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tropes-and-tales · 1 month ago

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Fall from Grace

(Captain John Price x F!Reader)

CW: Slight angst. Inexperienced (but not virgin) reader. Smut (oral, f!receiving; PiV, unprotected). 18+ only.

Word Count: 7324

AN: This was requested by an anonymous person!

It’s part of Captain Price’s job to know his soldiers. He has their dossiers memorized, of course, but he also learns them intimately through their work together. How could he not? War reveals the true core of a person, their real character, but the mundane moments add color. The long helicopter rides, the long plane rides. The long stretches of time sitting, waiting for intel, waiting for orders.

It's boring. His soldiers talk to fill the quiet and pass the time. They joke and tease each other, discuss football matches and rugby scores. Sometimes, when it’s dark outside, in the quiet hours before dawn, they talk in low voices and share secrets, fears, worries.

Captain Price overhears much of it.

He overhears Gaz talk about his girl back in London, how terrified he is to lose her. How he worries that he’ll never be good enough for her.

He overhears Ghost’s low rumble as he talks about his family and the loss of them. How losing his brother Tommy and his nephew Joseph broke some part of him that will never heal.

He overhears Soap—convivial Soap—talk about his passel of siblings and how they’ve all married and found careers and started to have children. How he feels left behind, out of sync with his own family. How he doesn’t want to go home on leave, sometimes, because he feels so out of step with where he came from.

What Captain Price overhears from you is less deep for a long while. You’re a cipher. He has the bare facts of your dossier, but when it’s the small hours of the night and everyone is restless, you don’t open up the way the men do. You rarely let your guard down.

It shouldn’t affect Price, but it does. Is it a benign sort of misogyny that makes him want to protect you more than he does Gaz or Ghost or Soap? Or is it the fact that he sees how hard you try, how you keep your walls up even when everyone else is sharing their darkest secrets? Is it because he worries that you think he’s judging you, that when you catch him watching you, you see judgement there?

So for a long while, Price overhears little from you. He hears inconsequential things. Music you like, your favorite brand of beer. A memory from your childhood that makes the guys laugh.

But there is a night where it changes.

The 141 is on a plane back to base. The latest mission was a success, a new terrorist group quashed before it could get off the ground. Price sits in the back of the plane and gets a head start on his paperwork while you and the guys sit around a four-seat table and play a no-stakes game of poker for little chits of torn notebook paper.

Everyone has leave coming up, so the evening’s talk is brighter. There’s more laughter, more gentle shoving and ribbing as Gaz throws down winning cards and sweeps the pile of chits in front of him.

And when the chatter turns to sex, Captain Price bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He’s reminded that these soldiers, his men, are little more than boys sometimes.

It starts with Gaz waxing poetic about his girl, and Soap makes it bawdy by saying Gaz will spend his leave horizontal and return to base dehydrated and exhausted. Gaz chucks him on the shoulder but Price can see the pleased grin on the man’s face: of course he’s going to spend a lot of his leave in bed with his girl.

Then it shifts to Soap and his handful of reliable hook-ups. He says he has a bevy of women, all Scottish and feisty, and that earns him a chuck from you, a hard little punch to his bicep and you tell him to behave himself.

“Ach, don’t be jealous, hen,” Soap whines, rubbing his arm. “I could clear some room in the schedule for ye if ye want to join me in Inverness.”

“That’s a lot of travel for, what? Two minutes of disappointment?”

Soap lays his palm over his heart, mimes being wounded, and he says something in reply but Price misses it because Gaz and Ghost are laughing too loudly.

And that’s how Price learns about you. The flight turns into rapid-fire questions, talk, and rejoinders about sex. You mostly stay silent, but you take little zings—mostly at Soap—but each time Price glances over at you, your face has a taut quality that he’s only seen on the battlefield.

Interesting.

If he thought it’d be something for him to mull over later, he’s wrong. Halfway through the flight, Gaz brings up the topic of favorite positions, and when Soap asks you what your favorite position is, you snort and say, “on my right side, curled up with my pillow, alone. Asleep. White noise machine set on ‘rainstorm.’”

That makes Price laugh, but he covers it smoothly with a cough, keeps his head bent over his paperwork.

But the guys are like sharks, and your sarcastic non-answer is like chum in the water. And you’re good—smart, resilient—but you’re also their captive audience, and they wear you down.

An hour into their three-on-one interrogation, the truth comes out: you are fairly inexperienced at sex.

“Virgin?” asks Gaz.

“No.”

“How many times—” starts Soap, but you cut him with a glare that even he won’t challenge.

“Were you assaulted?” Ghost asks in his soft rumble, and that makes you go soft too, your glare shifting from Soap to gazing at the hulking man in his skull mask.

“No, Si.” Your voice is low, and Price watches as you lay a gentle hand on Ghost’s forearm. “I’m lucky. Never that.”

Ghost pats your hand with his own. “Just saying, love. If you were, and you knew the guy’s name, I’d make him a grease stain before the week is out.”

(And this is part of why being a captain is such a burden: the quiet little exchange between you and Ghost makes a hot flare of love burn in his chest, how the two of you are like a brother and sister to each other. The purest form of found family.)

But then Soap breaks the moment. “Just not into it then?”

You shrug. “Guess not.”

“Why?” Gaz asks it, and he sounds genuinely curious.

Another shrug. “It’s hard to have a relationship in our line of work.”

“Ah,” Soap says. He leans back in his seat, crosses his arms over his chest. “Makes sense now. You need to be in love with someone before you’ll sleep with ‘em.”

“Not necessarily.” You reach out and gather the playing cards, the poker game long abandoned. Price watches from under the brim of his hat as you fiddle with the cards, stacking them up, squaring the edges, shuffling them idly.

“Then what?” Soap prods, and you sigh.

“I dunno. It’s just…a lot of work, you know? You gotta vet a guy even if he’s a one-night stand, and you have to play it cool but not too cool, and you have to be friendly but not too friendly. You have to shower and shave and smell nice but not put on too much perfume, and you have to dress just right and wear uncomfortable lingerie and pinching shoes. I did all that shit when I was in my twenties, and the handful of times I finally got a guy on the line and reeled him in? It wasn’t worth the effort. All that work and stress for what? A few minutes of nothing. A few minutes of bad kissing where the guy slobbers on me worse than a Saint Bernard, awful beer breath too. And while he’s jamming his tongue down my throat, he’s groping me like someone drowning and grabbing at a life preserver. Then what? Then the main event, and all that effort is a waste because he doesn’t notice the nice lingerie at all, he doesn’t notice that I smell nice and shaved and moisturized because he’s lying on top of me like some paradoxical corpse slash jackhammer because he’s weirdly positioned and barely touching me, not looking at me, just dead eyes fixed off into space, but he’s also, what, thrusting for half a minute before he’s done? And then it’s ‘thanks, love, great shag,’ and he’s rolling off of me, getting dressed again and out the door, and the entire affair took less time than it takes to bake a frozen pizza. I mean, what’s the point?”

A deadly silence falls over the group. The only sound is the thrum of the plane’s engines, and you look up from where you’re fiddling with the cards to find everyone staring at you. Your eyes dart over to where Price is staring at you too, and you make a face and duck your head.

“Jesus, hen,” Soap breathes out.

“I’m sorry,” Gaz adds.

You chuckle weakly. “For what?”

“On behalf of men, I guess?”

Ghost, at least…sweet Ghost and his brotherly love for you…he pats your hand and says quietly, “well, you always smell nice, love, and I always notice.”

-----

Price doesn’t do anything.

Leave starts and you disappear, off to someplace on your list of places to visit. Who knows with you? You love the world, all parts of it, so it’s just as likely that you’re in a jungle in Costa Rica as you would be in Tokyo.

Leave ends and the team reassembles. There’s a mission in the mountains of a country teetering into civil war. There’s a mission for intel. There’s an extraction mission. There’s a mission to take down a warlord in a lithium-rich country, and there’s a close call there. A bullet grazes you, cuts a burning line along your hip, and seeing you bloodstained and limping pulls Price up short.

He shouldn’t care the way he does. He cares about all of his soldiers, loves everyone, but he’d be lying if you weren’t different. The love he holds for the men is paternal: Soap and Ghost and Gaz are the sons he never had.

You? His love for you is more complicated. There’s a whiff of paternalism, a protectiveness that he knows you’d chafe at if you knew. There’s admiration, of course. But there’s also a deep vein of romantic love that threads between you and Price, and if you don’t know it, it’s only because Price has a good poker face and hides his feelings so well.

By the time you’re shot, everyone has earned another leave. Ghost, Gaz, and Soap all disappear for a month. Price could go to his empty house in the countryside, but he usually just stays on base anyway.

You?

The night before leave starts, there’s a knock on his office door, and when he calls out, you poke your head in.

“Have a moment, sir?”

He nods, gestures at the chair in front of his desk, and he winces internally at how you limp a bit, your stitches obviously pulling. You settle in your seat and he nods at you to start.

“I thought I might stay here for leave,” you say. “I’m not really in any shape to travel, and I’d be close to medical if anything goes bad with my wound.”

He says nothing, so you add, with less certainty, “would that be alright, sir?”

Price clears his throat. “Of course.”

Of course it’s okay that you stay on base for leave. With him. With few other people around.

-----

But he does nothing during your month together. How could he? He’s your superior. It would be wildly inappropriate to knock on your door some evening and confess his feelings for you.

One small concession: he orders you to call him ‘John’ while you’re on leave. No Captain, no ‘sir.’ He wants you at ease, relaxed, healing. You still wake up early, he notices. You train on a modified program as you heal. You keep your room painfully neat, hospital corners on your bed, boots polished and tucked in your foot locker.

But you do relax. You go off base and have a pint alone in a pub, come back slightly looser with your smiles. His name rolls easier off your tongue when you have some alcohol in you.

You lie on the couch in the rec room and read giant novels. You doze off to tennis on the television, and Price aches as he watches you sleep. You look so young this way; the years and stress slough off of you in slumber.

There is one night he cajoles you into joining him out for dinner off base. There’s a steakhouse nearby, and Price is craving a steak and a whiskey and a good cigar, and he’s craving your company. You agree, and the weeks on leave have softened you towards him. Maybe you see him as John now and not just Captain Price, and the conversation over steak flows so evenly that any casual observer might think it a date between an established couple.

But he does nothing more. Not this time.

-----

Leave ends. Another mission. Another. Intel-gathering, coup-ending. They intercept a dirty bomb for sale in a Morocco marketplace. They break up a human trafficking ring. They support Kor-tac in a mission.

Another leave. You’re healed now, but when Gaz asks where you’re going, you shrug and say nowhere.

“I didn’t plan anything,” you admit, and Price watches you on the sly. You explain that New York City was next on your list of places, but you are tired of cities, tired of the crush of people and always wondering where the next threat was. You tell Gaz, as Price eavesdrops, that you really just wanted a quiet month in the country but hadn’t the time to research anywhere or book anything—

He has to wait for Gaz to leave, which gives him a moment to despair that it’s a bad idea. It’s a terrible idea, the worst idea, but even with a moment to stop himself, Price can’t stop himself. He pulls you aside once you’re alone and the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“I have a place in the Lake District,” he says. “Quiet, in Rosgill. I’m going myself, but it’s a big place for just me. Too big, really. You could join, if you want.”

It’s a terrible idea, the worst idea, but it must mean something that you only think on it for a beat before you smile at him and accept his offer with your genuine thanks.

-----

On the trip to his home, he explains it to you, and he hates how he sounds like an estate agent selling you on the charms of the place.

“It’s an old seventeenth century blacksmith forge that’s been converted into a home. Quiet. One side overlooks the eastern fells.”

He explains how he bought it when he was young with the windfall of his father’s modest estate when the old man died from a heart attack.

He doesn’t explain that it had been his dream as a young man to share it with someone, and as that dream had steadily died off, so too has the planned renovations. The place is half-restored—mostly the house proper—but his plans for the outbuildings and grounds have been abandoned. He had planned a copse of trees, a raised garden bed for vegetables and herbs, a small greenhouse. What was the point of sinking money into a place that never saw any use?

You laugh quietly, then say that you don’t even have a home, that you have a small storage unit in Reading for the handful of things you can’t bear to give up.

“I appreciate your hospitality, Captain,” you say.

He tuts, reminds you to call him by his first name. “There’s no Captain Price in Rosgill. Just John.”

-----

It takes less than a week to fall into a comfortable domestic rhythm with you. John wonders at it: he had a girlfriend in his late twenties who had moved in for a year, and the two of them never reached even a fraction of the ease you and he reach within days.

It doesn’t mean it’s not torture. The house has two bathrooms and a WC, but you end up sharing a bathroom because it’s the only one on the second floor, situated between both of your bedrooms. It’s torture to shower after you, when everything is damp and faintly scented with your soap. It’s torture to see your toiletry bag sitting on the edge of the sink, and of course he snoops. Takes in the tube of lip balm, your brand of toothpaste, a bottle of paracetamol. He sees a little ornate glass bottle of perfume, and he uncaps it, smells it. It makes him remember the conversation on the plane, your rant about your disappointing experiences with sex, all the effort you put in to look nice and smell nice.

Which makes the rest torture too. You calling him John. You stretched out on a chaise in the conservatory that overlooks the fells. You making him a simple, hearty dinner—who knew you could cook?—then calling him to table, your name in his mouth, your hands passing him a plate with chicken and roasted vegetables, your smile as he pours you another glass of wine. You passing him in the hallway at night in your sleepwear, the soft-looking pajama pants and oversized t-shirt that strains around your breasts. You meeting his eye, smiling at him, saying “g’night, John.”

Then the torture of your bedroom door clicking shut behind you, with John on the other side of it.

-----

It’s the meteor shower that changes it. The Perseids, and John’s home has a big conservatory with a wall of windows that overlooks the night sky. He mentions them to you that morning, suggests it might be nice to stay up and watch them together, maybe open a bottle of Lagavulin to mark the occasion.

It’s also Soap that changes it. You and John make dinner together—just a spag bol—and your phone chimes as you’re sitting to eat. You swipe at the lock screen, read the message, and snort.

“Soap,” you say, and you hold up the screen to John even though he can’t read the tiny print. “Says he had a cancellation with one of his standby ladies and can work me into his rotation if I can get to Inverness in an hour.”

John chuckles, shakes his head. “Want me to put him on KP duty when we get back?”

“A few extra laps on his runs wouldn’t hurt. Wearing full kit, for the weight.”

The thread of conversation could die off, but it’s an opening, and John takes it. He clears his throat, spins a forkful of spaghetti on his plate, then offers, “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough go of it. Romantically, I mean.”

You shrug. “It’s fine.”

“For what it’s worth, I’ve not had the easiest time of it lately.”

It earns him another snort, and you cock an eyebrow at him, pull an incredulous face. “I don’t buy it.”

He’s not lying. His twenties, he was a wolf on the prowl. Broke plenty of hearts, had his own broken in turn. He had a few girlfriends, one who moved in for a bit, then moved out after a terrific row, never to return. He always had the fixed idea that he’d meet someone by his mid-thirties, take an early retirement by his mid-forties, and have a family waiting for him by then.

But as his mid-thirties receded, he found the prospect of dating a bleak affair. Some women were too young, too immature. The generational differences in sex and love were too steep to overcome. Some wanted a sugar daddy. Some wanted to be taken care of with no care extending back in his direction. Other women were older, closer to his age, but saddled with ex-husbands, children bitter from divorce, a cynicism that John couldn’t overcome.

He doesn’t tell you any of that. Instead, he volleys it back at you, retorts with a gentle smile that he doesn’t buy that you hadn’t had a single satisfying experience in your life.

You sigh, shrug again. “Ah, well. I guess I can’t blame the men entirely. Who’s to say I wasn’t the problem? Maybe I’m a terrible kisser.”

“Doubtful.”

“Just outrageous amounts of tongue.”

John laughs, and you grin at him, add, “garlic breath, too. Got too bitey halfway through a make-out session. Made the guy bleed. Now he has a scar on his lip and he tells all the blokes down at the pub about the crazy girl he took out once who bit him.”

John puts down his fork and takes a drink of wine. He smiles around the rim of his glass. “None of that can be true.”

“Didn’t know how to move during sex, so I elbowed him hard and broke his nose. Touched him in a weird spot in an attempt to be sexy and creeped him out.”

He laughs again. “What’s considered a weird spot?”

“Maybe I, I dunno…rubbed his elbows in a seductive way. Touched him between his toes in the hopes of turning him on. Maybe no one ever told me that that there’s no erogenous zone in the space between toes.”

His laughter grows at the mental image you’re painting; tears creep out of the corners of his eyes. “That’s how I know you’re lying,” he manages to reply. “Because most men would find any type of touch from a woman sexy.”

You cock an eyebrow at that and take a sip of your own wine. “Duly noted, John. If I ever make a move on you, I’m coming for your toes.”

“Prepare to be awestruck then, sweetness: I have feet like a fucking hobbit.”

Your first response is to laugh at him, but he notes the way you take in the pet name, the little shine you get in your eyes. The conversation dies off, shifts to other topics, but the rest of dinner holds a charge in the air, and both of you can feel it.

-----

After you share clean-up duties in the kitchen, you make your way to the conservatory. It’s just a fancy word for ‘living room,’ but it holds no television: just a bookcase, a fireplace, and a few chaise lounges and couches for taking in the view. John used to envision lazy weekends in here with a family: a wife and kids, maybe, settled around a board game. A dog curled up by the fire.

He also used to envision something like this: sharing an intimate moment with a woman here. His ex hated the house, hated how remote it was. She liked London and the bustle of cities, but you are a better fit. You settle on the chaise, curl up on your side like a cat, and you sip at the cut-glass tumbler of whiskey when he hands it to you. John settles on the floor right near you, and the two of you chat while you wait for the meteor shower to start.

You don’t talk about much of consequence. It’s a rambling conversation, tinged by the alcohol but not impaired by it. The evening holds a dreamy quality, like it’s not quite real, like if John raises his voice above a low rumble he might pop the ambiance like a soap bubble.

When the first streak of white shoots across the sky, you both fall silent. John turns away from you and faces the windows, and you both watch quietly. Once in a while you sigh, a pleased little exhale, and the spell deepens. Weaves of magic seem to tighten around the two of you with each brilliant falling star.

John leans his head back and rests it against the chaise, but he bumps into some part of you. He mutters a sorry, and you whisper back no worries, but a beat later he feels your hand on the top of his head. Tentative. Shy. A question in the touch, and he answers it by leaning into you more. You push your fingers into his hair, and he honest-to-god has to bite his fucking tongue at the moan that threatens to tear out of his throat at the feeling of you touching him.

He turns his head and finds you watching him, not the meteor shower. He knows he cannot go a single step further without putting it all out in the open, addressing it immediately.

“You know I’m your commanding officer,” he says softly. “Not here, but when we get back. And I’m not stupid. I know some part of you still thinks of me as your captain even here, just like some part of me still thinks of you as my charge.”

You nod. Say nothing. Look at him expectantly.

“What I mean is, this leave will end and we’ll have to go back. We have to be able to compartmentalize it. And I need to know that you want this completely free and clear. That there’s no part of you that feels you have to do this, because I know there’s a power imbalance, but…” He trails off, doesn’t want to admit it out loud.

“But what, John?” you prod, and he takes a breath, finally says it.

“I know there’s a power imbalance here, and I know I should be strong enough—should be your captain, I mean—and stop this before it starts. But I can’t. I don’t want to.”

You don’t laugh at him, and you don’t pout at his words. You nod seriously. You say you understand, that it’s complicated. You promise that you will try to compartmentalize it.

“It’s just me and you right now,” you say, softly. “Just two people. Not boss and employee or captain and soldier. I don’t feel pressured or feel any power imbalance. And John? I don’t want you to stop it before it starts. Truly.”

This must be what falling from grace feels like. Some small part of John despairs at this breach of trust, even if you assure him it isn’t so: he’s your captain, he’s worked so hard to always keep clear lines between him and his soldiers. He needs to be able to send people he cares about, people he loves, into situations where death is more likely than staying alive. He needs to be able to leaf through your dossier and not blink at the section where you’ve listed out your final wishes in the event of death. He needs to be able to leave you behind if it threatens the mission or the 141, and he’s always been able to do that before but the moment you lean forward and kiss him—your hand cupping the curve of his face, drawing him to you eagerly—he knows he’ll never be able to do any of that again.

He's failed as a commander, and a small part of him despairs, but the larger part rejoices at the feeling of your lips on his, your hands on him. His eyes shut, and you both completely forget the meteor shower as you fall from grace together.

-----

You make out in stages: the eagerness cedes to a near-shyness, then melts into a level of comfort as you get used to each other. John knows now that you oversold your inability to kiss—you’re eager, then you’re shy, but you’re pretty damned good at it after all, and if those other assholes you’ve slept with didn’t think so, then that’s on them.

He eventually makes his way up to the chaise to sit beside you, and then he guides you into his lap. He has you straddle him, and when his palm gently grasps your cheek to lead you back to kiss him, he feels how flushed you are under his hand.

“You okay?”

You nod against his hold. “Yes,” you reply, but you perch yourself back in his lap, closer to his knees, and he can feel how you’re holding your weight off of him.

“We can take this slow. There’s no rush. We can stop here.”

“I know.” A beat, and you add, “I’m good, John, really.”

“Then c’mere, love. Settle in.”

When you don’t move, he puts his hands on your hips and draws you down and in, pulls the delicious weight of you right where he wants you most. Right on top of him. His growing erection presses against your clothed core, and your breasts brush against his chest. He slides one hand around to your ass and grips the swell of you, kneads at your flesh, but the other hand slides up to cup the nape of your neck. To hold you steady as he kisses you more forcefully.

John tries to strike the perfect balance between gentle and still leading you. He presses his tongue against the seam of your mouth, urges you to open yourself to him, and you obey. He licks against your mouth, tastes the smoky peat of the whiskey on you, and the sensation of his tongue against yours makes you rock in his lap. He feels the pressure of you brushing against his cock, and it draws dual moans from each of you.

He breaks the kiss, catches his breath. “Sweetness, what do you want? What do you like?” He wants to make you moan like that again and again, wants you to breathe out his name or scream it or both. He wants your eyes to shine up at him like they did at dinner when he used that sweet nickname on you the first time.

You shake your head. “I don’t know.”

He knows what it must take for you to admit that. He remembers your rant on the plane, the disappointment in your past dealings with lovers. It makes his chest ache at how lonely you must have been, how separate you must have felt from others.

He loosens his hold on your neck. He slides his palm around to cup your face, and he brushes his thumb over the curve of your cheek.

“Then how about we find out together?”

You answer him by turning your head into his palm and kissing him there, a sweet gesture, and that ache in his chest blooms stronger.

-----

It’s awkward at first, and John can’t figure out why.

He manages to get you out of your shirt and shorts, manages to unhook your bra and strip himself until you’re both nearly naked and stretched out together over the chaise. You let him lead, but you aren’t exactly eager. You are passive to an almost uncomfortable degree, and there’s something off—

“Is this okay?” he murmurs against your skin. You’re so warm under his lips, soft, and he is going so slowly, but you’re hardly moving and you’re saying even less. Your earlier touches—your hand in his hair, cupping his face—have disappeared entirely.

Yet when he asks his question, you whisper back that it’s wonderful.

It takes another moment before he realizes part of what’s wrong: you’re holding your breath. You’re barely breathing, and once he locks in on that, everything else falls into place. You’re not precisely rigid underneath him, but you’re tense, your muscles taut to the point of trembling. And your hands lie by your side. Not touching him at all.

He pauses, then makes his way back up to where your face is. In the faint light from the windows, he can make out a tension in your expression too. Something else too. Not dread, maybe, but maybe a lighter version of that. Trepidation.

John kisses you lightly on your mouth. “How are you doing, sweetness?”

“Good.” You smile at him, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Great, really.”

“You sure?”

You nod.

He brushes his lips over your cheekbone, to the edge of your jaw near your ear. “Not nervous at all?”

“Maybe a little.”

You’re hedging. Lightly lying to him. Your nervousness fills the room like the incoming tide, and John susses it out gently, teases it from you bit by bit. It’s not difficult to guess the source of your nerves.

“Thinking about past encounters, maybe?”

You huff softly near his ear. “Hard not to.” You hesitate, then add, “it was always so bad.”

“And you think you were the reason it was so bad?”

Another huff, and your voice is tinged with embarrassment. “I’m the constant factor each time, John.”

It occurs to him that you’ve likely missed all of the experimenting that many people get when they are younger. All the goofy, awkward moments in sex, when a person figures out what they like or don’t like, what they love and what they hate. You’ve probably been left with a handful of one night stands where you got no feedback, never had a chance to understand what felt good to you, and now are paralyzed to the point of doing nothing.

John resets the moment. He strokes the side of your face, then leans down and kisses you. Slow, gentle. No rushing. The barest brush of his tongue against yours, just enough until he feels you relax a bit underneath him.

As much as he wants to compartmentalize it, John knows from working with you that you’re eager for feedback. You’re eager to learn, and you never take constructive criticism badly.

“Let me help you,” he says now. “Okay?”

You gaze up at him, and if your body is tense as a strung wire, your eyes are full of trust. “Okay.”

“First thing, sweetness. You have to breathe for me. You’re holding your breath, and it’s making you tense.”

Sure enough, your tight, shallow breathing evens out and deepens. And sure enough, he feels your body relax a bit more. He kisses you as a reward, then gives you more advice that you take readily.

“You can move your body. Make yourself comfortable.”

“I want to feel your hands on me. I want you to touch me too. I’m yours.”

“You need to talk to me. Tell me what feels good. Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good.”

As he instructs you, he eases back into it. Kisses your mouth, kisses his way over your face and neck, spends long moments at your bared breasts. It’s the first test, but you breathe as he mouths at your tender skin, as he suckles against your hardened peaks. And you move underneath him, arching your chest to give him better access.

A beat later, he feels your hands—still tentative, but warm, soft—touching him. Stroking his shoulders, his arms. Running your fingertips through his hair.

He’ll find out later, days later, that you had only been working off of previous feedback from those terrible one night stands. The guy who told you that you were breathing too loudly, the guy who told you to lie still. One baffling guy who told you not to touch him, to keep your hands to yourself as he fucked you.

But now? This is a good start to finally getting to what you like. To finding out together.

What you don’t like: anything remotely like tickling. He skates his fingertips too lightly over your sides, down the curve of your waist, and you jerk away from him like you’ve been burned. You apologize a second later, but John laughs, which makes you laugh too. It dispels some more of your nervousness, and when he tries the move against with more pressure—down your sides, over your waist—you like that far better.

You also don’t like it when he pauses at the scar on your hip. It’s still a lurid red, and it pulls him up short for a moment. Dampens his own mood. It reminds him at how close you were to really being hurt, even killed. You don’t like it when he bends his head to kiss the ridge of scar tissue, and he doesn’t push it. Instead, he shifts his head and kisses your stomach where the edge of your panties is, and you like that a whole lot more.

What you like: everything else. Every other thing he gives you, everything he does to you. You like it when he eases your panties off you. You groan when he buries his face between your thighs, and you gasp when he kisses you there, when he drags his tongue over the slick seam of your cunt. You like it very much when he laps at your arousal, when he lays plush kisses to your swollen clit, when he slides a finger inside you and a second finger and when he slides them along your inner wall until he finds the spot that makes you jerk underneath him, whine out his name, reach down and tug at his hair.

You like it when he makes you come with his mouth, and you like it when he makes his way back up your trembling body, when he spreads your legs wider to fit him. When he pushes into you in a slow, steady thrust, so soon after your orgasm that he feels the tiny aftershocks as he seats himself inside you for the first time. You gasp at the sensation, you breathe out a “god, John,” but when he opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay, you grab his head and kiss him so hard you steal his breath from him.

And you especially like it when he coaxes another orgasm from you, his thrusts strong and steady, deep. When you bend one leg alongside him, he reaches down and hikes it higher over his hip. It allows him to push deeper inside you, that extra fraction making you cock-dumb, because you’re so far gone you forget to be nervous. You forget to lie still, to keep your hands to yourself, to hold your breath.

You arch up and meet him thrust for thrust. You wrap one arm around his broad shoulders but the other hand reaches down and grips the meat of his ass, urges him on. You breathe; you pant in his ear, and sometimes it’s just your hot breath, but just as often it’s you talking, babbling, begging him to fuck you, to please don’t stop, to keep going, to never stop fucking you.

And you like it when he does as you say. He doesn’t stop, and you come again, but then you whine out that it’s too much. It probably is: you’ve gone from disappointing interludes with absolute bell-ends, and now you’re an overstimulated mess underneath him. You’re not openly crying but tears leak out of the corners of your eyes and streak down your face. Your lips are slightly chapped and swollen, and you look stunned.

“Want me to stop?” he asks. He kisses one damp cheek, then the other, and he can taste the salt from your tears. “Too much?”

“Uh-huh.” It comes out slurred.

“Need you to use your words, sweetness.”

“I don’t think…” You blink, and you lose a bit of your stunned quality. “I don’t think I can again.”

“Oh, I think you could.” Another kiss, this one open-mouthed on your pulse point. He presses his teeth there, sucks lightly against your skin. “I think you have one more.”

“John—”

“Gotta make up for lost time.”

“I can’t.” You whine, but it ends in a moan as he bites you harder at where your shoulder meets your neck. “Too much. It’s too much.”

“You’re doing so well, though. You don’t have one more? Not even for me?” He laves the flat of his tongue over where his teeth have left dimpled marks, then he blows over the wet line, makes you shudder underneath him.

“John,” you reply, but it holds less of a warning than before. There’s surrender in your tone.

“Love feeling this sweet pussy coming around me,” he growls in your ear. “Fucking soaking my cock, sweetness.”

The dirty talk makes you clench down on him, and he smiles to himself. He draws back, sinks back into you. He goes slow, and you whine that it’s too much, but you like this too because you hold him tighter. You press back against him each time he seats himself in you, his hips settled against yours. He goes slow, so slow, sinks into you as deep as he can, barely pulls out before he’s pushing back inside. You’re swollen, fevered where he’s joined to you. You’re so fucking wet that he feels your arousal soaking the coarse hair at the base of him, dripping down your thighs, likely soaking the chaise.

He's proud that he’s been able to forestall his own pleasure, but his restraint has frayed. How could it not? The whole moment had been sold as for you, to make you feel good, to make sex not the scary specter it has been for most of your adult life, but John can’t remember the last time he had sex where he felt so connected to his partner.

Maybe he never has. He can’t conjure up a moment from his past when he felt so flayed alive, his heart visible and beating as he joined with another person. He can’t remember ever reveling so deeply in his partner’s pleasure. He can’t remember anyone else’s touch or voice in his ear or breath panting underneath him making him feel so whole.

But you like it when he finally comes too. He pulls another orgasm from you, less intense but longer—you tremble for longer, and your cunt twitches against him—and it sets him over the edge. He groans in your ear that he’s close too, asks where he should…but your hand on his ass pulls him deeper into you, and if the gesture wasn’t clear, you whisper that you want him to come inside you, you want to feel him, and he does. His pleasure breaks around him, shatters him, and he growls your name as he fills you, and you answer by whispering his name back, over and over.

-----

If you never had a satisfying sexual experience before, John can guess that you never had the post-sex moments either. The come-down, the cuddling, the falling asleep together.

He gives that to you now too, but it’s not altruistic at all: he wants it too. He selfishly wants it. He leaves you on the chaise to get a washcloth, a glass of water, and he helps you clean up. He helps you recover, but then he leads you to the deep couch on the other side of the room and has you lie down. He lies down beside you—it’s a tight fit, but he holds you safe between the broad planes of his body and the back of the couch, and he covers you both with a light blanket.

“Thank you,” you tell him, and it’s plaintive. It makes that ache in his chest flare back, so he kisses you gently, replies, “don’t ever thank for me this.”

It doesn’t take long for you both to fall asleep: you go first, the slack weight of you pleasant against his body, the deep and even breathing, the little grumble as you shift. He’s not far behind you, but he has a moment or two where the earlier thread of despair pushes to the forefront of his mind.

He might just be John right now, and you’re just you, but soon enough you’ll be soldier and captain again. How will it ever work, now that you’ve fallen from grace together?

#kinktober2024 #clear the inbox 2024 #tropes and tales #captain john price #captain price #captain john price x reader #captain john price imagine #captain john price x you #john price #john price x reader #john price x your #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod

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sturnsreckless · 2 months ago

Text

𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔,, m.sturniolo

summary: cute things matt does in a relationship

warnings: mentions of slight insecurity

a/n. . . i was on the plane and thought of this so wrote it down in my notes app and im now writing it while waiting on my second plane and this song has been stuck in my head for weeks now. also i didn’t proof read this because i was rushing to get on my flight but i wanted to post it now

𝜗𝜚 ALWAYS HAS TO BE CUDDLING YOU NO MATTER WHAT

you finish your small skincare routine and put on your pyjamas before climbing into matt’s cozy bed, snuggling into the covers as you get tucked up under them.

matt follows right behind you, climbing into the warm bed. he immediately pulls you flush against him, wrapping his strong arms around your waist with his chest to your back.

you let out a content sigh as you feel his body relax into yours, you place your hands over his hand that is draped over your exposed stomach.

he nuzzles his head into your neck and lets out an equally content sound, his breath warm against your skin. his arms wrap even tighter around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“you just gotta be cuddling me, don’t ya?” you giggle out as you close your eyes, trying to fall into a deep sleep.

matt chuckles lightly against your shoulder, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. he pulls you even closer to him, his warm chest pressing firmly against your back.

“mhm you know it” he whispers out, leaving a kiss on your neck.

𝜗𝜚 HE ALWAYS WANTS TO LISTEN TO YOU, EVEN WHEN YOU THINK YOURE TALKING TOO MUCH

you had been talking matt’s ear off for the past hour about someone in your college — you didn’t even think about how bored matt must be, listening to you talking about the same topic for over an hour.

“then she said to me-“ you stop yourself as you check the time and realise how much you had spoke, you looked up at matt and saw he still had the same smile of adoration sitting on his face as he did an hour ago, “did i ramble on again…sorry” you awkwardly say, scratching the back of your neck.

matt chuckled softly at your comment, his eyes sparkling with love as he looked at you. he took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze, his thumb rubbing circles against the back of your hand.

“don’t be sorry” he said with a warm smile, “i could listen to you talk for hours.”

a huge smile came onto your face at matt’s sweet compliment but insecurity quickly taking over you, “you sure… you sure i’m not talking your ears off? i know i yap on and on all the time… but you’re sure?” you ask with a hint of insecurity in your voice.

matt’s heart softened at the hint of insecurity in your voice. he gently pulled you closer, wrapping his arm around your waist as you laid on his shoulder in a comforting embrace.

“i’m absolutely sure.” he reassured you, his voice firm yet tender. “i love hearing about your day, about things you love, about anything and everything. it’s a part of who you are, and i love every bit of it.” he gave you a gentle squeeze before leaning forward to look into your eyes with complete sincerity.

𝜗𝜚 ALWAYS SURPRISES YOU WITH FLOWERS

he knows they’re your favourite and always makes sure to pick out the prettiest bunch. he gives you them before dates too, just so he can admire the way your face lights up when he gives you them.

at the moment, matt was out with nick and chris at a meeting. you were bored so you texted him just to see what he was up too.

| hey baby! where are youuuu? also see if you pass gas station on your way home could you pleaseee get me a blue slurpee????

you pressed send and waited for a reply. you weren’t expecting a reply straight away since he was at a meeting.

matt sees his phone light up with a text notification — once he saw it was from you, a smile lit up his face. the meeting he was just in was boring, your simple check-up made him feel better.

| heyyy we’re just leaving, don’t worry i’ll get you aslurpee. see you soon, i love you

matt sets his phone down in the cup holder after hitting send on his text. his attention goes back to the road as he turns in at 7-eleven to get you a slurpee and flowers.

he walks into the gas station and picks up a bunch of baby breaths and tulips for you, he then gets your blue slurpee, before he leaves he grabs a few bags of your favourite candies and paying, walking out the store and back to his car.

he hands the flowers over to chris and the bags of candies, sitting the slushie in the cup holder before driving off back home. he’s excited to get home and see the look on your face when he gives you the flowers.

he walks inside his bedroom, shutting the door with his foot as he has flowers and candy in one hand and the slurpee in the other, “hey baby, i’m back” he says walking to the desk and putting all the things he bought at the store down.

“oh my god… hey, you’re back” you say, putting down your phone and getting off his bed as you walk into his open arms.

he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. he can’t help but bury his face against your neck, leaving light kisses there.

you felt shivers down your spine as he left kisses on your skin, “how was your meeting?” you asked.

“boring” he mumbled against your neck, still peppering light kisses there, “i missed you” he added quietly, nuzzling closer.

you let out a small giggle but your heart swelled at his comment, “matt, baby, you saw me before you left this morning” you said pulling back from him.

“i know… also i got you a present.” he said walking back over to the desk and picking up the flowers and your slurpee.

your eyes light up as you see the bunch of flowers in his hand and the blue slushy, “matt..they’re beautiful. thank you so much, i love you” you say as he holds the flowers out for you with a smile.

you take hold of the flowers, you admire them with the cheesiest smile on your face.

matt loved buying you flowers, it was his favourite thing to do.

𝜗𝜚 ALWAYS TAKING PHOTOS OF YOU WHEN YOURE NOT LOOKING BECAUSE HE THINKS YOU LOOK SO CUTE

you and matt are sat on the sofa, a little space between you two. you were sitting with your knees up as your phone leaned against your thighs, your hoodie pulled up to your chin. you were scrolling on pinterest and adding photos to your boards, you were in your own little world until you heard matt let out a giggle.

you looked over at him as he looked over at you before talking, “look at this cute picture i took of you when you weren’t looking! it’s so cute, you’re adorable” matt gushed with a smile over his face as he turns his phone towards you to show you the photo.

you squint your eyes slightly to get a better look at the photo but when you get a full view of it, your face turns to a deadpan expression. you don’t see the cuteness matt was talking about, all you saw were flaws.

your messy hair, the unflattering angle, your glasses sitting lob sided on your nose, your bare face with no makeup, and the big pimple on your forehead.

“dude. be so for real, that photo is fucking horrible” you say leaning back to your original position but still looking at matt as he turns his phone back round and admiring the photo.

he playfully kicks your leg with his foot as he giggles, “hey! i thought you looked really cute in this picture, why’re you so negative?” he tilted his head, a curious look in his eyes.

you squinted your eyes and quirked an eyebrow at his reply but you felt butterflies in your stomach as he still complimented you, “no matt! look at my hair, it’s a mess, you can see my double chin, my glasses are lop sided, and look at that fat pimple on my forehead! and i have no makeup on. i actually feel disgusted looking at that right now”

he rolls his eyes, “okay fine, your hair isn’t perfect. your glasses are slightly lop sided, i didn’t even notice the pimple and you look amazing without makeup! why would you be so disgusted at the picture you? you look so cute in it.” he glances between the picture and your face, genuinely not understanding what’s so bad about it.

you jokingly roll your eyes at his obliviousness, “it’s ugly as shit, i just look bad. that’s why im disgusted.” you giggled out.

matt sighs. he doesn’t believe you for a second, “i’ve seriously never thought you looked bad! you’re so pretty, and this picture does not change it one bit” he grins and pokes your cheek and moves your glasses up your nose slightly, “it’s a cute picture and you’re a cute person. get over it”

you lean your head back on the back of the sofa with a smile on your face, “fine, i give up. you win.” you say leaning your head on his shoulder, he leans his head to the side and kiss your forehead.

@sturnsreckless

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shxuga · 3 months ago

Text

Not said | Sylus

I'm in love with this man, and I wanted to introduce myself by writing something about him in the best way… fluffy and self-indulgent! I hope you enjoy the read, English is not my first language ;; Likes and respoted are aprecciates!

It was crazy...

Yes, crazy. Because... How did you go from repudiating and fearing the infamous leader of Onychinus... to... to this?

His soft hair shook as he rocked his face to the left, settling his sleeping form better into your bed. And, clearly, as the mature woman you are and not at all affected by his celestial beauty, you did not annihilate the voracious impulse to shake your legs and slide your fingers through his pretty grayish strands.

You sighed, feeling out of place in your own home. In your own bed! With the curtains closed, somehow trying to wipe most of brightness of Linkon's sun, that your... Ally? Buddy? Lover...?

Gosh, you weren't even sure about that...

Yes, definitely, crazy.

You couldn't even try to figure out Sylus. No matter how hard you tried to collect each piece of his complex puzzle... Most of the time you felt at a dead end.

You blame his pretty voice, his sharp but gentle features, the damn way he pronounced your name, and how he acted when it came to you. God, his damn treatment of you...! That started being so cold, almost spiteful, as if with his words and behavior he will "subtly" (because the bastard wasn't subtle at all!) demand that you remember something he didn't even bother to explain.

The memories in your mind were confusing, blurry and melancholic.

It was strange...

You did not remember exactly that mysterious past, and your "first" meeting was undoubtedly bitter... And now, much to your regret, is the moment where you most feel that your relationship with him wanders on a different astral plane! Completely unrelated!

Because... What the hell were you two?!

There was something implicit there, something mutual that, for better or worse, neither of you had dared to utter. Plus, he completely contradicted himself at times like these. Where the words become extinct, the walls collapse and only that soft perfume of vulnerability remains that surrounds both.

When the cold, calculating and demanding leader became a mirage, leaving only a man... just Sylus.

When he laughed at your antics, and his pretty eyes crinkled in tenderness. Or when he poured honey from his lips, calling you affectionate nicknames that made the butterflies in your stomach flutter. The stolen pettings, where his fingers lingered longer than they should along your hair, those times when his knuckles subtly traced your shoulders and the sides of your arms, or those moments where he let his fingers protectively around your waist.

Moments like these... Where without warning he arrived at your apartment, and took over your bed. If you had a nickel for every time his actions nearly gave you a heart attack, chances are your wealth would begin to rival his.

"Can't you sleep?" His hoarse, sleepy voice startles you, tearing you out of the limbo of your thoughts.

"How could I? It's past twelve." You complain, to which he hums, slowly opening his eyelids.

And there it is again.

Those damn eyes... Those eyes that looked at you as if you were the most important thing to him, with absolute adoration. Full of that affection that made your skin tingle and your knees weak. God, how come this man who initially acted like a demon... Did it end like this?

Overwhelmed, you decided to look away.

His large hand cupped your chin with a firm softness, encouraging you to return your gaze to him.

"Yeah? Is that why you haven't taken your eyes off me?"

Damn.

At this point, it should no longer surprise you that he'll notice those things... But damn! That didn't make it any less embarrassing.

He must have noticed your embarrassment, because his sly smile widened.

"You were looking at me with such intensity that I thought you were going to pierce my face, kitten."

"I-I don't...!" Excuses die out in your tongue, there is no use arguing. You push his hand away and sigh. "Just... I was just thinking."

That gets his attention. He rests his face on his bent arms, and you try hard to pretend that it is something as banal to other mortals as settling into bed, they make it look so perfect, so ethereal, like a muse out of a painting.

It was driving you crazy.

"Yeah? And what were you thinking, pretty?"

Once again, you have to do your best to put on your best poker face to disguise the effect that their disgustingly (wonderful, perfect, amazing) cloying nicknames have on you.

"Nothing in particular..." Your lie is evident, especially by how you avoid his gaze and nervously play with the bedsheets.

He hums, of course he doesn't believe you, in fact, you're sure he already gets the idea... But, as always, he gives you your space, followed with silent reverence the path you chose, and sticks to you with each of your decisions.

Instead, he pulls your arm and wraps it around you lazily, settling your face into his chest, barely hidden under a thin tank top. You can feel his nose on your hair, gently inhaling. Shame pulses through your bloodstream.

"Sy-Sylus...?!"

"Just pretend I'm one of your plushies and try to get some sleep." Sylus pronounces, and you perceive how drowsiness quickly takes over him. There's nothing you can do, not when those strong arms have you happily captive in their embrace. You can only huff and resign. You listen carefully to the pulse of his heart, as erratic as ever, even when he is in this calm state.

The haze of your memories returns to you for an instant. The smell of sulfur and blood, your fingers on a sword and his voice encouraging you not to stop pressing the dagger... Or else, there would be no turning back.

Absently, your fingers outline where the scar should be, unaware of the effect your touch has on it. He shivers, one of his eyes opens and you feel how his gaze shines with intensity, while he holds your wrist firmly with his fingers.

"Kitten..." He warns, and you lower your hands quickly. He laughs, that rich tone, snuggling back into you.

Once again, a sigh leaves your lips. You imitate him, burying your face in his chest, delighting in the persistent rumble of his heart and the manly scent of his cologne.

Yes, there was a lot he hadn't said... But his actions were very clear. And that was enough, at least for now.

#love and deepspace #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #lads sylus #sylus qin #sylus romance #lads sylus x reader #sylus fic #sylus love and deepspace

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astonmartinii · 4 months ago

Text

you gotta look out for the quiet ones | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x fem musician!reader

a surprise appearance from y/n in the formula one paddock raises some questions, but the rumour mill will never guess who she's there to see...

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

note: olivia rodrigo is the face claim but i'll be pulling from her music as well as taylor swift!

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 2,439,677 others

tagged: yourusername

f1: there's paddock guests and there's paddock guests, y/n y/ln is here for the bahrain grand prix!

view comments

user1: MOTHER WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?

user2: this is not what i expected to see this friday morning

user3: okay i've only ever heard of y/n y/ln through others but like she must be dedicated to be there for friday as well

user4: certified y/n superfan here! y/n has always said she's a massive fan of f1 - she hasn't been asked about it recently but when she was last asked about it she said she grew up loving jenson button!

jensonbutton: @yourusername i see you have amazing taste

yourusername: how could i not love the playboy of f1?

user3: okay she knows what she's talking about, i guess it's time to have a little listen to her music

user5: okay so what garage is she going to be in?

user6: ferrari 🤞🏻

user7: did we not just see this ^^^ she's clearly going to be in the mclaren garage

user8: if she has any sense she'll be in the mercedes garage with sir lewis hamilton

user9: what about the literal world champions?

user10: shut the fuck up (i would like to see max blush and stutter tho)

user11: i love how y/n said she's taking a year off of music after her tour and we're immediately seeing her here, there and everywhere

user12: living her true sports nerd life and i love that for her

landonorris: i promise that mclaren have the best hospitality xx

user13: oh brother are we about to see some lando norris snapchat u up flirting?

alexalbon: this is tragic

georgerussell63: make sure you don't tell her about the massive poster you had of her that you practiced kissing on!

georgerussell63: whoops!

landonorris: i am in your walls george

user14: well.. that was something, i don't think we'll see her in the mclaren garage anytime soon now

logansargeant: @oscarpiastri i hope you brought your vinyl to be signed

oscarpiastri: i didn't want to risk it on the plane, it's limited edition 😔

user15: wait so oscar is also a y/n fan ???

user16: not this mclaren battle for y/n's attention

user17: lets be real, there's no competition here - there's no way she wouldn't choose lando

user18: i'm tired of you people sleeping on oscar (pun intended)

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 21,309,784 others

yourusername: i had so much fun the first time round, i thought i'd come by again

view all comments

user25: okayyyy i thought the girlies on twitter were delusional but the second race in a row ... i fear there's another incentive

user26: once again, she's been a massive fan of the sport and has a ton of disposable money why wouldn't she go to a load of races?

landonorris: can't wait to see you again this weekend, i'll get you that win i promised

alexalbon: nurse he's talking to himself again

georgerussell63: this is crazy thirsting to do in front of 21 million people

landonorris: i assure you i'll be the one with the last laugh here

maxverstappen1: sure you will buddy, it's good to see you so confident

user27: are they gentle parenting lando?

user28: bro is about to get his heart broken they're actually being good friends

user29: idk i think he's still the one in the paddock with the best shot

user30: i gotta get this delusion all lando fans seem to have

carlossainz55: i think you'd look great in red ❤️

charles_leclerc: oh gosh....

carlossainz55: they don't call me the smooth operator for no reason, just sit back and watch the magic

maxverstappen1: you fucking morons do realise you're proclaiming this in a PUBLIC instagram comment section that everyone INCLUDING y/n can see?

user31: this is a mess ... keep going!

oscarpiastri: i celebrated my win here in 2021 with the release of sour - i know you're on a sabbatical but any chance of a surprise single?

user32: yall getting on lando and carlos for their bad flirting when oscar is stinking up the gaff with his attempts

yourusername: i'm so sorry to tell you this but no surprise single, but i can show you some demos?

oscarpiastri: please, please, please! good 4 u is my scream in the car song

user33: i just know oscar was streaming traitor when his DRS failed for the ten billionth time

oscarpiastri: it went platinum in my car yes

yourusername: i imagine it's even better at 200mph

oscarpiastri: i'd be happy to show you anytime

yourusername: carpool karaoke x hot laps when?

oscarpiastri: name a time and i'm there

user34: why is oscar trying so hard bro she's not going to choose you

user35: and yet he's the only one she replied to ... makes you think

user36: you guys are miserable because i'd literally do anything to see them singing in a car together

oscarpiastri

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 832,988 others

oscarpiastri: jeddah you were okay i guess

view all comments

user37: holy soft launch

user38: and right after flirting up a storm with Y/N Y/LN

user39: first of all, oscar is a fan of y/n so it could've definitely been from a platonic point of view

user40: it has to be platonic cause bro had no chance to start with and has a gf ???

landonorris: i'm sorry what is this ?

oscarpiastri: an instagram post, would hope you would know what that is if you're already on the app

landonorris: don't get smart with me mister

oscarpiastri: you got smart first 🤨

landonorris: what happened to my sweet rookie?

oscarpiastri: he's still 23 years old ?

landonorris: i need to meet this mystery woman who has seemed to give you all this sass

user41: prema girlies know that this sass has always been here

user42: but i'm glad it's coming out in f1

yourusername: okay i guess? you slayed mr piastri and i won't hear anything less than that

oscarpiastri: okay it was a bit of a slay

yourusername: a bit?

oscarpiastri: a big slay then

yourusername: stop talking down on yourself otherwise you'll have me to deal with

oscarpiastri: that is not the threat you think it is

yourusername: it's not a threat it's a promise x

user43: excuse me what the fuck was that ^

user44: i can't tell if they're flirting or if y/n just feels sorry for him?

user45: they did get coffee like once this weekend so maybe they're just friends

user46: they have to be because there's no way that is y/n in this soft launch

user47: there's no way oscar piastri could woo the y/n y/ln idk why people are even suggesting it

user48: and i think even flirting with her is a bit weird considering his teammate has made it so obvious he likes her

user49: oscar doesn't seem to be the type to step on toes but we'll see

logansargeant: if that's who i think it is i am going to fight you for not telling me straight up

oscarpiastri: i'll meet you in the parking lot i guess

logansargeant: be there or be square

user50: what does logan know that we don't ???

f1tea

liked by user52, user53 and 11,209 others

f1tea: now she's attended THREE races in a row, i think it's okay to start the conversation about her being with one of the drivers... so here's our theories!

lando: he's been on this train the longest and has the old thirst tweets to back it up. he's been spotted talking to her numerous times at races and has been camping in her comment section since bahrain

carlos: he has also been in her comments since bahrain and has been seen with her in the paddock - less than lando but y/n has worn red a couple times in the paddock so??

lewis: y/n was blushing up a storm when they were spotted together and i honestly think if the age gap wasn't so big they would be so cute together

liam: an outside shout but this guy was stuck to her side the whole time she was at red bull

charles: they have spoken a lot in the paddock, i don't think it's him but omg imagine them together

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user54: not this oscar erasure - i.e. the only driver she's actually interacted with online

user55: if it's oscar i will literally streak across the track at the next race

user56: admin snuck liam in there like we wouldn't notice

user57: idk why they think that liam is a better shout than oscar

user58: i think all the fangirling from oscar defo put him straight into the friend zone

user59: idk about you guys but i've actually listened to y/n's music and her album after her last breakup suggests that she might like someone who appreciates her craft and publicly supports her

user60: yeah but she also deserves a boyfriend that's on her level

user61: oscar is a literal f1 driver?

user60: yeah but he's not cute enough

user62: to YOU

user63: omg just say you have no taste and bounce gosh

user64: how did lando become a frontrunner in this?

user65: i think because he's liked her the longest? and has been the most insistent

user66: i hate to say this but just because you like someone and said it first, does not mean you are entitled to actually date them

user67: i will laugh my ass off if she's not with any of these fools

user68: bro took a year off of music to have some fun and now is linked to everyone and their mum

user69: unfortunately this is the way it goes although if she does become a wag (tho be real, whoever is with her is the wag) i shall be enjoying her paddock outfits

user70: carlos vs oscar i think i've seen this film before

user71: oh trust me off track there is no competition

user72: you people are so mean

user73: oscar will win again, mark my words. i'm not sure if carlos can cry to the fia about that tho

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri and 23,874,093 others

yourusername: getting the real aussie experience down under

view all comments

user74: AHHHHHHHHHH A MAN

user75: who the fuck wears jeans on a hammock she needs to run away from this man he's clearly a psychopath

maxverstappen1: you went to see quokkas without me??? does our friendship mean nothing ???

yourusername: it's not considered normal to invite friends to a date

maxverstappen1: boring. i will remember this when you try and get some red bull from our hospitality

yourusername: nO PLEASE

maxverstappen1: no, for this you must suffer through the piss they put in monster cans

this comment was deleted

maxverstappen1: well you should've thought more of our friendship :P

yourusername: you are impossible. no more limited edition merch for you

maxverstappen1: WHAT

user76: for all this love life speculation i am loving this max and y/n friendship

user77: but... the monster comment... it has to be lando right? monster sponsor mclaren

user78: i think this is the most confirmation we're getting right now

user79: they're so cute

oscarpiastri: i am glad the homeland is treating you well :)

yourusername: i've only had one scary insect encounter so win!

oscarpiastri: we'll have to get you some real australian delicacies this weekend

yourusername: i've heard of grandma's baking so i'm excited!

oscarpiastri: we've got a tupperware box with your name on it

yourusername: ugh i love you guys

user80: the monster comment pointed to mclaren but there's only one of them in the comments...

user81: i mean this is a soft launch so it would make sense that lando wouldn't comment if they're trying to throw people off of their scent

user82: the mental gymnastics you people are doing is insane

user83: literally just admit that your driver just doesn't have the sauce like that

user84: and oscar piastri does???

user85: STOP SLEEPING ON HIM HE'S LITERALLY GETTING HER HOME-BAKED GOODS

oscarpiastri

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername and 2,349,761 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: home win means more than you could ever know. and you can stop theorising now, i may be a nerd but i've still got game.

view all comments

user89: HHAHHHAHHAHAHAHHA THAT'S MY AUSSIE

user90: stunting his stunning gf on all these delusional fangirls

yourusername: now i can finally say it: I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU

yourusername: and i'm proud of you

yourusername: forever and always

oscarpiastri: maybe i was so fast because i knew there was a literal angel waiting for me back in my garage

yourusername: oh so the other races i came to i just didn't look good enough for you to win :(

oscarpiastri: NO NO NO you're always the most beautiful woman in any room

oscarpiastri: but this time you're wearing my jersey and my name

yourusername: i guess i'll never take it off again

oscarpiastri: you might not take it off, but that doesn't mean i won't

yourusername: ehhhehehhehheeh hurry up in debrief :P

user91: oscar piastri i am so sorry i was not familiar with your game

user92: i for one had complete faith in that bumbling fool

yourusername: as you should, he may have stuttered through the lines, but he's one smooth operator

carlossainz55: that's my nickname? please stop rubbing salt in the wound

yourusername: it was better than your attempts. and better than whatever the fuck you've been doing on the track - keep your dumptruck away from oscar

user93: y/n defending oscar, consider me moved

user94: okay fave celeb couple just dropped

landonorris: HOW LONG HAS THIS BEING GOING ON? HOW LONG HAVE YOU LET ME FLIRT WITH YOUR GIRLFRIEND? HOW DID I LOSE TO YOU?

yourusername: watch your tone.

landonorris: sorry???

oscarpiastri: we've been together nearly a year. i didn't 'let' you flirt with my girlfriend i tried to tell you but you ignored me at every turn. you didn't lose to me, there was never any competition.

yourusername: best year of my life 🫶 and lando i tried to tell you, maybe listen to oscar for once 😭

oscarpiastri: awwwwww i love you 😘

yourusername: i love you too osc xx

user95: not them dancing on lando's dead body 😭

logansargeant: I FUCKING KNEW IT YOU SON OF A BITCH

oscarpiastri: never doubt me again eagle boy

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 35,609, 451 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername: if you saw me ugly crying on live tv - no you didn't. i'm so proud of you osc, my beautiful boy.

view all comments

user96: i think y/n was all of us

user97: absolutely screaming at all of the y/n fans on twitter having a meltdown and trying to figure out how f1 works

user98: this was me, am i really going to learn about tyre compounds because y/n is dating a driver? yes!

maxverstappen1: i am very happy for you both but enjoy the win while it lasts oscar i have a score to settle after being ABANDONED on the quokka date

yourusername: once again it was a DATE which is for the two people in the relationship, not the weird third guy with attachment issues

maxverstappen1: well jokes on you i do have attachment issues and now i've latched onto you and oscar which means you're contractually obligated to come to every race now

yourusername: ok?

oscarpiastri: it's okay max with our combined powers, y/n will have to stick around she hates making us sad

yourusername: it's true :(

user99: not lando fumbling yet another lead

yourusername: he never had a chance to begin with

oscarpiastri: 😆

user100: this is another level of teammate psychological warfare

landonorris: i am a victim of a smear campaign

oscarpiastri: smear campaign being you flirting with my girlfriend after she told you she had a boyfriend

landonorris: I DIDN'T HEAR HER

yourusername: i said it multiple times 🤨 and SOFT LAUNCHED OSCAR AND YOU STILL TRIED

georgerussell63: looks like it's back to the poster now lando

yourusername: and for the record ^^ this is very creepy

landonorris: THAT WAS LIKE TEN YEARS AGO

alexalbon: that's what you want us to think ...

user101: i am screaming at them rubbing it in lando's face

user102: kind of deserved LOL but funny nonetheless

oscarpiastri: all things aside, i'm so glad you could be there for my first win! i love you so much and can't wait to spend there rest of my life with you, even if it means my teammate flirts with you everyday

yourusername: i love you too osc, i'm sure you'll win so many more

oscarpiastri: i'm counting on it ;)

landonorris: I AM SORRY HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY IT

yourusername: you gonna let oscar have the upgrades first?

landonorris: no?

yourusername: then i will guilt you at every corner 🤨

fin. i know, i know. guilty as sin is coming but i just wanted to get this out. i had to come home from silverstone early cause of a mechanical dnf (foot stopped working and had heat stroke and a cold at the same time). but i had a great time while i was there and met a load of drivers with lando and alex signing my hat !!!!!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 social media au #f1 #oscar piastri instagram au #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri social media au

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artdcnaldson · 5 months ago

Note

smutty patrick +art +reader request!!!! ->

smut where both patrick &y/n r dominant and are constantly competing against eachother with who makes art cum faster/moan louder LOL☺️☺️☺️ patrick is like a rougher dom and reader is softer and she keeps praising art while patrick IS SUCH A MEANIEEEEE but he also loves art too obv(and reader). UGH i love them

HEHEHEHE <3

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT!! Threesome ft. Dom!Patrick, Soft!Dom Reader, Sub!Art, handjob, blowjob, ruined orgasm

A/N: god tier request, truly. something possessed me when I wrote this

Art Donaldson had never looked prettier than he did in that moment. The thin sheen of sweat that made his skin glisten, the pretty flush that burned pink down to his chest.

His back was pressed to your chest, your arms wrapped around him soothingly. It was the perfect angle to watch all the ways Patrick was torturing your sweet boy.

His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath— each exhale shuddery and rough. You pet his hair, brushing soft curls out of his eyes.

“How are you, baby?” You asked softly, teasingly. “Is Patrick being too mean?”

He shook his head, the muscles of his abdomen flexing as Patrick’s hand moved faster and faster. A strangled moan slipped past his lips, eyes squeezing shut as Patrick brought him closer and closer to the edge.

“I’m just doing what he asked,” Patrick said with a grin. The sounds of his hand was slick as it moved up and down on the blond’s cock.. “He wanted me to touch him, and I’m touching him.”

You pressed a soothing kiss to his jaw and grinned down at Patrick. The brunet was a co-conspirator in the agonizing, delicious torture you put Art’s poor body through. You were just nicer about it.

“Close,” Art whimpered, his lips spit slick and bitten pink. “I— fuck— I’m close”

Patrick smirked like the cat who got the cream, but you just ran a soothing hand over the plane of his chest, teasing his nipples, making him whine pitifully.

“Yeah, baby? You’re close, huh?” Your teeth tugged slightly at his earlobe and he moaned, loud and pretty. “Be polite and ask Patrick if you can cum.”

Patrick’s hand didn’t let up— slick and relentless. He raised an eyebrow expectantly and Art nearly sobbed.

“Please—“ was all Art could manage.

“Please, what, Donaldson? You’re a big boy, you know how to ask the right way.”

He groaned, shifting so he could squirm away from Patrick’s relentless touch. It was futile, though. Art was strong, but with your legs pinning his thighs and Patrick’s hand slung across the blond’s torso, all he could do was take it.

“Lemme cum— please let me cum,” he was practically begging, eyes shining with crocodile tears. It was so fucking cute. You wished your camera was nearby so you could’ve snapped a picture of how desperate he’d gotten.

Patrick met your gaze and smiled, like he’d just gotten the best fucking idea in the world. “Okay, baby,” he said in an unusually gentle voice. “You can cum.”

You could feel Art’s heart hammering against your palm, the surprise evident in his eyes.

“Hurry before Pat changes his mind, yeah?” You cooed in his ear. He nodded, face scrunched slightly as Patrick brought him closer and closer to finishing.

And god, Art could get loud. He had his tells here, just like in tennis. As soon as he went silent, you knew he was right on the precipice, ready to tumble over.

The second Art’s orgasm hit, Patrick moved his hand off of him completely. It was different than it usually was— Art was always messy. He’d shoot ropes of thick cum up to his chest, or his face if he was particularly backed up.

But then, he just whimpered pathetically as cum oozed out of his tip, leaving a puddle at the base of his cock. And— holy fuck— he stayed hard.

Art practically sobbed, his head lolling back against your shoulder. Tears of frustration welled in his pretty blue eyes. “What the fuck, Patrick?” He groaned pathetically.

“What the fuck did you do?” You asked with wide eyes.

Patrick sat back and shrugged, wearing a shit-eating grin. “I saw someone do it in a porn. He got to cum, he just didn’t get the good part.”

“Switch spots,” you said quickly. Patrick let you settle between Art’s thighs, eye level with his aching cock. It was red at the tip, aching for a real release.

When you wrapped a hand around him, he whimpered and squirmed in an attempt to escape the stimulation.

“You good, baby?” You asked, pressing your lips to his thigh.

Before Art could respond, Patrick sighed. “Stop babying him— he’s fine.”

You met Art’s gaze, and he gave a tiny nod. His chest was heaving as he drew breath after shaky breath.

The mess of cum surrounding his base made each slick pass of your hand sound pornographic. Almost as debauched as the whimpers and moans that were escaping Art’s lips.

“Mmm… fuck, fuck— ah!” Like a goddamn pornstar.

“Shhh… let me clean up the mess Patrick made, yeah?”

You pressed a soft kiss to his tip, and his thighs twitched with the need to buck into the warmth of your lips. Your mouth trailed down, peppering the hard length of him with wet, slow kisses. You could taste his release, salty on your tongue.

“Jesus, baby— please—“ Art, desperate and wanting, was your favorite thing in the world. Besides maybe Patrick, desperate and wanting in a completely opposite way.

“Quit whining, Art, or she’s gonna stop.” Patrick murmured in the blond’s ear. You could already see a collection of red spots on Art’s throat that would turn into bruises.

You definitely weren’t going to stop. You loved every single depraved noise you could wring out of him. You took mercy on him, easing his sensitive cock into the wet warmth of your mouth.

You’re too soft on him. He likes when you make him work for it. You could hear Patrick’s complaints already.

It didn’t matter. You liked taking care of your boy.

He pulsed against your tongue as you took him deeper, his thighs tensing where your hands rested against him. He bucked slightly, brushing the back of your throat. When you gagged around him, he made the same whimpery noise that he made on the tennis courts.

“Tell her thank you,” Patrick said in Art’s ear.

You moaned softly around Art’s length as you felt Patrick’s fingers grip onto your hair, guiding your mouth up and down, faster and faster.

“Art, I’ll make her stop. Say thank you.” Patrick’s voice was firm, no trace of any sympathy. The same way he’d bark corrections that Art needed to make when they practiced together.

“Thank you,“ Art gasped out, like it took all the effort in the world. Patrick used his free hand to rake his nails over Art’s abs, and the blond cried out and bucked into your throat. “Fuck—“

You knew he was close to finishing— still so pent up from the orgasm that Patrick had ruined for him. So sensitive that it wouldn’t take much more effort to have him spilling onto your tongue.

You pulled off slowly, jerking him off with slow, firm strokes. “You wanna cum, baby?” You asked, lips just brushing the sensitive head of his cock.

“Yes! God, need t’ cum so bad,” he cried, desperate and aching for release.

“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ greedy, Art,” Patrick goaded. The hand that was in your hair had moved to your cheek, where he stroked along your skin sweetly. “You think you deserve it?”

“Yes, you asshole,” Art groaned. Patrick laughed, a smile spreading across his lips. You raised a brow, looking at the brunet expectantly for permission. He nodded and you smiled.

“Go on, baby, I’ve got you,” you said, hand moving faster. “I won’t be mean, I’ll let you get what you need.”

He cried out as he finished, painting your tongue with thick spurts of cum. You worked him through it, taking every drop he could offer you, until the feeling of your touch became too much.

“Don’t swallow, c’mere,” Patrick said. You joined him at the top of the bed, kissing him deeply, passing Art’s cum between your mouths with slow laves of your tongues against each other.

Art whined, reaching for your faces, wanting you to include him. Patrick leaned down, kissing him deeply, so he could taste the efforts of both of your attentions. You leaned in, tongue brushing Patrick’s, and Art’s, and you felt warmth flutter in your chest.

“You’re too nice to him,” Patrick said after he pulled away. “I would’ve made him beg for it.”

thank you for readinggggg <3 this was so fun to write 😁🩵

#art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig x art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson #challengers 2024 #challengers fanfic #challengers x reader #my writing

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prettyfastcars · 7 months ago

Text

the way you bend, the way you break - part 2 | Mob!Lando

Read part 1 here

Summary: Lando finally has all that he wanted, all that belonged to him in the first place. But there’s always room for trouble, even in paradise. And it’s up to him to fix it all and do whatever it takes to make sure that if he can’t have you then… no one can.

Themes: pregnant!reader, mob!lando, fluff, slight angst, smut, very mild gun kink, gaslighting, dark!lando, possessive!lando

a/n: come get y’all juice [throws this fic at you and runs away]

He woke up to something warm pressing into the side of his body.

Snuggled up to him, so close like you were trying to find a way to hide under his skin. He smiled when he looked down and found you asleep, wrapped in your blanket and still seeking his warmth.

He instinctively wrapped his arms around you, leaning into you as much as he could. He couldn’t exactly press his body completely against yours anymore because the bump got in the way.

It had been two months since you two had left that mansion and that little town. And your bump was properly visible now.

Speaking of the bump… He couldn’t resist shifting down to kiss it. “Morning, little one.” He whispered against it. The warmth of your skin was comforting so he nuzzled it and sighed. “Daddy can’t wait to meet you.”

Then he felt gentle fingers running through his hair. He gave your bump one last kiss before he looked up and found you smiling down at him.

“Hi,” You whispered, playing with his ridiculously soft, curly hair.

“Morning, mama.” He reached up and kissed your face until you giggled and told him to back off because his stubble hurt. “Oh it hurts?” He kissed his way down your neck, his hands roaming all over your body, caressing you through the satin PJ set you wore before he began unbuttoning the shirt and lowering the shorts.

He kissed his way down until he settled in between your legs, your body was still warm – hot rather – from being under the blanket and he couldn’t get enough. His fingers dug into the softness of your thighs as he parted them, bringing his mouth closer to where he desperately wanted to be.

Kissing you through the thin excuse of an underwear you had on, he asked, “Is it still hurting?” He purposely let his stubble rub against your inner thighs, making you whine and moan as you squirmed under him. “Doesn’t look like it’s hurting.” He teased.

Your fingers found their way into his hair and you tugged on it to shut him up. He smirked as he went along, letting you guide his mouth to where you wanted him. He licked, and sucked and teased until you were a whimpering mess beneath him. His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you wide open for his mouth and preventing you from moving as he pinned your hips and legs down on the bed as he ate you out.

This. This right here was his dream. Waking up next to his woman and then rolling over to taste her like she was there only for him to taste. Lando only smiled against your wet folds the louder your moans got. These peaceful mornings were what he lived for.

But not everyday these past few months have been this peaceful. He still remembered the couple of days following the plane ride here…

When you woke up on the plane, you immediately started panicking.

“Baby, it’s okay. We’re just–,”

“You had no right.” Were the first words you said to him.

And it pissed him off. “Oh I didn’t? You’re mine, I have every right to do what I think is good for you. And our baby.”

And then you argued. Big time. You said just the right things to make him mad and he acted like the overbearing, possessive man he was. The only way to get you to listen to him was to bend you over the nearest surface, in this case the bathroom sink, and fuck some sense into you.

“You belong to me.” He murmured, pushing his face into the crook of your neck. Your mind was a foggy mess as he started rocking into you, making your front bump against the counter each time he fucked into you. “Say it.” He demanded. “Tell me you belong to me.”

“I hate you so much right now…” you whispered, even as your walls clenched around him, unable to hide just how much you wanted him.

His thrusts were animalistic, and rough. “I didn’t hear you.” He taunted, pulling his face away. His hand flew to your hair and he grabbed a fistful of it, and tugged on it, tipping your head back so you could see your reflections in the mirror. “I said tell me you’re mine.” His voice sounded menacing as he stared deep into your eyes through the mirror.

You hated him. You hated how good he looked with that look on his face. His lips parted as his hips moved, burying his cock into you each time. You hated how good it felt to be bent over in front of him, all for him to use.

You whimpered as he pounded into your core. His pelvic bone smacking against your ass each time he thrust into you. “I… I’m yours,” You whispered, gritting your teeth, losing this round. But vowing to not forgive him easily.

You continued watching him through the mirror. He looked absolutely, devilishly handsome with his head thrown back, veins on his muscular neck prominent, eyes closed, his lips parted as groans escaped his lips. With that frown of pleasure he always had whenever he fucked you.

“You better remember that, baby.” He growled. “You are mine. I love you, and I know how to care for you. So don’t fucking tell me what to do when it comes to you and our kid. You hear me?”

You nodded despite the death stare you sent his way, moaning as he reached every single sensitive spot inside you. You felt a familiar warmth taking over you, and a pressure building in your lower region. You knew you couldn’t hold it any longer.

And when your walls clenched violently around him.

“You’re gonna cum for me, mama? Hmm?” He cooed, his voice laced with lust and desire.

Seeing you didn’t reply, he tilted your head to the side a little. You couldn’t see his reflection anymore, not as he leaned in to kiss your parted lips before pulling away a few inches to spit into your mouth, then leaned in to kiss your swollen lips again. You moaned wantonly as he did, for a moment you forgot all about your anger.

“Come for me.” He slammed his cock harder into you, and your eyes watered. He felt agonisingly good. It didn’t take much for you to come undone after that. Gushing out around his cock, walls pulsating around him as you came, hard.

He did too, right after you. “All fucking mine.” His warm load shooting inside you, as your body shook against the counter. He gathered you up in his arms again, kissing you as your body shivered and trembled. “I love you. I’m doing this for us, baby.”

After you landed, he drove you to another one of his houses – though he called this one his main house – which was equally as grand as the one you used to work in. Once he showed you to your shared bedroom, you went straight for a nice, warm, long shower.

And after that, you didn’t speak to Lando for two whole weeks.

He tried everything. Sulked, apologised, begged, tried to buy you ridiculous things, begged some more. And it took two weeks of severe grovelling for you to finally accept his apology.

He was glad you didn’t stay mad for too long. Although those two weeks of silent treatment from you hurt even more than the time he’d been shot twice during a crossfire.

But he had you now, under him and squirming, moaning in pleasure just how he liked it. And this was perfect. His tongue didn’t stop teasing you until you were properly spent, grinding your hips against his mouth as you calmed down after a gentle, but intense orgasm.

He kissed along your inner thighs, which were still trembling. But then he groaned in annoyance when he looked up and couldn’t see you because of the bump. “Kid’s getting in the way already,” He murmured, kissing his way back up. “I can’t even see your face when I’m down there now.”

You giggled at the tone he used. “And whose fault is that?”

He nuzzled your neck again, kissing it as he held you against him. “I love you.” He whispered into your ear. “It’s time to get some breakfast in you, mama. Let’s go.”

You sighed in bliss, savouring one last moment in bed with him before you got out of bed and went through your morning routine while he made his way downstairs. This had become a new part of your routine now – him making breakfast each morning.

You shook your head as you showered. You couldn’t believe this was your life now. New home, new place, new doctors, new staff members who waited on you at all times during the day. You had everything one could want. People all around the house who were ready to bring you whatever you wanted. Multiple cars with chauffeurs ready to take you wherever you wanted.

Anywhere you wanted, you thought, but not to your hometown.

Lando didn’t like it when you even mentioned the little town you’d just left. It didn’t have much to offer, but it was still where you were born and raised. You didn’t miss it enough to want to go back and live there. No. But you did miss it enough to want to know how everyone was doing back home.

Your friends and family.

You’d tried bringing it up just a few weeks ago…

“Maybe I should go back once.”

“What for?” He pulled you against him, arms wrapping around you, kissing your forehead as you both stood on the balcony just outside your bedroom, watching the sun rise.

“Just to say goodbye properly. I… maybe they’d understand why–,”

His arms tightened around you before he reached up to cup your face in his large, warm hands. “They won’t.” The finality in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. “If they wanted to talk to you they would’ve reached out by now, don’t you think?”

Lando knew full well that he was leaving out the part where he threatened your friends and family to never reach out to you if they wanted to keep their heads on their shoulders. He had people watching them at all times. He wasn’t taking any risks. You were his now, and no one was gonna take you away from him.

That ended that conversation. And you never brought it up again.

You did think about it even now as you got ready for the day before making your way downstairs. Maybe, you thought, you could check up on them without physically going there.

–

A couple of days later, Lando came home after a particularly annoying day and all he wanted was a soothing hug from you, a couple of kisses, and maybe you’d let him bury his face between your thighs again.

But he walked into the house and immediately, he could tell something was wrong. The guards were all in their places, armed as usual. So that calmed him down a little. Yet, a gut feeling told him something wasn’t right.

As he made his way up the stairs, he took his phone out and checked the security cameras. Everything was fine outside, the guards walked around on alert as per usual. Then he checked the cams inside his home, trying to find you. And he frowned as he saw you in the corner of his library, typing furiously on the keyboard as your eyes remained glued to the screen of his computer.

Weird. It was rather late, you should’ve been in bed. He tried zooming in to see what was displayed on the screen but he couldn’t see it. Damn. He should get new, better cameras.

But without wasting any more time, and seeking to soothe that feeling in his gut, he rushed towards the library. And his heart sank as he kept an eye on the security cam footage while he approached the library.

He watched how you visibly tensed up the moment he was sure you could hear his footsteps approaching. He watched how you clicked around in panic, typing even faster the closer he got to the library doors.

He put his phone back in his pocket the moment he pushed the doors open and stepped into the room, finding you at his desk. The screen illuminated only your face while the rest of the room remained fairly dark.

“Hi!” You said, sounding a little too cheerful. Sounding fake. Fake smile, fake happiness upon seeing him when he knew damn well you were just frowning right before he walked into the room.

He hated it. The mask you put on just to make everything seem normal. He clenched his jaw before he asked, as calmly as he could, “What are you doing? It’s late, baby. Let’s go to bed.”

“Yeah,” You gathered the blanket you had wrapped around you. “I was just looking into colour palettes. For the nursery, remember?”

He nodded slowly, watching how you didn’t move from the desk. “Right now, though? It’s the middle of the night. And why were you in the dark?” Like you were doing something you shouldn’t.

He noticed how you tensed up the moment he began walking towards you. He watched how you tried to discreetly move your hands towards the touchpad again. But he was quicker.

And it only took him a moment to lean down so he could see properly, understand, and process what you’d been doing, or what you were about to do. He looked away from the screen and looked down at you. You avoided his eyes and that only pissed him off even more.

“Care to explain this, mama?”

Something shifted then. His tone, his demeanour, his presence – all of it getting darker.

You looked away, sighing in defeat. “I just wanted to know.” There was no point in trying to hide that you’d been secretly emailing a friend of yours from back home. There weren’t too many emails exchanged, only a couple going back to a few days prior where you asked about the wellbeing of your parents and other friends.

You didn’t risk texting because… that would be too easy for him to find. You couldn’t call either, he would know because his loyal guards watched each move of yours. So emails it was. You’d delete them each time. But this time it seemed you’d been caught before you could.

“You couldn’t trust me?” He asked. Part of him was relieved that your friend had told you that all was well back there. This meant that your family was behaving like he wanted.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” He grabbed the back of the chair and slowly turned it so you’d have no choice but face him. “Why’d you go behind my back like this? And why lie to me?”

You looked up at him. Piercing eyes staring down at you as the computer screen illuminated only half of his face. His hands remained on the back of the chair so he was closer now. His scent drove you insane. Damn hormones! Lately all you ever wanted to do was be close to him. His scent… it did things to you. This was unfair.

“I just wanted to confirm that–,”

“Why not just trust me?”

You couldn’t help but say, “Trust you? After you kidnapped me and told me my family didn’t want anything to do with me? I’m supposed to just trust you?” You didn’t mean for it to come out like that but there was no going back now.

“Kidnapped?” Lando scoffed. “Bringing you home where you belong isn’t kidnapping.”

You sighed again. “I’m not saying I don’t want to be here with you, Lando. But I needed to make sure all was well at home.”

“And is it?”

You nodded sheepishly, looking up at him to find him clenching his jaw in that way that made you think of sinful things.

Thank fuck, he thought, that your friend kept her mouth shut and didn’t give you any details about just how well things were at home. How your family and friends constantly had his men around them, keeping watch and notifying him of each of their moves. At this point, Lando knew exactly how many times your family went grocery shopping or to the park. He had his people keeping eyes on them at home, at work, following their cars – there was nothing he didn’t know about.

“Am I not enough for you?” He asked, standing up straight so he could look more menacing as he stared down at you still sitting in front of him.

Only his stance just made your body throb even more. He looked godly from this angle. Like some dark, tortured, tragic hero in his all black suit which fit him like a second skin. That metal chain hanging from his neck. His pretty eyes on you. You had to take a deep breath and shoo away all the filthy images that filled your head.

You rolled your eyes at his question. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” He scoffed. “You’re reaching out to your friends, talking to people behind my back, then lying to me about it and I’m supposed to just what, do nothing?” He accused. “For now it’s emails, what if in the future some day you decide you want to leave me? Will you expect me to just stand there, not be dramatic, and do nothing?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you tried to stand up but he carefully pushed you back down on the chair. Leaning down so he was staring into your eyes, he said, “Do you want to leave me, mama? Is that what’s going on here?”

“You’re blowing this out of pro–,”

He cut you off by pulling his shiny, silver gun out and placing it gently on the desk. Right where you both could clearly see. Within arms’ length, but definitely closer to you.

His voice dropped as he leaned closer, lips bruising against your cheek as he ignored your side of the argument and said, “If you are thinking of running then you better use this and make sure I’m no longer breathing before you do.” He pulled away to look at you. The proximity, the danger in the air, the inevitable tension, it made you breathless. “Because if you run, I will chase.” He whispered, “And you won’t like what I do to you when I catch you.”

Your heart was pounding, mind racing and the filthiest of outcomes flooding your brain. Still you asked, “You think I would hurt you?”

He smirked and he’d never looked more unhinged than he did in that moment. It scared you, about just as much as it excited you. He glanced down at his gun. “Not worth living if I can’t have you anyway.” He whispered.

“Don’t say that.” You shook your head, finally reaching out to hold his face in your hands. “I need you. We need you.”

That made him look down at your bump, partially visible now since your little PJ top didn’t cover all of it. He dropped to kneel in front of you, bending to kiss the bump again like he always does.

“I’m sorry, little one,” He whispered, nuzzling the warmth of your skin. “Daddy has to be mean to mama for a bit. She’s being difficult, you see?” Then he looked up at you and said, “I don’t wanna fight.”

“Neither do I.” You stood up this time, taking a few steps just to put some distance between you and him so you could think straight and take a deep breath. “I just don’t understand why the thought of me being connected to what used to be my home bothers you so much.”

He slowly turned to the desk and grabbed his gun. None of that scared you. You were safe with him, you were certain of that. So you watched him. Watched how he slowly turned to you and said, “Because there’s the possibility of you leaving me and going back there.”

You sighed in frustration. “There’s always going to be the possibility for every single thing. That’s how life works! So what, you’ll wipe the entire town out of existence? Burn it to the ground? Turn it to nothing but ash? All so I won’t even have a home to go back to if I ever leave you?”

He gave you that same unhinged smirk from earlier. Then said, “Don’t tempt me.”

“Lando.” You warned.

“What?”

“What the fuck do you want, huh?”

He moved.

He walked towards you and for each step he took, you took one back. Until your back met with one of the book shelves and he was right in front of you. “I’m getting tired of this conversation.”

You spat back, “I’m getting tired of your face.” You lied.

He chuckled, then looked down at the bump between you two, caressing it as he said, “You hear that, little one? Mama’s being a brat.” He looked up at you and said, his voice deeper now, “But don’t you worry, daddy will deal with it.”

It all happened too quickly. Him getting your clothes off, kissing you to distract you as he walked the two of you over to the nearest couch. You bit his lower lip in annoyance till you almost drew blood, and he just chuckled before kissing you even deeper as he carefully pushed you down on the couch, hovering over you supporting himself with one hand while the other one held his gun right above your face.

“You’re being difficult again, baby.” He murmured, gently lowering his gun and brushing the barrel against your lips, then slowly dragged it down your chin. “You drive me fucking crazy.” He dragged the tip of his gun all the way down your trembling, naked body, down your thighs and back up till he pressed it against your wet folds. He chuckled when he saw you grinding against it. “Does it feel good? Hmm?” He asked. “Does it make you feel all powerful knowing you piss me off more than anyone ever dares to and can get away with it? All because I love you too much to actually punish you? Does it, baby?”

You frowned at him, still annoyed. “Shut the fuck up.” You didn’t stop grinding against the cold gun. You whined when he pulled it away from your skin and tossed it to the side.

He had a mean smirk on his face, calm despite everything. You studied his handsome face for a moment. Your emotions were shifting from guilt to annoyance to lust, and your heart fluttered when he whispered, “Spread those legs for me. Show me what’s mine.”

The crude casualness of his words would’ve surely made you blush if you weren’t dripping wet and burning with desire. And regardless of how pompous you thought he was, how authoritative and overbearing – and no matter how annoyed you were – you did just as he asked.

You held his stare as you spread your legs so he could settle in between them. Lando eyed you with a mischievous smirk. “There’s my good girl. Now hold yourself open for me.” He said, then lowered his mouth, watching as you carefully spread your folds open for him. “Fuck…” He murmured as he kissed your knuckles.

You couldn’t see his face – because of the bump – but his warm breath against your fingers, your wet skin, the soft touch of his fingers as he spread your wetness around, followed by his tongue, all of it had you moaning as you arched your back, leaning into his mouth even more.

You could see his hips moving while he ate you out, grinding into the couch and for some reason that made you whine even louder. “Lando …” you whimpered.

He smirked against your inner thighs. “Don’t you dare come just yet.”

You whined, taking your bottom lip in between your teeth to keep yourself from moaning too loudly. Lando smirked when he craned his neck and saw how you were struggling to keep quiet. He knew just how sensitive your body had become these days, how badly you craved his touch at all times. And right now, he noticed the way your body squirmed under him, and he knew you too well so he could tell that you were so close to coming.

“Baby… please,” You whined, releasing your swollen lip from your teeth. Your body felt hot, and you needed to just let go and come.

“Please what?” He taunted, shamelessly ignoring your pleas. “Is it frustrating? Wanting something so badly and having someone else just threatening to take it away? Hmm?” He slid his tongue up and down your slit, careful not to make you come and enjoying the way you growled through gritted teeth. “This is how it feels, baby. Everytime you argue and bring up that little town. The thought of you leaving me here and returning there…” He playfully bit your inner thigh. “This is exactly how it feels. Like I’m a fucking madman ready to do whatever it takes just to have what I want. Which is you next to me. Always.”

You let out a loud moan as he kissed your throbbing clit ever so gently. “I’m sorry,” You caught yourself whispering. “I’ll… I’ll let it go. I promise. There’s nowhere else I would rather be.” You lifted yourself up on one elbow and looked down at him. He looked up at you, with his lips more pink and fuller than usual. “I want to be here, right next to you. Always.” You promised.

He seemed proud of that. Nodding gently, he said, “See how easy that was, mama?” He kissed his way up your inner thighs again, “I love you.” He murmured, looking deep into your eyes as if daring you to not say it back.

You couldn’t resist him. “And I love you.” You melted right under his touch as his tongue gently licked down your folds.

His hand found yours and he laced his fingers with yours while his other hand rubbed up and down your thigh as he pushed his face further into your wet core, making you whimper in pleasure. Your legs had begun shaking just a little as he took his time and dragged his tongue up and down your slit, teasing your sensitive spots with his warm and wet tongue.

“Please…” You moaned pathetically.

Then heard his merciless chuckle as he pulled away, kissing his way up your body again. He leaned in to kiss your open mouth eventually, making you gasp and moan. He quickly placed his fingers where his mouth had been earlier, teasing your clit before shoving two fingers inside of you and stroking your walls so slowly that you were well past caring if the guards could hear you moaning.

He pulled away just for a moment, to quickly take his suit jacket off, then his shirt. He tossed both somewhere on the floor and bent down to kiss you again. He kissed down your neck, leisurely taking his time as he unzipped his pants.

“Please,” You whined, sliding your fingers into his soft hair. “I need you. Now.” You spoke through gritted teeth by the end, tugging at the roots of his curly hair.

“So needy.” He murmured, loving it actually. It made his ego inflate knowing his woman needed him so badly. “I’m here, baby. “I’m gonna take care of you,” He whispered as he lowered his underwear just enough to free his cock. He was rock hard this whole time. It was a fucking miracle he was able to even wait this long.

With a slow, steady push, he slid his cock into you. You shuddered, moaning as you felt all of him filling you up. Lando held back his moans and growls as he felt your warmth wrap around him so perfectly. He clenched his jaw as he relished the feeling of being inside of you, finally.

“This what you needed, mama?” he asked, looking down at you, and gently grabbing your face, making you look up at him.

You just stared at him with parted lips, breathing heavily. Lando smirked, pulling out just a little before pushing back into you again. You closed your eyes and moaned, arching your back, your bare chest pressing against his.

Lando leaned in to kiss your open mouth, shamelessly shoving his tongue past your parted lips and stroking the inside of your mouth while he began moving in and out of you. You whined senselessly, overwhelmed by how good he felt deep inside you.

He leaned down to push his face into your neck as he lifted one of your legs and hooked it to his waist, pushing himself deeper inside you. “Fuck…you’re mine, you hear me?”

You nodded.

“Only mine…” Lando quickened his pace and pounded into you harder than before. “My woman,” He spoke, his voice thick and deep with lust. “Mine.” He stared down at you with a handsome and arrogant smirk on his face. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.” You repeated, eyes getting droopy with desire.

Lando caressed your cheek with his knuckles, his other hand holding him up above you. He looked down at you with nothing but love and fierce adoration in his eyes. “Come for me.”

You let the pressure build inside you, before simply letting go. He didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, Lando kept pounding into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came. You whimpered at how he kept slamming into you even as you came.

You felt your second release approaching even before you could recover from the first one.

You felt your mind getting foggy again. His lean body hovering above you as he fucked deeper into you, as much as he could while still being careful not to hurt you – it was a new fear of his, that he would somehow hurt you during sex. “Come for me again, baby.” He growled, his lips dangerously close to yours as you whined and whimpered under him.

Your body trembled as you came for the second time, walls tightening around his cock while he still pounded relentlessly into you until he came as well. “Fuck, baby…” His voice cracked in a way that had you clenching even harder around him.

You were gasping for breath after that, and Lando twisted you both on your sides so you could rest for a while. He knew all too well that you had the habit of drifting off into deep sleep right after some good sex.

Kissing your forehead, he murmured, “I’ve got you, baby. I’ll get us in bed in a while, okay?”

You nodded, burrowing deeper into his warm, muscular chest as you let yourself pass out in bliss.

—

You began snoring softly in no time, so he was in no rush to get you to move. He grabbed the blanket from before and made sure you were nice and warm before he carefully slid from under you and retrieved his phone from his trousers on the floor.

Letting the back of his hand gently caress your cheek, and bending down to kiss your bump one last time, Lando moved away from the couch and went towards the desk. Sitting down on the chair, he made a phone call while he kept an eye on what the screen displayed.

Those damned emails.

He smirked when he heard the person on the other end answer. He wasn’t calling to have a full conversation – not with you sleeping just a few feet away.

“You know what to do.” He ordered over the phone. Then ended the call once the person on the other side confirmed that they indeed knew what he was talking about.

He tossed his phone aside then closed the tabs on his computer. Deleting the emails before he did so. He scoffed, thinking about that damn little town which was being a pain – but not for long.

He walked back to where you were sleeping. Kneeling beside the couch, he couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss your cheek. “My baby,” He murmured, letting his lips brush against your skin for a while longer. “I love you so much.” He couldn’t get enough of you. “I’m doing this for us.” He smiled, “You’ll understand one day. I’m just making sure that if ever I can’t have you, then no one can.”

—

a/n: hi!! I won’t be writing any more parts for this story. I’ve been loving fics with open endings lately so yeahhhh (there will be more mob fics tho don’t worry <3)

#lando norris #mob!lando #lando norris smut #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

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cobrakaisb · 1 year ago

Text

ciao bella

summary: you and theo spend a summer in italy, and some insecurities are revealed

word count: 849

author's note: the ending is lowkey shit, but i really liked the concept.

“theo,” you called, waiting for your boyfriend’s hum of acknowledgment before continuing. “can you rub some sunscreen on my back? i don’t want to burn.” he grumbled a response in that low tone of his, but you heard the sound of the lotion bottle, letting you know that he was fulfilling your request.

you sighed in relief as theo rubbed the cool lotion on your back, arching ever so slightly as the feeling contrasted your sun kissed skin. he placed a gentle kiss on your shoulder, “relax love.” you sighed again, sinking further into the lounge chair set up on the balcony overlooking lake como. the stunning view, large villa, and established atmosphere reminded you just how rich your boyfriend was.

when he approached you after the holiday break during fifth year with a letter and plane ticket to italy, you were shocked. it was a little unexpected, considering that your relationship was relatively new, so you found yourself hesitant to agree. it took pansy, millie, and daphne’s words of encouragement to convince you that this trip was a good idea. spending a month in italy didn’t scare you, in fact it was a bonus to get away from your own familial issues, and of course, some alone time with your boyfriend couldn’t hurt. it was the itinerary, rather, that made you question your sanity and willingness to go.

you were flying in from london to milan, via muggle transportation, where you were spending three days in a luxury hotel. from there you were going to his family’s villa at lake como, where you’d reside for two weeks, soaking up the sun and rich atmosphere. at the beginning of the third week, the two of you were taking a private car to spend the day in florence before heading to rome for another three days. the remainder of the trip would be spent between the amalfi coast and sorrento.

the whole thing was a lot, and everything surrounding the trip exuded wealth. between the luxury hotels, first class tickets, private tours, designer outfits, and theo’s eagerness to take you on various shopping sprees, you felt like you were in over your head. granted, your family was well off, but not nearly as financially stable as theodore’s. maybe that’s why it was hard for you to truly relax; the worry about paying theo back was eating you away, slowly but surely.

“you’re not relaxing,” he mumbled, drawing you from your racing thoughts to the serene environment. you huffed at his words. “i’m trying too,” you replied. theo could hear the worry in your voice; he could feel it emitting off you like the faint blue glow of a patronus. he set the bottle of lotion down, climbing off your back to sit in his own lounger. he turned to face you. “what are you so worried about, darling? tell me and i’ll fix it,” he begged. you knew his blue eyes were wide and pleading behind the dark frames of his sunglasses.

“i don’t know how you’ll be able to fix it. it think i just need to figure it out on my own,” you explained softly, not wanting to hurt his feelings, or make him feel like you were withholding information from him. (even though you technically were.) by the end of your sentence, theo had moved from his chair back to yours, taking a hold of your hand.

his olive skin was warm and a shade darker than usual, probably from all the sun you’d been getting these past couple of weeks. his thumb rubbed gently across the back of your hand, a habit that he developed as a way to soothe your nerves and anxiety. you sighed, a deep one at that, before opening your mouth to confess. before you could truly process what you were saying, filtering the things that you didn’t necessarily want him to know, you had told theo everything; how you felt like you’d never be able to pay him back, and how you wondered if splurging on you was really worth it.

once you finished, you took another breath to calm yourself down. you risked a hesitant glance at theodore, who’s grip on your hand had tightened over the course of your rambling. it was silent between the two of you, and you were afraid to break it. finally, theo licked his lips before looking towards you. “fuck darling, don’t ever worry about that. you being here is all the payback i need,” he explained softly, his free hand tracing the bridge of your nose.

“theo,” you trailed off, but he silenced you with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “you’re wearing my ring, yeah?” he asked, gesturing to the silver ring that hung on a chain around your neck. “always,” you answered. “exactly. what’s mine is yours, and it forever will be,” he replied, kissing the back of your hand as you felt your cheeks heat up.

“now sit back and relax.” maybe spending a month with theo, the boy you loved, in italy wasn’t such a bad idea.

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x reader #theo nott imagine #harry potter imagine #cobrakaisb writing

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anantaru · 8 months ago

Note

two new characters of hsr were confirmed. Aventurine and Gallagher one-night stand?? LIKE??

including. aventurine, gallagher

synopsis. having a one-night stand

cw. [ex]plicit, reader wears a dress, strangers to lovers, semi public (outside the bar, gallagher's part), fingering, car syx, dirty talk, gallagher smells like alcohol but he is not drunk okay he just smells like it HAHA, fem! reader

— ꒰ AVENTURINE ꒱ + one night stand in the car

hot exhales of air hit your glossed lips, and those erratic movements of your hips, all adjoined to your skimpy dress sticking to your body— you do not think, do not form any thoughts, you only leave it to the lust to guide your figure as you straddle the hips of a stranger.

your lips bruised, thoroughly bitten when aventurine captures them with his heated tongue— he laps across it while grabbing a fistful of your ass to rub you against his erection, practically dragging the moans off the tip of your tongue.

his name, you've never really heard it before yet when you two coincidentally met, it's like he knew exactly what to say in order to have you wrapped around his finger.

and before you knew it, you ended up in the back of his car, driven by desire to taste the handsome stranger with everything you've got. "kinda crowded in here, ugh... whatever, come here," he smirks at you, devilishly, as his hands hold your hips dear and push you closer. you're too aroused to even function properly anymore, both loving and hating the anticipation of almost reaching your climax as the candid scent of his cologne made your mouth water. you grip at his shoulders as his fast rhythm sets in, your heart beat rising when he bottoms out to fuck your cunt faster.

"oh, fuck…" he grits his teeth when you shudder tight on top of him now, rutting your swollen pussy into his cock as moan a slides up through your throat, "i need to keep you just like that," he boldly rasps into your ear, low and urgent with a smirk almost too candid, almost too pure, contradicting his hungry movements, "keep you like this, yeah? hot and desperate and gorgeous until, until… until…"

it's the perfect amount of speed, pressure and thickness, aventurine fucks you like he's known you for years, and his lips taste so poetic, softly licking at them just wasn't doing it. he personally got fond of the joyful lightness that's in your eyes, or the slightest tingling from the exhales of your moans hitting his eardrums as he finds himself becoming addicted to a stranger.

his eyelashes flutter at your heavenly tunes as he looks down between the mess you've made— your arousal melting into shaft as the air gets filled with that of sinful scents, immediately sending sparks of deep enchant through the entirety of your spine.

— ꒰ GALLAGHER ꒱ + one night stand outside the bar

there's no one else on this side of the alley, and the only clatters and chit-chats you could notice were shrill, outside yells and slurred talks coming from drunk people standing outside the bar— yet again, from this particular place, you were alone in the cold night with the pulse of your heightened heartbeat washing over you.

gallagher, the name of the stranger who weirdly enough, took his time to discover your secret places and memorize your curves. the man couldn't possibly stop sliding his warm palms over your skin before covering your chest, it's futile, tickling your collarbones, watching you whine, then trailing his fingers along your neck, looking at how you're swallowing down the budding saliva on your tongue.

he exhales through his parted mouth as you take in the scent of cheap alcohol, wanting nothing more than his big, strong hands to keep touching you like that all night long.

he continues to stroke the planes of your face, marvelling in the gentleness of your features, before ultimately rounding up his inspection to your arms— yes, indeed, he's certain he memorized you entirely, giving you a little hum of appreciation as your arms wrap around his neck, holding him close.

gallagher captures your lips in a melting heat of passion as you lean back against the cold wall, closing your eyes to be carried along by the sensual moments of his traces guiding you.

his large hands on your hips made you shiver— you do not know the man yet they feel so good, they promise yet conceal so much. the loudness of people outside too— or the penetrating talks as you've been hidden behind a wall of golden lust, concealed by an even bigger body towering over you.

it made this situation so much more filthier, hotter and send waves of pleasure to overwhelm you.

the coldness of the wall left an impression on you, a cold hug that was ultimately cancelled by gallagher's warm hands messily pushing your dress up to find your soaked panties.

he doesn't waste more time before he presses two fingers against your clothed folds, slowly getting there. you're moving as one, and the laps of his tongue on your lips were thick like molasses, always licking his pink muscle over your own before reaching down to pull the drenched panties aside, his raw digits now hovering over your hole.

by no means was this something you'd normally do, just hook up with a random stranger— it was altogether too quick, to unpersonal yet somehow this particular night, it was stronger in its pleasure and heat than you've ever known it before.

you open your legs a little to invite him as the muscles in his arms bunch under his skin when he fingers you with two thick digits curled deep inside— although shockingly enough, he's tender and gentle with you, which came as a surprise, testing the waters on your pussy as he scissors your hole and teases your walls with his fingertips.

"that feels good?" gallagher questions whilst watching in awe how you ride his hand for him, the rough pads of his digits pulling the breath out of you as your body tingles and arches into his chest, "yeah.. that's s-so good," you close your eyes, both breathing hard— yet in truth, it was already easy for you to discern a big smile on his face, one of being greatly pleased by your answer while the man was marveling at the smoothness and the lovely muscles of your hole twitching around him.

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #aventurine x reader #aventurine smut #gallagher x reader #gallagher smut #hsr x you #hsr gallagher #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail x you #aventurine x you #gallagher x you

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reiding-writing · 1 month ago

Note

Hi :)

Could I maybe get a two-for-one for your work, Deprivation? Maybe where reader takes Spencer home with them and they do some skin to skin cuddles and he just melts and sleeps for more than a plane ride?

Or if you don’t like that idea, just any continuation of Spencer being so afraid of touch but desperately needing it? I feel that in my soul.

I love your work so much, you’re beyond fantastic!

SALVATION — SPENCER REID!

after spencer gets some rest on the plane ride home, you offer for him to stay the night with you.

spencer reid x gn!reader | 1.0k | h/c | masterlist.

part one.

event masterlist.

a/n — thank you so much ml, i forgot how much i loved writing stuff like this, spencer needs so many hugs man

Your apartment was warm, a comforting contrast to the sterile jet and the cold night outside.

Spencer seemed out of place at first, standing awkwardly by the door as you set your keys on the table. You could see the fatigue in his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the case still clung to him.

“Why don’t you get comfortable?” you suggested gently, motioning toward the couch.

He hesitates, lingering in the doorway like he’s intruding, like he’s unceremoniously encroaching on your space despite the fact that you’d insisted he spend the night at your apartment, insisted that he was going to get a good night’s rest even if it meant not getting one yourself.

It makes him feel bad. Guilty. You should be doing this for him, or feeling like you have to.

“Spencer,” You sigh, “Please,”

He reluctantly relents at the hint of desperation in your tone, toeing off his shoes and sinking into the cushions of your couch. His fingers twitched nervously, his mind still racing even in the quiet.

You brewed tea in the silence, not wanting to push him into talking if he wasn’t ready but wanting to offer him something—something to show that you cared, that you wanted him to feel safe and comfortable with you.

When you came back, you set the mugs on the coffee table, then sat next to him, close, but not impeding on his personal bubble.

The air felt thick with the unsaid, but you waited patiently, letting him come to you in his own time.

After a few minutes of silence echoed only through soft sips from your drinks, Spencer finally spoke, his voice small. “I… I can’t seem to turn my brain off. It’s like, no matter how exhausted I am, I can’t stop thinking about everything. It’s just… always there.”

Your heart ached for him. You could see how much he was carrying, how much he was trying to hold together on his own.

“You don’t have to do that tonight,” you said softly, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to keep holding it all together.”

He looked at you, his eyes glassy with exhaustion and something deeper. Vulnerability. “I don’t know how to… stop.”

You scooted closer, your fingers gently brushing his. “Come here,” you whispered, your voice gentle but firm. “Skin-to-skin contact can help calm your nervous system. Let me hold you for a while,”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

You were really pulling his own moves against him.

And you weren’t even wrong. It would indeed chemically help calm down his nervous system through releasing oxytocin and serotonin, not to mention promoting activity of the oxytocinergic system.

So there was no excuse to not listen to you.

Slowly, cautiously, he allowed you to take his hand and guide him toward you. You both shed your outer layers—he pulled off his sweater, and you slipped out of your own long-sleeved shirt, leaving the soft barrier of your undershirts between you.

You pulled him into your embrace, wrapping your arms around him as he rested his head against your chest, your warmth surrounding him.

At first, Spencer was stiff, as if unsure how to allow himself to relax into you. But gradually, the tension in his body began to melt.

Your hands stroked soothing circles on his back, your heartbeat steady and grounding beneath his cheek. You could feel the way his breathing began to even out, slow and deep, as if the weight of the world was finally starting to lift.

“You’re safe,” you murmured, your lips brushing the top of his head. “It’s okay to rest.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, his hands curling gently into your shirt as he allowed himself to surrender to the comfort you offered.

He pressed closer, his body seeking the warmth and safety that came with your touch, revelling in what he’d lost from you after the plane had landed back in D.C.

For the first time in what felt like forever, his mind began to quiet. The intrusive thoughts that normally plagued him began to fade, replaced by the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, the gentle hum of your voice as you whispered reassurances into the dark.

“I’m still so tired,” he confessed, his voice breaking slightly as the weight of the admission hit him. “I know I slept on the plane but…”

“I know,” you whispered back, shaking your head softly and holding him tighter. “You don’t have to fight it anymore. Just sleep.”

And for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, Spencer allowed himself to let go. His body melted into yours, his breathing deepening as the exhaustion finally caught up to him.

Within minutes, he was asleep, completely relaxed in your arms.

You held him as he slept, your fingers still running through his hair, your heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. He deserved this—this peace, this comfort—and you would give it to him for as long as he needed.

And as Spencer slept, you could almost see the tension lift from his features, his body finally at ease. He looked peaceful, truly peaceful, in a way you hadn’t seen in far too long.

You stayed there with him, letting him rest, knowing that when he woke up, you’d still be there, ready to hold him again. Ready to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

#𝜗𝜚 book fayre。#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #mgg

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forlix · 9 months ago

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𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・741 / 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・chan x gn!reader / 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, hurt/comfort, suggestive themes so mdni / 𝗮/𝗻・inspired by our beautiful boy's bbl texts about the nylon shoot. he is so loved. i hope he knows it ♡

𝟬𝟵:𝟬𝟵 — Chan is nervous.

He doesn’t say so out loud. He doesn’t say anything out loud, actually, simply appearing in the kitchen to pluck a slice of toast off the counter. Damp curls dripping into the towel slung around his neck, brushing against your cheek when he leaves a good morning kiss there.

But there’s a squareness in his shoulders. A muted glaze over the brown of his eyes and a tightness in the smile he gives you as he pulls away. The images linger in your vision after he disappears back down the hallway, presumably to get ready for the big day ahead.

Words. There are times when they embrace Chan like orchestral musicians awaiting their conductor’s cue, like sunflowers swiveling eastward in the halcyon morning—but there are other times when they haunt him, like the faceless sea of spectators instead of the hopeful performers, like the shadows that comprise the fathomless night rather than the rays of sun that follow.

You rise out of your seat, a quiet sigh leaving your lips. Chan needs the sun, today.

Inside your bedroom, Chan’s towel sits atop your duvet, right beside the white material of the T-shirt he slept in. The bathroom door is ajar and spilling yellow light onto the hardwood. You nudge it open further.

Free to roam after the towel’s removal, transparent waterdrops pave silvery trails down the sides of Chan’s neck, over the gentle incline of his collarbones and the naked hills of his chest. His palms are pressed flat on either side of the sink, his eyes glued to the mirror before him, his jaw set as squarely in his reflection as it is on his person.

He jumps when your reflection joins his. Parts his lips, prepares to speak. But his whole vernacular evaporates when your hands find his waist, when your breath hits the nape of his neck.

“Baby,” he breathes.

There’s a question embedded in the word. The only answer you give him is the quiet drag of your fingertips down the center of his back. He expels an involuntary shudder, and with it the muscles beneath your touch shift like fields of marigolds tousled by a kindred breeze.

You kiss the highest ridge of his spine, letting your lips linger against the smooth skin for a few moments before doing the same, just below his ear.

“What—” He pauses, swallows. “What are you doing, angel?”

When your hands return to his hips, they request something this time. He complies, lets you turn him around, his lower back meeting the marble with a soft bump.

You bring yourself close to him. Close enough to gauge his blushing cheeks and trembling breath and brown, brown eyes, crossed from trying to look at you. Close enough that you only need slightly dip your head to mould your lips to the hollow right under his jaw.

He moans, the sound melodic and low and quickly muffled by the lower lip he bites down upon. You suck lightly, careful not to leave a mark yet entirely fine with the alternative, then graze your teeth over the tender skin, pull away. You don’t go far, though, as your next destination is his Adam’s apple, which you reach not by boat or by plane but by short, wet kisses that resound in the silent bathroom, that draw from Chan’s throat another gorgeous whine.

As you progress in this fashion, traipsing across the plane of his clavicle, the valley of his pectorals, you want to tell him that he’s beautiful.

He’s beautiful when he laughs so hard that his smile turns boxy and his voice gets all squeaky. He’s beautiful when he’s trying not to cry and his eyes look like mirror pools because he’s failing. He’s beautiful in front of the cameras; he’s beautiful away from them. He’s beautiful always, your Chan, your Chris.

That is what you want to tell him.

But you don’t. Not even when his back hits the mattress moments later and he looks like your every wildest dream come to life underneath you: pupils blown so wide that they’ve swallowed his irises, lips glistening and quivering and inconceivably kissable as he sighs your name, chiseled upper body rippling when he props himself up on his elbows. Straining to look at you as you lower your mouth to his navel, undo the knot of his sweatpants with a gentle tug.

You’ll show him instead.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

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emchante · 1 month ago

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kinktober | proving his worth - d.r.

day 1 - praise kink | kinktober masterlist

summary: after another rough race with vcarb, daniel seeks comfort in you back at the hotel. conversations arise about his uncertainty with everything about himself-- his driving and looks being a big factor. it's your job to prove the thoughts wrong.

WARNINGS: 18+ content, sub!daniel, dirty talk, praise kink, use of good boy, hair pulling.

w.c: 1.5k

a/n: happy october! i'm excited to share these blurbs with you all, and i hope you enjoy them. let me know your thoughts via reblog, comment or ask, i love hearing from you guys.

your thighs cradle daniel’s hips as you slowly move atop of him. his hands are on you as his fingers grip your soft skin tightly, with just enough desperation to reveal the weight of his emotions. his eyes, usually so filled with confidence and optimism, are clouded with something different now– doubt, frustration, the heavy weight of everything that has yet to fall from his mouth.

the tension that fills the room is almost suffocating, and a lot of it is radiating from daniel; his forehead pressed against your own, a shaky breath escaping his pouty lips. the only noises that fill the room is the sounds of yours and daniel’s skin hitting against one another, and the heavy breaths from daniel. that is, until he finally speaks up. “i just.. don’t feel like myself anymore,” daniel admits lowly, voice thick with emotion. his eyes land on his fingers that are absentmindedly tracing patterns on your soft hips. “everything feels wrong. maybe it’s me.” you run your fingers through his sweaty curls, tugging on them gently as you tilt his head back so you can see his face. you lean in and place a sweet kiss on his nose, before moving to place another on his lips. “don’t say that, danny,” you whisper, your voice gentle but firm. your hands cup his face, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you look him in the eyes, wanting him to know how much you mean the words falling from your lips. “you’re still everything you’ve always been. on and off track.”

daniel swallows hard, you can see his adam’s apple bobbing as he does so. his grip on you tightens, scared to let you go. “then why do i feel like i’m falling apart?” he asks softly, as if he’s embarrassed to seek the reassurance. his wide doe eyes boring into yours, pleading for comfort. “because you’re doubting yourself, daniel. but you don’t need to, and you shouldn’t be. i’m going to show you how much you’re worth,” the words get to him, because you see the spark reignite in his eyes and briefly, you see his eyes get glossy. you don’t dwell on it though, because you know daniel wouldn’t want you to mention it.

your hips roll slowly again, and a quiet groan escapes him. there’s still that uncertainty lingering in daniel’s mind and you know it. tonight is about erasing every doubtful thought. you won’t stop until his mind is filled with nothing but praises– until your name, your words and your touch is all he can think about, leaving room for nothing else.

as your hips slowly grind against daniel, you can feel daniel begin to tense beneath you, his fingers gripping onto your hips tighter, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. his breath stutters– from both pleasure and doubt-- and you can see him begin to spiral. but you won’t allow that. not tonight.

“look at me,” you murmur, voice soft yet commanding. daniel’s eyes open and focus in on your face, making sure to follow your instructions. “you’re incredible, danny. you’ve worked so hard to be where you are. you deserve everything.” his eyes flutter closed momentarily, as if he’s trying to take the words in and process them. you don’t leave it at that though, and you lean in to his neck as you pepper delicate kisses along the soft skin. “you’re perfect,” you mutter against the him, “every single part of you.” you trail the kisses down to his collarbones, your hands coming to rest on the hard planes of his chest. a shaky breath escapes him, the mix of your soft kisses and sweet words getting to him– in more ways than one. all he can get out is a small “yeah?”, looking up to your eyes hopeful, a sign he’s listening but needs more.

you grind down harder against him, reveling in the whine that leaves his mouth as he throws his head back. you retrace your tracks, moving back up his neck and this time, trail the kisses up to his ear, kissing just below his earlobe. moving your lips closer to his ear, a smile makes its way onto your face at the shiver that escapes daniel. “yeah, danny. you’re so good– so good to me and for me,” you whisper to him, catching his adams apple bobbing at the corner of your eye. your lips are now on his jaw, his shortened stubble graciously tickling your soft lips as you trail your kisses all around his jaw, making sure to love every part of him. “nobody makes me feel as good as you,” you tell him, your words coming out in soft, breathy praises. “you’re everything i want. everything i need.” daniel’s hips involuntarily jerk up at your words, a choked sound leaving his lips, and you know it’s starting to get to him. “you’re so strong,” you continue, moving your hands from his chest over to his arms, tracing every tattoo that was painted upon them. “you work so hard, and you’re so talented. and you’re so handsome,” you add, lips brushing daniel’s before leaving a chaste kiss upon them. “you’re so handsome, daniel.” he shudders beneath you, overwhelmed by the flood of praises, but he needs more of it. “say it again,” he whispers, almost as if he’s embarrassed. but you can hear the desperation his voice, pleading for you to continue. you smile, running your hands over his chest again, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. “you’re handsome. you’re perfect, inside and out,” you kiss his lips, slow and deep, before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze again. “you’re everything.” daniel lets out a broken moan, head falling against your bare chest as he continues to thrust up into you. his breaths are ragged, he’s panting with want and need, and you know your words are getting him closer. you move a hand to the back of his head, fingers delving into his curls, tugging gently as you play with them. he moves against you with more urgency, occasionally pressing soft kisses against your breasts, a silent thank you. “good boy,” you whisper, your lips hovering his ear as you give his curls another tug/ the words make daniel groan against your skin, you can feel him swallow thickly. his hips jerk against you once more, you know he likes that. “so good f’me, danny. so good.” his breath stutters, and you can feel him begin to tremble beneath you, the tension growing too much for him to contain. “you’re doing so well,” you tell him, words soft but filled with heat, each word dripping with affection and desire. “no one could ever make me feel like you. only you.” daniel’s grip impossibly tightens on you again, to the point you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your skin tomorrow. you aren’t bothered though, it only excites you. his thrusts up into you begin to get faster, driven by your praise. you place a kiss to his temple, before telling him”you’re mine, danny. every part of you is perfect. you’re so strong, so talented, so perfect. and most of all– you’re mine.” he whimpers at that, his moans growing more desperate as his head buries further into your chest. you can feel him losing control, every sound he makes coming out rough, needy. your fingers tighten in his curls as you tilt his head back, forcing him to look up at you. “look at me, baby,” you whisper, your voice a soothing command. his eyes, heavy-lidded and filled with lust, meet yours, and you smile down at him. “that’s it, danny. i want you to see how perfect you are.” a choked groan escapes him, his body trembling beneath yours, and you keep your hips moving, slow and steady, letting him feel every bit of you as you praise him. “you’re close, aren’t you?” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him again, slow and deep. “come for me, be a good boy.. show me how good you are, danny.”

his hips snap up desperately, his breath catching as he teeters on the edge, eyes locked on yours as if your praise is the only thing holding him together. “you’re so good. come for me,” you whisper, pressing your forehead against his as his body shudders beneath you, a strangled moan escaping him as his seed spilling inside you with no warning.as daniel’s body shudders beneath you, he completely lets himself go but you catch his face, pulling him into a searing kiss. “believe me now, danny?” you ask him, and he nods lazily into your hands, nuzzling into your soft palms. “i want to hear it,” you tell him, tone commanding.

his breath hitches at your words, doe eyes looking right into yours as he nods slowly. “ ‘m perfect..” he pants, swallowing before continuing, “i’m good, and i’m all yours.”

#em's fics #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo oneshot #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo blurb #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1 smut #f1 blurb #f1 imagine #formula one x reader #smut #kinktober 2024 #em's filth

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tojisun · 10 months ago

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i need more dadbod!simon

!! smut - minors dni; female reader

thinking about the way simon takes you on your knees, your hands bound on your back, your wrists held by his hand. it makes you drool, the way his strength overpowers you; the way you are suspended for him to use.

the swell of his gut sits on your pretty ass as he humps his cock in your pussy, the stretch of it so big it makes your body lock, preparing for the crescendo of your orgasm.

simon fucks you through it—slipping his cock out slowly, torturously, before pressing in deliciousy, hitting that one spot so intimately deep, you begin whimpering, all delirious from the myriad of pleasure sparking all over you. you don’t know if you want to run away from the way his cock kisses somewhere sensitive, or if you want to push back and meet his thrusts.

he grunts in his pleasure, his other hand mapping out the plane of your spine, massaging your taut muscles as though he isn’t fucking you so well. as though you haven’t been reduced to babbling mewls.

“please,” you hiccup and something in simon shifts because he’s pulling out and pulling away and no, no, wantyouwantyou-

“shh,” simon murmurs, cupping your cheek to wipe away your tears. you didn’t even realize that he’s twisted you to face him; that, even with your body turned into putty, simon was able to lift all that you are with such gentleness.

his bulk shadows you and you peer up at him with a pout, sniffling, feeling yourself run on overdrive. your appetite continues to expand, curling with a yawning desire.

“si-”

“i’ve got you, baby,” he whispers, smiling down on you in the way that makes his eyes crinkle, the lines running on the edges of his face creasing beautifully.

“okay,” you reply, giving him a wobbly smile back. “love you.”

somehow, that makes him smile even more tenderly.

“yeah,” he says, sounding so choked up himself. “love you too, baby.”

you lift your hand up to trace at the scars on his arms, swiping them up along his shoulders, before teasing the ones by his jaw. he’s so pretty. so beautiful.

simon chuckles, murmurs how ticklish it feels, and you giggle an apology before hooking your arms to his back. he shuffles, adjusting himself before you, and you wrap your legs around his waist, your muscles meeting the pudge of his sides.

it makes you squirm. it makes your heart clench with something more than desire.

retirement has never looked more beautiful on him.

simon lines his cock before your pussy again, the tip sliding along your folds in a teasing kiss.

“look at me,” he coos and you blink up at him, going warm at the realization that you’ve just been staring at his cock.

simon shakes his head with a fond laugh, his other hand falling to press on your pelvis. he still looks so serene, so besotted, even when he begins to press in.

you fist at the sheets, back arching off the bed only for simon to push you down carefully. fuck. s’too much.

“si- ah!- s’good.”

he hums, still sliding in. still not in.

he’s so big. so filling. he probably doesn’t even need to know how to fuck to make you feel good at this point.

simon giggles, the sound piercing through your haze.

oh. you said that out loud. whoops.

“so precious f’r me, love,” he grunts, and you mewl, head thrown back when you feel his pelvis finally hit yours.

god. all of it, all of him, is in.

you hiccup a moan, your toes curling from where they’re pressed on his back as simon folds himself towards you, his belly soft as it meet yours, your tits smooshed just below his.

“good?” simon asks, breathless himself.

“always,” you coo, pussy fluttering when simon’s cheeks blush.

he nuzzles his nose along your jaw and you angle your head to give him more room. simon still doesn’t move, doesn’t hump your cunt or thrust wildly.

and yet.

your pleasure continues to peak, building into the beginnings of your orgasm.

fuck. next time, you promise to yourself as you blink up at the ceiling, your mouth parted for gasped out moans, i’ll ask if i can cockwarm him next time.

this is me actually. also me. another me. and this ones me fr. god i need him!!

#dadbod!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #anon #ask #suns

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marthawrites · 8 months ago

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Could you write smut for Aemond targaryen with the prompts 17,40,44,47,53 and 54 maybe with a targaryen reader? Just something gentle, sweet and soft <3 btw I’m talking abt this prompt list

I absolutely can! Apologies for making you wait since January for this. I hope you're still around to see (and, fingers crossed) enjoy it!

"Vok" (Perfect)

Aemond Targaryen x sister reader

Word count: 2.6k+

About: You and Aemond pledged to each other long ago. Tonight, beneath the blanket of darkness, you revel in each other's adoration.

Includes: SMUT. Featuring brother x sister incest, Aemond is soft but only to his little sister, dirty talk, female masturbation, guided masturbation, praise, unprotected vaginal sex, and a splash of breeding kink

Note: Hello lovely reader! It's been a hot minute since I've wrote Aemond - the posters and trailers have me going (affectionately) insane! Triple warning: this fic is brother x sister targcest. If you do not like that KEEP ON SCROLLING. This is my first time writing this dynamic. Reader is implied to have silver hair, pale skin, and purple eyes. Everything else is up to you! As always, I hope you enjoy this fic! ❤️

To the realm, Aemond Targaryen was the cruel prince. Aloof, stoic, unforgiving.

To the realm, he was an ambitious and willful young man who rode Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon in the world–the same dragon who helped Queen Visenya conquer Westeros.

To the realm, he was the second son of King Viserys. And, as such, would play the game of nobility by putting duty above love–marrying outside of his Targaryen lineage to seed dragons further into the world.

To you, his little sister and second daughter of King Viserys, he was your protector.

Your secret.

A poorly kept secret in some corners of the castle; nosy servants and their obnoxious fucking tendencies. But, with Aemond’s less than idle threats about cutting the tongue out of anyone’s throat who would speak about it, it ended up being a well-kept secret.

The second son and second daughter of the Dragon King; who better to love, and cherish, and pledge to, than each other?

Aemond would sooner die than see you marry off to some lowly lord of a “great” House. You were the blood of Old Valyria. Everyone–no matter their feats–was lowly in comparison to you. And you, his sweet sister, deserved only the best.

Barely a year separated your ages. Neither of you remembered a life without the other.

Long before you gave your maidenhead to your brother you gave him your heart. And your heart he held.

The night was late. These dark hours were some of the only unadulterated times you had together. Aemond kissed you slowly, passionately, gently stroking along your cheeks with his thumbs as he did. You were tangled in his bed together. You, stripped down to only your shift, and him, stripped down to only his sleep trousers. One of your shift’s thin straps kept sliding down your shoulder, and each time it did Aemond’s warm mouth kissed over the smooth lovely skin. You panted soft sounds–each feminine simper jolting right to his cock–as he lavished you in affection.

“You’re kissing me silly, lēkia (brother). My head feels full of bees and I’m hot. So, so hot,” you whispered against his kiss-swollen mouth. “Will you not feel for yourself?” He hadn’t yet made a move to touch you where you really, truly, wanted him; something that had you whining and pouting. While his hands alternated between stroking your face and groping your body–waist, hips, thighs–yours were buried in his hair. It was all down and free. The silken sheet of it spilled over his shoulders, spilled over you, and you relished the feel of it inside your hands. Against your bare skin. “Please?”

“Please what, hāedar? (little sister)” He asked, voice mellow with just the right amount of rumble from his chest.

“Please touch me,” you answered, back naturally arching to press your soft body against the hard planes of his own.

Another low sound came from him. He pressed a warm, wide palm up the perfect curve of your back until he squeezed into the nape of your hair. “Such a pretty word from a pretty mouth. Have my kisses made you ache with need, byka zaldrīzes (little dragon)?”

“Yes.” The single word, its single syllable, rolled off your tongue before your brain even fully registered his question. You stared at him desperately. One eye was so beautiful; so ancient in its color and proclamation, just like your own. The other reflected faceted edges of the sapphire he wore in place of his missing eye. You didn’t know which was more enchanting.

“How long can you go, hm? Without me touching you?”

“W-what?”

He laughed. A rumble beneath his pale, taut chest. “How long before you succumb to madness by me not touching your perfect cunny?”

“Aemond…,” you whined. Pitiful. “Not much longer! Please, lēkia, I need you, please.”

A serpent’s grin curved his mouth and darkened his eye as he shifted positions with you. Now, he sat upright with his back against his headboard and pulled you to sit in front of him.

You nestled between his legs, your back flush with his chest, and his stiff cock rested against the small of your back. A blush bloomed beneath your cheeks. You knew lust ran as wild in his veins as it did in yours.

“Tell me, sweet sister…,” he started, whispering by your ear. Both his hands cupped and squeezed over your breasts. Their softness melted against his palms and he groaned at the sensation. Perfect. You were so fucking perfect. “Have you touched yourself to peak before?”

A stammer replaced the little mewl in your throat. “H-how do you mean?”

He laughed again, pinching your nipples. “Mm… are you sure?”

Lust and need and fire roared in your blood to the point of almost drowning everything else out. “I d-don’t understand,” you admitted. But, it was a lie. You knew what he meant. You could only hope he’d go easy on you so you wouldn't have to admit, prove, or say you knew what he spoke of.

“Why are you playing shy with me, hāedar? I think you know exactly what I mean. There is no shame in it,” he spoke sly, hands pushing the hem of your shift up until he held the material in a fist upon your abdomen. With his other hand he tugged your smallclothes down your bare legs, tossing them off. The flats of all his fingers ghosted over your exposed cunt. Testing you. Feeling you. He hissed an inward breath. “Fuck–”, he growled. “‘Tis a good thing I was born a prince. Gods know if I had this wet little cunt between my thighs I wouldn’t get anything done. Ever. For how often I’d fuck myself silly on my own fingers.”

Aemond’s vulgarity sent a coil of tension wringing in your belly. Slick arousal pooled hotter beneath his touch. Your clit throbbed–the little pearl silently screaming for attention. “Yes,” you breathed, shuddering.

“Yes, what?”

Your older brother wasn’t going easy on you. “Yes. I… I know what you speak of. And.. yes, I do. Sometimes…,” you admitted with a wave of embarrassment.

Somehow he grew harder against the small of your back. He throbbed. “Show me,” he demanded.

“What! Aemond, no. Please, please, please no. Don’t make me show you.” Mortification replaced your previous embarrassment. Yet, your spine quivered with another rush of liquid arousal.

“I would love nothing more than to see how you bring yourself pleasure. Do you think of me when you do, byka zaldrīzes?”

You nodded. Dizziness warbled your brain.

“Such a sweet perfect thing,” he cooed. He'd felt that nervous energy tense you. He also saw the exquisite thrum of your pulsepoint beneath your neck, too. Two sides of the same coin: carnal desire. When he spoke again it dripped with wicked passion. “Don’t be nervous, I'll guide you through it.”

It had been quite some time since you last brought yourself to climax all on your own. Aemond was always more than eager to give you pleasure. Tonight, however, something was different. Idly you wondered what it could be. Before you thought about it too much, Aemond guided your dominant hand to that delicate space between your thighs. You gasped at the sensation of your own touch. Torture never felt so divine. Your little bud sang as you circled it, rubbed over it. You sighed sweetly. “How did you make me so wet?”

It took controlled effort to not spill himself across your back at that very moment. “Spread your legs for me, princess. Let me see and hear what you’re doing.”

You obeyed. With your legs spread wider, now, it was all the easier to resume your previous motions. Flicking and rubbing over your bud felt divine–excited little sounds already spilled from your mouth. You ached inside, too, wanting–needing–to be stretched around something. The memory of Aemond's long fingers pumping into you while his thumb claimed your clit had your face hot. You couldn't reach those same spots he could. You bit your bottom lip, whimpering.

Aemond watched from above with a hungry lecherous eye. Beneath your shift he could see your breasts, slope of belly… and then further below, your creamy thighs spilled wide open. Fuck–he was so hard his back hurt. Your girlish sounds sent his desire blazing. “Your little clit is so achy, isn’t it? I know how much you like it played with,” he said by your ear. “Do you ever go inside?”

You nodded, allowing your head to fall back against his shoulder. You stayed on your pearl, still, legs tensing with bliss as it warmed and tingled your blood.

“Show me,” he growled again. “Be a good girl. And afterward? Don’t worry, I'll take care of you. Promise.”

Without hesitation you pushed two of your fingers into your warmth. Your body squeezed around the intrusion, inner walls flexing, trying to pull them in deeper. A gasped moan left your parted lips. “I-I’ve never done this before.” You’ve never shown anyone this before is what you meant. Aemond knew what you meant.

“I know. Shh… it’s okay, I'll guide you through it.” He gently touched the top of your hand and relished your little tendons flexing with the effort of your self pleasure. He pushed–coaxing your fingers deeper, silently urging you along. More.

Soon the wet sounds of your hand against pink swollen flesh mingled with your moans. Lewd. Dirty. You tried to stay quiet. You really did. But it felt too good, and Aemond’s hand on yours guiding you along had your toes curling. Of course he would help you. Of course he wouldn’t let you do it all on your own. “Aem..!,” you whimpered, hips rocking with your movements. “‘M close.”

“I got you,” he whispered, voice heavy.

As soon as your fingers found that little patch of hidden nerves along your walls, you weren’t able to hold on much longer. The bliss, all at once, became too much. Tension snapped in your belly as colors flashed behind your closed eyelids. Your legs trembled at the tip of your peak, and as you crested downwards Aemond held you tighter against him.

“Vok (perfect),” he said as he watched you. How perfect you were with your silver hair framing your face. How perfect you looked when ecstasy became too much. How fucking perfect your eyes were as they opened and locked on his, bright and glassy with excitement.

You carefully pulled your fingers free and began to turn around to face him. Before you could, however, he held you tighter against him. Confusion furrowed your brow and whatever you were about to say was cut off by his impatience.

“I’m greedy, byka zaldrīzes. Go on, one more time. I know you can do it. Show me again how you peak.”

Without arguing you again settled back against him. You planted your feet along the outside of his legs, spilling your thighs open wider than they were before. You angled your hips to the perfect position and this time a third finger joined your previous two. This time you fucked yourself without shame–not that you held on to it long in the first place.

Aemond all but snarled behind you, absolutely ravenous at the sight of three of your little fingers pumping and curling up into your body. He moved a hand downward, too, and the pads of those fingers worked over your clit in time with your pumps.

“Gods! Aem–!” You quivered against him. The addition of his lascivious attention had your hips squirming. Wanton moans, no longer trying to stay quiet, had your mind blanking. Nothing existed outside of you and Aemond. Nowhere existed outside of the spaces in which your bodies touched. Climax found you faster this time. Your second orgasm had you crumbling against him. Sweat sheened your brow. Your face bloomed. Sated. You were wholly sated.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Such a good girl. Giving me exactly what I wanted,” he kissed you, stealing your lips in a kiss that had you floating all over again. You could have fallen asleep right there in his arms and been the happiest thing in the realm. Breaking away, he added, “now I’ve a promise to make up to you, hm?”

Honestly, you’d forgotten about it. But, now that he mentioned it, your belly did a silly little flop.

With great care, Aemond moved from behind you and stood. Offering a hand to you, he said, “take your clothes off and lay on your back.”

And with that, you both finally shed the last pieces of your clothing.

Laying like he said, you leaned back on your elbows to prop yourself up to still see your brother. Spilled messy hair, tall lean body littered with nicked scars, sapphire eye on full display…hard cock blushed angry red with need. They say Targaryen’s are closer to Gods than men, and with the hearth’s orange light reflecting on his ivory form, you believed him to be a God.

Aemond thought the same about you as you laid there bathed in the moonlight and hearthlight.

“Spread your legs for your lēkia, I want to see you.”

As soon as you did–proudly showing off the slick mess of two climaxes, Aemond pumped along his rigid length. Despite butterflies twirling in your belly, your smile up at him was purely feline.

To Aemond’s credit, his voice only broke slightly when he said, “get on your hands and knees.”

You did. You dipped your spine as low as it could comfortably go, propping your ass up for him. As much as he loved fucking you with your legs wrapped around his waist, you knew he loved this position, too. “Māzigon va, lēkia (come on, brother),” you purred. “Keep to your promise.”

In an instant one of his hands squeezed harshly into the fat of your hip while the other spread the meat of your ass apart. He planted one foot firmly on the bed, and the other stayed rooted on the ground. The position gave him more leverage, and power, and control as he loomed above you. With a flex of his entire abdomen he pushed forward; the hot stretch of your body around him had both of you gasping. “I plan on leaving a babe in your belly tonight, hāedar. That way mother will have no other choice than to wed us,” he groaned, pulling backwards only to snap his hips against the smooth underside of your cheeks once again. And again.

You fisted the sheets as Aemond fucked you. You moaned your delight at his words, nodding. “Yes, please,” you panted. “Faster,” you begged.

His thrusts were precise and brutal. The slap of your smacking skin was utterly depraved and you hated–no, loved–how it made you impossibly wetter. Aemond did too. “Already squeezing around me? Fuck–I’m not going to last much longer,” he said, strained.

You began to push back against him, meeting his thrusts halfway with a frenzied need to make him release. “Fill me. Fill me up, Aem,” you still begged, breathing heavily.

He rutted against you with the same need–a primal haze taking over as his stones began to tighten. His fingers dented firmly into your flesh as he continued plunging in and out of you. Instinct to spill his seed built by the moment and soon he became sloppy. He grunted and growled, and with a final shove–cock buried as deep as it could be inside your walls–he spent against your body’s end. Pulse after mighty pulse emptied his spend into you. Stray strands of hair stuck to a sheen of sweat upon his forehead.

You joined him in peak; left boneless and exhausted after three orgasms. Even at the top of your bliss, and his, he never eased until you were both done.

Aemond pulled his softening length out from you and urged you to fall forward upon his bed. You followed his motion and happily laid there. Naked, glowing, and full. You reached a hand out to pull him to you. “Avy jorrāelan (i love you).”

Aemond easily settled next to you, scooping you into him. “Avy jorrāelan tolī (i love you too),” he said between slow, satisfied kisses.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

To be added or removed from the taglist, hit me up!

Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @targaryen-dynasty @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @schniiipsel

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @rafeism @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @avidreader73 @snh96 @boofy1998 @connorsui

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond request #aemond imagine

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sleepinthrumyalarms · 3 months ago

Text

— power plays, pillow talk

pairing: victoria neuman x fem!reader

warnings:: smut, lesbian sex, size difference, strapon referred to as cock

summary:: a bottle of good wine, homemade dinner, a sweet little thing warming up her bed – what more could victoria possibly ask for after a long workday?

word count:: 1.5k

a/n: wow i'm rusty, haven't written smut in a good long while. starting off a bit vanilla with vicky. also she would 100% talk you thru it. i don't make the rules

never in her life had victoria neuman ever felt the need to compensate for something. a woman in power, in more ways than one, she never needed to climb through the ranks, simply gliding through them, a casualty or two on the way.

she had it all – a big car, a big house, a big desk at the Congress.

so you suppose it’s fitting; the big, girthy toy she has strapped around her hips under the material of her dress pants.

it’s huge, actually – got to be six inches at the very least, and that’s without taking into consideration the fact that you’ve never had any eye at all – of a dark, wine red color, the thick, thoughtfully lubed shaft glistening under the dim lights.

that one image of a hamster chomping down on a banana ten times his size pops up in your head.

your throat bobs with a soft gulp — oh god. you’re the hamster.

but victoria is nothing if not considerate. a soft silky pillow is lying under the small of your back, angling you properly for her, and the bedroom you share smells distinctly of something dark and woodsy, heady but not enough to overwhelm, the scented candles a welcome sensation that serves to relax you further.

when her hands grab ahold of your hips, thumbs pressing into the hipbones, you buck into her touch involuntarily. you’re not sure if it’s anxiety or arousal.

“no-no, that won’t do, pretty girl…” victoria chides softly, gives a playful little squeeze as a warning. “you promised you’d be good."

well, that’s true. you did.

you’re almost embarrassed – two glasses of cabernet sauvignon in and you’re already unable to think of anything but how much you want her. your skin tingles with anticipation, the gentle pressure of her hands grounding you as they slowly map their way up and down your body, caressing the undersides of your breasts, your shoulders, the plane of your belly. the warmth of the room wraps around you like a comforting embrace, the scent of the candles mingling with the subtle notes of the woman’s perfume – victoria’s hands work your body like dough, and that combined with the sight of the powerful politician standing between your thighs, all veneer and perfect composure, dark brown eyes trailing over your naked form like a feast is enough for your legs to part further. she doesn’t even have to ask.

“just like that, sweet thing. open up for me,” her palms rest on your thighs and she leans in to press a few gentle kisses to the side of your neck.

it’s intoxicating – her touch, her scent, how tender she’s with you, loving. you’re so aroused it’s starting to hurt.

“vicky…”

“i know, i know,” she murmurs. “need to get you ready for me first.”

she slides her ring finger through the warm petals of your pussy, humming at the wetness gathered there, and she can’t help but indulge herself. she leans down, face level with your cunt, and licks a thick stripe through the dripping warmth, teasing another involuntarily buck of your hips and a whimper from you.

you should’ve known she’d be too greedy to waste all that sweetness on her fake cock — she laps and slurps at you with gentle vigor, palm squeezing your hip to keep you from bucking into her mouth again. it’s a soft, affectionate kind of pleasure — victoria doesn’t rush, doesn’t push you too much too soon, deliberately avoiding your puffy clit to keep from any possible overstimulation.

you sigh softly, leaning your head back against the pillows, but before you can enjoy the heavenly sensation any further, she pulls away with one last flat lick, guiding your thigh to press against her hip.

the head of the toy pushes tantalizingly against your entrance, its smooth surface just barely parting your folds before she pulls back, sliding the silicone along your slit once more – the motion is slow and deliberate, the toy gliding easily through your wetness, teasing you with its presence. every so often victoria lets the tip dip inside, a fleeting, electrifying intrusion that leaves you aching for more, before withdrawing it again. the sensation sends shivers up your spine, your body instinctively arching towards the source of pleasure – but you know she’s doing it to get you nice and ready for her, as if the sloppy little courtesy licks weren’t enough.

"fuck, you're so wet," she whispers, her voice thick with satisfaction. "so eager. it's almost too easy."

she presses her hips more firmly this time, her cock breaching your entrance and slipping inside with a smooth, deliberate motion. the sensation is overwhelming, your body accommodating the intrusion with a mixture of relief and intense pleasure. she holds herself there for a moment, letting you feel the stretch and fullness.

god, it’s big – bigger than anything you’ve ever taken before. for a moment an alarming thought of not being able to fit the intimidating girth inside you shoots through your lust-clouded brain, but the smile on victoria’s painted lips tells you that she will make sure you do.

you tilt your head back with a shaky breath, and she chuckles, leaning in to nose at your earlobe, “good?”

biting your lip, you manage a nod in reply, hiding your face in her neck as you try to process the sensation.

victoria sets a slow, torturous pace, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, her thighs kissing the backs of your legs. her hand shifts from your hip to your navel, gently sliding along your skin and pressing against your warm, sensitive stomach for purchase – the action so undeniably erotic it has a broken moan tearing from your mouth.

“oh?” victoria quirks a thick eyebrow, perfect white teeth peeking out to worry a plump lip between them. “does that feel good, sweet girl?”

her palm presses just the slightest bit firmer, enough to heighten the pleasure of her silicone cock pushing deep inside of your cunt deliciously as her fingers sprawl over the flesh of your belly — it flutters under her hand, muscles struggling to accommodate the enormous intrusion.

“d’you feel me here?” she asks, voice a silky purr, dripping with control and a hint of amusement as her hips drive the toy deeper into you, each thrust deliberate, strong, unyielding. “such a pretty tummy, baby… so, so perfect.”

you can’t even speak.

victoria leans down, her breath warm against your ear as she whispers, “i love how you open up for me… how you take every inch like you were made for this.”

the pressure in your stomach intensifies as she slows her movements, dragging each thrust out to an agonizing pace. her thick cock feels impossibly full inside you, stretching you in a way that teeters on the edge of pain and ecstasy.

"such a good girl, letting me stretch you, fill you up. gonna make it the only size you’ll ever take. the only that can ever satisfy you.”

she shifts her hips, the change in angle making you gasp as the toy hits that sweet spot inside you, the pleasure so intense it almost hurts. victoria's other hand that isn't busy trying to feel herself through the thin wall of flesh of your belly moves to prop herself next to your head, caging you in with her presence, and you reach to desperately hold onto her bicep, fingers digging into the dark blue of her power suit she has insisted on keeping draped over her shoulders.

“there you are, pretty girl. so close. so, so close, sweet thing. need you to cum for me."

victoria's pace quickens, hips snapping forward, and with a final, shuddering breath, you let go, the pleasure crashing over you in waves, overwhelming and all-consuming. she guides you through it, soft, reassuring whispers as she follows you into bliss, a guttural groan escaping her lips – for a moment the world is nothing but the two of you, tangled together in a haze of pleasure.

with the waves of white ecstasy beginning to ebb, she slows her thrusts to a gentle rhythm before withdrawing slowly, the loss of her presence inside you almost as intense as when she was buried deep. you whimper at the emptiness, your body still trembling with aftershocks, and her warm hands soothe the feeling away, a small, amused smile on her full lips, “thoughts?”

as if that isn't obvious.

you groan in response, wrap your arms around the woman’s shoulders to tug her down and press your lips against hers hungrily. then you pull away, breathless in satisfaction, and grin up at her, “fucking amazing. i wasn't even sure it’d be possible.”

victoria hums, her palm caressing your thigh thoughtfully, “in that case… you think you can take more?”

not one for being patient behind closed doors, she grasps your hips, coaxes you onto your stomach with firm hands.

“what am i saying. of course you can take more. cock-hungry little slut.”

the degrading words make you whimper into the silky pillow, and victoria coos, her tone the slightest bit patronizing, “ohh, yes you are, sweet thing. no use denying it.”

her fingers dig into your soft flesh, and suddenly all the warm tenderness is gone from her voice.

“up. don’t make me repeat myself.”

#victoria neuman x reader #victoria neuman #the boys #the boys x reader #victoria neuman smut #the boys imagine

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