers are waiting, both equally pleased by our return.

"There they are," my mother says with a smile, "I trust you enjoyed your stroll, my prince."

Aemond eyes my mother as he breaks away from me to walk over to his. Queen Alicent smiles at his son and brushes the hair that was flying to his face.

"The walk was too aggravating to be enjoyed. There was not a single patch of leveled ground," the prince say, "I doubt even sheep would enjoy it here."

I play off my agitation while my mother laughs, "you needn't worry about the ground being level, prince Aemond. You'll have peasants to do that for you."

I walk towards my mother when she reaches out to me. She smiles and takes my hand, "come, my daughter. Today will be your last day as my baby."

I lock gazes with Aemond as my mother kisses my temple.

I feel embarrassment creep up my cheeks.

The honest truth was, I don't remember what happened between that moment and when my husband was undoing the back of my dress. I vaguely remember the wedding, sharing dances with my brothers, with Aemond's brothers, with Helaena. I can recall King Viserys retiring early because of his headache, but then again, he did this often, so it could simply be a memory from another day.

All I know was that Aemond's fingers were hard, hot, and nimble. What would have taken me ages to take off my dress, he did so in a few seconds. I do my best not to breathe heavily, but even though I was not facing him, I couldn't seem to keep from heaving.

It was quite dark. The few candles that were lit did not really help in illuminating the room, but that did not make the idea of being naked in front of a man any easier for me.

My hammering heart commanded my eyes shut as the feverish dragon stripped me bare before him. I swear his touch burned my shivering skin as he slowly revealed my body to himself. I feel him brush his palms down my arms as he pulled my dress down my shoulders. Soon enough my entire body prickled as my shift dropped to my feet.

I cover my breasts with my arm and block my sex with my hand.

"Would you like to undress me, wife?" he mutters.

I feel the hair on the back of my neck raise when I feel his hot breath hit my skin. It was such a plainly worded question, yet it made me want to jump out of the window.

I slowly turn my head, opening my eyes to steal a look of him from over my shoulder. I don't know why, but I say, "yes."

The fact was I didn't. I didn't want to undress him. I would like to think it was quite apparent with how I slowly turned and apprehensively uncovered myself to be able to undress him.

I did not know why I was so shocked that he was unabashedly eyeing my body. I did not know why I was so shocked when his hands reached out to my waist, when his fingers pressed into my flesh, and his nails left marks on my skin. I let out a squeak and fidgeted with his shirt as he did so.

He only releases me when I pull his top off. I step out of my shift, bunched by my ankles, and walk closer to him to undo his breeches. I do not look at his face once, but I know he is still looking at me.

Once his ties were loose, I ghost my fingertips by his waistband, uncertain and hesitant of what to do next.

Recognizing this, he takes my wrists, but he freezes the next moment, clearly not expecting me to do what I did next.

I kissed him. I tilted my head and pressed my lips against his. It was chaste-- probably how I kissed him when we were proclaimed man and wife, but gods did it make my body burn.

I lick my lips after pulling away. I think about clutching his face, and so I do. I reach out to his cheeks and shift on my toes, leaning in for another peck.

I whimper when he pulls me flush against his chest. The contrast of my softer, colder body on his leaner, warmer one was something welcome. Apart from his hands tugging me close, it was like his very essence was drawing me into him.

We do not break our kiss even as he pushes me towards the bed, not even as I topple back and land on the mattress. There is a desperation in his kisses, as if the act of ending it would cause him harm.

He guides me underneath him. He parts my legs and makes room for himself between them. He rubs against me, and it is then I am reminded that I had failed to strip him fully naked. He immediately moves to remedy this, which is then when he pulls away.

When he does so, he rips at his trousers, hell-bent on freeing himself in as little time as possible.

Aemond gets on his knees and gracelessly pulls his remaining clothing off. It may have been dark but I could see him. I could see all of him now. It made my core pulse with excitement, dread, anticipation, and apprehension all at once.

I sigh when he sinks down and presses against me. He kisses me again and I feel his hardened length press against my belly.

I mold my body against him, curling myself in a way that fit snug with his form. I bring my thighs against his hips and feel encouraged when his hand squeeze and pull them closer to him.

He breaks our kiss to draw in a much needed breath and the haze that built in my mind grows thicker when Aemond begins to trail his lips down my jaw and neck. My nails find their way to his spine when he begins to buck his hips into me.

My skin prickles and my heart pounds when he whispers something into my ear. I did not know what he said, but I was certain it was High Valyrian. I was also somehow certain it had something to do with the way I felt.

Aemond hums and sinks his nose behind my ear. I whimper in response, arms tightening around him. I embrace him like I did not intend to let him go, and it truth, I really didn't.

"You make such pretty sounds for me."

I feel embarrassment creep up my cheeks. I am glad he does not see it.

I make another sound when I feel Aemond's hand trail between my thighs. We both hiss when his fingers find my sensitive center.

He pushes himself up on one arm and lifts his body. Aemond grabs himself and makes me yelp when he rubs his cock against my folds. It was then I realized how wet I've become.

He does this for a while. He coats himself with my dampness. He continues until I feel my body drip with sweat and arousal, until the arm keeping him up tires, and then I feel him slowly push into me.

When he does so, he sinks down and fits into me oh-so perfectly. The intrusion was not at all uncomfortable, in fact, it made my belly burn with need.

I find myself kissing the crook of his neck as he laid atop me. I feel him sigh in response.

"Please," I whisper, thighs rubbing against him, "I need more."

Aemond wastes no time in attending to my plea.

I mewl when he begins to thrust his hips. His movements are short and tight; he barely pulls out. He continues like this then changes pace when he grabs the back of my knees and pushes them close to my ribs. His movements grow bolder, more deliberate and harder.

He, himself, makes pretty sounds as he moves into me.

I feel sweat begin to build on my skin. I feel a pressure begins to tighten in me.

"Take my seed like a dutiful wife," he kisses my jaw, "I'll put a dragon in you."

My back arches, "Aemond."

"I wish to see you full of me," his one hand comes up to my breast and squeezes it, "I wish to fill you with me."

"P-please fill me," I respond with a shaky voice.

Aemond grunts, "I will."

My heart nearly stops when I feel burning pleasure break into me. My mouth releases the remaining air in my lungs as it calls out my husband's name.

Aemond makes gutteral noises as his movements grow rough and eventually stop.

I bury my face into his shoulder and catch my breath. Aemond follows suit but takes only a few breaths before lifting himself up and rolling off me.

He brings my legs together and covers my form with a blanket. I tense when he stands and walks off, feeling a panic come over me when he disappears. It only intensifies when he does not come back quickly.

I am about to sit up but then I freeze when I see him walk over to me. He is now clothed and had something in his hand.

"Clean yourself up," he places something on the bedside table, "you will not enjoy it when you wake," he turns to me, "I suggest you get dressed as well. You are rather cold."

I feel my body burn as Aemond walks off, circling the bed, coming under the sheets on his side.

I do as he says, slowly pushing the blanket off, feeling a chill run down my spine when my bare feel touch the cold ground. I stand and see that there was a wash basin on the table, as well as a towel.

I take in a deep breath and wipe myself down with warm water that was prepared for me. Once I was done, I examine the floor and pick up my shift. I put it on and put out the candles.

I climb into bed and do my best not to touch Aemond. My voice breaks when I call out, "good night."

He does not respond so I tell myself he was asleep. It takes a while for me to do the same.

391 notes · View notes

b-o-e · 1 year

Text

kiss farewell

Wally Darling x Reader

Warnings: snugllin, lil smoochy kiss, you're being watched at one point hehe

although it is not necessary, I highly suggest reading my fics in their recommended order for the best experience! here is the link to all my silly lil wally fics in order. this is #8 :)

After a night spent at Wally’s, he walks you home.

“Good morning,”

With a muddled grumble, you rubbed away at the sleepiness in your eyes. Peeking up, you caught sight of the man you’d trapped beneath you, offering a dopey smile.

“G’mornin’, Darling,'” you uttered. Laying your head back down to rest on his belly again, you sighed softly. His hand returned to its spot on your back as you did, rubbing soothing little circles into it.

…

Huh. Sudden wave of déjà vu.

You lifted your head, brows furrowed in confusion, looking at Wally drowsily. He laughed quietly, shaking his head.

“Hi,” he grinned. This felt awful familiar.

“... Hi.” You mumbled, things clicking together as you looked around. “Wally?”

“Yes?”

You looked at him.

“... it wasn't a dream, right?”

“It wasn’t a dream,” he assured, chuckling a little. “I’m glad you didn't describe it as a nightmare, at least.”

“I would never,” you chuckled softly. “Only small portions of it,”

“How did you sleep?” He asked, shifting, trying not to move you too much.

“Wonderfully,” you hummed, “I’ve found my best sleeps have been while in your arms, it seems,”

Wally’s cheeks flushed, surprised by your answer.

“You’re also a bit extra straightforward when you’re sleepy,” he mumbled, making you laugh.

“Sorry,”

“It’s cute,”

“You think so?”

“I do, yes.”

You giggled, pushing yourself up from your lying position and sitting back on your heels, seated in the empty space between his legs.

“I fear if I don’t get up now, I’ll never want to leave,” You joked. Wally smiled.

“Ha ha, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, propping himself up higher.

“I wouldn’t either, but I can’t let myself be so lazy,” you yawned, lifting your hands above your head as you stretched. “I’ve got to get back to my house and change out of these clothes,”

“Allow me to walk you home,”

“What a gentleman you are, Darling,” you smiled, “Sure, if you would like. Thank you for letting me stay,”

“I wasn’t going to let you walk home so late at night. I wanted you to stay. Plus, I believe I was deserving of some compensation,” he quipped, laughing as you covered your face with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” you groaned, the shame from your actions the night prior resurfacing. “It was just– I don’t even know. Instinct, for some reason?” You hopelessly tried to defend yourself.

“Instinct to hang up when someone’s halfway through telling you they love you?”

You stayed silent.

“... yes.”

Wally laughed at you, shaking his head in amusement.

“Whatever you say. No matter, I am happy with how the night ended,”

You huffed, sliding off the bed, though a smile played at your lips.

“Yeah, me too.”

Wally had followed you out of bed, excusing himself to switch out of his sleepwear before taking you home. You plopped yourself down on his armchair, talking to Home as you waited, expressing your thanks for letting you in last night.

In no time Wally returned in his casual clothes, standing before you and offering his hand.

“All set?” he smiled. You accepted his help, standing up with his assistance.

“All set,” you repeated with a nod, heading with him to the door. Home opened it for the two of you, Wally gesturing for you to go on ahead.

“I’ll be back in a little, Home,” Wally waved goodbye as the two of you headed to your house.

“Mornin’, Sally! Julie!” Eddie greeted with a tip of his hat and a smile, digging into his mail bag.

“Good morning, favourite mailman of mine!” Julie returned with a gleeful grin. “How goes it today?”

“Just swell! I’ve got a letter for ya in here, somewhere!” He replied, brows furrowing. “Er… I should, at least…”

“Ooh! Take a look over there,” Sally piped, eyes set on a particular sight. The other two’s gazes followed.

“Well, wontcha look at that,” Eddie remarked, head tilting in curiosity.

“It looks like they’re coming from Home,” Julie noted.

“Wally’s dressed, but they’re in their pajamas. Their arms are linked too, but that’s pretty normal for them, isn't it?” Sally added.

“... you wouldn’t reckon something happened last night, wouldja?” Eddie questioned. “Look at ‘em. Doesn’t something seem different? They seem… lax, less uptight,” he continued, “do you think they’ve finally confessed or somethin’?”

“Well, look at you go. Didn’t know you were a detective on the side,” Julie remarked teasingly. “I do think you’re right, though…”

“Let’s follow them! See if anything happens!” Sally pitched, Eddie’s head whipping towards her with a look of shock. Julie was quick to agree.

“Ooh, good idea, Sally!”

“Huh?” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. “Err, I dunno, fellas. Doesn’t that seem a bit… intrusive?”

“They’re in public,” Julie shrugged.

You and Wally walked together, pace slow and lazy, neither of you in a rush to leave the other. You made small talk, commenting on the beautiful weather today and plans for later on.

Far too soon did you make it back to your house, a pit of discontent in your belly as your time together was coming to a close.

You turned your back to your front door, facing Wally with a soft sigh. Noticing his neckerchief being slightly disarray, you focussed your attention on it.

“Your scarf is a little cockeyed,” you murmured, reaching out and carefully untying it, leaning over to readjust it so that it sat right.

Butterflies fluttered in Wally’s belly at the close proximity, the man lifting his chin a little to give you more room to work with. He watched you wordlessly, lips slightly parted, before he pressed them together.

“There,” you pulled away, satisfied with your work. “All better now, handsome,” you snickered softly, your eyes meeting his.

His pupils dilated when they met yours. You paused, cheeks flushing, realizing how close you had been, up in his personal space.

“Sorry,” you murmured bashfully, stepping back. Wally shook his head, smiling.

“Thank you,” he said, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Where would I be without your help?” He chuckled.

“Somewhere looking like a slob,” you joked, wiping off a fuzzy from his shirt.

“Goodness, it appears so,” he uttered sheepishly. “I suppose I skipped giving myself a once over. I didn’t want you waiting long,”

“For you, I’d wait an eternity. There’s never any rush,” you assured. “However, I’m sure you have other plans you’d best be getting to. Thank you for walking me home,”

“You’re always welcome,” his hands interlocked behind his back. “I’ll see you later, neighbour,” he mumbled.

You cupped his face with one hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. His body tensed in surprise, cheeks reddening.

“See you, Wally,” you smiled, heading inside.

The door clicked shut behind you, leaving Wally standing there, trying to recover from his shock.

Two fingers touched to his lips where yours had been moments prior, relishing the phantom feeling of them there. Releasing a lovesick sigh, he turned on his heel, ready to leave.

Your onlookers dropped like flies behind a nearby bush.

hello!!! I hope you enjoyed!!! lil snippets, hehe. I'm not too sure what to say today, so I suppose that's all!!! thank you!!!

here is a link to my silly lil wally fics in their recommended order if you would like :) these can also be found on my ao3 B) I also have a ko-fi if you'd like to support me!

likes and reblogs are very appreciated!! have a good day today!! I will see you next time B) MWAH!!

Posted Thursday, May 11, 2023 at 12:22 PM

#wally darling x reader #wally x reader #wally darling #welcome home x reader #welcome home #uggghh i gotta work today #n the next #n the next bahaha #but then I get a little break!!#until next time!! should be out in two or three days :)) we will see how i am doing!!

765 notes · View notes

atinylittlepain · 1 year

Text

Vaya Con Dio

Dio Morrissey x f!reader

Dio thinks he's got her all figured out, but she's got a few tricks up her cashmere sleeve.

wordcount: 3K

story playlist (which I highly recommend listening to while reading)

warnings | 18+ *smacks fic like a car salesman* this bad boy can fit so much depravity in it. SMUT, kinda angst? pegging, duh

a/n | Dio Morrissey - if you don't know him, get to know him, law and order, babes, he's my new favorite freak ;)

.......................................

It’s too easy, really. He has it down to a science. The library on fifth is the best for this, being so close to the NYU campus. Smart girls, but not too smart, not smart enough to get into Columbia. And good girls, studying in the stacks on a Wednesday afternoon, pulling their little cashmere cardigans bought by daddy closer around their shoulders. Dio gets to kill two birds with one stone this way, brushing up on his important literature (he’s really into Scientology these days) and finding a pretty little thing to take home for his dinner.

Today is no different. He’s got his eyes set on a baby pink sweater set, and a cute little headband that matches, plush lips wrapped around the eraser of a pencil, brow furrowed in concentration over whatever she’s working on. Showtime.

He sits down in the seat next to hers, nothing more than a glance his way before she focuses back on her textbook. It’s a script by now, certified. He watches the clock, aimlessly flipping through a book, waiting the requisite five minutes before sitting back with a huff, slamming his book shut with a dull thud. That gets her attention, winged-eyeliner focused on him now.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. It’s just– your aura– it's mesmerizing to me.” A little quirk of a lip-glossed smile is all he needs to know that he’s got her, leaning closer on his elbows to hear her response.

“Does that line work on other girls?” Kitty’s got claws. He can work with that.

“What? You don’t think I mean it? How you wound me, pretty girl. You see, I have a good feel for these things. I’m drawn to beauty, to pureness. I just couldn’t help myself when I saw you, I had to come talk to you.” Her eyes narrow at him as she lets out a breathy giggle, shaking her head lightly at his words. Got her. He slings his arm over the back of her chair, leaning in real close, letting his lips crook up like he’s got the most delicious secret to tell her.

“Do you wanna get out of here? Go somewhere a little more, mm, cozy, so we can really talk? I’d like to get to know you better.” Her perfect french manicure twists around her pencil as she bites down on her lip, and he doesn’t even need to hear her speak to know what her answer is.

…

“This is me, home sweet home, or something like that.” He grins, all teeth, as she ducks under his arm and into his shitty little apartment. He doesn’t have much, just a futon and a pile of clothes, some books, a stove that works half the time. But he doesn’t care about possessions like all the sheep. Besides, chicks dig it, it adds to the whole effect.

Her heels click on the peeling linoleum floor, spinning in a slow circle as she takes in the space before her wide eyes finally settle back on him.

“Come get comfortable, baby. Let’s talk.” He coaxes her over to his futon, sitting down next her, his thigh pressing up against hers as he slings his arm over the back of the makeshift couch. Her eyes are focused on something behind him, and when he jerks his chin over his shoulder and sees that she’s looking at his bong propped next to the futon, he grins.

“You want a hit, pretty girl? I’m happy to share.” He’s already reaching for it along with his lighter as she answers him.

“Oh, um, sure. Actually I was looking at what’s laying next to that, but I’ll take a hit.” When he realizes what she’s referring to, the dark purple strap-on that’s haphazardly laying on the ground, he can’t help but chuckle.

“You ever seen one of those before, baby?” He revels in her wide eyes as he turns back to her, fiddling with his lighter to fix up the bong for them.

“Do you use it a lot?”

“I enjoy partaking, yeah. Why? You looking to try it out?” Not really expecting an answer from her, he takes the first hit from the bong, his eyes not leaving hers as he lets a slow slip of smoke out of his mouth.

“Here, pretty girl, let me show you how to–” before he can even finish, she’s taking the bong and lighter out of his hands, hitting it with the deft precision of someone who has done this many times before. She blows the smoke out with a smirk, the haze directed right at his face. He hates to admit it, but it throws him off his game, just a little, though he’s quick to compose himself with a smirk of his own.

“Well, well, aren’t you just full of surprises? You do a lot of this in coll–” She’s surprising him again, setting the bong on the floor before straddling his thighs, her little mini-skirt bunching up at her hips. Her hand cups his cheek, a soft touch that he can’t help but lean into, his own hands resting on her thighs. But as she slips her fingers back into his hair, her light touch turns hard all at once, nails grazing his scalp as she tugs his head back, pressing a kiss to his bobbing throat.

“You know, baby, I’m not really interested in doing any more talking.” This is a first for him, and it’s not that he minds exactly, but he did have a whole routine ready for her, and she just stepped all over it with her pretty pink kitten heels. But he doesn’t have much time to get pissy about it, not when she’s tugging him by his hair into a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and sticky-sweet lip gloss.

…

It’s too easy, really. She has it down to a science. Boys like this, who think they have the whole world figured out and wrapped around their black nail-polished fingers, are her favorite. She knows how unassuming she looks, and she knows what they think of her. Innocence lost, an easy target, something sugary sweet to sink their teeth into. She revels in proving them wrong.

“Dio– that’s not your real name, is it, baby? Why don’t you be a good boy and tell me your real name?” She tugs him back by the hair at the nape of his neck, his eyes wide and dark as he looks at her, mouth agape and spit-slick, remnants of her lip gloss smeared glittery on his lips. His Adam's apple bobs, fingers flexing where his hands are curled on her hips. She’s got him surprised, guard down, mind swimming in her shocking sour-sweetness. She’s got him right where she wants him.

“It’s– it’s Shane. My name is Shane.” Not so tough now, are you? She grins, leaning in and letting her lips just graze over his, tongue flickering out over his top lip.

“Shane, you wanna have some fun together?”

“Mmhmm, yeah, I– yes.” She has to giggle at his frantic answer, the jerky nod of his head, and she pulls him in for another hard kiss, licking into his mouth as she grinds her hips down on his already prominent bulge. She pulls away just as fast though, dragging his bottom lip between her teeth before letting it snap back in place, getting up off his lap to stand in front of him with her hands on her hips.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off for me, pretty boy?” He doesn’t need to be asked twice, shrugging out of his leather duster jacket, standing up in just his black wife beater and chains, making quick work of his belt, toeing off his boots and shucking off his pants, all the while keeping his eyes glued to her, lips parted and dazed.

“You can leave the hardware on, baby, silver suits you.” He gets what she means, nodding and tugging his tank top over his head but leaving his chains, a nervous little smile quirking his mouth as she steps forward and shoves him back down onto the futon.

When she straddles his hips again, there’s a whole lot less fabric separating her throbbing core and his obvious hardness, grinding the damp cotton of her panties down over the bulge in his boxers. He lets out a low groan when she swirls her hips, the sound getting stuck in his throat when she licks a hot stripe up the strong slope of his neck.

“Fuck, you’re– you’re unreal.”

“Oh, Shaney, I assure you I’m very real.” They’re so predictable, you’d think she’d be bored of this particular flavor by now. But she can’t help herself, there’s just something too good, too delicious, about putting a guy like this in his place. She pulls him into another kiss, yanking him in by his chains as she coaxes him to lay out on the futon. When his hands start to tug at her sweater, however, she’s quick to pull away.

“Ah-ah, what do you want, baby? Use your words for me.” He’s breathless, hazy, looking up at her through pretty lashes and a furrowed brow.

“I– can you take that off?”

“I mean, I can–” he doesn’t like that one bit, practically growling in frustration as his hands squeeze at her hips.

“Would you take it off, fucking– please?” She stifles her giggle, rubbing her palms on his chest before shrugging off her cardigan and peeling off her tank top. It’s an awkward shuffle, but he’s happy to help her as she shimmies her panties down from under her skirt, holding her steady as she lifts one knee and then the other to flick them away.

“There, that’s better, huh, baby?” He’s trying to get the upper hand again, only answering her with a grunt as he guides her back down with a hand on the nape of her neck, tongue dipping and flickering into her mouth. But she doesn’t let him have control for long, pressing her hips down hard, her dripping cunt grinding over his boxer-covered length. He goes just slack enough at the sensation, sighing into her mouth, that she can start crawling up his torso, his dopey eyes flickering with recognition of what she wants.

“Oh, fuck yes.” As her thighs frame his face, she swings her legs around before he can pull her down to his mouth, her hands splaying out over his taut stomach as she now faces his legs.

“This ok for you, Shane?” The only answer she gets is a low rumbled mmhmm before he pulls her hips down, licking a flat stripe through her folds that catches her by surprise. She hadn’t exactly been expecting him to be good at it, but he is, he really fucking is. That perfectly arched nose of his is notching at her entrance as he slurps at her clit, and she can’t help the gasp she lets out when his teeth graze that spot, lurching forward until her hands are on the tops of his thighs. She noses at his cock through his boxers, pressing heated little kisses along his length before tugging the fabric down and oh, he’s pretty everywhere. Flushed pink, thick enough to set spit pooling in her mouth, a cute little curve to him that she traces with the pads of her fingers, his groans thrumming through her cunt.

When she does take him into her mouth, the moan he lets out into her core makes her dizzy, coaxing her to take more and more of him until there’s a stretching ache in her jaw. He seems just as encouraged, pulling her hips down harder, his palms kneading and groping at her ass as he alternates between licking into her and dragging his tongue over her clit. The only sounds are their equally salacious mouths, spit-slick gasps and moans that are sending her over the edge before she can even clock it, her cunt spasming around nothing as he licks her through it. While her hips jerk in his hold, trying to get away from the sensitivity, he only firms up his fingers on her ass, continuing to lap at her through the aftershocks as she can only meekly kitten lick his throbbing cock. But then her eyes focus on something laying next to the futon, something dark purple, and she nearly kicks him in the head, wriggling out of his grip and turning around to look at him.

“Wait, I wanna do something else with you, Shaney.” He’s an obscene vision looking up at her, lips swollen and glistening with her, chest heaving, pupils blown wide as he nods jerkily. She grins, reaching behind them to pick up the strap-on.

“Where do you keep your lube, baby?”

It isn’t much longer after asking that question that she stands before him, adjusting the straps of the harness around her hips as he clutches the bottle of lube in his hands, knuckles white as he watches her.

“You–you’ve done this before?” She smirks at him, stepping forward and tilting his chin up with her fingers, pouting her lips as she tilts her head at him.

“What? Is it so hard to believe that I know how to have fun too? Don’t worry, Shaney, I’m gonna take such good care of you. Now why don’t you be a good boy and get my dick ready for you.”

“Fuck, that’s hot–” He seems to be saying it absentmindedly, murmuring it to himself as he uncaps the bottle of lube, squirting some into his hand before slicking it up and down her plastic length. It’s such a power trip, standing over him as he strokes her fake dick, dark eyes looking up at her all the while.

“That’s good, baby, thank you. You wanna get on your hands and knees for me?” He moves in a flash, and she has to admit, she likes a man so responsive to orders. She kneels behind him, bringing a palm to his low back as she squirts a little more lube over his hole, giggling at the huff he lets out at the sensation. She notches the tip of her plastic dick at his hole, leaning over him so she can whisper in his ear as she presses her hips forward.

“There you go, baby. Gotta relax for me, huh? Gonna take care of you, just need you to open up for me. There it is. Feels good, yeah?” He whimpers, the poor boy, fingers gripping at the sheet covering the futon as she stills inside him, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck.

“Tell me when I can mo–” “Fuck me, please– I– you– just, fuck me.” She smiles into his shoulder blades, pressing a kiss there as she arcs her hips back, a sweet and slow drag that makes him groan.

“Aw, you like it slow, don’t you, baby?”

“Uh-huh, sl-slow is good– fuck, you’re good at this.” His breathless praise makes her laugh as she leans back to really work him, keeping her slow, circuitous pace as she reaches around to stroke his dick. As a matter of fact, she has done this before, many times, and she is good at it, savoring the grunted curses he lets out, his hips pressing back against hers with each thrust.

“You gonna come for me, Shane? Gonna give me what I want?”

“Yeah, yes– shit, just keep– keep doing that– oh my god.” She snaps her hips a little harder, a little quicker, dragging her nails down his spine before holding his waist steady to thrust into him with a little more intention than the lazy strokes she had started out with. Keeping one hand anchored on his hip, she leans forward, bringing her other palm to his throat, a suggestion of pressure, her french-tipped nails curling ever so slightly.

“Being so good for me, baby. Want you to come for me, just like this. Can you do that for me? Be a good boy and come for me.” He lets out a whine that sort of sounds like an mmhmm, and she can just catch a glimpse over his shoulder of his scrunched-shut eyes and slack jaw.

It’s not long after that he comes with a string of punched-out curses, collapsing onto his forearms as she presses her hips against his with one final stroke. He whimpers when she pulls out, his legs splaying out as he slumps down into a puddle of his own come, resting his cheek on his forearm as he catches his breath. She’s quick to get up, slipping the harness down off her legs and stepping out of it as she walks over to his “kitchen,” filling up the one chipped glass he has at the sink and bringing it back over to him.

“Did so good for me, Shane. Here, have some water, baby.” He presses up on his elbows, eyes still scrunched shut as she coaxes a few sips out of him before setting the glass down next to the futon. He slumps back down, cheek squished against his forearm, his eyes barely opening to watch her get dressed.

“Are you a succubus?” She glances over at him, smirking at his cute, pale ass on full display.

“You wish, baby.” She slips her cardigan on with a satisfied sigh, stepping into her heels and grabbing her purse as well.

“Are you– you’re just gonna leave now?” He squints up at her, still laying on his stomach, his head propped up in one hand. She hums at his question, taking a quick glance at her watch, really more for effect than anything else.

“Mmhmm, I have dinner plans. But this was fun, yeah?” His face is completely slack, lips parted in clear confusion, though she doesn’t give him much of a chance to respond, clicking her tongue and breezing over to the door.

“Wait, I don't even know your name.”

“You don’t need to. Bye, Shane, thanks for the good time.”

.......................................

taglist (come get y'alls juice): @wannab-urs @beskarandblasters @cutesyscreenname @pr0ximamidnight @swiftispunk @gab-thelamb-onthemoon @thereaperisabitch @running-writing @leeeesahhh @toxic-seduction @str84pedro @mydailyhyperfixations

#dio morrissey #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fanfiction #dio morrissey fanfiction #i'm making my own damn tags baby yeehaw #dio morrissey smut #dio morrissey angst

458 notes · View notes