#but can't touch him because it would burn

[kismetlotts]

Omg omg hii I have this super request of Price slipping into his beautiful neighbour’s house, (just the way the man was so good at staying in the shadows when he entered Shepherd’s pffice) slipping something funny into the water she’s supposed to drink after a workout... She passes out in a matter of minutes after sitting down and by the time she wakes up, she’s so sore and sticky yet can’t even seem to remember why... or falling asleep at all!

Fucking love this idea! Got a little carried away though and made Price a bit of a stalker- but I hope you don’t mind!

cw: noncon, rape, use of drugs (spiking), Price is a little bit of a stalker, mentions of hand jobs, fingering, self tasting, oral sex on fem, being ejaculated on, watching through window, mentions of stealing panties, Price has a little obsession with the reader, mentions of spit, a lot of sweat, use of degrading name e.g 'bitch', Price can't see what he is doing is wrong, mentions of exercise, rough sex, a lot of manhandling, neighbour next door trope

"Need any help with those?" Was what started it all off. Price was in the midst of bringing in groceries after being away for so long due to work in the military. The boot of his car raised as bags of necessities- food, beer, what not- were pretty much trickling out and onto the pavement.

He lived in a local quiet area of town, houses decently sized and kept tidy. Lawns frequently mowed, flowers always grown and planted- such a shame how little sunshine England got because it would look like something out of a movie. John was also acquainted well with a lot of the elderly folk around there, most of them having lived their way before he even moved in.

It was perfect for him, given he was usually a bit of a grumpy bastard, living alone in a neighbourhood like that was a breath of fresh air. His neighbours understood him and kept to themselves but not in the distance unwelcoming way, the respecting kid of way. It made him feel secure- snug like a childhood blanket; warm, safe and familiar.

So it’s not difficult to envision the look on his face when he turned around, catching you exiting the house next door. Body in them tight gym shorts and shirt to match as you practically ran over to him. Fucking hell, what had he missed? He had to blink twice; once to register was going on and a second time to look away because your body was enchanting. Forcefully having to drag his eyes away from the plump curves of your ass- the shape of your thighs- your breasts.

Passing you one of the bags from the car, carrying three himself because- of course he had to show off his own strength and muscle to you. A jolt of arousal electrocuting his body from your skin brushing his hand; cock swelling up erratically and his eyebrows furrowed. Johns head immediately leaping to imagine scenarios with them soft fingers of yours.

Finger tips only just touching as your hand spread around the base of his girthy cock, stroking him slowly, looking into his eyes as you bite your lip nervously, wondering if you were doing a good enough job- if you were pleasing him right. He cleared his throat, swallowing thickly as the pulse in his cock died down. He couldn't let himself get distracted so easily, come on John, what has gotten into you?

As you helped him unload, you explained how you'd moved in next door a couple months ago, not realising anyone actually lived in his house. Rambling on about how nice all the neighbours seem and how easy it was to settle down. How safe this side of town was but honestly, John didn't care one bit.

He wasn't listening to the words despite him deceiving you with his humming and nodding. He was listening to the sound of your voice instead. The sickeningly sweet tone chirping into his ear so delicately it made his hands tremble. Fingers desperate to reach out and touch you like a child with fire.

He knows it will burn, he knows he cant but its just so pretty- he was losing fucking control, who the hell were you?

He'd imagine all the noises you'd make with him above you, finger fucking you until your words were all broken and tearful. Ripping out of your cunt harshly before forcing the fingers into your mouth. Shuddering at the feel of your tongue tracing laps around them, tasting yourself, doing exactly what he guides you to do.

"Do you taste good?" He'd ask you slowly, breath hitting your face from how close the distance between you is. Voice thick with husk and lust because he couldn't let you realise the power you have over him. How weak you get him at the knees- you could have him a begging mess if you asked.

A scarred yet smooth large hand grabbing you by the cheeks, squishing your adorable face so hard your lips shine with spit. Holding you like that and watching your skin pale when he lets go. Not bothering to actually hear your reply before going down and tasting you for himself.

From such short little interaction, a sick fascination had blossomed inside him. Wrapped in his head, tied in his chest and sunken deep in his stomach- it was more an obsession than a little crush. He'd watch you through his window as you pottered around in your kitchen oblivious to his gaze- it wasn't stalking to watch you all the time, he was just watching your back.

If being in the military taught him one thing it was to be cautious of your surroundings, because you never know what might happen - who could be lurking over you. So all he was doing was looking after you, really.

He knew your routine off by heart, when you would shower, when you would sleep, eat- work: He knew it better than you did yourself. He also knew things about you that you didn't even know. Like how many pairs of underwear you go through in a week.

His large muscular arm counting them as he shuffled through your wash basket being sure to snatch one for himself later, as you hummed innocently in the shower: unaware to his presence. And why your phone kept unplugging during the night when you slept, watching your angry face through the glass as you wake up and curse yourself out because you swore you plugged it in and now you have to wait an extra 20 minutes for your phone to charge up before going for your morning jog.

An extra 20 minutes of pacing in front of your window in your tight gym clothes, getting a few more stretches in because why not- you have the time.

Oh and you definitely didn't know about the faulty lock on your back door, and how when you jiggle it a bit the fucker just opens up with ease. How little effort it was to slip inside and glide around your home, the smell of you saturated into the sofa, the bed, the walls, precum dribbling into the fabric of his boxers. Your house really was yours, everything down to the last detail was just you.

He felt like he couldn't breathe yet breathing heavily was all he could bring himself to do. Lingering in the shadows as his fingers trailed along the kitchen counters, fist wrapping around the pink plastic of your water bottle. Silly silly little girl, you shouldn't have left it home because now he can’t stop himself.

Stood behind your front door, black hoodie blending him in as you stepped inside, panting like a dog- a bitch- from your run. Hair drenched in sweat that trickled down your forehead and neck making your skin look aureate- glowing.

He bit back the moan watching how carelessly and greedily you guzzled down your bottle of water. Oblivious to the fact that your friendly neighbour John had tampered with it, oblivious to the fact he was right fucking there, waiting patiently for the side effects to kick in.

Your back hitting the sofa as your panting settled down, eyes drooping a little and without your knowledge or realisation you were out cold. Knocked out- head flopping back and eyes rolled. Price chuckled, walking to the back of the couch, hand hitting your head before shoving your limp body hard, forward and onto the glass coffee table.

"Bless you, love. Didn't even know I was here, did ya?" He asked you loudly, he wanted to scream it at you and if he didn't care so much about the neighbours hearing him shout, he would've. Sadly he had to be cautious.

He had to make sure that you were fully unaware of everything he was going to do to you, before and after and he wasn't going to risk it- someone was bound to check up on you after hearing shouting even if it’s just a quick question while taking the rubbish out.

His fingers entwined in your hair as he slowly crouched down beside you. Yanking you back up, flipping and positioning your body over on the table like a mannequin. The zipper of his hoodie echoing in the silence of the house and fuck, he was desperate for you.

Undressing his top half and throwing the clothes on the settee before spreading your legs wide open. Wasting no time as he ripped a fat hole in your leggings, pushing your panties to the side through the broken fabric.

Johns mouth watered as his eyes locked on your pussy, so hot and steaming with sweat but he couldn't care less- he had been wanting you for the past month despite it feeling an eternity. He really couldn't give a shit if you were clean or sweaty- shaved or not he was fucking having you right here, and right now.

His blue eyes indulged in your peaceful expression, eyelashes pressed against your puffy cheeks while his tongue licked a long aching strip up from your entrance. Throat closed dry with thirst and his body was shaking with adrenaline, holding back and restraining himself from making a mess of your pussy. Letting himself sink into you and your flavour instead; not like it was going to last long or anything.

Less than one minute in and he was eating you, spitting on you, slapping your tiny sensitive clit. Sucking on you, biting you and getting your juices all caught inside his beard, he swore blind days went by with how long he was down there. Taking his precious time and allowing himself to relax and enjoy your taste but being cautious with his actions because he didn’t want to hurt you.

He didn't want you to feel as if you'd been raped or something horrible. He didn't want you to wake up and feel so sore and achy that you panic someone came in and fucked with you. John wasn't like that- no! He just needed a favour from you and went by it in a way that doesn't cause such a hassle. Saving himself from potential rejection and awkwardness between you too, it was beneficial. He was just borrowing you.

That was neighbours do, yeah? They help each other.

His cock would ram in you so deep his eyes stung from the pleasure he felt. So wet and tight and just for him. Slowly losing touch with the sensible side of him as he picked the pace up. He shouldn't be going that hard, you were definitely going to feel something is off. Going to feel how deep he was inside you when you wake up all lost and confused.

Your clit was going to throb and sting with how much Johns tongue had flicked, sucked and bit it. The more his brain let him know of his mistakes the more he thought, 'fuck it' and let himself be rough. Dragging and moving you around like his personal little sex doll- exactly what you fucking were.

Holding your legs up in the air then switching to your body pressed against his chest, hands squeezing your hips as he pretends your riding him.

"Oh fuck, honey just look at the sight of you. Why don't you come live with me? Why don't you come stay with me next door and I’ll do all this every night." Teeth sinking into your earlobe as his question was left unanswered- he wasn't expecting a response at all but it was an excuse to fuck you harder.

An excuse to rip off your shirt and play with your breasts because you weren’t replying or him and instead was making him angry. Leaving him with no choice but to tease your nipples until he’s about to cum.

Slamming you back down on the table before fisting his cock towering above you. The swollen and desperate tip so red and dripping with precum until finally he grunted and shut his eyes. Showering you in his hot semen watching how the white spurts out and paints your body like his personal canvas.

Palms eagerly massaging the warm cum into your flesh- your stomach, your chest, up on and over neck while he regains his breath and strength. Scooping you up into his arms to carry you up your stairs and into bed, removing everything and tucking you into the sheets- naked. His heart exploded seeing how solemn and innocent you looked all cuddles up, bending down over you to kiss your forehead before leaving.

Discarding the clothes and grabbing his hoodie, making sure to wipe and clean up any juices or evidence of the two of you before leaving out the back and returning home to rest. Missing your soft little murmur as you stirred awake in your bed, confused on how you'd gotten there and where your clothes had disappeared too.

Wincing from the sores on your legs and body and the sticky feeling everywhere as you sat up in bed. A yawn falling from your lips but- oh well.

Must've been from working out earlier.

[ghouljams]

hephaestus nikto/aphrodite reader?

oh my godddddd

Horribly scarred and a-social hephaestus!Nikto who only trudges his way to Olympus because he was told there was someone new. And knows as soon as he lays eyes on you that he'll never see you again. Perfect, beautiful you. Of course you'd be a god of love, how could anyone not fall in love just hearing the way you laugh. You move like water through the crowd, greeting people and making jokes, so at ease with your charm that it's no wonder every god on olympus is clamoring for your attention. Except Nikto, who stays in the shadows where he's sure you won't notice him. Too enthralled by the way you light up at every spark of attention, but not delusional enough to think he wouldn't dim that immediately.

And poor Aphrodite, never given a moment's peace. People paw at you, grab and grope when they think you're distracted. They swear up and down that you love them off one kindness, one joke, one slight smile. You beg the king of the gods for a buffer, for someone (anyone) to keep them off of you, to take you off the market. Let you be a virgin god like Artemis, announce that you'll never take a lover, that you'll never find yourself in a bed. But he won't listen. Instead he points you to the shadows, and tells the crowd that your new husband waits there.

And yet somehow your heart doesn't fall when Nikto steps into the light. Your eyes trace the burns that scorch over his skin, the scars that slice through already scarred skin, and you feel a slight... flutter, at the crisp blue eyes the glare into yours from behind the black mask.

"He's a brute," one of the gods scoffs, "I'm sure Aphrodite cheats, I know I would."

But you can't say you agree when every morning you awake to some new delicate jewel sitting on your husband's untouched pillow. Surely no brute would manage this level of detail, would spend this degree of care... Sometimes you wish he was a brute, a brute would touch you, would take this aching from your heart.

You're a god of love in a (seemingly) loveless marriage, so why can't you find it in yourself to resent Nikto for it?

[cultlix]

𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

pair. soft dom! chris x sub/virgin! fem reader | genre. established relationship, power imbalance, slight angst, smut| warnings. use of pet names, dirty talking, profanity, penetrative/unprotected sex.

synopsis. "You've ruined me, I'm destroyed. How could any other girl be good, be enough for me after you?"

author's note. i wished it was him...

➽──────────────❥

"Scared?"

"Should I be, oppa?"

He shook his head. "You'll never be in danger with me. Unless you like it."

"I didn't know what I liked until I saw you."

Chris loved the pressure of your body on top of him while you were kissing, on his unmade bed, the silken cascade of your long strands tickling his nose, his cheeks, the delicate perfume of your skin burning everytime you met his faintly elusive gaze, under his daintily skilled touch, and the hesitant swinging of your tiny waist against his prominent lenght, a foretaste of what would have defiled you ceaselessly all night.

"Baby doll, beware, if you let me be the first to fuck you the only way I know how to fuck pretty cunts like yours, I swear, you'll be cursed forever."

He raised his lower back, flaunting his hardness, his thickness, making your mouth hang open when your still coated sex rubbed casually against his stirred, throbbing protuberance.

"Please," you said, voice incredibly clear, limpid to his ears, like a sudden rainfall of crystals shattering on the floor, "d-don't make me w-wait, oppa. C-can't wait to see w-what you'll do o-of me."

Sweet, rotten angel, can't even finish a sentence without miserably stumbling at the thought of getting fucked for the first time ,like she deserves, like the surreal, reckless, unaware temptress she is.

You flipped your hair, the long, disheveled cascade now falling wildly on your naked shoulders as you unhooked the front closure of your bra, taking his hands in yours, quivering, guiding them on your fair, flawless breasts, making him tighten his grasp to indulge in their tempting round shape.

So desirable, and still so inexplicably insecure, he thought, tracing with his thumbs your already turgid nipples, making you close your eyes and call his name like a fervent prayer in breathy sighs, does she even notices, imagines the effect she has on men?

He moistened his full lips, tired of anticipating, and lifted up just enough to put his hungry mouth on your extremely sensitive, rosy nub, sucking avidly on it, making you cry and tilt your head back.

"You want oppa to go slow?"

He pulled up your skirt and pushed aside your panties, circling unhurriedly your clit, making you so pathetically wet that you couldn't help but blush seeing how your honey-like essence irreparably soiled the fabric of his black jeans.

"You need oppa to make sure if you can really take his massive cock inside this untouched, sacred pussy of yours?"

He let two long fingers slid inside your crevice, going so harshly deep that you thought you would pass out. Chris started moving, in and out, carefully at first, then with a certain eagerness when he felt your hips instinctly following the agonizing rhythm of his movements.

"Goddamn, your smell, so intense…You really want me to fuck you so bad, angel? Shit, you look amazing while struggling with all your strenghts to keep my fingers in like this, in this thight, little paradise you call cunt, but will you handle the roughest part of me? Tell me, do you think you can really hold it there? Because once you'll let me penetrate you, deflower you, I know I won't be able to stop. I'll spoil you, baby doll. I'm gonna wreck all your precious doll parts, you know this?"

You whimpered, biting your lower lip, nodding. "The good girl you are," Chris praised you, slithering gently a third digit and curling it languidly, simultaneously with the others, watching you hissing, taking a fistful of his hair to fight the pain. "See, you can barely take another one, and we're not even close to what your body is going to experience."

Teardrops glistening on your eyelashes like morning dew on velvety rose petals.

"Am I not enough for you, Chris?" you asked him, dropping the honorific for the first time since you've met him, holding back the sadness, rejecting the thought of being nothing to him. "Am I not good like the other girls you had before?"

Chris watched your eyes become teary for the first time, and he felt like a part of him died the moment he knew he was somehow responsable for that. He couldn't tolerate it, he won't ever be able to endure it no more. He gently pulled his fingers out of you, letting the rapture wait, his desire arrest a little bit longer.

"Is it me who makes you believe you're not the prettiest I've ever seen? The only purest, perfect creature my tired eyes have truly met? Then punish me baby doll," he whispered sincerely with apprehension, grabbing your tiny wrist and using your clenched fist to attempt hitting his sculpted chest, "hit me. I don't deserve to be your first, to call you mine, if I can't make you see how much of a real man only you can make me feel. Look what you do to me."

He unzipped his jeans, letting his aching erection darting free from any constriction, then guided your hand on it. "Shit, do you even imagine how much self control I needed to forbid my instict to fuck you like an animal to prevail everytime you were sleeping next to me? Every single time you accidentally rubbed against my cock when I cuddled you from behind? You've ruined me, I'm destroyed. How could any other girl be good, be enough for me after you?"

Chris slapped himself aggressively in the face, his cheek turning ruby red. "I'm fucking bad, baby. I've been the worst if I ever made you doubt of me. Hit me."

"Oppa, please."

He took off his shirt and did it again, even more violently then before, then clutched his grasp around your wrist again. Your tears now flowing copiously, blurring your vision, hazing your mind.

"Come on baby, right here, on my heart, do it, hurt me like I've hurt you."

"Oppa, no. I don't want this," you cried frustrated, trying to fight against his will, but he was stronger, so much stronger and determined to suffer.

"Why?" he asked, mad at himself more than ever.

"Chris, stop," you cried, voice breaking and shaking.

"Why?" he insisted, his tone too peremptory to be ignored.

"Because I fucking love you."

You screamed at the top of your lungs, words still floating in the room, echoing in the narcotic stillness of the night, the only remedy to placate his fury, the only antidote to cure his pain, his torn soul.

"Let me be yours. I wanna be the only girl who can have you. I wanna turn into everything you've ever dreamed of, into everything you've ever needed."

He smiled, caressing your chin fondly.

"I didn't know what I needed until I saw you."

You kissed him, and it felt like drifting, like losing a part of yourself forever in that sublime exchange of minds and souls when you captured his lips in yours, stealing his breath, devouring his spirit.

Chris grabbed you firmly and pushed you against the mattress, onto his sheets, pulling down your skirt, making your panties slide down to your ankles, throwing them somewhere at the foot of the bed. He got up, taking off his pants alongside with his underwear. He positioned himself between your legs, unmoving, just admiring how breathtaking you were like this, with nothing on, exposed, frail underneath his ravenous gaze.

You grabbed his cock, so huge in your little palm, and massaged the tip delicately with your thumb, sprinkling it in his white, pearlescent fluid.

"Fuck honey, don't tease if you still want me to be gentle with you," he panted, not doing anything to make you stop though.

You giggled silently, secretly amused by his uncontrolled reaction.

"Does oppa like it like this?" you whispered.

"Oppa loves it."

You pushed the tip against your soft folds, rubbing it against your clit and the edge of your entrance. Chris cursed, shuddering, almost losing his balance, all the weight of his body risking to crash over yours.

"And like this? Does oppa like it better like this?"

"Fuck yes, so much better."

He pulled your body closer to his and spread your legs the widest he could.

"God, you're a fucking vision. So soaking wet, so open. Like this baby, rain for me, I'm so thirsty I'm gonna drain you, I'm gonna suck you dry," he warned, bending down to reach your sex glistening in your arousal, inhaling its forbidden scent deeply, making you flush, making you whine in ecstasy when he rubbed his upper lip against your swollen clit.

"Oppa wants a taste, will you let him?"

You nodded, incapable of articulating anything similar to a consent.

"Let me hear it coming from those lovely lips."

"Oppa?" you said, gulping, his nose already stroking your sensitive slit.

"Yes, baby doll?"

"I need your mouth on me, oppa, wanna feel your tongue, but please, please, let me cum on you, with you, let it happen when you're inside me."

"Is that what you want?"

"More than anything else."

"Then you don't need to ask."

Chris could feel your body writhing convulsively underneath his voracious wet muscle as he licked with extreme accuracy every inch, every soft ripple of your slippery folds, letting your flavor invade his cavity, permeating his palate, and your inebriating perfume dulling his senses like the finest of drugs.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, moaning, as he sucked on your clit, flattening his tongue, using the tip to violate your immaculate fissure. He groaned satisfied, drinking greedily from that inexhaustible source of pleasure, the guttural sounds coming from his throat vibrating against it, sending fiery, violent frissons down your spine.

You arched your back and he helped you raise your waist to have full access on each perfect, most secret part of you, but you suddenly tried to stop him, gripping gently the long strands brushing against the nape of his neck, rebelling to his feral appetite, wanting to escape from that immeasurable delight.

"C-Chris…w-what…" you mumbled, too weak to protest, to withstand any longer.

"Oppa lied, sweetheart. He's such a demanding bastard. How is he even supposed to resist when your cunt tastes like fucking heaven? Tell me. I told you I wouldn't be able to stop, that I would have fucking spoiled you so bad."

His licking, still so precise, became quicker, feverish, his sucking vehement, avid, the tip of his tongue hitting persistently your yielding cleft, going everytime a little bit further.

You whined, cursing, crying desperate at the sensation, every limb spasming. "Y-you p-promised…"

"Never been a man of value," he confessed under his breath, looking at you through his long eyelashes, "I'm a son of a bitch, baby doll, not fucking prince charming."

You pulled his hair, without even noticing that you were rocking your hips towards his mouth to feel it moving again on you, but he stood still, remaining impassive.

"Beg me," he teased provocatively, "do it properly, and I'll stop."

You attempted to speak, to formulate any kind of plea, of request, but your words came out like nothing more but feeble, breathy sounds, confused truncated gasps.

"Fuck, C-Chris…"

His lips still cruelly consuming you, busy torturing you. "You can't do better than this, can you?"

"Please," you implored, breathless, exhausted, but in a surprisingly clear, firm voice.

Chris gazed into your eyes with defiance.

"Sorry honey," he purred, "I can't hear you."

One more deliberate twist, one last measured swirl around your irresistibly slick core, then Chris' tongue flicked inside your inviting slit, repeatedly, obsessively, so in to the hilt that he perceived a storm of irrepressible jolts coming from your body, shaking, screaming to let go. Cum, he finally granted, groaning, cum now, and you did, finally surrendering to him, jerking, cursing, crying, gushing so much, so shamelessly that you painted his chin, his lips, his mouth in your dense, snow-white nectar.

Chris drank every single drop of your orgasm, then got on his knees again on the bed. He lay his body over yours, so willowy, so fragile underneath his imposing one, and tried to kiss you, but you turned the other way.

He smiled, patiently. "You mad at me?"

You did not answer.

He pressed his lips on your temple gently, leaving a long trail of kisses on your cheek, on your neck, on your collarbone, going down to your breast where he sucked on your nipple, biting it, making you moan again, whine like he loved so much.

"I wanted you," you complained.

"And you'll have me," he said, taking your hand to guide it on his bulging, pulsing hardness. "Can't you see how much I want to see you cum with my cock buried inside you? But trust me, you weren't ready. I know what's best, you would have just hurt yourself, and I don't want this."

His hand dangerously slid to your overstimulated sex, fingers slowly sinking in your walls and coming out. "Fuck, still so thight baby, a bundle of nerves down there, and you don't even know you haven't felt anything yet."

You took his face in your hands, your piercing eyes meeting his, blurred by urge and lust.

"Fuck me, oppa. Do it till it pleases you, till it hurts me, till nobody will ever take me, will ever want me again, till I'd be nothing but doll parts scattered on your bed. I'm fucking yours, I don't care about the rest. Fuck me, please, fuck me now, fuck me hard, I need you, I love you."

Chris suddenly wrapped one arm around your hips to pull you closer to his frame, to trap you entirely under his weight, then grabbed your thighs and made your legs clasp around his waist solidly.

"Damn baby, the things you do to me when you talk like this. You're so docile and persuasive. I really wanted to go slow, doing it as it should be done, but God, you make it so difficult, you're not really bringing out the best of me right now."

You caressed his lenght in his entirety, from the head to the base, so rigid, impressive, veins popping out, pre-cum spilling gently in a long, thin stream. "I couldn't agree less," you stated, smiling maliciously.

He suddenly gripped your wrists and pinned both your hands over your head, making you giggle, watching you totally captivated.

"What?" you asked curious.

"I wanna remember you like this forever."

He entered you fully, heatedly, incapable of controlling himself, of resisting you, of waiting any longer and hushing his impatience, his impulsive exigency to fill your cunt for the first time, completely, to the extreme. He stared spellbound at how his huge cock disappeared under your sparkling skin, and how your pussy, so smooth, so delicate, took it in with absolute composure. He bent down, stealing a long, soothing kiss from your parted lips to try softening your pain, to help your body calm, relax, gradually and naturally adjust to his presence.

Chris moaned tilting his head back lost in the rapture of your thightness enwrapping him so hungrily, squeezing him so forcefully, then started moving his hips leisurely, his thrusts rhythmic and regular, constant and sustained. More, harder, please oppa, faster, he heard you crying, so eager, insatiable, desperately raising your waist to try fastening his phlegmatic pace, so his shoves got quicker, wilder, as he shortened the duration of his hammering movements and intensified their force, their steadiness.

He could feel distinctly your legs jerking, your muscles contracting, your walls constricting, fluttering erratically around him, suffocating his shaft in that furious, chaotic whirlwind of tremors and convulsions. He was well aware he was also irrevocably close to his own verge.

"Shit, p-princess, oppa wants to f-fill you with his c-cum, w-will you let him?" he panted, visibly struggling to articulate that coherent phrase as he kept on shoving himself into you relentlessly, hastily, ruthlessly.

"Yes, fuck, yes…" you allowed, and then, there was nothing left to do but abandoning to the gripping power of ecstasy.

You both orgasmed, collapsing enfolded in the warmth of your embrace, blatantly entranced, unbridled, floating blissfully in that heavenly, idyllic vortex of carnal and spiritual junction, ruled by that strong, passionate but contradictory feeling of coming to life and dying at the same time, you coating his golden skin in your honeyed juices and he releasing his hot fluid emprisoned in your trembling body, calling your name, no terms of endearment this time, no nicknames, just your real name forming sensually on his lips as he reached the culmination of his own pleasure, making you feel for once more than just his little girl, but his woman.

Chris fell down on his back, weary, sated, trying hard to catch his breath again as his chest moved up and down rhythmically.

"What?" he asked seeing you smiling.

You shrugged. "Nothing. I just wanna remember you like this forever."

He laughed wholeheartedly. "Come here."

And he kissed you, in the only way he could, he knew, leaving you wishing on bittersweet illusions, on the stupidly romantic dream that he wouldn't be just your first, but maybe even your last.

© cultlix, 2024. all rights reserved.

[ddreamywitch]

Chapter Seven - Take Me to Church

knight!benjicot x princess!reader

Word count: 3.5k

Song: Take Me to Church - Hozier

a/n: Benji pov fans (me) RISE UPP!!

Benji's mind is spinning in circles like never before.

What has he done?

Why has he done it?

He looks at you, your cheeks an intense shade of cherry-red and he wants to throw up a little bit.

How could he do this to you? How could he have done this to you?

You are so soft and innocent, you are to be wed, you are the king's daughter. 

His uncle must be right. He is a man barely in charge of his instincts. 

"Would you stop looking at me like that," you say.

He clears his throat and steps back. "Apologies," he mumbles. Then he takes another, precautionary step back, because he feels the closeness is only making things worse. 

There is an arm's length distance between the two of you now and you are looking at him very confused. 

Maybe he should jump off the tower. 

You hum an unsure sound, a question of what to do now. 

Benji clears his throat again. "Apologies, princess, I should not have been so..."

"So un-knightly?" you offer to finish his sentence. 

He nods. Now you look a bit hurt and he wishes he could turn back time. 

Ser Benjicot of House Blackwood was certainly no stranger to a woman's touch but this is certainly new territory to him. This is a woman far above him. He had never had affiliations with somebody like this. In all honesty, he had never even spoken to a noble woman that outranked him for longer than a fleeting moment before he had met her. 

None of this would have happened if he hadn't threatened to kill the entirety of the Bracken clan during their meetings to make peace. 

A statement he still feels is justified given how those depraved heathens act. 

"Benji, would you please say anything," you plead.

"Hmm, can't." It comes out sounding as though he's swallowing his own bile, which is also what is happening. Oh god in heaven above, what had he done. 

You pick up the discarded tiara and per instinct he averts his eyes, as if his tongue hadn't just been stuck in your throat mere minutes ago. 

They were going to execute him for this. And you would be shunned.

Who even is ‘they’? Nobody knows. 

"Nobody can ever find out," he says.

You snort as you sort your ridiculous feathered monstrosity of a tiara out on your head. "I wasn't about to tell the town-crier, Benjicot, I am not slow."

No, that is right you are not. Why had you even kissed him? Or had he kissed you?

"My god, all those stories about you impaling people and yet you stand before a woman quivering."

He meets your eyes and it feels like a punch to his stomach, right where he is the most vulnerable, but he doesn't understand why he feels that way.

"I'm sorry."

You seem mad. "I will go to my chambers now. Will Ser Corrigan take the night's watch?"

Ser Corrigan? What an odd face to think about at this moment. A weathered, old man, such a harsh contrast to whom he is looking at now, with your soft edges and your softer lips and those eyes that are looking at him with much intensity. 

"I believe yes." 

You nod and lift your dress, decidedly making your way down the stairs again. 

He remains where he is, incapable of moving even as he listens to your steps get quieter. 

Why, why, why can he never ever think before he acts? 

His feet drag across the floor, heavy with the weight of his decisions as he follows you down into the heart of the castle. 

He catches up with you just as you're about to slam the door into his face. 

Per instinct his hand shoots out, just for it to be squashed. 

You gasp in horror, which is so tooth-achingly sweet that it makes his veins burn. 

Ser Corrigan is standing by the door and glances back and forth between the two of you.

"My god, Ser Benjicot," you scold and open the door a little wider. 

There's a twitch in your fingertips and he'd like to think that it's because you want to reach for him, even if it's only to see if he's injured.

Which he isn't. "It's fine, I will just bruise."

You pout, in that angry way you tend to, clearly not satisfied with his answer. 

"Step inside, I wish to have a word for you."

Ser Corriggan harrumphs. You both look at him confused. In fact you look a little bit like you are realising just now that he is also present for this exchange. 

"Princess, I am certain that the Lord of the house will soon arrive to question your early departure from dinner," he reminds you. 

Benji wishes that ugly toad would fall down a flight of stairs. The Cathcart toad. He doesn't have an issue with Corrigan. Except, perhaps, for the fact that he is here and talking when he feels the very deep-rooted need to explain himself to you. 

You sigh. "Would you please send him away when he comes? I am in no mood to be infantilized by an overgrown boy."

Ser Corrigan nods. but there is doubt etched into the lines of his face. 

Benji wants to say something to him but he has no time to, your fingers are forceful in the leather plates on his forearm. 

Tamsyn looks terrified. 

Benji is painfully aware that she is terrified of him. He misses Marion. Not that he knew her well, but she didn't look like she may hurl the moment he laid eyes on her, the way that this girl is.

"You are excused," you tell her and he's glad but yet there is an inkling of nervosity in his chest, scratching at the walls of his insides. 

You grab his hand, twist and turn it. He tries to not let it bother him. "It doesn't hurt," he says.

One thumb presses into the back of it. "Does this hurt?"

The wince is stopped in his throat but he can't hide his facial expression betrays him.

"Why in the world would you do that? The door cannot be locked anyway," you scold and drop his hand.

You cross the room, a glimmering green flurry of layers. 

He stands there, like some sort of unwanted fixture until you return from your vanity with a tiny vial and a long white piece of fabric, the function of which he cannot identify until it is ripped by your wrathful hand. 

"Is that your veil?", he asks. You don't answer.

Instead you grab his hand and leave a generous trail of your oil across his knuckles. "It's arnica, lavender and rosemary. This is supposed to be your good hand, you cannot ruin yourself so carelessly."

"You are being theatrical," he tells you and regrets it when your face goes sour like spoiled milk.

"Am I? Am I being dramatic? The only reason you are still here is your ability to kill quicker than you think." 

It hurts him where you want it to hurt him. "Why are you so enraged?"

With a poking finger you guide him to the bed. "Sit," you order. If he wasn't already on thin ice, he'd make a joke about how commandeering you can be.

It reminds him of when you had set his nose, except then you had cowered down to be at eye level with him. You don't do that now and with a lot less gentleness you wrap up his hand. 

Entirely unnecessary, but he feels he should let you or else you might actually break a finger of his. Or two. 

"You know what I meant." It becomes a question as it rolls off his tongue. 

"You didn't even say anything to be misunderstood, Lord Benjicot Blackwood." 

His name is an insult, by the way it drips with venom. 

"I must have, because why else would you be trying to strangle my wrist."

Your touch loosens in an instant. 

"Well, if you must know, I would have hoped for something more than watching you nearly throw up into the courtyard right after shoving your tongue into places where into places where it isn't supposed to be."

It is hard to not grin but social complexities aren't entirely lost on him. 

"My apologies."

"Not accepted," you mumble through gritted teeth and finish up the bandages. "Find some herbs for me and I might consider accepting."

He nods as he looks up at you, praying that you don't notice that you're still holding his hand.

Your face is stern, a look so unnatural on you, he wants to wipe it off. 

"I will find herbs," he promises and unthinkingly, maybe unknowingly, he isn't certain, his thumb swipes a circle across your knuckles.

Knuckles that have never hurt, knuckles free of scars, softer than his hands have ever been.

You wince and pull your hand out of his grasp and he thinks he's overstayed his welcome but you sit down next to him. 

"Benji."

"Witch."

You scoff. Fingertips begin twisting the rings on your fingers. 

"You know I cannot be careless about this. I cannot go forth and pretend it didn't happen."

He wraps his hand around yours again. "I know."

"Now you must tell me what your intentions are."

Benji halts and looks at you confused. You roll your eyes. 

"That is how one courts a lady," you explain further. 

"Ahh." Now he cannot hide the grin. "I cannot court you, you know this."

"You can court me in secret."

He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. "My intentions are pure-hearted little witch."

"I highly doubt it. You are a rake. And also you are nicknamed 'Bloody Ben' which is just ridiculous if you ask me. And even further you constantly look like you've just buried a body, to the point that even Marion feared you." You throw your free hand up in exasperation. "Marion!"

His hand is beginning to hurt now that the adrenaline has ebbed down a bit. "I'm not so bad, you know. I didn't rat you out. I didn't even complain when you drooled onto my pants the other night."

Every single time he sees you flush his heart grows so far he swears his ribs are digging into it. 

Suddenly, he can't remember why he was so terrified earlier. 

"I promise I will try to not be careless. And I will attempt to look less...bloody?"

You shake your head. "I don't want you to change. You're alright as you are. I am more so concerned with your ability to handle secrecy."

"I am an excellent keeper of secrets."

"You don't wear a mask." 

He frowns at you. "What? Are we at a masquerade ball?"

"No, I mean you wear your emotions on your face. It's your greatest flaw. I don't know how this can be, I don't imagine you do this when you fight people."

Benji had never thought about this. But then again, there are many things he hadn't thought about before he met you. There's a lot of things he never thought about before today. 

There's a weird thing between the two of you now. It looms over you as you squeeze his hand and when you drop your head against his shoulder. He isn't courting you.

You are to be married. 

He's kissed you, feverishly, with all-consuming passion and he can't go back and he doesn't want to but he can't go ahead either. 

He's stuck. Once again. Though it is starting to feel less like he's stuck as your knight. 

Quite an easy duty, with a princess like this. 

There's a bang on the door and the two of you jolt apart in an instant. He misses your hair tickling his jaw instantly. 

"Your highness," Lord Cathcart sneers through the door. 

"Wanker," Benji mumbles beneath his breath. 

"What?" You yell out.

"Come out. I wish to speak with you."

You get up but Benji is faster once more, cracking open the door the tiniest bit. "The princess has retired for the night. You may speak with her on the morrow, my good Lord."

The slimy man pries his hands into the small opening. Fortunately he has no real strength compared to Benjicot, who stops the thing from moving as far as an inch. "You forget yourself, bloody Ben. This is my castle."

At this, Benji opens the door far enough to push himself through and Erik away. The fool stumbles. 

He can't say it's not amusing to him. 

"And these are the chambers of a woman. You have no right to them. Only the king does."

He pauses and does a dramatic look around the hallway. 

"And as far as I am able to tell he is not here."

Eric sputters and reddens. Not like you do, but in an angry entirely off-putting manner, that almost makes Benji want to giggle. 

"You rest assured Blackwood boy, your days as a knight are counted."

Benji shrugs. "The Brackens will surely be happy to have me as their neighbour once more."

Lord Cathcart scoffs. "You'll be lucky to get out alive." 

And as if he hadn't heard a word just spoken he heads to the door, where you are standing. 

You look a bit dishevelled and Benji is a bit proud but he can't think on it too long, as Erik towers over you with the last shred of authority he can conjure up. "You will be my wife. I offered to go about this smoothly, but you went ahead and disrespected me. You will be my wife and then you will have no choice but to obey. I shall see to that."

Benji doesn't need to say anything this time. Ser Corrigan steps between your figures and clears his throat. "The princess is not to be spoken to in such a manner. I think it best we all rest tonight and tomorrow there will be a new day to set things right."

Erik Cathcart is not one bit pleased but he realises he has not much choice and so he yields and scurries off like the little weasel that he is. 

The sight of him makes Benji want to ram his head into a wall. 

The king is a fool for sending his daughter into the arms of this man, for removing her from the castle, for running the entire kingdom into the ground like nobody in his ancestry before him had ever managed.

One could only hope that a fallen woman like Lady Cathcart is worth this much trouble. 

Hell, Benji wouldn't ever care about the societal standing of a woman but he has never let last night's fuck influence today's mood in his life.

He looks to you and then back at Ser Corrigan, who has become very hawk-eyed all the sudden. 

"I think it's for the best if I retire to my bed as well," he says and you nod in acceptance, though he can't help but notice the smidge of disappointment in your eyes. 

His feet guide him to the yard and then the stables where a young man bows to him in panic. 

He remembers that this is Bracken affiliated ground. God knows what cruel tales have been told of his fights. They all likely think him to be a man with no honour. 

Benji wants to and saddle a horse, desperate to clear his mind, when his gaze flickers out the door and falls on the church. 

He hesitates for a moment, debating his choices, when he decides that it can’t hurt to pay the confessional a visit. 

It’s a small church, not very decorated. The one at the capital has huge stained windows and your dresses tend to look quite…pretty in that lighting. That is also about the only thing he could fathom to like about being inside that place.

He’s never been religious, nowhere near as much as he likely should be. 

The thought of a god looming over his head has never made him anything but uncomfortable. 

He finds it unsettling that he might be judged by an omniscient creature. He also finds that religious people are often liars. 

And yet, there he stands, in the hallway, staring at the altar. 

He’s not even sure how confessions even work anymore. 

The priest floats into the room at the other end of it, the same one as from the dinner. He’s such an odd looking person. 

“Ah. I thought you might appear here, son,” he says, his voice echoing. 

Benji scrunches his nose a little. “Did you now, father?” He takes a few tentative steps forward. “I’d like to confess something.”

The priest nods and points towards the confessional. For a third time, he contemplates his choices but he decides that he’s no coward and takes a seat on his side of the booth. 

“In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

There’s a beat of silence until Benji remembers what to do. “Amen,” he says after clearing his throat. “Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been…I don’t remember, since my last confession.” 

Here goes. What’s there to lose? Maybe his mind, Benji thinks to himself. 

“I have corrupted somebody.”

The priest doesn’t speak. 

Benji clears his throat again. This feels violently tense. He’s not sure it should be. 

“I suppose my sin is cardinal. Sin of Lust.”

The priest’s gown makes a ruffling sound. “Ah. It is a common one.”

“This one has pretty high stakes involved, I assure you, father.” He is fairly certain that being sarcastic with a clergyman in a confessional booth is not something you’re supposed to do. But what’s it matter? He doubts a quick trip here could save his soul anyway. 

“Perhaps I should go.”

“No. Stay. Tell me what troubles you, son. Only God can help through all.”

Benji sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “Well, I have kissed a girl. She is promised to another and I have put her virtue at risk.”

He glances over, through the barred hole in the wall and distantly makes out the side profile of the priest. “Did you force her hand?”

“No. I have killed men but I do have some dignity.”

“Well, then the girl is also guilty of a sin. But it is normal. God has made us flawed creatures. It is the way our lives go. You made the good choice, coming here. Pray the litany of Mary Magdalene three times, son.” 

He doesn’t enjoy the fact that the priest keeps calling him son. That should be reserved for one person only. He wipes his hands clean on his pants, clean of nothing in particular. He gets up to leave.

“Wait,” the priest commands. “I must warn you.”

Benji frowns. “Of what?”

The priest’s voice drops to a whisper. “There is treachery afoot in the house of Cathcart. Other houses too. I do not know the extent of it.” The priest’s gown rustles. “You must worry. You must watch yourself.” There’s a pause. “And you must write to the heir to the throne.”

Benjicot stares at him now. “What?”

“You think the Lord to be a fool and in many ways he is. But he is part of a grand scheme. I cannot tell you more.”

Benji hurries out of the booth around to the other side. “What the fuck are you blabbing about?”

“This is a house of God,” the priest reprimands at his cursing. “And I will not. I mustn’t endanger you. You need to be alive and well to serve the princess, do you not?”

“Is that a threat, old man?” 

The priest shakes his head. “I am helping you. Write to the prince. Tell him to tread carefully.” 

He points towards the entry. “This betrothal is a curse.”

He has to suppress the urge to point the dagger in his pocket against the man’s neck and get more out of him. But he remembers you and your words. He does not know how to handle the web of conspiracies that are spun around the nobility. He does not know how to solve them without laying hands and even then that would rarely diminish the problem. 

Benji steps back and considers the priest. “Well, then. Three litanies.”

With that he hurries out of the church. On the morrow he shall tell you. For now, he falls into his bed, mind continuously spinning around your kiss. When sleep comes for him, you leave with his thoughts and enter again through his dreams. 

taglist:

@dancingbaek

@jhepolie 

@knight-of-flowerss

@majoso12

@rebeccawinters 

@poppyflower-22

@nixtape-foryou

@accidentpronedork

@xlittlefiend

@vqmpyrecult

@chainsawsangel

@esposadomd

@juhdoche 

[boszbichblitzo]

"S-sorry. I uh.... I kinda got lost in my own head for a minute, I'm good." The cold touch to his cheek was certainly a shock, but it was more of a reminder of what they'd lost. What Fizz had lost because of him, more accurately. Maybe it was fitting that the other imp was trying to ground him with such a stark reminder only to directly ask about the fire immediately after. Anxiety twisted in his chest as he considered his answer, he could just refuse to talk about it, Fizz would probably respect that.... but he deserved to know the truth. He deserved to hear the full story more than anyone, perhaps, and Cash clearly hadn't been telling the truth.

"Uh.... o-okay, I–– .....So, it was your birthday, right? I had this present I was coming to give you that I spent like.... all day working on. But um..... when I got to the tent where the party was happening, I saw my dad giving you that.... stupid fucking card. 'I wish you were my son'." Blitzo used air quotes as he said it, rolling his eyes at not only how fucking stupid the card was, but at himself for being so affected by something as small as a birthday card. "I got upset and ran off to go.... I dunno, cry or something, whatever.... I uh..... I wasn't paying attention and I shoved someone–– I forget who it was–– and he was.... carrying the cake. Candles were already lit and everything. The tent.... It went up so fast. I didn't even know what happened until my fuckin' dad was already running past me and then one of those fireworks hit me right in the fucking eye. Why were they even in a tent? Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to put them there? I don't––" He cut himself off and took in a deep, shaky breath and let it out before continuing.

"A-anyway..... I went to try to get help when I saw how hurt you were, pointed a couple adults toward you, but then.... I heard my mom scream and saw our tent was..... it was bad, Fizz..... I ran in to try to help her, but I didn't–– I-I couldn't save her....." Blitzo paused again to wipe a few stray tears, the image of his mother burning right in front of him jumping back to the forefront of his mind as it so often did whenever anything reminded him of that night. "After it was all over..... my dad beat the absolute fucking shit outta me while you were getting carted off to the hospital and then told me to fuck off and never come back."

The tears threatened to come back full force and Blitzo had to take a minute just to steady his breathing before he could continue, shifting his focus back to the only other important person in his life..... who still refused to have an actual conversation with him that wasn't just hurling insults or emotional barbs. "You don't have to uh.... contribute, but.... I appreciate it. As long as I got somewhere I can hide some savings for her, that's enough. I just..... I know she hates me now and I can't really blame her for that, but I can't lose her too.... At least if she's alive and hates me, she's still alive, right?"

“…yes, but I want to,” his tone was gentle but firm, asserting that he wasn’t supporting Blitzo out of some imagined sense of duty but, instead, a desire to do so. That was all to say: Blitzo wasn’t a burden to him. Fizz cared endlessly about the other imp and wanted nothing more than to give him all of the love and support that he was willing, or perhaps able, to accept. “Hey, Blitzo. Are you in the room with me?” he hummed out the words softly, bringing one of cold hands to rest on the side of his best friends face in the subtle hope that the touch might shock him back into the present moment. Talking about the accident was, clearly difficult — but there was something that Fizz was wondering that had been left unsaid. If it was an accident? what happened? “I know this is—” he paused for a moment, “..uh, well, I know it’s a shit question to ask…but, well, I figured now is my chance to ask, ya know, without reopening a wound, or whatever…” The jester’s gaze flittered down as he spoke, struggling to build up to his question, his voice became really small “…what happened that night?”

Fizz nodded his head slowly as he listened to Blitzo’s words. It was so like him to be chiefly worrying about his sister while he, himself, was struggling. A hand came to rest on the back of his neck, rubbing the skin slightly as he allowed his features to warp into a concerned from. “Shit…I-I can try talking to her, I’m not sure she’ll listen to me either, but it’s worth a shot, right?…even if it just lets her know I’m here for her.” Fizz nodded his head enthusiastically at the thought of being able to help with the whole situation. He wasn’t getting much money at the moment — only a small slither of what the circus made — while the rest were paying for his hospital bills and prosthetics. But, he wanted to help. “I want to help! I, uh…well, I do have a place that I know your dad won’t look,” a slight blush heated his face, deciding not to mention that the hiding place he was thinking about also contained all of his, uh, more intimate items. Look, it was the only place he knew Cash hadn’t looked! and anyway, even if he found them, so long as the money was below a dildo or between the pages of a porn magazine? well, he was hardly going to go digging around, was he? It was kind of genius. The jester then levelled a finger at Blitzo, “I want to add to the funds though, not just hide your shit” his tone left no room for negotiation.

[bottombaron]

Nandor loves the sun

The only thing he remembered how to say in his own language (until recently) is 'good morning'

His bedroom is the only one with windows

His coffin faces and opens up towards the direction of the setting sun

He is literally tempting himself every day with sunlight

the sun is Guillermo

[radaverse]

what if pom episode where roni and mai accidentally body swapped because of some magic sj-y thingy

Fellas just try to take each other's places while they fix it (GONE WRONG 😭)

Roni opens his mouth for long for the first time only to fuck up big time

NOOOO 💔💔

also mai at aku's lair

*sobs in a corner*

After everyone finds out they just try to go back to their places

SHE MISSED HER DAD SO MUCH 😭 no hugging mr samurai allowed THO-

better off just to not keep close contact (pain)

I guess roni missed being with his dad too though

OH NO THAT MEANS DIET SWAP TOO HELP

I never thought a comical angst pom episode was possible yet here we are 😭

expect this trash in comic chapters eventually HEHEHE

Roni by @tireddovahkiin, Costar + Muran by @darknoverse

Paws of Magic AU by us the three pomsketeers ✨

More pom au stuff in silly server!

[aceofspadegrass]

So you know how people make corndogs?

Imagine, okay. Takeru's monologuing to Aguni about something, perhaps a new fabric he's gotten. Maybe about some new restaurant that's opened up that makes really good apple based treats. Or just talking about how it's a shame that they passed by that dead fish that was run over by a bike, although neither can explain why exactly a fish got run over in the first place.

Then, as any normal citizen does, they get robbed. Well, that's a lie, kind of. Really, people broke in with the intent to rob the place, but it's kind of occupied by a pair of dudes. Well maybe they knew that it wasn't empty, because they have weapons on them. Nothing serious, like guns, just knives, bolt cutters, things that would make robbing easier in the off chance something is locked away.

Aguni isn't having it, obviously. Tries to subdue them, but it's one against a group of them. As much as Aguni wants, he can't fight them all off in the current state he's in. Maybe he sprained an ankle, or is coming down with a cold and can't realistically do anything except maybe spread a cold around (Which is ineffective as a quick solution).

Takeru talks them down, somehow. Charisma off the charts convinces them to stay for corndogs, because he's already in the middle of making some and it would be quite rude if they interrupted him. Don't they respect the sanctity of preparing food from scratch? Principle of the matter.

Anyways, it works (Somehow.) and Takeru continues on making corndogs. He's efficient in it too, talks the entire time. Distracts them from actually robbing the place, because hell is he not good at generating attention.

They get their corndogs. They look delicious. Fresh from the fryer, glistening hot.

Now, I don't know if you know, but when you eat a corndog, typically there's one of two ways. You bite from the top and go down, or you attack it like a corn cob from the side (Although why you would is beyond me. Wouldn't that just fall?) And usually, unless you take shitty bites, you go for it, you know?

Neither really protects you when a man uses knives in place of skewers.

[arolesbianism]

Every now and then I remember that oni in fact will eventually have more lore added and I get so excited and scared for a moment and then I remember that it could take months until we see any of that and I proceed to forget abt it again and the cycle repeats

[lxvvie]

Simon Riley is a frustrated man.

And you're the cause of it.

This... thing simmering between you two, he can't place it. Can't put a name on it, and when surety, something that took years to fine-tune, flies out the window, frustration rears its ugly fuckin' mug.

The last time Simon felt this way, he'd just enlisted. He sure as hell can't drink or fuck the feeling away—he's tried—and it pisses him off even more because all he can do is sit and feel his frustration. And stare. At you.

Fuck.

You don't stare back. At least, you don't stare back when he wants you to. He feels your eyes burning holes in his back, though. He knows you feel the same way; he can see it when he does manage to catch your gaze. You're close but never close enough. You're here, there, everywhere with him, even when you're not, and he wants to reach out and touch. Simon wants to touch you, wants to hold and handle you with care just like the military taught him how to handle his gun (bloody hell, what the actual fuck, Riley?)

He wants to touch and hold and handle you with care and he wonders how your lips would feel against his scars and fuck fUCK FUCK.

Fuck it. If you won't come to him, he'll come to you.

And when he gets the chance, he corners you. Simon feels the heat between your bodies, and you're pressing yourself against him whether you realize it. But you still won't look at him. Bloody fuckin'—

"Look at me, sweetheart," he grunts out. Not a suggestion, an order. After a beat, you do. And Simon holds your stare. He holds your stare, looks for confirmation, and when he finds it, that's when you strike.

You strike and press your lips against the corner of his mouth, against an old scar, and Simon's a fucking puddle of goo because it's everything he thought it would be and more. He leans against you, cognizant of his body weight, but it doesn't fuckin' matter, not with the way you've welcomed him with open arms.

Simon still can't put a name to the feeling. Not yet. Frustrated with you, consumed by you, fuck if he knows.

He reasons you two have all the time in the world now to figure it out. Together.

[bi-writes]

ok but soulmate au with ghost but it's the fucking opposite of rainbows and sunshine. (18+)

you share his trauma. his stress. his anxiety. you do not know who he is, and yet you know the pain of a thousand punches because it's the only feeling he has ever given you. you know the grueling ache of abandonment and the terrible neglect of abuse and the disgusting amalgamation of all your worst nightmares before you even turn 20. everything that he gives you feels aggressive, like it burns, and he only ever gives you reprieve for so long until you just feel it all over again.

it makes you tired. it makes you sick. at first, as a girl, all you wanted to do was comfort him. you wanted to know who he was so you could kiss the cigarette burns that you feel and soak up the blood you know he bleeds.

but as you age, you begin to hate him. you hate him because he does this to you, he hurts you, doesn't he know that he's hurting you? doesn't he know that everything he feels, you feel tenfold, doesn't he know that the terror and the horror of everything he witnesses weighs down your chest, makes you feel like you're drowning over and over and over again?

for a few years into your adulthood, everything is quiet. you feel little except the ache in his back he never tends to, the creak of his knee joints that he refuses to stretch out. you wish you knew him so you could scold him for it, but you curse at a ghost. sometimes you think about doing something to get back at him--you think about carving a FUCK YOU into your arm, about throwing yourself in front of a bus just so he can fucking understand that his entire life is one fucked-up cycle of pain and misery and horror, but you can't bring yourself to do it.

you can't hurt him. you just can't.

and then, the real pain begins. it brings you to your knees, this pain. you scream, you wail, because it feels like you're being carved from the inside-out. your face burns. your chest heaves. you feel like your ribs are breaking, you can't breathe, you claw at the invisible wounds that your soulmate must be wearing, and you beg him to stop, you beg him to let me go--just fucking die already--please, please, please--

those weeks haunt you. the torture he endures, it is branded to you. you wear no scars, and you never lost any blood, but the phantom flesh that you know is gone follows you in your sleep and never shuts up. it talks, it snarls, it eats at your insides. even when he heals, you are never the same. you wake up from nightmares that you know you share with him. you look over your shoulder for the predators you know he has encountered, and you cry yourself to sleep over the loss of something that you can't even decipher because you have no idea who he is or what he buried to feel this way inside.

he's sick. he's twisted. he's a walking corpse, he has no redeemable qualities, he is selfish and mean and cruel, and you hate him, and if it wasn't for the pain that you would feel, the first thing you would do when you saw him is drive something right through his heart to finally stop the undying infection he spreads to everything that he touches.

you know it is him when you finally meet him. you would know him anywhere; you’d know him just by the scars alone who he is because you remember what it felt like when he got them. when you eye the sleeve of tattoos along his left arm--the fucked, shitty, sunburnt art that made it impossible for you to finish your university exams. the faded, grey circles that line the other, ones you recognize being from the burning cigarettes that you would smell when you closed your eyes. and when he removes his mask briefly, you recognize the scar that cuts above his lip and strikes through his eye--that one left you reeling on the bathroom floor particularly loudly. you thought he might be blind if it wasn't for seeing the darkness of both of his eyes.

you start to cry. you start to cry because as soon as he realizes who you are, as soon as you see that flicker of knowing flash across his eyes, all of the hatred and the anger and the poison that plagued you for all this time vanishes. everything you fought so hard to feel, all the misery you wanted to bestow upon him for making your life a living hell, it's gone.

because the universe is cruel, the universe has done what it has done, and it has made this singular person just for you, and against everything you believe, you know that you love him, and you hate yourself for it, and you hate the universe, too.

you have endured. but maybe you endured so he didn't have to. maybe you endured so that he could have this, the feeling that he feels right now, that feeling of sudden relief.

he slides a large hand over his chest, flinching slightly. he blinks, understanding suddenly that he's feeling your joy, your elation. when you shuffle your way over to him, breaching the conversation the men around him are having, you ignore their confused stares as you fling yourself into his chest.

ghost forces you against him, trapping you to him. he practically chokes, tangling a gloved hand into your hair, and you sob into the warm skin of his neck as he hoists you into his arms, into his lap. you don't pay attention to the curious voices around you, you just bury yourself into him and cry. his body is the evidence of all that has happened to him, and you aren't angry anymore because you're relieved.

he's real. he's alive. he's here. he's okay.

when you pull back to look up at him, you blink away the tears that are falling fast down your face. he stares down equally as intensely, drinking in the sight of those big, wet eyes. when he smooths a big hand down your face, he grumbles when he realizes what you are, how you know him.

he never realized this was what he and his soulmate shared. you in your life had never felt pain like he had--he had no idea what he was doing to you. he had no idea what you were surviving at the same time.

he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against yours, and your lips tremble as you cup his cheeks and hold him close.

it feels wrong to feel this kind of comfort, but he does anyways. he thinks, maybe, that perhaps the only reason he survived was because of you.

because there was someone else, far away, that loved him enough to keep him breathing. even when he thought it was over.

[ghouljams]

Okay but what does Hephaestus!Nikto think of his wife and their interactions.

This might not be the tone we’re looking for, but I can’t help but imagine the man hearing his wife laugh or seeing her smile at him and suddenly he’s hard. But he’s too scarred and damaged for a precious thing like her, so his hand it is

Absolutely. I mean, why would a pretty thing like you want someone as mutilated as him? It's bad enough you keep finding your way to his workshop. Bad enough that when he works iron the heat leaves your skin shimmering with sweat, your clothes sticking to the soft curves and fat of your body. Bad enough that you wander in with little more than sandals to cover your feet, that you don't complain when he watched you pick shaved metal off your sole from the corner of his eye. Bad enough that you sit and watch him with such rapt fascination that he can't help but show off the small miracles only he can create. Bad enough that your presence makes him adjust his schedule, that he's running late on orders, that every jewel he sees makes him think of you even when he knows he can't make it into anything half as beautiful. And it's bad enough that he tries anyway, that he hopelessly tinkers with his latest sparkle to try and create something worthy of presenting to you as a marriage token.

Because maybe if he could, he wouldn't find himself standing beside your bed, he'd let himself climb in beside you. But he can't. He has too much work to do keeping up with orders that you stall during the day. He's too ugly. He's too deformed. Too scarred. Too broken. Too hateful and angry. Too scared that he'll hold on too tight to the little fish that swam ashore and he'll end up breaking every needling bone in your body. It's bad enough that you've found your way onto land, must he be the one to kill you before suffocation takes its course?

He doesn't know what cruel joke this is, making him husband to you, but he hasn't laughed in a long time.

You sneak up behind him in the forge, press your fingers against the tightness in his back with a pressure that makes him swear. Why does your tough burn so intensely, he can hold hot iron without flinching but one touch from you and he recoils. Your apologies are worse.

"I thought your back must hurt," you tell him.

"Back is fine," he grunts, "don't touch."

It's not running away, he tells himself, if he grabs a hammer and goes from his tinkering to his forging. Fire is a heat he knows, a pain he can find comfort in. The soft plea in your eyes is something else entirely, and he can't have you seeing the tightness it inspires in his chest, or the way it swells between his legs.

You'd be better off without a monster for a husband. Shouldn't you be smart enough to take the hint and go already?

[galadrieljones]

It speaks volumes when Lavellan calls Solas a "terrible liar" in the Cobbled Swan. Rook is, of course, confused by this. "He's the god of lies," she says. But Lavellan clarifies, because that's not what she means. She means that he can't tell "lies of the heart." That is why he had to turn her away, because he actually could not deceive her.

Varric, very early in the game, also refers to Solas as "sentimental." He says to Rook, "He could burn the world down, and the thing that would make him cry is a single flower with blackened petals."

There's something very interesting about the elven god of lies and deceit, who unwillingly wears his heart on his sleeve, essentially creating a new version of the world in which all sources of raw, magical *emotion* that, according to him, used to imbue it with so much life and beauty have been compartmentalized from the more brutish, harsh aspects of the physical world. Because he, himself, has had to do this very thing to his own heart. He's "split." A very cool archetype. When he tells the Inquisitor to "harden her heart to a cutting edge" in Inquisition, he is projecting. Solas has built a "veil" within himself, to protect his more stern, militaristic identity as The Dread Wolf from the effusive, soft, and intelligent man that is Solas. It's the only way he can get anything done. Perhaps we should more aptly call him the god of stoicism and compartmentalization.

It's also interesting how well characters like Varric seem to know Solas, because it communicates that Solas did open up to the people of the Inquisition, during which time he "played the role" of quiet, unassuming Fade mage. Perhaps this wasn't a role at all, however, and perhaps this is why he is failing so spectacularly now. Who he really is is just this man who fell in love and made friends and found a home within a community where he did not have to cut off his emotions in order to lead. This was the "breach" in his plans, so to speak. It tore his world apart.

The whole story of Veilguard actually starts because Varric knows he can appeal to Solas's emotions and that this has a high chance of working to some degree. It's important to remember that while Varric didn't change Solas's mind at the ritual site, he was able to keep Solas talking long enough for Rook to sabotage his plans. Solas entertains Varric's pleas, because, sort of as Rook guesses with Lavellan at the Cobbled Swan, in some ways, Solas wants to be stopped. He wants someone to pull the reins on him because he is too prideful to stop himself.

Thinking back to Trespasser, I remember we all sort of knew this right away just in reading his body language. I remember someone making a whole post about it, and how he will not allow her to get too close to him. When she approaches, he takes a very measured step back. And later, as he takes the anchor, a task which requires him to take her hand, we see exactly why this is. He breaks down, calls her his "love," and kisses her. He is so stern and so measured and in "control," but then, all it takes is a single touch from the woman to whom he showed a glimpse of his true heart, his true self, to bring him to his knees.

The Veil as a narrative manifestation for how Solas tends to seal his own raw emotions away from others in order to function as the revolutionary general he had to be for centuries is a very beautiful construct to me.

[magnusbae]

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you 🖤

🖤 What a wicked thing to do, 🐇 🐇 to make me dream of you 🖤

🖤 What a wicked thing to say, 🐇

🐇 you never felt this way 🖤

[nanaslutt]

Body search gone wrong

ʚ ft: Officer Suguru Geto

ʚ cont: fem reader, public sex, fingering, handcuffs, inappropriate body search, implied alcohol consumption but reader is sober, dirty talk, degradation, praise, spanking, rough sex, dacraphillia, hair pulling

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Your vision shook when your body was slammed down against the hood of your car, your hands held tightly behind your back. "Fuck!" You yelled, wincing at the dull pain and the freezing metal your body was pressed against. "I told you not to resist didn't I?" A deep voice rang out behind you. The officer's body heat bled through your clothes, warming you up a bit, a nice contrast from the freezing air. His knee planted between your spread legs kept you apart as the officer reached for his cuffs, the metal clinking together.

"I wasn't even fucking doing anything." You shot back, wiggling against his hold. The man's body was pressed harder against yours, the metal cuffs squeezing around your wrists. "I told you to stop resisting." You rolled your eyes. You tried to look at his face from over your shoulder, but it was already pitch black, and the light from his car behind you blinded you.

"Now you gonna answer my question? Huh?" The officer's hot breath tickled the back of your neck. When had he gotten so close? You wriggled your shoulders against the car, silently telling him to back off. "I was at a fucking party dipshit, why do you think I'm dressed like this?" You said, your words coming out harshly. 

The officer clicked his tongue, his lip curling at your attitude. "Such a disobedient girl. I don't think you're in a position to fight with me right now." The officer abruptly yanked you up, your dress threatening to roll up even further than it already has. He kept a hand between the two of you, gripping your wrist harshly to make sure you couldn't run. 

His other hand grabbed the bottom half of your face, and before you knew it, your head was being turned to the side so he could have a better look at you. You instantly sobered up, all of the anger leaving your body when you came face to face with him. His eyes were sharp and slanted, dark. His face looked like it had been hand sculpted by gods, and his long hair flowing out from under his work hat looked so soft, you wanted to reach out and touch it.

"Such a pretty face. How unfortunate it would've been if you'd died while drunk driving." The officer spat, clicking his tongue again. He shook his head at you, looking at you disapprovingly as he scanned your face. "I'm not even drunk, 's just late it all, had a long night." You retorted, avoiding his face as you felt a warmth spread through your body. 

"Oh yeah, I can see that." He responded, looking at you smugly. You could only stand in astonishment as his thumb wiped down the side of your lip, collecting the smeared lipstick that was smudged on your face. When he pulled his hand away you could see the maroon color of your lipstick on his thumb, making your face burn at his words insinuation. "You can't fool me, girl, you reek of alcohol." He added, letting you turn your head away from him again.

You stayed quiet, looking out into the dark forest around you. The officer took a moment to lean back unnoticeably and scan his eyes over the backside of your body, his eyebrows raised at what he saw. "You got any weapons on you?" He suddenly said, making your face scrunch in confusion. The dress you were wearing barely covered your body, the fabric probably too thin, where on earth would you be hiding a weapon?

"Oh yeah forgot to mention I'm strapped because I have sooo many places to hide a weapon on me right now." You retorted, snorting at his suggestion. "Oh, so you got jokes now?" He responded, "What changed? You were acting like you wanted to knock me out a couple of minutes ago." 

The officer's banter and casual talk with you made your veins pop out in your head in annoyance. Pretty privilege really did exist, because although he was right, you still wanted to kick him in the balls, you also wanted him to have his way with you in ways you probably shouldn't. 

You stayed silent, pressing your lips together firmly so as to not say something you would regret. "You done jokin' around now? That was fast." the officer responded before walking you forward into the car. Your knees hit the rubber of your tire, the man's body follows right behind yours, pressing firmly against you. You could feel every bump and ridge of the weapons on his belt against your back.

"Legs." He said, a little too quiet to sound demanding. You obeyed, spreading your legs to make room for him. The throbbing between your legs was much more intense now, there was no way he didn't know what he was doing. His knee pressing firmly between your own, centimeters from your cunt, made you swallow hard, your breath picking up.

Your wrist was released from his harsh grip, your arm instantly throbbing hot as blood flowed back into that area. His hands started at your sides, just under your arms. You thought officers were supposed to use the back of their hands when they searched someone, but you must've been mistaken because officer whoever he was was groping your body with his palms.

His large palms slid under your tits before sliding down to your stomach, pressing firmly against you. "You body search everyone like this?" You asked, leaning your body back slightly against him. "Or just drunk girls?" He didn't seem to like your insinuation as you were slammed back down against the hood of your car, his hand on your lower back. "Thought you weren't drunk?" He responded, his hand slowly sliding down your back, almost teasingly.

You bit your lip, hoping he couldn't see your face from here in the darkness. His hands grabbed your hips before rubbing down your bare thighs. Your knees threatened to buckle, his touch was so warm. The officer got down on his knees and felt your legs, your legs only clan in a tight pair of thigh-high socks with small black heels resting against your feet. It was obvious you weren't hiding a weapon there. 

Geto circled your ankle with his hand before grabbing the bottom of your shoe with another hand, pulling your foot out as if he were checking your shoe. You pointed your foot at him before rolling it around dramatically. "Pervert." You whispered under your breath, a word you thought he wouldn't hear. Looking up, he had a perfect view of your panties from under your tiny party dress, the black lace panties barely covering anything.

Giving your foot one last rub, he placed your heel back on your foot before raising to his feet again, his hips connecting with your ass once more. "Did you find what you were looking for, officer?" You said, trying to look back at him, wiggling your hips against him as you spoke. "I haven't finished checking everywhere." He replied with a hint of mischievousness laced in his voice, making you raise your eyebrows in confusion.

Suddenly, your bare ass was exposed to the cold air around you, sending a wave of chills over your body. "Might be hiding something here. Can't take any chances." Geto spoke, a smile creeping on his face when your knees pressed together, your hips wiggling more impatiently back against him. "You're right, I could be dangerous." You teased, smiling as you pulled your lip between your teeth.

The cold you once felt against your skin was replaced by two large hands, grabbing and massaging the fat of your ass. You made a noise of surprise at his rough handling of your body. Your breathing picked up, his thumbs massaging so close to where you desperately needed to feel him. You would absolutely be telling this story to your girlfriends when you got outta this mess.

"Do I have your permission to search you down here?" The officer asked the sudden ask for your go-ahead catching you a little off guard after how much he's already done, not like you minded. "If I say no are you gonna let me go officer?" you teased, arching your back against him. Geto pressed his lips together and looked down at you rubbing yourself against his bulge. He wondered if you knew what you were feeling was his cock or if you thought it was some weapon on his holster.

Your back was enveloped with a sudden warmth, making you release a few aroused hums through your breathing as you felt Geto's breath tickle against your neck. "Yeah, I'll stop... but I don't think you want that, do you?" He asked, biting your earlobe between your teeth. You had forgotten how things got to this point, but you were far from complaining. 

"No sir..." You replied, voice all breathy and full of need. "I know." He replied, his hand reaching under your body to rub his fingers firmly against your clit. Your jaw opened against the car in a silent moan, an action Geto mimicked. "You're soaked." Geto groaned against your ear, his cock throbbing in his pants. You only moaned in reply, your eyes rolling back in your head as his thick fingers rubbed expertly against your little bud, your wetness seeping through the fabric and onto his fingers.

"Fuck... officer..." You whined, wiggling against him, your hands pulling against the cuffs. "Suguru." He replied, kissing right under your ear, "Call me Suguru sweet thing." You nodded before releasing a sweet moan of his name, a sound that was greatly appreciated and swiftly rewarded by him pulling your panties to the side. His hot fingers against your bare clit with nothing between made you press your thighs together. 

"You like that pretty?" He whispered, his deep voice sending pangs of arousal to your cunt. "Uh-huh." You nodded, trying to look at his face through your fuzzy eyes. "You want 'em inside you?" He asked, teasing you by rubbing his fingers down to your entrance, only rubbing circles around the hole there. You nodded quickly, tears nearly forming in your eyes. "P-please Suguru... please."

"Look at me." He responded, his voice calm but breathy. You did as he said as he brought his head to the side of your face, reducing the strain on your eyes. His gorgeous face came into view as a shadow blocked it from the light of his car. "That's it, keep looking at me." He nodded, licking his lips as he rubbed delicious circles against your tight hole. Your eyes fluttered as you fought them from rolling back in your head, not wanting to miss a single thing.

Suguru's jaw fell open ever so slightly as he started pressing a single finger against your wet opening. He groaned with you as your pussy greedily swallowed up his finger, your tight walls squeezing around him at the intrusion. "Oh fuck, it's so warm." He groaned, his eyebrows furrowing together. You finally let your eyes roll back in your head before they fluttered shut at the pleasure.

Geto slowly thrust his finger in and out of you a few times before he pulled it almost completely out and added a second finger. Your cunt welcomed the stretch, your wetness spilling out around them. Geto rutted his hips needily against your ass, trying to bring his dripping cock some relief as he dealt with how tight and hot you felt around his fingers.

"Move your hips, fuck that ass back against me baby. Take what you need." He groaned, standing back up and keeping a hand on your lower back. He pushed your dress higher up your body, exposing the mid of your back while he finger fucked you. Now that he was standing, the base of his fingers and palm were pressing against your clit, making you see starts as you did your best to move your hips against him.

You whined when he curled his fingers, matching your slow pace. "Please... please faster Suguru please-" You gasped, your legs shaking at such a small amount of pleasure already. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and smiled while shaking his head. "You can't even follow simple instructions, can you? Dumb girl." With those words Suguru's left a harsh smack against your bare ass, making you yelp before he places his hand next to your body on the car and started pistoning his fingers in and out of you.

"Yeah- yeah fuck- just like that-" You cried shamelessly, your hands clenching and unclenching in your restraints. "You like it rough? Huh?" Suguru groaned, feeling himself leak pre-cum against his boxers hearing the loud squelching emant from between your legs. "Yeahh- yeah I love it-" You cried, nodding while you whined through your teeth, your hips wiggling and bouncing back against him on their own.

"You're so filthy y'know that?" He groaned, curling his fingers against your g-spot each time he thrust his fingers inside, making your brain short-circuit. "S-says the cop fucking a g-girl he pulled over for drunk driving," You responded, giggling through your moans. Suguru returned a short laugh, his eyebrows raising at your words. "I'm not even fucking you." He replied. "You want me to? My fingers not enough for you?" Geto teased.

You bit your lip and sucked a breath in through your teeth, feeling your orgasm steadily approaching. "M-make me cum like this first, a-almost there." You begged, your eyebrows pinching together. Geto laughed, shaking his head at your shamelessness. "Only because I'm feeling nice." He replied, curling his fingers harder against you.

He did his best to rub his palm against your clit in a way that stimulated it just right, making your walls tighten as you got closer and closer to your high. "Fuck- right there oh- ohmygod right there-" You cried, your legs starting to shake, your body jerking and twitching against the car. "Yeah... cum all over my fingers so I can fuck you over the hood of this car." He groaned, pulling his lips between his teeth as he watched you shake and writhe for him.

Your moans got quiet and your jaw fell open in a silent scream as you came all over his fingers, your walls squeezing tightly against them, making it hard for him to move. "Good girllll, good fucking girl." He praised, rutting his hips against your ass as your body jerked and shook against him. Your legs threatened to give out from under you, but you knew even if they did, he would catch you.

Geto pulled his fingers out from your wetness, leaving you to catch your breath and recover from your orgasm. His warm hand patted softly against your ass before it retracted and you heard a clinking sound followed by a zipper.

You tried to turn your head enough to look at what he was doing but your head was shoved back against the cold metal of the car by his large hand. You could hear the squelches from behind you as Geto jerked himself off over your ass, his cock occasionally tapping your ass as he stroked himself. "Don't look, don't want you to get scared and run away now." He said, a smile on his face that you couldn't see. 

His words made you swallow hard, was he really that big? So big he was afraid you would tap out? "Just p-put it in already." You begged, pretending to be confident about taking his size as you wiggled your hips back agaisnt him. "You sure are eager huh? You must really not want a DUI on your record." He teased before running his hand down your shoulder blades, over your arms, and pressing against your lower back.

"It's not that." You said, your voice breathy and full of lust. "You're the hottest cop I've ever seen, wanted to fuck you from the moment I saw your face." You smiled, your eyes barely catching him from out of your peripherals. You gasped when you felt his blunt head press against your cunt. He rubbed his tip against you, getting ready to push it in. "Such a sweetheart," Geto replied before you felt the burn of his cock stretching you open.

Your hands balled into fists, your arms jerking against the cuffs as your walls were forced to make room for his cock. A tear immediately welled up in your eyes from the overwhelming feeling. It wasn't all painful, it was just so much, he was filling you up completely. "Good girl, just relax and take it... there you go..." Suguru soothed, his eyes raking up your body as he fully penetrated you with his cock, his hand staying against your lower back.

"Holy ffffuck-" You gasped, fighting to catch your breath as he stilled inside you, giving you a second to adjust to his length. It felt like he was in your stomach, you couldn't imagine how it was going to feel when he actually started fucking you. "It's big huh? You feel it all the way in there? Stretchin' you open?" Geto teased, his thumb wiping the tear from your face before he brought it up to his mouth and licked it off.

"S-suguru- I-its so much, s-so deep-" You cried, being able to do nothing but whine and cry while his heavy cock rested inside you. He smiled before leaning his chest over your body and kissing your cheek, his lips eagerly catching any stray tears that fell. "I know, but you're gonna take it aren't you? Gonna take it even when I cum isn't that right?" He groaned against the side of your face, his hot breath tickling you, making goosebumps arise down your spine.

Geto slowly pulled his hips out of you before thrusting them back inside, fighting the urge to whine like a bitch at how good your pussy felt. "I asked you a question," Geto repeated, biting your earlobe as he continued slowly thrusting in and out of you, pulling as much of his cock out of you as he could before thrusting it back inside, making sure you were feeling it nice and deep.

You cried out before nodding, your moans broken and whiney from just a few thrusts. "Cos you're a good girl, just a good little cockhungry slut." He whispered, picking up his thrusts, his own words riling him up. You nodded, hardly even registering his words as he spoke. His cock was rubbing agaisnt your g-spot so perfectly, it was making you dumb. Combined with his balls slapping against your sensitive clit after each thrust, you were slowly becoming cock drunk. 

"God this pussy is so tight... can barely move." Geto groaned, his eyes fluttering in their sockets before he fucked against you harshly, making his tip fuck right into your sweet spot. The moan you released made his balls throb, it was so desperate and feral.

He leaned up off of your back once more, staring down at the place the two of you were connected. The fat of your ass rippled each time he fucked his hips against yours, making a dopey grin spread across his face. Your juices were already getting all over his work pants. Anyone with half a brain would know what that was if they saw it in the light. "You're so sloppy, such a messy pussy." Suguru groaned, landing a mean slap across your ass that echoed into the woods before he pulled his hips back and fucked you harder, finding a quicker pace.

"O-oh fuck Suguru- It's so deep holy shit-" You cried, more tears spilling from your eyes. You felt a hand grab the back of your head and nails scratch at your scalp and before you knew it you were being forced to stand your full weight on the ground as your back arched meanly into him. Suguru released a long groan, his cock getting constricted even more in this new position.

Moan after moan was fucked from your lips each time he brought his hips against your ass. Loud and vulgar squelching noises cried from between your legs as more wetness drenched his cock and pants. Your scalp burned from where he was gripping you, but it felt good nonetheless. 

"Feels 's good Suguru, fucking me s' good-" you cried, hot tears seemingly neverending spilling down your cheeks. You were sure to have red, puffy eyes after this. "Yeah? You like my cock baby?" Geto groaned at the praise, his cock throbbing in tandem. You nodded before crying again. "L-love it s-so much, 's gonna make me cum, you're gonna make me cum~" You whined, your legs shaking violently now.

Geto wrapped his hand around your thigh, taking some of the weight off your legs, his other releasing your hair and wrapping firmly around your torso, keeping you firmly against him, your cuffed hands getting squished between your bodies. "Me too pretty, g-gonna make me cum too." He replied, his face flushed from your praise. His balls twitched and throbbed with the need to spill his seed, but he had to make you cum first.

Geto used the hand he was previously using to hold your thigh to rub small circles against your clit. Your body jolted forward and forced you and Geto against the car again, your bodies firmly together as he kept rubbing your clit, trying to work you through it. "Cum for me baby, cum for me so I can fill you up." His words made you feel hot all over. The promise of getting filled up by him made you squeeze his cock harder, your eyes fluttering shut as he pushed you over the edge.

Your body convulsed violently as you came. Geto buried his head in the crook of your neck, his jaw clenching together as you came on him, his cock getting constricted. He couldn't even speak enough to tell you he was cumming, or even praise you for doing so before his balls were throbbing and he was chasing after you, releasing his seed deep into your cunt.

You both groaned at the feeling. It was so warm, you felt so full. It must've been a long time since he came because his orgasm seemed to go on forever. His hand stilled on your clit as his body jerked against yours, his abs clenching under his shirt. He only relaxed when his cock stopped kicking and he was sure he had hummed each rope of his cum inside you, making sure you were stuffed full. 

Despite how deep he came inside you, when he pulled his cock out his cum still chased him, spilling out of your cunt. He quickly stopped any more from getting out by situating your now ruined panties back into place, keeping you full of him. Geto pressed a kiss to your nape before he leaned up and tucked his cock into his pants. Undoing his belt quickly, he retrieved the key to the cuffs and set you free.

"Easy." He whispered, helping you sit up and face him. You rubbed your wrists, now red and irritated from the hard metal. "You just looked so pretty all restrained, didn't wanna take them off." Geto half apologized before scooping you up in his arms and placing you down on the hood of the car, relieving the stress on your legs. You were still dazed and a bit fucked out, but his words made you smile.

"Plus I could'a been dangerous, right?" You teased, playing with his belt. He returned your smile, placing his hands on the side of the car next to you, his face inches from yours. "You coulda been dangerous." He responded, dipping his head in your neck for a kiss before he pulled away. "Let me take you home. I'll have someone bring your car to you in the morning, you're in no state to drive right now." He said, stepping back and holding his hands out for you, helping you off the car slowly.

You raised your eyebrows, catching yourself from stumbling as you stood on your incredibly shaky legs. "Wow, you're so nice officer." You teased, poking his chest before you started walking in front of him. Geto smirked before following you, keeping his hand wrapped on your lower back in case you fell as he walked you over to the passenger side of his car. "It's my duty to keep the public safe." He said with a wink before he lifted you into the passenger seat. 

[verstappen-cult]

PRAISE, M. VERSTAPPEN.

✶ SUMMARY. Max knows he’s good at his job, he was raised to be the best driver, the perfect son, and knows he’s talented. The bad thing is that he has to listen to people complimenting him almost everyday. He really thinks he’s good at hiding how shy and uncomfortable it makes him, and it’s just that Max can’t seem to take compliments from anyone but you.

content warnings ✶ disclaimers. fem!reader. lots of fluff. my favorite kind of max: flustered max. P in V. sub/dom dynamics. praise kink. unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it kiddos. breeding kink. redbull racing slander because we are tired of them not doing their job. english is not my first language.

GWEN RAMBLES — i started writing this after the awful events of sunday, and finished it today! this was requested a while ago and to the person who asked for it – i’m sorry it took me so long! hope y’all like it. comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Max gets uncomfortable when people compliment him. He knows he's good at what he does, knows he’s talented. And when people call him handsome? Compliment his hair? His arms? He has a hard time trying not to show how affected he actually is.

However, you know him in ways the rest of the world doesn't.

Max likes it when you compliment his cooking. It's not deserving of a five star Michelin rating, but good enough to eat and perfect the dish.

"How did you came up with this?" You ask, raising a spoonful of vegetables with a sweet and sour sauce.

Max can't keep his eyes off of you, waiting for your reaction patiently and anxiously. "I saw it in a video. But it was my idea to add the sauce to give it a little spin." He shrugs, his cheeks gaining a pretty pink color the second you make eye contact with him.

"It's delicious," You whisper, licking the rests of sauce from the spoon. Max's eyes glaze over and he forces himself to look away if he actually wants to make it through dinner. "You're such a good cook, Max. If you weren't a racing driver, I'm sure you would've had a restaurant."

Now, Max blushes furiously, the spoon falling from his fingers and on the plate. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes to mind, and you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing at his flustered state.

Max likes it when you jump into his open arms after a good qualifying session or podium celebrations, all happy and giddy as he still tries to shake off the adrenaline.

"You did such a good job!" He wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you off the ground. He's still pretty much on cloud nine and with you in his arms it can't get any more perfect. "You were flying out there!"

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.” You are not looking at his precious face, but you know he’s blushing for the way his voice falters. Once he puts you down, Max hides his face away by busying himself with getting rid of his champagne-soaked race suit.

His reluctance to accept your compliment doesn’t surprise you in the slightest, he always brushes them off. You thought he didn't like it at first, it was really awkward when you started dating and he would ignore you, but as time went on you learned that he just doesn't know how to react to them. His PR training has helped him a lot for when the press and the public in general praise him for his excellent driving and fast reflexes almost every day of his life, but Max still gets flustered when you are the one complimenting him. You love to tease him about it.

Max likes it when you praise him during sex.

Especially when he surrenders himself to you.

"Look at you," You coo at him, the back of your hand caressing his cheek ever so slightly. "being so good for me." Max draws in a sharp breath, your touch burning in the most delicious way even if you're barely doing it.

You press a kiss on his naked shoulder, his smooth and warm skin shining with sweat.

“I’m always good.” He rasps, leaning his head to the side and presenting his neck to you.

You laugh softly, moving away to look into the depths of his ocean blue eyes. “Of course you are.” The smile he gives you makes your heart hammer in your ears.

Max opens his mouth to speak but falls silent as you continue to kiss along his collarbones, running your tongue and creating a path down over his chest, your soft lips making contact with his nipples.

He arches his back when you capture a nub between your teeth, hands grabbing the sheets because he knows he can’t touch you unless you allow him to. And he’s good. He wants to be good.

Max bites his bottom lip as you pinch his other nipple with your fingers. He’s having a hard time trying to stay still, his whole body shivers at your ministration.

“Always so sensitive.” You say, swiping your thumb over the pebbled flesh. Max only nods, his blushed face twisted in pleasure. “Such a good boy, uh?”

You lift your skirt up to straddle his hips, sitting just above his hard cock, still tucked away in his trousers.

“You did such a good job today.” You say, rocking your hips and planting your hands on his stomach. Max groans, shaking his head. “What was that?”

“It was,” He sighs, closing his eyes to try and regain some control over his body, but he’s sensitive and can feel your slick dripping over his clothed cock. “It was awful today.”

You tsk, nodding your approval. “It was.” His face falls for a moment, expression somber. “They don’t deserve you, not at all.” His eyes shine again, just like that. “You’re practically doing everything by yourself, isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes.” His knuckles are white from gripping the sheets trying to follow your earlier instructions, so you take pity on him. Your touch is soft as you take his hands and place them on your waist, and Max doesn’t waste a second on gripping you so hard you know you’ll have bruises the size of his hands tomorrow. The mere thought of walking around with his bruises makes you clench around nothing.

“No one is doing it like you, Max.” You purr his name, and his eyes roll to the back of his head.

Max lets out a low groan, hips thrusting up with force. He needs release. He needs you.

“Please.” He whispers, and you lower yourself to be at the same level, lips grazing his.

“What do you need?”

“Please,” He says again, almost whining. “Please.”

“You need to use your words. I don’t know what your please means, Max.” You pinch his nipple and he gasps, tilting his head.

His pupils are blown wide when he opens his eyes to look directly into yours. “I want – please I want you to ride me.” His voice breaks in a moan.

“See?” You cup his jaw, thumb caressing his bottom lip. “That wasn’t so hard.”

Max’s mind is blank except for thoughts of you. You on top of him. You taking care of him. You fucking him. You, you, you.

You use his chest for support as you help him get rid of his trousers and your skirt. Now, both of you are completely naked and Max can’t fight the moan that slips from his lips when he feels the heat of your cunt against his hard and leaking cock. It’s painful.

Max gazes down and his mouth waters. The thought of laying you down and claiming his favorite spot between your legs to taste you is almost enough to send him over the edge.

You trail your hand down his chest, not breaking eye contact, not wanting to miss any of his reactions. Like the way his entire face twist in pleasure, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth hanging open, when you wrap your hand around his cock.

Max still has a little of self control but it’s exhausting, he doesn’t know how much he can actually take before reaching his limit and spilling his seed. And he doesn’t want to waste it. He wants to come inside of you, wants to fill you up and stay there. So he says it.

And you shudder in response. You’re soaking wet, so it’s enough to not need prep, even though Max is big and he loves to prep you for it; you want it to hurt today, you want to be sore and feel him all day.

You guide his cock with trembling hands, feeling the tip fighting its way into your cunt.

You place both hands on his chest as he grips your hips as his life depends on it. You sink down on him, adjusting and pressing down slowly. It is torture for Max, you see it in the way his jaw tenses and sweat coats in his forehead. But he doesn’t protest, he takes everything you give him in silence.

“You feel,” You gasp at the sensation of finally having him deep inside of you. Max tosses his head back when he feels you clench around him. “so,” He moans louder, bucking his hips into you as you start riding him, fingernails scrapping his skin. “good.”

You take him deeper every time you raise your hips, letting yourself fall down hard, your clit grinding against his skin and making you moan loudly.

Max is mesmerized by the view.

And Max really doesn’t know where to look. If your contorted face and mouth open, moans and praises falling from your lips mixing with the squelching sounds of your cunt. Or your breast bouncing with every move. Or the connection between your bodies, how his cock disappears inside of you over and over again, driving him closer to the edge.

“Fucking me so good,” You start babbling, and Max knows you’re close to your orgasm.

He pulls you down against him and starts thrusting into you with urgency. You tuck your head against his neck and sink your teeth into his skin, marking him. Claiming him.

His cock digs deep inside, the tip rubbing against that sensitive spot that makes you tremble and see stars behind your eyelids.

Max reaches his climax with loud moans and calls of your name. He fills you up and continues to fuck his seed into you until your whole body goes still and the whole world cease to exist except for you and him.

Max doesn’t pull out until he’s certain you’ve taken every last drop. It is only when it gets cold and you want to cuddle under the blankets that you move off him, his pout at not having your weight on top of him making you giggle.

“Did so good.” You whisper, not recognising your own broken voice. “My sweet boy.”

do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own. | © verstappen-cult, 2024.