#crackle x reader fanfic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lizzyiii · 5 months ago

Text

His Lady Love (5)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC

word count | 6k words

summary | aemond goes to reader for comfort after murdering luke. aegon throws a feast and reader and aemond sneak out.

tags | mentions of death, angst/comfort, vampire powers, tensionnnnn, mentions of incest, SMUTTTTT (MDI), oral (f), unprotected sex, vaginal sex, p in v

note | born to give aemond heirs, forced to write fanfics about him. also I loved writing aemond's pov, though it is way more difficult than reader's. also I might be projecting with that finn incident.

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

In the dimly lit chambers of the Red Keep, the oppressive weight of the night enveloped you. The velvet drapes fluttered slightly with the soft summer breeze that whispered through the open window, a rare moment of tranquility. However, your slumber was a mere illusion, your mind cloaked in the abyss of darkness, devoid of dreams and visions that now troubled your sleep.

But your heightened senses—bathed in the echoes of vampiric instinct—felt the air shift, heard the soft footfalls quicken in the shadows. The atmosphere crackled with apprehension, jolting you into awareness. You turned, just as the chamber door burst open to reveal a figure cloaked in night and anxiety.

“Aemond,” you breathed, relief washing over you as you recognized him despite the disarray surrounding his presence. Yet, the relief was short-lived, for the anguish etched on his face struck you like a dagger of ice.

Without a second thought, you flung the silken covers aside, the fabric whispering against your skin as you stood, a vision of natural beauty in your nightgown. It was a modest garment yet beguilingly elegant, the way it clung to your form had no intent to seduce, but it still felt unseemly for him to be here.

“Aemond,” you intoned once more, your voice laced with concern that echoed in the silence of your chamber, frantic to breach the bubbling tension, “What troubles you?”

He remained mute, his expression haunting—a specter in the moonlight. Each heartbeat that passed deepened your worry, and so you closed the space between you, tenderness guiding your hands to cradle his sharp, angular cheeks, your thumbs brushing against his skin with a gentle intimacy. You sought to anchor him within your presence, as if your connection could dispel the shadows that clung to him.

“Please, Aemond,” you urged, your voice softening with each plea, like a lullaby meant to calm a frightened child, “Speak to me.”

At your touch, something flickered in the depths of his violet eye, swirling with shock and unutterable things. “I… I did not mean to,” he stammered, his breath coming out in ragged bursts, as though each word was a struggle against a tide of despair.

“Mean to what?” Your heart raced as you searched his gaze, desperate to uncover the truth beneath the turmoil. “Aemond, tell me what you have done that weighs so heavily upon you.”

He leaned into your touch, surrendering momentarily to the comfort you offered. “I have damned myself,” he breathed, a confession laced with the weight of the world upon his shoulders.

“Please, Aemond, tell me,” you implored, your heart thundering in your chest.

Aemond shook his head violently, his silver hair cascading like a waterfall of starlight, wild and untamed. “I cannot! You will condemn me.”

You withdrew your hands from his face, your fingers intertwining with his as you drew them toward your heart, your palms cooling against his warm skin. “I could never. Please, reveal it to me, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice insistent yet tender.

His breath hitched in his throat, a harsh swallow betraying the turmoil within him. As tears glistened in his violet eye—he turned away, shame etching deep lines into his brow. “I did not mean to. I did not mean to take the boy’s life, you must believe me.”

The air froze around you, a chill creeping in as your breath caught in your throat. You slowly led him toward the intricacies of your bed, pulling him with you into the sanctuary of silks and shadows. “What boy, Aemond?” you pressed urgently, your heart aching for the truth, a desperate need to understand the depths of his torment.

His voice broke, drowning in hysteria, a stark reminder of his usual composed personality made from steel, “I didn’t mean to— I swear, I didn’t mean—” he stuttered, desperation pouring from him like the dark tides of the sea.

Frustration welled within you, sharp and biting as the chill of autumn winds crept into the chamber. You pulled him down beside you, urgency fuelling your movements as you grasped his face, forcing his haunted eye to meet yours. “Aemond,” you said firmly, your tone dripping with the magic that came naturally to one of your kind. The allure of your compulsion wrapped around him like a silken trap, gently commanding his frayed emotions to still. “Calm yourself and tell me.”

Gradually, his breathing steadied, though the tremors of his fear still lingered. You held his gaze, and through the dark storm of pain reflected in his eye, he managed to choke out the words. “Lucerys. He was at Storm’s End. When I laid eyes on him, all I felt was fury—so I chased him through the skies, on Vhagar’s back…” His voice cracked like the thunder that often heralded the tempestuous nights, and he swallowed hard, “And then… I did not know Vhagar would react so violently.”

Your heart plummeted at the mention of Lucerys—Rhaenyra's beloved son. The weight of his loss hung heavily in the air, and the grim reality sank in; Aemond had killed him. The Blacks would demand retribution, blood for blood. "Tell me you lie, Aemond," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, desperation seeping into every syllable.

He turned his gaze from you, shame encasing him like a shroud. There was a slow shake of his head, and it felt as though the world around you had muted, the chaos outside overshadowed by his revelation. "I cannot bring myself to lie to you. There is no penance that could ever atone for what I have wrought."

The sadness in your heart twisted anew as you murmured his name, "Aemond," the pain manifesting in your voice like a lamentation for the boy lost beneath the weight of his rage.

In the stillness that lingered between you, it seemed he had finally drawn a breath of composure, yet he refused to meet your eyes, speaking softly as if confiding a terrible secret. "I went to Aegon first, and he laughed... whilst Mother..." He faltered, the memory flickering like a dying candle. "She looked upon me as if I were a stranger, as if I were no longer her son."

Your heart ached for him, your hands clasped in his, both a comfort and a tether to the boy he had once been. Finally, he looked up, his eye reflecting a glimmer of vulnerability. "May I stay here with you?" he asked, almost timidly, as if fearing your rejection.

In that moment, you were transported back to another time, a fleeting memory of innocence—of the boy who had fled from the ignoble raucousness of a brothel, a shadow of the boy who once sought solace in your presence. You nodded, and the words flowed freely, tenderly, "Of course."

Yet, unease lingered in the air, evident in the way he fidgeted, lost amidst his thoughts. So slowly, you knelt before him, taking his leather boots in your hands, gently easing them from his feet. He remained poised on the edge of the bed, lost in his struggles. Next, you reached for his finely crafted doublet, peeling away the layers that held the weight of his distress. He remained clad only in his trousers and a simple cotton shirt, the stark contrast highlighting the tension etched into his features.

Your fingers found their way to his tousled hair, and with a tender caress, you could sense him leaning into your touch, a semblance of solace in the storm raging within him. But when your hand drifted towards the eyepatch concealing his scar, he recoiled instinctively, shaking his head as if to banish the very thought.

“Please, Aemond,” you urged softly, noting the flicker of resistance in his eye. “Remove it; it cannot be comfortable.”

His response was a stubborn shake of his head, reminiscent of a petulant child, “No, it is… hideous. You will turn away from me, repulsed.”

A sorrowful smile etched across your face as you cupped his cheek. Your thumb traced the remnants of his scar. “I have seen your truth before, Aemond,” you promised, sincerity tethering your words. “I swear on my mother's grave, it will not scare me.”

There was a moment of taut apprehension, then, led by both fear and a flicker of hope, he slowly lifted the eyepatch. You fought against the shock that threatened to break through your calm facade, for nestled where an eye once was, a sapphire gleamed—brighter than the sky itself. It was an iridescent gem, the very one you had gifted him just before you had left.

Slowly, you led him with great care to lie beneath the sanctuary of your blankets, cocooned in the warmth of your bed. After a moment's pause, you nestled beside him, drawing him close to your chest, his face instinctively burying itself in the curve of your neck, your arms enveloping him in a protective embrace.

After a time, Aemond's voice broke the silence, a mere whisper against your collarbone. "Do you hate me?"

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, your grip tightening around him. “I could never hate you, Aemond.”

He offered no reply, but the silence spoke volumes as you held him resolutely, the weight of his unspoken thoughts pressing down upon both of you. In that moment, it felt almost surreal, how intimately connected you were to his emotions.

Gently, you began to hum, your voice weaving through the stillness like a soft breeze. The lullaby your mother once sang to you, a sweet melody birthed in the warmth of her embrace, flowed from your lips as if casting a spell of solace.

You wished, with every fiber of your being, to take all his sorrows and put it upon yourself, so he might find peace at last. You longed to envelop him fully, to draw him into the depths of your heart, to safeguard him from the malevolence and peril that lingered just beyond your chambers.

Aemond Targaryen loathed this wretched place, the shadowed halls of King's Landing, where the very stones seemed steeped in whispered betrayals and the lingering scent of ash. The oppressive weight of recent events pressed upon him like a heavy cloak; the death of Lucerys Velaryon hung in the air, suffocating him with its bitter aftermath. His beloved mother, Queen Alicent, having made her choice, had cast him aside, suspending him from his seat on the small council as if he were some wayward pup rather than the proud dragon prince he was.

Now, as the flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows upon the walls, Aemond found himself trapped within a feast thrown by Aegon — a disgraceful celebration in honor of Aemond’s brutal deed. The hall was alive with the raucous laughter of lords and ladies feigning joy, their revelry a cruel mockery of the bloodshed that had transpired. How could they toast to this, when the realm itself was a tapestry of grief and strife?

Aegon, reeking of wine and folly, reclined upon his gilded seat, a silver goblet clutched in his hand as he guffawed with a drunken abandon that made Aemond’s skin crawl. With each passing moment, the king grew more intoxicated, rejoicing in his own foolishness while the kingdom itself threatened to unravel under the weight of his incompetence. Aemond could hardly bear to watch. How could they hope to usurp Rhaenyra and her support when Aegon was unfit to rule, lost in a haze of mead and merriment whilst the fires of war devoured their domain?

As the raucous clamor swirled around him, Aemond's thoughts turned treasonous. He was the prince with blood of the dragon coursing through his veins, rider of Vhagar, the mightiest dragon in the skies; he had wrested mastery over sword and word alike. His studies had taken him deep into the philosophies of Targaryen history, strategy, and the art of war — all knowledge he wielded like the sword strapped to his side. Why must he remain the second son, languishing in the shadow of a brother who was more a child than a king?

The Grand Hall was stifling, heavy with the clamor of lords and ladies engaged in mindless revelry, their laughter slicing through the air like blades of Valyrian steel. The goblet of deep red Dornish wine— he had forced down his throat—now boiled in his stomach. He stood abruptly, ignoring the wary glances of curious courtiers, and stormed toward the moonlit balcony, pursued by a dread that felt all-consuming.

Upon stepping into the cool night air his breath hitched in his throat as his gaze fell upon you. There you stood, framed by moonlight, leaning against the aged stone balustrade of the balcony as you gazed at the stars above. In that moment, the world around him faded, the cacophony of the court silenced, as if the realm had been reduced to just the two of you—two souls adrift in the sea of night.

The moon cast a silver halo around you, illuminating your features as though the Seven themselves had blessed you. You appeared ethereal, a vision of solace amidst the tempest of his thoughts. You were an otherworldly being, a divine presence—you reminded Aemond of an angel gazing longingly at her heavenly home.

You wore a divine gown of crimson, its fabric clinging to your curves and accentuating your remarkable beauty, stirring memories of the first time he had beheld you in childhood innocence. Your hair was artfully braided, interwoven among the strands were glimmering rubies, and nestled between your breasts hung a necklace bearing your family’s sigil, a house still entirely foreign to him.

The last time his path had crossed yours was after the wretched deed had been done—when he had barged into your chambers, a storm of pain and regret in his heart after slaying Lucerys Velaryon. You had held him tight, drawing him into the warmth of your embrace, while your gentle whispers—sweet reassurances—had washed over him, as soothing as a dragon’s breath on a winter’s night. He recalled the way you had traced fingers through his hair, the delicate caress of your breath against his skin, and how he had surrendered to your comfort.

When dawn had broken and shadows had retreated, he woke before you, overwhelmed by that precious moment, and with the lingering scent of lavender and warmth still clinging to him. He had kissed your forehead tenderly and slipped away, haunted by what he had done and striving to shield you from the darkness that threatened to engulf you both.

"Are you not enjoying the feast?" Aemond murmured, his voice a soft cadence as he moved closer to you.

You turned, meeting his gaze with a fierce intensity. "Am I meant to revel in a celebration held in honor of someone's death?" With a sharp breath, you averted your gaze, a flicker of regret crossing your features. "Forgive me."

Aemond’s eyes remained locked on you, the truth like a weight upon his heart—he had taken Lucerys' life, a shadow he must now bear. “You speak only the truth,” he admitted, the gravity of his words mingling with the cool night air.

You shook your head slowly, those captivating eyes piercing through the veil of his turmoil. “It is Aegon’s folly to throw such a feast given the circumstances,” you replied, your tone laced with a mix of frustration and sorrow.

Aemond couldn't suppress the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth at your disdain for his brother's decision. "You tread upon treasonous ground," he teased, though there was an undercurrent of approval in his tone

With a resolute lift of your chin, an unbidden smile danced upon your lips, illuminating your beauty, "Do you intend to tell?"

In that charged moment, Aemond closed the distance between you, the space that once separated you now laden with tension. He leaned closer, whispering with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, "You know I shall never."

With a soft sigh, you began to turn away, “I think I shall retire to my chambers now.” Aemond feigned indifference, though he struggled against the urge to let out an exasperated breath at your obvious attempt to distance yourself from him.

“Then I shall escort you,” he declared, a hint of determination flaring in his violet gaze. He noticed the way annoyance shadowed your features but sensed no protest forthcoming.

The two of you slipped away from the feast, indifferent to the lingering glances that followed your hasty exit. Festive laughter faded into the background as you walked side by side through the dimly lit halls of the Red Keep,

As you walked side by side, silence hung heavily between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of your dress against the stone floor. Aemond cast furtive glances in your direction, grappling with the right words to breach the gap between you. The tension was palpable, and eventually, he settled on candor. “I wish to know more about you."

“Aemond,” you replied, and he could detect the undercurrent of hesitation in your tone as you reached your room.

With a sudden, almost frantic motion, Aemond pivoted to face you, his fingers brushing against your forearm, a firm yet gentle grip that sent a shiver down your spine. “Why do you persist in keeping yourself at a distance from me? You are like an angel I am forever barred from touching,” he implored, desperation edging his voice.

You yanked your arm away from him, your gaze fierce, betraying no hint of the storm brewing inside. “You must not perceive me in such a way! I am not the paragon of virtue you think I am.”

“Then share something,” Aemond pressed, his violet eye locking onto yours with an intensity that threatened to unravel your resolve. “Something dark, something impure.”

You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “Is that what you seek? So you can soothe your own conscience?”

“Perhaps,” Aemond admitted with unvarnished honesty. He was, after all, a man well aware of his own self-serving tendencies, and he would not shy away from using emotional manipulation to achieve his desires. “But if you hold any affection for me, you will grant me this.”

Your eyes blazed with righteous indignation, and for a fleeting moment, he questioned if he had ventured too far. Yet, as the heat in your gaze began to dim, he felt an uneasy tension settle in the silence.

You drew your arms around yourself, a familiar gesture that he now observed closely. Your gaze fell away as you began to speak, “The Targaryens... Your customs are indeed strange. Some might even call them sinful or abominable. Yet there exists a rationale behind them, no matter how obscure.”

“There can be no justifiable reason for my desires,” you whispered, Aemond's brow furrowed in confusion as he sensed the shift in your tone. But when the next revelation slipped from your lips, it left him reeling with disbelief. “I once harbored unnatural feelings for my eldest brother.”

A surge of jealousy twisted in Aemond's chest at the mere thought of you harboring feelings for another. He cleared his throat, the taste of bile rising, and asked, "Did anything come of it?"

"A fleeting kiss—one I initiated. He loathed me for it thereafter," you murmured, your gaze falling to the ground in shame.

A grimace contorted Aemond’s features. "Loathed you?"

"He could scarcely bear to look upon me after that moment," you replied, your voice heavy with sorrow. Aemond felt a visceral urge to take vengeance upon your brother, to avenge the hurt he had caused you. "That was the moment I realized I had lost the only one who truly loved me."

"I recall you speaking of your mother’s grave," Aemond said softly.

You nodded, a glimmer of sorrow passing over your face. "She is gone," you said, and a bittersweet smile flickered briefly. "And I dare say, my family may be worse than yours."

Aemond shook his head with an amused glint dancing in his violet eye. “Impossible,” he replied, the word rolling off his tongue like the soft murmur of waves against the rocky shore. Then, in softer tones, he pressed, “Do you still harbor affections for your brother?”

“No,” you murmured, the admission barely escaping your lips, “Not anymore. Not for ages.”

Aemond studied your features, the interplay of moonlight illuminating the subtle lines of your face. A low chuckle escaped him, like the rustle of leaves in a breeze. Your brow furrowed, an indignant spark igniting within you. “What?"

“A mere infatuation does not alter the truth of my feelings, nor my perception of you,” he said with an air of certainty, the tension between you thickening as he took a step closer, almost as if the distance between your hearts diminished with every passing heartbeat.

“Then you must be a fool,” you whispered, breathless and yet emboldened, as his presence encroached upon you like the tide reclaiming the shore.

“A lovesick fool, indeed,” he replied, his lips tantalizingly close to yours, a mere heartbeat away. The memory of your last kiss flared in your mind— so in that fleeting silence, Aemond’s voice lowered, almost reverent. “May I kiss you?”

He could see the tempest of emotions raging within you, wrestling against reason and desire, your heart at war with itself. Aemond, sensing your internal struggle, began to withdraw, the flicker of disappointment clouding his striking features, but in a sudden rush of bold resolve, you seized the collar of his embroidered doublet, drawing him close, your lips colliding in a swift, fervent embrace.

His breath hitched at the warmth of your touch, and he instinctively cupped your face, anchoring you both in this stolen moment as if the world around you had ceased to exist. Tentatively, his tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entry, a question hanging palpably in the air—one you answered with the soft, desperate parting of your mouth.

Aemond’s heart raced, a primal longing igniting within him as he explored the depths of your mouth, each caress of his tongue inviting a sweet sound of pleasure to escape from you—a sound that intoxicated him, filling the air with a heady blend of passion and unanswered yearnings.

In that dimly lit hallway of the Red Keep, time lost its meaning, turning to mere whispers around you. The world outside faded, and all that remained was the intoxicating exchange of breath and soul, each sweet caress a vow sealed in secrecy and yearning. But the moment was fleeting; the distant sound of approaching footsteps pulled you both back to reality.

Without hesitation, Aemond seized your hand, urgency painting his every movement as he pulled you into the sanctuary of your chambers. You could not stifle the startled gasp that escaped your lips at his haste. Before you could utter a word, his mouth found yours again, this time with a fervor that struck like wildfire. It was wild and fervent, a collision of passion tinged with desperation.

He broke the kiss, his breath mingling with yours, heavy and frantic. "I need you," he murmured, his gaze dark and intense, searching your face for any trace of doubt.

But all resolve melted away in the warmth of his presence, and you nodded quickly, breathless and eager. "Take me, Aemond."

Though reason whispered for him to temper his passion, to shield you from the storm he bore and not taint your innocence, the dragon's need screamed louder still. His lips found yours once more, his hands exploring the fabric of your gown, tracing the soft curves beneath the layers of silk and lace.

A soft whimper escaped your throat, the sound intoxicating him as it echoed in the chamber. You tugged at his doublet, your voice a barely contained plea, “Get this dress off me, Aemond.”

A wild grin spread across his features, the kind that promised mischief and fervor. “With pleasure,” he declared, the words a fervent vow rather than mere amusement. In a swift motion, he spun you around, deftly severing the laces that bound your dress. You gasped as the fine fabric slid away, pooling at your feet, leaving you clad only in a tantalizing shift that clung to your form like mist in the moonlight.

Without hesitation, Aemond gathered you into his arms, your surprised laughter ringing like bells in his ears as your legs instinctively locked around his waist. He carried you with ease, the weight of expectations and honor forgotten in that moment as he made his way to your bed.

He laid you down gently, his gaze a blend of fierce devotion and raw desire, like a dragon surveying its treasured hoard, and he leaned closer, whispering a question that weighed heavily on his mind. “Tell me, sweetling,” he began, his voice a low rasp, “are you still a maiden?”

You nodded, your wide eyes sparkling with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The confirmation sent a bolt of need through him, further arousing him as he hastily shed his own garments, baring himself to you. He crawled over you, a predatory grace to his movements, and as you reached out to caress his face, he halted, your touch grounding him.

"I wish to see all of you, Aemond," you whispered.

His lips twitched with a mixture of hesitation and determination. With a deft movement, he removed his eye patch, exposing his scar and sapphire. In response to his bravery, you leaned forward, claiming his mouth once more, the warmth of your kiss wrapping around him like wildfire.

As his lips trailed away from yours, they descended to your neck—his warm breath sending shivers cascading down your spine. His hands roamed freely over your body, caressing and squeezing as if memorizing every curve. His fingers brushed against the hem of your shift, lifting the fabric with deliberate slowness, savoring the moment.

As his hand ventured beneath the fabric, his fingers brushed against the delicate curls of your mound, a low moan escaping your lips, raw and unbidden. "What treasure lies hidden here? Hmm?" he murmured against your skin, his voice low and intoxicating.

His smirk deepened as your hips instinctively lifted, surrendering to the ghostly touch of his fingertips gliding over your wet slit. In a moment of tantalizing tension, he withdrew slightly, seated back as he used two fingers to part your folds, exposing your glistening cunt to his keen gaze.

He was captivated by the sight—your essence glistening, beckoning him forth like a siren’s call across the sea. His breath hitched as he lowered himself, savoring the intoxicating scent that wafted from your cunt; it was a heady blend of desire and vulnerability. With a swift flick of his tongue, he brushed over the tender bud of pleasure, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips as your hips jerked in delightful shock.

Aemond’s dark laughter rumbled softly in his chest, a sound that resonated with satisfaction at your response. He ventured further, dipping into the folds of your drenched warmth, his tongue dancing along your slit as if tasting the sweetest of wines. Each movement of his mouth sent shockwaves of ecstasy through you, prompting your fingers to clutch at the silk sheets in desperate need of tethering.

You were ambrosia made flesh, a divine fruit of the gods that rendered him intoxicated with longing. He lost himself in the act, the rhythm of his tongue reflecting the primal hunger within him, driving him to worship at your altar without restraint or decorum. There was no pattern in his movements, merely the frantic need of a man raised in the crucible of ambition, now reduced to a ravenous beast by your taste.

His low moans vibrated against your skin as your fingers tangled in his silken hair, urging him closer, deeper. Each sound that escaped your lips heightened his fervor, sending him spiraling further into a haze of lust, where only the two of you existed.

He thrust his tongue deeper, igniting fires within you that threatened to consume all sense. A tremor raced through your body, a shuddering gasp escaping as his tongue flicked over your most sensitive peak. The intensity of the moment left him breathless with longing as he stole glances at your rapturous face, seeking the delight in your face as he skillfully coaxed you towards the precipice of ecstasy.

In one final surge of fervor, he took your pearl between his lips, sucking with fervent need. Your voice rang through the air, calling his name like a battle cry as your release washed over you, your body clenching and shuddering beneath his eager mouth, leaving him lost in the euphoria of your pleasure.

Spent and quaking, you fell back onto the sheets, your chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut as the final ripples of ecstasy coursed through you. Aemond watched you with an entranced intensity, his lustful gaze drinking in the sight of your debauchery, before he positioned himself between your thighs, claiming his rightful place.

With a swift, possessive motion, he grasped the neckline of your shift, ripping the fabric asunder with a growl that echoed his primal desire. The cool air met your flushed skin, and a fresh wave of longing washed over you, eliciting a soft moan as your hardened nipples strained against the chill. Aemond, unable to resist, descended upon you, drawing one of your peaks into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, relishing the way your whimpers filled the air. He felt your fingers weave into his silken hair, tugging him closer, urging him on with your breathless pleas.

He reveled in the contrast of your previously cool skin, now warming deliciously beneath him, the heat of your body igniting a primal fire within him. He pressed his hardness against your lower belly, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through both. “I could be so good to you,” he murmured, his voice low and sultry as he nipped at your shoulder, “So fucking good. So why do you deny the need that lies between us?"

Your breath hitched, interrupted by a soft moan as he pressed against you with deliberate intent. “I do,” you gasped, desire flaring within you as his cock pressed against your pearl. “I do need you.”

“As I need you, sweet girl,” Aemond murmured, a predatory glint in his eye as he continued to grind against you. Though he was no man of debauchery, the fiery knowledge instilled by whispered secrets and that one fleeting encounter coursed through him.

You responded to his movements with an intoxicating sigh, rocking your hips to match his rhythm, a melody of desire unfolding between them. Aemond’s breath caught as he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, and with a slow, deliberate thrust, he breached the sacred barrier that had kept the two of you at bay. A yelp escaped you, sharp and sweet, and he immediately softened, pressing featherlight kisses across your face, murmuring apologies as he reveled in your warmth.

Gripping your hip with a fierce intensity, he drew a sharp breath through his teeth as he buried himself deeper, engulfed in the sensations of your tight, welcoming embrace. You were exquisite—so wet, so warm, so perfectly crafted for him. Aemond began at a measured pace, savoring the glide of his cock within you, the exquisite stretch as you enveloped him, but the fire within quickly ignited into an unquenchable blaze.

Once he'd found a rhythm, he succumbed to the recklessness of desire, thrusting with urgency, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the chamber, a rhythmic drumbeat of passion. His hips snapped against yours with fervor, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure cascading through both of you, an unravelling of control as he sought to claim you in the way that dragons claim their territory.

Your moans echoed within the room, each sound a sweet melody, a heady mixture of fervor and abandon that filled the space with a primal energy. You had long since discarded any pretense of modesty, your voice rising like a songbird caught in a storm. His name spilled from your lips, fervent and loaded with longing.

With an urgency born from need, you surrendered yourself to him, your touch igniting a fire along his torso as your hands freely roamed, fingers tracing the hard lines of his muscles. You clung to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his with reckless abandon. Your lips found the curve of his neck, the warmth of your breath a tempting promise. There was a strange thrill to your bite, and Aemond swore your teeth felt unusually sharp, as you nibbled delicately at his skin.

Yet even in the throes of ecstasy, an insatiable hunger gnawed at him, a need for greater possession. He withdrew slightly, capturing your gaze with his own smoldering gaze. His hand gripped the delicate expanse of your throat, sturdy yet tender, while his other found purchase on your stomach, fingers pressing into your soft skin. “You are mine,” he growled, the primal command taking on a life of its own as he increased the fervor of his thrusts. “Say it.”

The intensity of his possession ignited a fire within you; you instinctively pressed against his hand, urging him to hold you more tightly, to claim you wholly. “Yours,” you breathed, “all yours.”

“Good girl,” he groaned, the phrase rolling off his tongue like a hot brand onto your skin. Your body responded eagerly to his words, an electric shiver rippling through you as you arched your back, another desperate whimper escaping your lips.

It was not long before the dam broke, your body convulsing around him, the tension unfurling like the petals of a flower awakened by the sun. Your breath hitched in a final, breathless moan, and in that moment of exquisite surrender, you tightened your grip around him, pulling him deeper into the abyss of pleasure. And with a primal roar of ecstasy, he followed you into that dark, consuming void, painting your insides with his seed.

@barnes70stark @izabell26 @urdeftonesgrrrl @helo1281917 @strangefunthornqueen @hueanhdang @elenapri0502 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @caged-birdies-blog @lenavonswartzschild @writtenbyhollywood @gl4ssw1ngp1xy @goddesslilithmoriarty @filmflux @esposadomd @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @void21 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo

As the last waves of pleasure subsided, your smile glimmered like the stars beyond the castle walls. Reaching out, you traced your fingers along his jaw, drawing him back into a kiss that spoke of unbridled passion and afterglow—a sigh of contentment escaping your lips as you two joined once more.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd #ewan mitchell #the originals #mikaelson #vampire!reader

476 notes · View notes

panbotter · 8 months ago

Note

Hey so in reference to my previous ask, can you do one were the reader is having trouble controlling their powers (you can decide those) and either Kurt or Erik comfort them after a bad day and end up confessing to the reader. You can ad smut if you want but if not that's totally fine too☺️.

Your Existence is Grand

Erik Lehnsherr x gn!reader

Erik notices you having a rough day with your powers and decides to shower you with praise.

(This is my first fanfic literally ever so feedback appreciated, but also... Sorry for any mistakes!!!!)

Trigger warnings: cursing, suggestive themes (I don't know what else to write here, pls let me know if there's anything else I should add!)

The air around me begins buzzing and crackling, becoming charged with electricity and I sigh, deeply frustrated before I reach for the metal doorknob in front of me and receive a shock so strong that all the muscles in my arm cramp up painfully. I curse under my breath, forcing my arm to bend and stretch the tense muscles as I walk into the lounge, getting a glimpse of the others outside. Some might say I’d been gifted with a particularly powerful mutation, that it made me strong and intimidating. That I am admired for it, as if it’s a blessing to be grateful for.

But in this god-forsaken world, all I could see was a curse that plagued my body. I never bothered to understand the science behind it, as much as others might have tried to explain it to me. Something about the electricity in my body behaving abnormally, affecting the air around me and in turn, other electronics or conductors of electricity, turning me into a walking hazard around power lines, or thunderstorms. Let's not even mention the sheer amount of electrical fires I’ve caused. Sure, it sounds cool. But the reality is basically hell.

One of the ‘best’ parts about my mutation is that it is terribly unstable, especially when you’re constantly surrounded by electricity no matter where you go. Everyone else who charges up some static then touches a piece of metal receives a little sting from a silly little shock. It might be a little funny or perhaps surprising! Maybe it happens when you touch fingers with someone else and you shock each other, what a cute moment!

Try getting fucking electrocuted every single time.

Nowhere near as cute, nor as fun.

Some days are worse than others and the more restless I become, the worse it is for me in the end. But unfortunately, I can’t lay in bed immobile for an entire day to lower the voltage my body is producing, resulting in my current conundrum. Avoiding the rest of the X-Men in order to avoid any potential accidents, especially with Jubilee. Fireworks and a highly-charged mutant body surrounded by a bunch of high-tech only spells out bad news. Luckily, it seems like most of them were outside on the basketball court. That’s what I thought, at least.

“I take it you’re having a bad voltage day?” the voice of none other than Magneto startles me out of my thinking. It’s been more than a few months of him living here with us, but his presence is still unexpected. I had a hard time training the knee-jerk defensive reaction out of my body for the first few days, my body becoming charged up so quickly that I wouldn’t even have the chance to blink before I shot a bolt of electricity at him.

He was quick to show that a little spark didn’t do much to him, given that he was essentially a walking magnetic field.

I turn to him, his large form standing at the entrance to the lounge, “What makes you say that?” I turn back to watch as Scott and Logan start another argument, their voices muffled by the glass.

“The air keeps crackling and I have a hard time believing there’s a storm inside the building” he approaches until he pauses at my side. I chuckle a little, giving a wince once I feel my sore muscles constrict. He turns to watch me.

“Hm, I don’t know, maybe Storm has had enough of those two at each other’s throats” I try to joke but my voice falters, as my heart begins to race again and the sound of the air buzzing around me becomes overwhelming. Tremors begin rippling across my muscles, a mixture of them cramping and relaxing too fast for me to keep up with. Losing the strength in my legs, I stretch a hand out toward the glass in front of me to hold myself up but I miss the glass by a couple inches. Erik’s hands are quick to grab onto my arms before pulling me into his chest, supporting my weight as the crackling noise fills my ears and I let out a pained shout. My body releases a strong burst of electricity, most of it absorbed by Erik’s magnetic field, whilst the rest causes the power in the building to go out. I pant loudly, trying to catch my breath, feeling like my heart might’ve stopped in the middle of that.

The lights flicker around us before the power in the school hums back to life. Erik’s hands are still around me, I realize before beginning to step away, but his hold on me tightens. He pulls me back against his chest and I try to fight back the heat that’s slowly creeping up to my face. This is a bit embarrassing. I’ll admit it, I had grown to like Erik in the time he’d been with us, not to mention I had quite a few run-ins with him before I ever joined the X-Men. He always seemed so… Powerful, he always felt safe to be around. As radical as the Professor may claim he is, he always seemed… Right. You could hear the passion in his voice when he spoke of mutantkind and it made you want to side with him, to be loyal and to follow him to the ends of the Earth.

He had a powerful presence, and as I am now discovering, a powerful touch. One of the very few people who could come near me without fear of being electrocuted. My muscles had begun to twitch in the aftermath of the shock. These are the unfortunate moments where I wish I could be rid of my mutation. I could barely hold myself up and here I was in Erik’s arms.

“You should be resting” his voice was stern, but there was a hint of concern in there. I raise my gaze to meet his, feeling a bit of shame.

“I can’t just lay in bed all day, the world is still turning, there’s things to do…” I muttered.

“Precisely, the world is still turning and it will still continue to turn if you are at rest. You, on the other hand, are not a planet and you need to care for yourself”

I stare into his eyes, feeling them pierce through my soul. He always seemed to be right about everything… I chuckle under my breath as I regain some strength in my legs, straightening back up.

“I’m sure you must be tired of having to run after all of us like a babysitter” I joke as his arms come to rest on my shoulders once I’m stable on my feet.

A glint crosses his eyes, “I do wonder how Charles managed, and then I remember he’s a telepath, so it must’ve been quite easy for him” he replies with a smirk gracing his face that makes me laugh a little.

“He still struggled, you shouldn’t compare yourself to the Professor”

He begins to lead me toward the couch behind us, helping me take a seat before joining me. I still feel a hot streak of shame across my stomach, having him help me. Burdening him.

“Sorry, by the way… You’re right, I should be a little more considerate of others” I mutter.

Erik turns to look at me as I avoid making eye contact, “I don’t believe those were my words…” his hand reaches out toward my chin, gently turning my head to face him, “I only ask of you to rest and care for yourself, forget what the others may think”

I blinked up at him, “The Professor always wanted me to push past my limits, so that I can perhaps get stronger… Control my powers better”

“In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have to restrict your abilities, you could rule this planet with a wave of your hand, what you have is something to be proud of, not ashamed” he places his hand against my cheek and I find myself leaning against his warm touch, “Your mutation is a blessing, not a curse”

I scoff, “Sure doesn’t feel that way, I can’t even live among humans without shutting down an entire city’s power”

“Your powers shouldn’t be hidden, controlled, or restricted for the sake of humanity” he says the word with disdain, “but those are my beliefs, your existence is grand mein liebling”

My heart thumps against my chest loudly at his words. It feels… Intimate. How could he speak such high praise toward me?

“I see you hurt and I watch as you restrain yourself around others, as your mutation basically eats your body alive and it pains me…” his eyes gaze across my face, pausing at my lips before trailing back up to my eyes, “It pains me that you live in a world where you feel you cannot rest, where you feel you must hide the power within you”

“Erik…” I whisper, almost afraid to shatter the moment between us, “What are you… What are you saying…?” I peer into his eyes, seeing something brewing behind his gaze. Could it be possible that he’s… No, there’s no way.

“What do you believe I’m saying?” he whispers softly, leaning in toward me. I jump as a few sparks fly out from where he has his hand on my cheek. I can’t help my eyes dropping to his lips before rising back up to his eyes.

I feel the tension rise and in a desperate attempt to avoid it, I joke, “If I was delusional, I might think you’re trying to confess to me right now” I laugh a little to dispel the tension. His gaze was still just as intense so I failed, but I tried my best.

A smile graced his features, “Yes… Perhaps if you were delusional, you might see that I am actually confessing my feelings for you right now” he says it so casually I almost think he’s playing along with my joke, but as my eyes widen, so does his smile.

“Are you…?” my voice wavers a little. I feel my heart drop, realizing he’s probably joking with me. I turn away from his hand, lightly pushing his chest to put distance between us.

“Is this some sort of joke? Come on, Erik… You know that’s… It’s unrealistic” I mutter, a man like him would never love someone like me, that’s not how it works… Maybe in the movies, or in a fairytale perhaps.

“Mein liebling, perhaps I haven’t been clear enough with you” he wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me in close, closer than before, “do you prefer a visual demonstration instead? I can give you that, you only need to ask” he smiles before slowly leaning in, giving me enough time to back out if I wished, but I find myself leaning in, eager to feel his lips against mine.

As soon as our lips locked together, sealed at last, a burst of electric sparks flew out from our lips and I giggled into the kiss. I mean, how ironic is that? I felt real, literal sparks and fireworks from the kiss and it made my lips tingly. Erik smiles into the kiss before deepening it, his hand rising up toward my hair while the other trailed down my back and I found myself desperate to be closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck, clumsily climbing over to sit on his lap. We part right as I begin losing my breath and he trails a burning, tingly trail of kisses down my jaw before he stops by my ear.

With a whisper that blew across the nape of my neck, “I see more than just greatness in you, so much more…” The words are charged with intention, passion, and sincerity. I shudder as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I bite back a moan as he continues kissing down my neck. I take a sharp breath in as he begins sucking on a tender spot before I suddenly realize what we’re doing…

Where we’re doing it.

I turn slightly to peek at the windows, making sure the others are still thoroughly distracted with playing before I feel Erik bite my skin and a moan breaks out, “Wait! Erik… We’re… In the lounge…”

He lifts his head, and the dark look in his blue eyes makes me clench my legs in anticipation, “We’ll just have to be fast… And quiet… Can you do that?” He taunts me with a question I don’t even get the chance to answer before he lays me down on the couch, climbing over me, “I’m just helping you relax, that’s not a sin, is it?” He looks down at me with a hungry gaze and I feel my cheeks burn.

“I guess not”

“Show me what else you can do with these sparks of yours”

554 notes · View notes

bangchansdirty-slut · 1 month ago

Note

Hii, I often read your stories and I really like them. I was wondering if you could do a shy and very feminine female reader doing it for the first time with an experienced G!P Momo please

Listen to Unnie

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

Paring: Top!Momo x Member!Bttm!Reader

Genre: Smut

Requested

More: Masterlist

A/n: This is one of two fanfics I'm posting today. I won't be taking any more requests until I finish the ones I already have in my drafts, which are currently collecting dust. You can still make requests, but please keep in mind that they probably won't be written and posted for a while.

Also, can you believe it’s been a whole year since my first fic? I just wanted to give a huge thank you to all of you for supporting me and my writing. It means the world to me!

•───⋅⋆⁺‧₊☽⛦☾₊‧⁺⋆⋅───•

The practice room was filled with the faint scent of sweat and the lingering aroma of freshly applied makeup, the air thick with the anticipation of their upcoming comeback. Y/n, dressed in a baby pink hoodie and matching shorts, nervously fidgeted with her fingers. She looked up at Momo, who was casually leaning against the wall with one hand in her pocket and the other playing with the hem of her black tank top.

Momo's eyes sparkled with mischief as she took in the flustered state of the youngest member. She sauntered over to the couch and plopped down."Come on, Y/n, let's go over that part of the choreography again," she said with a grin, Y/n's cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink.

Y/n got back into position, her heart racing. She couldn't shake the feeling that Momo had something more than practice on her mind, but she brushed it off as nerves. She started to run through the routine, her movements tentative and unsure. Momo watched intently, her gaze flickering between Y/n's face and her ass, which was bouncing slightly with each step. As the beat dropped, Y/n froze. She had messed up the sequence again, and she could feel Momo's eyes burning into her.

Momo stepped closer, her body heat enveloping Y/n. "You're too stiff," she murmured, her breath hot against Y/n's ear. "You need to relax and feel the music." Before Y/n could react, Momo's hand was on her hip, guiding her through the steps, their bodies moving in sync. The friction between them grew, the air crackling with an undeniable tension that neither of them could ignore.

The older idol leaned in, her soft pink lips brushing against Y/n's, surprising the youngest member. Y/n's eyes widened, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she melted into the kiss, her inexperience shimmering like a new star in the vast sky of Momo's expertise. Momo's hand traveled up to the back of Y/n's neck, pulling her closer as their tongues danced together, exploring each other with a gentle yet insistent curiosity.

Breaking the kiss, Momo's eyes searched Y/n's, looking for any signs of discomfort. Finding none, she smiled, her teeth slightly grazing the younger girl's bottom lip. "You're so sweet," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr.

Y/n's heart thudded in her chest as she felt Momo's hand slip under her hoodie, her fingers tracing the soft skin of her stomach before moving to untie the drawstring of her shorts. With surprising deftness, Momo pulled them down, leaving Y/n's cute little panties as the only barrier between her and the cool air of the practice room. Y/n gasped as Momo's hand cupped her, feeling her warmth and the dampness that had pooled there.

Momo's eyes never left hers as she leaned in to nip at her bottom lip, a playful smirk on her face. "You're so wet, baby," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. "Does the thought of me making you feel good turn you on?"

Y/n nodded, her voice a barely audible whisper. She was lost in the moment, unsure of how they had gone from rehearsing to this, but she didn't want it to stop. She could feel the heat of Momo's body, her breath, her touch. It was intoxicating.

Momo's hand slipped into the waistband of Y/n's panties, her long, slender fingers sliding down to stroke the wetness that had gathered between her folds. Y/n's breath hitched, and she felt her knees wobble slightly. Momo chuckled, the sound low and warm, before her thumb found its way to Y/n's clit. She began to rub it in slow, deliberate circles, her eyes never leaving the younger girl's face as she watched for any signs of discomfort or pleasure.

Momo led Y/n over to the couch, their bodies still entwined. She sat down, gently pushing Y/n's knees apart and settling herself between them. With a smoldering gaze, she leaned in to kiss her again, their tongues tangling together as she continued to tease her clit. Y/n's breaths grew ragged, and she could feel herself getting closer to the edge.

"Momo, I've never… done this before," Y/n stuttered, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement.

Momo paused, her hand hovering over Y/n's trembling thigh. "It's okay, Jagiya," she assured her, her voice velvety and soothing. "I'll take care of you. Just listen to Unnie." She gently eased the fabric of Y/n's panties aside, revealing the soft pinkness beneath. Y/n's eyes fluttered shut as Momo's mouth descended upon her, kissing and licking a trail down her stomach.

Momo's tongue flicked over Y/n's clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. Y/n gasped, her hands reflexively reaching for Momo's hair. She was unsure of what to do, but the feeling was so overwhelmingly good that she didn't care. Momo's mouth closed over her, suckling gently at first before increasing the pressure. Y/n's hips bucked, and she let out a soft moan, her body responding instinctively to the older girl's ministrations.

Momo looked up, her eyes dark with desire, and whispered, "You're doing so well, just keep letting go." She inserted a single finger into Y/n's tight pussy, the wetness allowing for easy entry. The youngest member's eyes widened, but she didn't protest. Instead, she began to rock her hips in time with Momo's movements, the sensation of being filled both thrilling and terrifying.

Momo's eyes locked onto Y/n's, her gaze intense and unwavering. "Tell me if it feels good," she encouraged, her voice thick with want.

Y/n nodded, her eyes glazed over with pleasure as Momo's tongue swirled around her clit. Each flick and suck sent waves of sensation crashing through her, and she couldn't hold back the soft, feminine whimpers that escaped her lips. The feeling was so new, so overwhelmingly good that she didn't know how much more she could take.

Momo's eyes grew darker with every sound Y/n made, her own arousal evident as she worked her finger in and out of the younger girl's tight pussy. She curled it slightly, finding that special spot inside her, and Y/n's body responded with a shudder. "There it is," Momo murmured, her voice full of satisfaction. She knew she had found Y/n's G-spot.

Y/n's breathing grew more erratic as Momo's finger danced inside her, the pleasure building into a crescendo. Her body tensed, and she felt the beginnings of an orgasm wash over her. She was about to ask Momo to stop, but the words got caught in her throat as Momo added a second finger, stretching her even further.

"M-Momo," she managed to stutter out, trying to push her head away, but her legs only tightened around Momo's neck, drawing her closer.

Momo chuckled against her sensitive flesh, the vibration sending another shockwave through her body. "You don't have to hold back, baby," she encouraged, her voice muffled by the fabric of Y/n's panties. "I want to hear you."

With a final, desperate attempt to maintain her dignity, Y/n buried her face in the cushions of the couch, muffling her cries. But it was no use; the pleasure was too much. Her body spasmed, and she squirted into Momo's eager mouth, soaking her. Momo groaned in pleasure, the taste of Y/n's arousal driving her wild. She didn't stop, licking and sucking until the youngest member's legs were trembling and she was whimpering for mercy.

Pulling away, Momo's eyes were alight with passion as she surveyed her handiwork. Y/n's pussy was red and swollen, glistening with a mix of sweat and desire. The young idol looked up at her, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving. Momo smirked, standing up to reveal the tent in her own shorts. "Looks like you liked it," she said, her voice playful.

Y/n couldn't help but nod, her eyes never leaving Momo's face. "What's next?" she asked, her voice shaky with anticipation.

Momo leaned back, a smug smile playing on her lips as she assessed the situation. "Well, we can't have you lying there like that and not do anything about it," she said, her eyes darkening with desire. She reached down and adjusted the bulge in her shorts, making it clear what was next.

Y/n felt a thrill of excitement and fear at the same time. She had never seen Momo like this before, so confident and commanding. It was a stark contrast to the sweet, supportive unnie she knew from their group activities, but it was incredibly alluring. She watched as Momo unbuttoned her shorts, her eyes never leaving Y/n's.

Momo's cock was revealed, and Y/n's eyes widened at the sight of it. It was a beautiful shade of pink, glistening with lubricant and standing tall. The older member stepped closer, her hand caressing the shaft gently. "Ready for the main act?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of challenge.

Y/n nodded, her curiosity piqued. She had never seen anything like it before, but she trusted Momo implicitly. The Japanese idol positioned herself over Y/n, her cock pointing at the juncture of her thighs. "Just relax," Momo murmured, her hand sliding up to cradle Y/n's face. "I'll go slow."

With that, she began to press her cock against Y/n's opening, the tip sliding through her folds and coating it in her arousal. Y/n gasped, the sensation foreign yet exhilarating. She felt the head of Momo's cock nudge at her entrance, and she tensed up instinctively. "It's okay," Momo whispered, her thumb tracing soothing circles on Y/n's cheek. "You're so tight, baby."

Momo pushed in gently, inch by inch, her cock stretching Y/n's tightness. Y/n's eyes squeezed shut, and she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. It hurt, but it was a pain that seemed to meld with the pleasure, creating a cocktail of sensations that was intoxicating. "Relax," Momo murmured, her free hand resting on Y/n's hip, her fingers digging into the soft flesh as she began to rock her hips.

Slowly, so slowly, the pain gave way to a delicious fullness. Y/n's body started to adjust, her muscles wrapping around Momo's cock like a warm, wet embrace. She felt a sense of awe, of being filled in a way she had never been before. Momo's movements grew more deliberate, her eyes never leaving Y/n's face as she watched for any signs of distress or discomfort. But all she saw was the youngest member's trust and willingness to experience something new.

The room was a symphony of soft gasps and muffled moans as Momo began to pick up the pace, her hips moving in a steady rhythm. Y/n's leg remained draped over Momo's shoulder, granting her deeper access, while her other hand held onto the armrest of the couch tightly, knuckles white with the effort of staying still. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure rippling through her body, and she couldn't help but whimper with every penetration.

Momo leaned down to capture Y/n's lips again, her own breathing ragged. Their kisses grew more urgent as the pace of their lovemaking increased. Y/n's hands roamed up Momo's back, feeling the slickness of sweat and the firmness of muscle beneath her fingertips. The older member's cock filled her completely, stretching her in the most delicious way possible, and she found herself matching Momo's movements, her hips rising to meet each powerful thrust.

Momo's hand traveled back down to Y/n's clit, her thumb resuming the relentless circles that had brought her to the brink before. Y/n's eyes rolled back in her head, and she moaned into their kiss, the sensation of being touched there while filled so completely overwhelming. She felt a second orgasm building, stronger than the first, and she clung to Momo, her nails digging into her back as she whispered, "D-on't ssstop."

Momo's rhythm grew erratic as she felt Y/n's pussy clench around her cock, the younger girl's body shaking with the force of her climax. She groaned, the vibrations sending a shiver down her spine as she continued to pump into her, eager to reach her own peak. "You're so good," she murmured, her voice strained with passion. "So, so good."

Their kisses grew sloppier, their breaths mingling in a desperate dance. Y/n's eyes searched Momo's, a silent question hanging between them. Momo read the unspoken words, the need for reassurance, and whispered, "It's okay, Jagiya. I've got you."

With that, she pushed into Y/n one final time, burying her cock as deep as it would go. Y/n felt the warmth of Momo's release flood her, the sensation sending her own body over the edge once more. She screamed into the pillow, her eyes squeezed shut, as waves of pleasure washed over her. Momo's thrusts grew shallower, her breathing ragged as she rode out her orgasm, her fingers still working Y/n's clit with an expert touch.

They lay there for a moment, their bodies entwined and trembling with the aftershocks of their shared climax. The room was silent except for the sound of their labored breaths and the distant thump of music from the neighboring practice room. Momo pulled out slowly, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she did so. She leaned down to press a soft kiss to Y/n's forehead, her hand still resting between her legs, feeling the last of her spasms subside.

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her that was different from the passion that had just consumed her. She was surprised to find that she felt safe, protected even. She looked up at Momo, her eyes filled with a mix of awe and love. "That was…" she trailed off, unable to find the words to describe the intensity of the experience.

Momo chuckled, a warm sound that sent a shiver down Y/n's spine. She leaned in to kiss her again, this time more tenderly. "It's just the beginning, baby," she whispered against her lips. "But for now, let's clean up and get you dressed."

#twice x reader #kpop x reader #twice imagines #momo x reader #bangchansdirty-slut #hirai momo x reader #hirai momo #momo smut #twice smut #twice momo

159 notes · View notes

elikajinnie · 3 months ago

Note

Hiii I love your fanfics!!😭🩷

Can u write something on sunoo like horror au or thriller au?

Fallen Angel - K.S

THANK YOUUUU!!<333 Omg i have so many horror au drafts right now. It`s really giving me motivation.

P: Devil!Sunoo X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood/Injury, Rituals & Cult-like Activity, Obsessive Love, Body Worship, Murder, Corruption, Falling In Love, Stalking?

Synopsis: A seemingly innocent walk through the forest turns into a chilling nightmare, and your soul becomes the ultimate prize for the devil himself. With a captivating presence and an insatiable desire for you, he reveals that your fate is now intertwined with his. And he will keep you by his side.

a/n: I am a sucker for paranormal movies :p the start is inspired by Jennifer`s body :) HAPPY HELL WEEK!! (iykyk)

"The Devil is real and he's not some little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful because he's a fallen angel and he used to be God's favourite."

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

You come downstairs after slipping into more comfortable clothes, ready for a walk. The house is quiet, your steps light on the wooden floor as you head toward the door. Living on the outskirts of town has its perks, and your favorite one is the forest. It's a place of solace, a space where you can let your thoughts wander freely as you walk beneath the trees.

You pull on your shoes, grab your jacket from the hook by the door, and fish your phone out of your pocket. A playlist hums to life in your ears, setting the mood. With your keys in hand, you lock the door behind you, the soft click signaling the start of your escape into the wild.

The gravel crunches beneath your feet, the small stones and twigs snapping with every step. There’s something rhythmic in the way the sound mixes with the music, creating its own sort of tune. You follow the familiar path, the forest looming ahead, inviting you in. As the trees grow taller around you, the ground changes, becoming softer, more forgiving underfoot. The scent of pine and earth fills the air, fresh and damp. Sunlight filters through in thin beams, casting long, golden shadows on the forest floor.

Your breathing syncs with the rhythm of your steps, steady and calm. The music playing in your ears becomes a backdrop to the symphony of nature—birds chirping somewhere above, the distant rustle of small animals moving through the underbrush. You can feel the world quieting around you, like the forest itself is protecting you from the noise and chaos of everyday life.

The deeper you go, the more peaceful it becomes. The path you walk is familiar, worn by countless footsteps over the years, but every time it feels new, like the forest shifts and breathes with the seasons. You pause for a moment, standing still, letting the quiet wash over you. There’s a comfort in this silence, a stillness that fills you.

But as you take a breath, something in the air changes. It’s subtle at first—like the shift in a breeze before a storm. The trees, once inviting, now seem to lean in closer. The shadows deepen, stretching out in unfamiliar shapes. The music in your ears feels distant now, as if it’s being drowned out by the weight of the silence.

Your steps slow, and the crackle of a twig behind you makes you stop altogether. You turn, scanning the trees, expecting to see nothing but the familiar outline of trunks and branches. But for a moment, just a brief flicker, you think you see movement—something or someone slipping between the trees, too fast to catch.

The forest, once a place of peace, now feels different.

Your heart quickens, instinctively telling you something is wrong. The peaceful stillness of the forest now feels like a trap. Slowly, you turn around, careful not to make any sudden movements, your instincts screaming at you to leave. The music in your ears lowers into the background, drowned out by the rushing pulse of your own heartbeat. You try to stay calm, taking slow steps back in the direction of home, eyes scanning the forest around you.

But the feeling doesn’t go away. Every shadow seems to shift, every tree leaning just a little too close. The forest, once familiar, now feels foreign, hostile even. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and your steps quicken. You need to get out of here.

Just as you pick up the pace, something moves at the corner of your vision. You freeze. Slowly, you glance around, and that’s when you see them—figures, barely visible at first, blending into the dark shadows of the trees. Cloaked in black, their faces hidden, they move with eerie silence. One, then two, then more of them, appearing from the forest as if they’ve always been there, watching.

Panic surges through you. You turn fully now, ready to run, but it’s too late. The forest around you is no longer empty. They’ve surrounded you, their dark forms closing in like a tightening net. Your breath catches in your throat as you search for a way out, but there’s none.

Before you can even react, something hard strikes the side of your head. Pain explodes in your skull, and the world around you spins wildly. The ground seems to rush up to meet you as your vision blurs, darkening around the edges. The last thing you feel is the cold, unforgiving earth beneath you as consciousness slips away, pulling you into a deep, heavy darkness.

When you finally come to, your head throbs with pain. Your eyelids flutter open, and the first thing you notice is that you’re propped up against a large, moss-covered stone, the dampness of it seeping through your clothes.

Panic sets in as you realize you’re bound—your wrists and ankles tied tightly with coarse rope, the roughness biting into your skin. There’s a gag in your mouth, muffling your shallow breaths. Your heart races as you struggle to move, but the ropes hold firm.

Looking around, your eyes adjust to the flickering light of candles surrounding you, casting eerie shadows on the trees. There are seven figures, cloaked in black, standing silently around you. They are still, their faces hidden under the hoods.

You hear it then—the low, rhythmic sound of chanting. The voice is monotone, steady, like it’s reciting something ancient and powerful. You don’t understand the words, but you guess it’s Latin. You begin to struggle, trying to loosen the ropes, heart pounding as your fingers strain against the bindings. But the more you move, the tighter they seem to become. Panic rises in your chest.

Suddenly, one of the figures steps forward, and in their hand, you see a dagger glint in the candlelight. Your stomach twists in fear. You freeze, eyes wide, unable to tear your gaze away as they approach you. The chanting continues, unwavering.

Without warning, the figure kneels beside you. The dagger’s cold blade presses against your cheek, and then—pain. You flinch as the sharp steel slices into your skin, a thin line of blood trickling down your face. A muffled whimper escapes your throat. The figure collects the blood, careful and deliberate, smearing it onto an ancient, crumbling scroll that looks like it’s been carried through time itself.

Terror takes over as you watch, helpless, as the figure lights the scroll with a simple flick of a lighter. The flames catch quickly, consuming the scroll in moments. As the last of it turns to ash, the chanting stops.

A deafening silence follows.

No birds. No wind. The entire forest seems to be holding its breath, as if the world itself is waiting for something terrible to happen.

Then, all at once, the candles surrounding you flicker out, plunging you into darkness. But just as quickly, they flare back to life—only this time, the flames are blood red, casting an ominous, fiery glow over the ritual circle. The figures stand unmoving, their faces still hidden, but you can feel the shift in the air. Something has changed.

Something is coming.

The air around you feels thick, oppressive, as if the very forest is suffocating under some unseen weight. Then, suddenly, a voice cuts through the silence. It’s sultry yet booming, rich with mockery and power. It doesn’t come from any one direction—it comes from everywhere at once, as though the trees themselves are speaking.

“Well, well, well,” the voice purrs, dripping with amusement. “How desperate you all must be, fumbling with your little rituals and chants. Meddling with powers far beyond your reach.” It chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating through the forest, making the ground beneath you tremble. “Did you really think you could summon me so easily? That I would come at the beck and call of your pathetic incantations?”

The cloaked figures stiffen at the voice’s words, shifting nervously in their places. They remain silent, but you can feel their fear in the way they hesitate, as if they didn’t anticipate this response. The voice continues, teasing and condescending. “You should’ve known better. But here you are, scrambling in the darkness, begging for something you cannot possibly understand.”

Just then, one of the figures dares to speak. Their voice is trembling, but steady enough to say, “But we brought you a sacrifice.”

The forest falls deathly still. The voice, which had been mocking moments before, quiets suddenly. The shift in its tone is palpable, as though whoever or whatever it is has just taken a keen interest in something—or rather, in someone. You feel a chill creep up your spine.

There’s a long pause, and then the voice speaks again, but this time it’s softer, quieter, as though it's enthralled. “A sacrifice…?” The amusement fades, replaced by something else—curiosity. Desire. “And what a beautiful offering you’ve brought me…”

Your blood runs cold as the voice seems to focus entirely on you now, its words lingering in the air. You can feel its attention like a weight pressing down on you, though there is no form, no figure to see—just the voice, enveloping you in the darkness.

“I must say, you’ve outdone yourselves,” it murmurs, almost appreciatively. “Such beauty… such fragility. A rare find indeed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can’t tell if this attention is a blessing or a curse. Every muscle in your body screams to run, but the ropes still hold you tight, and the darkness closes in.

The figures, emboldened by the voice’s attention, begin to speak. One by one, they make their demands, their voices eager and trembling with greed.

“We ask for money,” one says, stepping forward.

“Power,” another adds, almost hungrily.

“We offer our loyalty in return for wealth, for control. We will serve you without question,” one of them declares, their voice dripping with desperation.

For a moment, there is silence. Then, the voice returns, and this time it’s filled with cold, biting laughter. “Money? Power?” it repeats, the words laced with disdain. “How pitiful. Is that what you’ve gathered here for? How small your desires are. You dare summon me, meddle in forces far beyond your comprehension, and for what? Gold? Influence?”

The voice’s laughter grows, mocking them all, cutting through the air like a knife. “You offer loyalty as if it means something to me, as if you’re anything more than fleeting, mortal specks. You want power? You want riches? You have no idea what true power is, nor the price it demands.”

The figures hesitate, doubt creeping into their postures as the voice continues to belittle their wishes. And then, just as your heart beats faster with terror, you feel a breath against your ear—soft, like a gentle wind. A whisper, barely audible, brushes against your skin.

“Close your eyes.”

You freeze. Slowly, you turn your head, expecting to see someone beside you, but there’s no one. Just the oppressive darkness and the flickering red flames of the candles. Your pulse quickens, but something deep inside you urges you to trust the voice. Against the rising panic in your chest, you clench your eyes shut tightly, your body trembling as the atmosphere around you shifts.

Suddenly, the stillness of the forest is shattered by the sound of screams. Blood-curdling, desperate cries fill the air, piercing through the night as the figures around you shout and wail in terror. You hear the snap of branches, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the crackling of something far more sinister. But you don’t dare open your eyes. You’re frozen in place, paralyzed with fear, every muscle locked in place as chaos erupts around you.

The screams continue, a cacophony of horror, but you keep your eyes shut, holding onto the whisper’s command. Your breath is ragged, your chest heaving as you try to control the overwhelming panic that’s rising inside you. Time stretches, seconds feeling like hours.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the forest goes quiet. The screams fade into nothing, leaving only an eerie silence. Your heart races in the deafening stillness, and though you can no longer hear the carnage, you can feel its lingering presence.

You breathe in and out, fast and shallow, terrified to open your eyes, terrified of what you might see. The forest is so quiet now, as if it’s holding its breath once more. You start to wonder if it’s truly over, if the nightmare has passed.

Then, the whisper returns, soft and chilling, right by your ear. “Sleep…”

Before you can even react, your mind becomes heavy, your body limp. It feels like a spell, something irresistible pulling you into darkness. Your eyes, still shut, flutter briefly before you fall into an all-consuming sleep, leaving the horrors of the forest behind.

You drift through the most peaceful sleep you’ve ever had, your body weightless, like it’s floating down a calm, serene river. The usual tension in your muscles is gone, replaced by a deep, soothing calm. It’s as if you’re cradled by warmth, gently rocked by invisible hands. There’s no sense of time, only pure restfulness, the kind that reaches into your soul and makes you feel whole.

In the distance, you hear a voice—soft, affectionate, and full of admiration. It whispers sweetly, its tone rich and tender, complimenting everything about you. It praises the softness of your hair, the elegance of your face, the beauty of your body, and even your very presence, as though every part of you is perfect. The words wash over you like a lullaby, pulling you deeper into that blissful rest.

When you finally wake up, you’re in your bed. The familiar comfort of your own room surrounds you, but something doesn’t feel right. You blink groggily, sitting up, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep. Confused, you glance around, and your heart races as you remember the events —the forest, the figures, the voice. Instinctively, your hand goes to your cheek, expecting to feel the sting of the cut, but there’s nothing. Your skin is smooth, untouched. There’s no sign of what happened.

You throw off the covers and hurry to the mirror, your pulse quickening. You search your reflection, half-expecting to see some trace of the terror from the forest, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Your hair is the same, your face unmarked. It’s like nothing happened at all, and yet… you know it wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. The memory is too vivid, too real. The voice, the blood, the chanting—all of it remains sharp in your mind.

You turn away from the mirror, trying to make sense of it, when something catches your eye. Your breath hitches in your throat. On your bedside table, there’s a candle—lit and burning softly. Next to it, a single rose, its petals dark and velvety, resting elegantly beside the flame.

You freeze, your heart pounding as you approach it. Slowly, you pick up the rose, your fingers brushing against its delicate petals. The candle flickers slightly, casting a warm glow across the room. You stare at it, the confusion settling deep in your chest.

“Oh…” you whisper, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. The soft voice from your dream, the one that praised you, seems to echo in your ear again, gentle and intimate. Startled, you whip around, expecting to see someone behind you, but there’s no one. Just the empty room.

“Weird…” you mutter under your breath, glancing around once more. Still, there’s no explanation, no figure emerging from the shadows. You place the rose back down on the table and blow out the candle, watching the smoke spiral up into the air before it disappears. The room feels normal again, but the unease remains.

You climb back into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. Despite everything, the warmth of sleep begins to pull at you again, as if beckoning you back into its embrace. And though the forest may be far behind, you can’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—is still watching.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

In the days that follow, you can’t shake the unsettling feeling of being watched. It’s always there, just out of sight—a presence hovering behind you, lingering at the edge of your senses. Every time you glance over your shoulder, expecting to see someone or something, there’s nothing. Just empty air. But the feeling never fades. It clings to you like a shadow, haunting your every move.

You become more cautious, always looking around, watching for signs of movement, but there’s no panic, no alarm. It’s almost as if your body has accepted the presence, even as your mind refuses to make sense of it. You should feel fear, but instead, there’s a strange calm, an eerie quiet that lingers no matter how close the feeling gets.

The day after the incident, you return to the forest, hoping for some kind of clue, some proof that it wasn’t a dream. But the forest is peaceful, untouched. There’s no sign of the ritual, no remnants of the candles, no trace of the figures. It’s as though the whole thing never happened, swallowed up by the woods themselves. The silence feels wrong, and as you walk the same path, the memory of that night burns vividly in your mind, but there’s nothing here to confirm it.

You try to move on, but even your friends start noticing the change in you. Rei, Jeongin, and Yujin glance at you with worried eyes, asking if everything’s okay. You brush them off, telling them it’s just stress, maybe some restless nights. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. There’s no rest anymore, only the constant feeling that you’re being watched, even when no one is around.

And then there’s the candle and rose. Every night, without fail, when you go to bed, they’re there. The candle always lit, casting a soft glow across your room. The rose—perfect, fresh, never wilting—sits beside it. It weirds you out, gnawing at your sanity, especially when you know you lock the windows and draw the curtains every night. There’s no way someone could be getting in. After the third night, you even called the police, desperate for answers. But they found nothing—no signs of forced entry, no signs of any entry at all. The officer told you everything seemed normal, but nothing about this felt normal to you.

The hopelessness sinks in. There’s no explanation, no rational way to understand what’s happening. And it doesn’t help that at night, when the world is quiet, you can hear it again—that soft voice. It’s always there, whispering just at the edge of your consciousness. Close, yet distant. Its words are impossible to grasp, like a lullaby just out of reach, tugging at your mind as you drift into sleep, feeling the weight of something you can’t explain pressing down on you.

You want to scream, to fight it, but there’s no fear. Only that strange, unsettling calm, like a storm waiting to break. And you can’t tell if you’re more terrified of what’s happening—or of how much you’ve come to expect it.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

One day, in the midst of your growing paranoia and frustration, you find yourself mindlessly scrolling on your computer when a strange ad catches your attention: a website for a fortune teller. The colorful banner flickers, promising answers to those who seek them, and normally you’d scoff at something like this. But with everything going on, you find yourself clicking the link. Desperation tugs at your thoughts. Maybe she could explain what’s happening, or at least help make sense of the strange calm that now follows you like a shadow.

The next day, you go. The fortune teller’s shop is tucked away in a quiet part of town, the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. Inside, the scent of incense hangs thick in the air, and the room is dimly lit by candles that flicker with every movement. She sits across from you, an older woman with knowing eyes that seem to see right through you.

As you settle into the chair, she doesn’t need much prompting. After a brief introduction, she tells you that she feels something around you, something that clings to you. “There’s a presence,” she says, her voice low and thoughtful. “Usually, a presence like this would be malevolent, something dark and dangerous… but right now, it’s calm. It feels content, almost protective.”

Her words send a chill down your spine. You’ve never bought into this kind of thing before, but something inside you tells you to listen. You can’t deny the truth in her words. That presence, the one you’ve felt trailing you day and night—it’s always there, but never threatening.

She pulls out her tarot deck, shuffling the cards with practiced ease, her fingers nimble as she lays them out on the table. One card catches your eye immediately—the Devil. When she spots it, her breath catches. “The Devil,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “It represents temptation, control, and obsession. But it’s also a card of power, of something… primal. Something that binds itself to you, and once it has, it rarely lets go.”

You sit there, frozen, as she explains the meaning of the card. It’s about being tethered to something you can’t escape from, something that might seduce you with its calm but still holds an underlying danger. You barely hear her as she continues, your thoughts racing.

When you finally leave the fortune teller’s shop, you step out into the street, dazed and conflicted. The cold air bites at your skin, but your mind feels numb. You stand there for a long time, thinking over everything she said, the Devil card burned into your thoughts. The idea that this presence, this voice, is somehow tied to you—content now, but still something to be wary of—it sends your head spinning.

Eventually, you walk to the bus stop, lost in your thoughts. When the bus arrives, you get on, finding an empty seat by the window. As you sit, staring out into the city, you can’t shake the strange feeling again—that presence lingering close, too close. You glance out the window, and for a moment, you swear you see something sitting beside you in the reflection. A shadow, just out of the corner of your eye.

Your heart skips a beat, and you turn to look—but there’s nothing. No one. Just the empty seat beside you, like always. You squint, trying to shake the feeling, and look back at the window. The reflection shows nothing.

You huff in frustration, shaking off the moment, and pull out your phone, trying to distract yourself. But as the bus rolls forward, you can’t help but feel that presence still, hovering just beyond your senses, patient and ever-present.

You step off the bus at the stop you wanted, your mind still racing from the strange encounter on the ride. The air is cool as you walk, your footsteps almost mindless, leading you down familiar streets until you reach the church. Its tall steeple rises against the sky, and you pause for a moment, staring at it. A sigh escapes your lips as you shrug, figuring there’s no harm in trying. Maybe this place, of all places, could offer you some sort of clarity—or peace.

Pushing open the heavy doors, you step into the threshold. The moment you cross over, something shifts. The constant feeling of being watched, that heavy, unshakeable presence, vanishes. It should bring you relief, but instead, a hollow emptiness fills the space where that presence once lingered. You stop in your tracks, feeling strangely vulnerable, exposed in a way you hadn’t expected.

Every cell in your body screams at you to turn back, to leave the church and return to where you felt… safer. But you swallow the feeling, pushing it down as you make your way past the countless rows of benches, your eyes fixed on the altar.

“Hello,” you call out, your voice echoing through the empty space, bouncing off the high ceilings.

“Hello, my child,” a voice responds. You turn to see a priest walking towards you, his face kind, his eyes full of concern. “How may I help you?”

You hesitate for a moment, wondering how to even begin explaining what you’ve been feeling, but something about the priest’s calm demeanor makes it easier. You tell him everything—about the ritual and the feeling of being watched that never left you. He listens carefully, nodding as you speak, never interrupting. When you finish, he places a hand on your shoulder, his expression grave but understanding.

“I think you may benefit from a cleansing,” he suggests gently. “It could help you find peace.”

You’re not sure what peace would even feel like anymore, but you nod anyway, agreeing to the cleansing. He leads you to a small side chapel, where he begins to recite verses, his voice steady and reassuring as he works through the ritual. You stand still, feeling the weight of his words settle around you, like a protective barrier forming between you and whatever it is that’s been haunting you.

When he finishes, you feel lighter—but not in the way you expected. You thank him quietly, offering a small smile before heading back toward the exit. But as you reach the door, you stop, standing just before the threshold. There’s an odd feeling gnawing at you, something that makes you hesitate before stepping outside. You take a deep breath, as if bracing yourself for whatever might come next.

Finally, you step out. You wait for the familiar sensation to return—the feeling of being watched, the strange calm that’s followed you for days. But nothing happens. The air is still. The presence is gone.

You exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening, and for the first time in a while, you feel a flicker of relief. Maybe this is what peace feels like. Maybe you’ve finally managed to shake whatever it was that had been clinging to you. You walk down the church steps and start making your way home, your steps lighter, as if the weight of the last few days has lifted.

But as the quiet of the evening settles around you, you can’t help but glance over your shoulder, just to be sure.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

That night, when you finally make your way to bed, something feels off the moment you step into your room. It’s quiet, almost too quiet, and when you glance at your bedside table, the absence hits you immediately. There’s no candle softly flickering, no rose resting beside it. For days, those strange, inexplicable objects had become part of your nighttime routine, and now, without them, your room feels… empty.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the bare space, unsure how to feel. Part of you should be relieved, right? The presence is gone, the priest’s cleansing worked, and now, everything is back to normal. But as you sit on the edge of the bed, you can’t shake the odd sense of unease gnawing at you. That eerie calm you’d come to expect—no matter how unsettling—had become familiar. And now that it’s gone, it feels like something important has been ripped away.

You lie down, pulling the covers up, trying to convince yourself that this is what you wanted. Peace. Quiet. But as the night wears on, you toss and turn, the silence pressing in on you from all sides. Sleep doesn’t come easily. Every time you close your eyes, you expect to hear that soft, whispering voice, or to catch the faint scent of roses in the air. But there’s nothing. Just the cold, stark quiet.

Hours pass, and despite the exhaustion, you can’t seem to find any comfort. The night drags on, restless and heavy, and when you do manage to drift off, it’s into a light, uneasy slumber. The dreams that come are disjointed, dark, and full of shadows that shift and twist just beyond your reach.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

As the days turn into a blur of mundane routines, you find yourself increasingly aware of an emptiness that settles in your chest. It starts subtly, creeping in like the morning fog, but soon it becomes a heavy weight you can’t ignore. You catch yourself glancing around your room, searching for something, but you can’t quite put your finger on what’s missing.

You dismiss it at first. Tell yourself it’s just a phase, a product of the unsettling experience you had in the forest and the church. But deep down, you know what it is.

Each night, when you lay in bed, the absence gnaws at you, louder than your rational thoughts. You try to convince yourself that you don’t need any strange tokens, that their disappearance signifies freedom. But the truth is, you miss the ritual, the soothing presence they offered, even if it was unsettling. They were reminders that you weren’t entirely alone, even if the presence felt like a shadow lurking in the corners of your mind.

You begin to notice it more and more during the day. At work, when the sunlight streams through the window, illuminating everything around you, your thoughts drift to that flickering candlelight. You find yourself distracted, unable to concentrate, imagining the scent of roses filling your room, their petals vibrant and alive. In moments of quiet, when you should feel at peace, your mind wanders back to the eerie calm that came with those objects.

You even catch yourself thinking about the fortune teller’s words, the way she spoke of the Devil card and its implications. Was it truly gone? Or was it simply biding its time, waiting for you to acknowledge its presence again? The uncertainty hangs over you like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive.

Every night, as you prepare for bed, you look at that empty space on your bedside table, and a familiar ache settles in. You want to deny it, want to convince yourself that you’re better off without the strange gifts. But as you drift into an uneasy sleep, the truth lingers just beneath the surface—you miss what once was, even if it was chaotic and frightening.

And the more you deny it, the stronger that longing becomes, until it feels like a part of you is reaching out, desperate to reclaim the connection you once had.

ـــــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ

One night, as the hours dragged on, you found yourself tossing and turning, your mind racing with thoughts that wouldn’t settle. Eventually, you groaned in frustration and opened your eyes, confronting the reality that sleep was eluding you. With a resigned sigh, you sat up, pulling the covers off your body. You felt restless, as if your own skin was too tight.

Navigating through the dark, you made your way to the kitchen, each step a little more deliberate than the last. The house was silent, the only sound the soft padding of your feet on the cool floor. You reached the fridge and pulled out a water bottle, opening it with a quick twist before taking a few long gulps. The cool water felt refreshing, but as you set the bottle down, a familiar shiver raced up your spine.

You froze, instinctively turning slowly around, scanning the dimly lit kitchen. “Hello?” you called out, your voice a soft echo in the stillness. But there was no response, only the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of the wind outside.

Turning back around, you tried to shake off the chill that lingered, but then something shifted in the air. It wasn’t stifling, but it felt heavy, pressing down on you like a weight. A sudden awareness prickled at the back of your neck, and you froze again, feeling a breath whisper past your ear.

It was warm and sweet, mixed with an intoxicating scent of roses and something burning, like incense.

“Hello, little angel,” a sultry voice whispered, sending chills through your body. “Miss me?”

You turned your head slowly, dread pooling in your stomach, and there it was—a black shadow, dark and formless, hovering just inches from your face. Two crimson eyes glinted in the darkness, locking onto yours with an intensity that paralyzed you. You wanted to scream, to run, but your tongue felt heavy and your limbs refused to move. All you could do was stare in terror, heart pounding in your chest as the shadow loomed closer.

In that moment, you understood with horrifying clarity: you weren’t alone anymore.

You could only watch as the shadow moved to stand directly in front of you, your gaze locked onto its form, mouth slightly open in disbelief. The presence was back, and you felt a strange mix of fear and longing bubbling within you. You hadn’t realized how much you missed that voice, that intimate whisper, until it echoed in the stillness of your kitchen once more.

“Excuse my sudden disappearance,” the shadow spoke, its tone smooth and rich, wrapping around you like silk. “The cleansing you underwent caused me to step back. I could only return to you when your soul desired me again.”

Your heart raced as his words registered, the surreal nature of the moment crashing down around you. You found your voice again after the shock wore off, forcing the question out of your throat. “What… are you?”

The shadow paused, then gave a graceful nod as if remembering something important. “Excuse my manners,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with dark elegance. And then, right before your eyes, the inky figure began to shift. The darkness gave way to a striking form, his transformation almost too breathtaking to believe.

He stood there now, a tall, beautiful man, whose very presence stole the breath from your lungs. His skin with pale, flawless that seemed to glow in the dim light. His black attire was tailored perfectly, hugging his body and adding to the aura of power he exuded. But it was his eyes that drew you in —those deep, red orbs that gleamed with a playful yet dangerous light, and his blond hair fell effortlessly around his soft features. But it was more than just his face that left you spellbound—two long, black horns curved proudly from his head, and behind him, a sleek, horned tail swished lazily through the air. In his hand, he casually twirled a pitchfork, as if it were an extension of himself.

“I am the Devil,” he said with a charming smile, his gaze locked onto yours, “but you may call me Sunoo.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. You stared at him, a whirlwind of emotions crashing through you—fear, intrigue, and an unsettling familiarity. The realization of what he was settled deep within you, mingling with the longing you had tried so hard to suppress. Despite the warnings that echoed in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, to the chaos and the darkness he represented.

The kitchen felt smaller now, the shadows thicker as he took a step closer. “And I have come back for you,” he said, his voice low and enticing, making your heart race faster. His red eyes locked onto yours, and with each word he spoke, the weight of his gaze felt as though it was peeling back your very soul.

“I watched you,” he began, his voice a low rumble, rich with emotion. “The moment I laid eyes on you, I craved you. You ignited a hunger within me that I had thought long extinguished. A mortal like you,” he said, his tone reverent, “looked like an angel in my eyes. Your innocence, your strength, your beauty—each facet drew me closer, wrapping around my heart like a vine.”

As he reached out, his fingers brushed against your cheek, a caress that sent a shiver of warmth through your body. His touch was electric, igniting a spark deep inside you that resonated with every heartbeat. “But then,” he continued, the softness of his voice darkening, “I saw you on that forest floor, hurt and scared for your life. It filled me with fury, a rage that pulsed through my veins. How dare they threaten you?”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he continued, “I sought you out. I stood by you, watching over you as you went about your days, waiting for the moment when you would long for me as I longed for you. I protected you from the darkness that surrounded you, even as I stood in the shadows. I knew this night would come—the time when you would feel my presence and accept me as your own.”

Your heart raced, his words weaving a web of desire and belonging that tightened around your chest. “Your soul now belongs to me,” he whispered, and as the words left his lips, you felt his hand press against your chest, right over your heart. The moment his palm made contact, your heartbeat quickened, a rapid rhythm drumming beneath his touch, as if responding to him alone.

You were so close to him now, his presence overwhelming, the warmth of his body radiating against your own. His gaze never wavered, locking onto you with a hunger that made your skin flush. Without warning, he moved swiftly, twisting you in a fluid motion until your back was pressed firmly against the counter. The cool surface was a stark contrast to the heat that coursed through your body.

Before you could react, his strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he hoisted you up and set you on the counter. The sensation of his touch lingered, your body humming with warmth as his gaze roamed over you, a possessive fire burning in his eyes.

He took a moment to admire you, his gaze roaming from your head to your toes, as if memorizing every detail. “You complete me,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I have waited countless millennia for my Queen. And here you are, the one I have searched for. When you were sacrificed to me, I knew your soul would be mine forever.”

As he spoke, you felt a rush of warmth flood through you, like molten gold coursing through your veins. His presence enveloped you, making you feel alive in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

“You are perfect,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Every inch of you is a work of art, crafted for my eyes alone.” Then, without warning, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that ignited every nerve ending in your body. It was passionate, a collision of heat and longing that left you breathless.

Suddenly, you felt whole, as if the missing pieces of your soul had been returned to you. A wave of warmth washed over you, burning deliciously from the inside out. You melted into him, feeling safe and cherished as he held you close. His kiss deepened, a dance of desire that left you wanting more, while his hands roamed your body, caressing your curves with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of his longing.

You lost yourself in him, wrapped in the intoxicating blend of warmth and desire. Every kiss, every gentle caress, felt like a promise—an assurance that you were meant to be together, that you had finally found the place where you belonged. In his embrace, you felt invincible, as if nothing in the world could ever harm you again.

When you pulled back, breathless and dazed, he dove back in, capturing your lips with a fervor that left you reeling. “My angel,” he murmured between kisses, his voice thick with longing, “you don’t understand how much I need you. You are everything to me.” Each word tumbled from his lips like a sacred incantation, wrapping around you and pulling you deeper into his world.

You gasped as he kissed you again, his mouth moving against yours with a hungry urgency that sent shivers down your spine. The warmth of his body pressed against you, and you felt as though you were melting into him, losing all sense of time and space. He was insatiable, a force of nature, and you struggled to keep up with the intensity of his desire.

“I will keep you for myself,” he vowed, his voice so soft that it sent a thrill of excitement through you. “No one will take you from me. I will protect you for all eternity.”

With every kiss, he expressed a need that felt primal, as if he were staking his claim on your soul. You gasped again, trying to keep pace with the whirlwind of emotion that engulfed you both. He pressed against you, the world outside fading into a blur as his presence consumed you. You could feel his heart racing, a rhythm that matched your own, each thump a testament to the bond that was forming between you.

“Please,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his red gaze filled with a fierce intensity. “Let me show you what it means to be loved by the Devil. Let me drown you in my devotion.”

As he pulled back slightly, his red eyes shimmering with intensity, he asked, “Will you come with me? Will you rule beside me as my Queen?” The weight of his question hung in the air, and you felt your heart race at the thought of a life intertwined with his—a life where you would stand by his side, embracing the darkness and light together.

Looking into those mesmerizing, molten eyes, a wave of certainty washed over you. You found yourself nodding, breathless as the words tumbled from your lips. “Yes, I’ll come with you.”

A wide grin spread across his face, a radiant joy that illuminated his features. The sight sent a rush of warmth through you, igniting a fire that burned hotter than ever before. He leaned in, capturing your lips once more in a passionate kiss that left you dizzy. The heat between you surged, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth that made you feel like you were burning from the inside out.

In the blink of an eye, the world around you shifted. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself in a magnificent room bathed in rich, lavish reds. The walls pulsed with a warm glow, and golden accents shimmered in the ambient light, highlighting the opulence that surrounded you. You were nestled on a grand bed, the silken sheets beneath you soft and cool, cradling you like clouds.

Turning your head, you saw him standing a few feet away, his red eyes locked onto you, radiating affection and adoration. His presence was comforting, that it made your chest swell with joy. You belonged here—with him.

As if reading your thoughts, he climbed into bed beside you, pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you, strong yet gentle, holding you with a protective warmth that made you feel safe. A wide grin spread across his face, and you noticed how his eyes almost disappeared when he smiled, his soft cheeks lifting in a way that made him look so much more human, so endearing.

It almost made you want to reach out and squish his cheeks—this unexpected softness he showed you. His red eyes glimmered with love, as if you were the center of his universe. “My Queen,” he said, his voice filled with pride and affection.

You smiled back at him, feeling the weight of the bond that now intertwined your souls. “My King,” you whispered in return.

His grin widened as he hugged you even closer, his hold warm and reassuring. The titles felt right, as if they’d always been meant for the two of you.

#sunoo x reader #enhypen sunoo #kim sunoo #kim sunoo x reader #kim sunoo enhypen #kim sunoo imagines #enha sunoo #enhypen fic #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #sunoo #enha #fanfiction #fanfic #sunoo enhypen

212 notes · View notes

whatislovevavy · 5 months ago

Text

Sliding Stops & Beating Hearts

Reiner! Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader (Honeybee)

Summary: Tyler Owens has worked almost his entire life for this moment. And he's so glad he gets to share it with you.

Warnings: Tyler being down bad for his wife, afab!reader, fluff, swearing, smut (18+), oral (m+f), facesitting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

WC: 4.6k (I'm so sorry, but not sorry enough to make it shorter)

AN: Hey girlies :) Apologies for taking so long to post this, I've been very busy and it feels like I have to wait for what feels like some kind of astronomical event for me to be able to write. Tyler Owens is essentially Jake Seresin so yeah I'm writing for him now lol. Reining has always been one of my favorite equestrian sports to watch. Granted, I've never done it nor competed so apologies to any reiners out there if there's inaccuracies with how competitions go lol. Anyways, hope you enjoy :)

None of the pictures featured are mine and were taken off of Pinterest. All of my writings will be added to my writing side blog @sophs-writing-nook

This is an 18+ fanfic, so minors scoot pls. You are responsible for the media you consume. Do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate this fic without my explicit permission as it is my own creation.

The competition had been fierce and each ounce of caffeine in your veins from your strenuous, early morning drive from Arkansas to Oklahoma had done nothing to quell your nerves.

You could feel the sweat emulate from your palms as you watched each rider and horse pair complete their routine with near flawlessness, confidence, professionalism, and near perfect scores on maneuvers.

Tyler would need to give it his all to bring home the NRHA world championship title for this season.

You watched with bated breath as the pair before Tyler’s exited through the in-gate, applause and cheers ricocheting off the concrete and aluminum walls of the stadium. The announcer’s voice crackling and echoing through the speakers as the pairs score was displayed on the JumboTron that hung ominously above the center of the arena, threatening to crush Tyler's lifelong dream if a perfect score wasn't achieved. You fiddled with the competition program in your hand, waiting for the announcer to give the go ahead for Tyler Owens and Coppertone Boy, or as he was affectionately called at home, Copper, to enter the arena.

“Come on, honeybee, I think you're more nervous than I am.” The fingers of your hand stop gingerly massaging into the muscle between Copper’s alert ears, eyes meeting Tyler’s unnervingly calm ones. You sighed, bringing your hand down to softly stroke the stallion’s velvet muzzle, looking back out at the arena that would be vacant for only a few moments more. “It's just the anticipation is all.”

He swallowed, dipping his heels down further against his stirrups, his weight settling on the back of the palomino American Quarter Horse. His thumb running along the smooth leather reins in his moderately calloused hands, his posture straightening. Tipping his hat on his head, eyes drifting from your almost perfect facade of calm collection to the no longer virginal arena footing.

He gingerly scratched at Copper’s strong, gilded withers and neck concealed by the silken, alabaster strands of his freshly detangled mane, easing any anxiety the 10 year old stallion may have had.

“Copper will take care of me out there, and I'm coming back, Sweets” his lip quirked into a gentle smirk, letting your anxiety ease a bit.

Copper gently nudged you with his head, trying to get one last scratch in before entering. Or maybe to try to reassure you. “I know, I-,” you took a breath, licking your lips,” just really want this for you, and we're so close. I can taste it.”

His eyes glazed a bit, a special kind of warmth spreading in his chest. You had helped him hitch the trailer to pick up Copper from the auction a few townships over back in his early twenties. You were the one who was with him every step of the way, through every high and frustrating low of training him and getting him ready for every competition. You were the one to stay up all night with him when Copper coliced during a muggy spring night a few years back. You were the one who encouraged him to try reining after his bull riding rodeo career came to a halt. You were the one to hide out with him on his family's ranch in Arkansas during the summer thunderstorms in the hayloft as kids and lovesick teenagers. And you were the first person he got to kiss out in the back field after the haying season was done, laying under the cover of Cassiopeia and The Big Dipper with homemade strawberry moonshine. It made the wedding band on a chain around his neck all the more meaningful. The microphone crackled as the announcer cleared his throat, announcing for Tyler to enter the arena.

“Come on, baby, I need my good luck kiss before I go out there.” His urgent, but sweet, tone made you chuckle. Stepping on your tippy toes, you met his lips that only seemed to get softer the more you kissed him. As your lips left his, you gave the stallion that gleamed like a new penny under the stadium lights a last, quick rub at his withers and a whispered “take care of him for me.” The stallion nudged his pink and gray muzzle into your side, letting out a puff of breath, seeming to listen and affirm your wish.

You turned back to the man you had loved since you were a sophmore in highschool. “You'll get something a lot more when you come back.” You said softly with a flirtatious tone, trying to lighten the nerves that seemed to electrify your fingertips. Your eyes told an unspoken “whether you win, or lose.” His eyebrows rise before a smirk settles on his lips. “Looking forward to it darlin,” he winks before turning his attention to the packed arena. He gives the stallion a gentle squeeze of his sides with his calves to get him into a working walk, head low, and relaxed as his metal shoe-clad hooves rhythmically ricocheted off the pavement leading up to the arena as applause and whistles from the crowd marked his entrance like a gladiator entering the Colosseum. You watched him leave your side with bated breath.

You always envied how he was able to feed off of the crowd instead of cowering under it, even when he was getting tossed around as a professional bull rider in the local rodeo circuit. It was a trait that Tyler and Copper had in common that made them a perfect pair.

You watched each calculated movement he whispered to Copper through his hands, legs, and seat. Each movement done in perfect harmony, from flying lead changes to each heart racing spin and rollback. You practically knew the routine like the back of your hand, softly mouthing the required movements right as Tyler and Copper conducted them with complete poise and confidence. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flit back and forth from the golden stallion enrapturing the attention of the crowd and the judges scribbling down notes that had the potential to cut like a blade. Tyler had a calm, at-ease aura around him; his hands still with just the right amount of contact on the reins, loose hips and strong legs that wrapped around the barrel of the strong, powerful, and graceful horse below him. Copper’s ears kept at ease, each one flitting back to listen to each whispered task Tyler gave him. His mane and tail swayed beautifully with the rest of his muscular, golden dappled frame; steel horseshoes gleaming under the large overhead lights. You felt your anxiety rise as Tyler only had one maneuver left to accomplish- a sliding stop from a full gallop, the most exhilarating maneuver in reining.

Your breath felt like lead in your lungs as you watched each stride Copper took to complete his routine. With an impressive stall of his hind quarters, Copper planted himself against the arena footing to come to a full stop, his hind legs slightly folding under him as Tyler kept his body steady. The arena went quiet for only a second as Copper found his footing, remaining in a halt. As soon as the judges gave Tyler the go ahead to leave the arena, you jumped up in glee, applauding and whistling, just like the entirety of the arena as Tyler gave Copper a loose rein, giving his strong neck deligent pats of encouragement and rubbing his withers as he made his way out of the arena at a working walk pace. After all, he had earned it.

But would it be enough to win?

You couldn’t contain the smile on your face as Tyler met your gaze with a heart stopping grin, his handsome dimples on display, timothy grass green eyes shining for you as his chest rose and fell from his exertion, and the sweat evident under his Stetson at his hairline.

As soon as he cleared the in-gate, he was out of the saddle and embracing you, lips on yours as you giggled against him as he picked you up and spun you around, your fingers splayed over his stubbly cheeks. Copper stood patiently as his reins hit the cement floor. Your fingers resting at the back of his neck, feeling his sweat, natural scent, and the smell of leather and horses caress your senses.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” you said, voice thick with tears bubbling beneath your eyes as your hands encased his gently stubbled cheeks, his grin matching your own, voice thick, “Honey, whatever happens, I’m-,” his eyes becoming glassy, “I’m just so glad I’ve been able to do this with you. I love you so goddamn much.” He brought your lips back to his in a sweet, love filled kiss that made your stomach flutter. The crackle of the microphone breaks you both away from your kiss, his embrace still on your hips. Tyler cranes his neck to look up at the JumboTron.

Your eyes widening, putting your hands over your mouth and looking up at Tyler’s shock-parted lips as the arena broke into cheers. Tyler swings you around by your hips before bringing you to his lips again.

A perfect score.

—

As soon as Tyler rode out on Copper with you by his side during the award ceremony, and your picture was taken with his NRHA Championship trophy and Copper got his red, blue, and yellow tri-colored ribbon, you both were ready to load up Copper and drive all the way back to Arkansas.

Photographers, interviewers, and cameras followed your little group out of the arena. Tyler and Copper both walked with pride in a way that showed a healthy balance of confidence and natural charisma. Copper not once flinched as cameras flashed as Tyler had him periodically stop for interviewers to ask questions, reins loose in his hand. Copper seemed to almost pose for the camera with his ears forward and moving with momentum whenever the cameras flashed; aware that he had done a good job and was being appreciated. You, on the other hand, preferred to be on the other side of Copper’s strong withers, away from the cameras, gently running your hand along his glistening coat; it took you and Tyler countless hours for it to gleam like gold.

“Who would you say is someone who has always supported you on the road to winning this NRHA world championship title?”

You felt like you were hiding behind the near two ton animal, peeking over his strong neck to watch Tyler with his tipped up Stetson and near alabaster dress shirt. He turned from the interviewer to you with an easy grin on his face, gently reaching behind him to take your hand from underneath Copper’s neck, bringing you around his large head and into Tyler’s chest, placing a kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks like wildfire as you gave the interviewer a shy toothy smile.

“I’ve had the undeserved pleasure to have by my side, during this entire journey, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known; my wife.” You felt your throat tighten and tears start to bubble up in your eyes at his gesture, all while trying to subtly hide away into his shoulder as the interviewer seemed to soak up the sweet moment between the new NRHA world champion and his wife.

“You’ll have to forgive her, my honeybee’s a bit shy.” he chuckled, the interviewer following suit before asking her final questions with you by his side.

As the last of the interviewers left to talk to the other competitors, you and Tyler led Copper back to the trailer to get him bedded in the trailer for the long way home.

You tried to keep your thoughts pure as you walked through the trucks and trailers with Copper in tow, passing competitors that turned into friends; like Bradley Bradshaw and his oil black quarter horse gelding, Turn and Burn, and Natasha Trace and her sorrel chestnut mare, Rising Phoenix. Both of which had gotten in the top 5 tonight out of 38.

But Tyler looked too good right now. Too good. And his display of affection in front of the interviewer made your insides warm and jumble inside you.

His hair peeking out from under his stetson, the color subdued from sweat; his taut jeans around his slim waist; his obnoxiously large belt buckle that glimmered in the overhead lot lights; his flushed, sweat soaked skin; bright, fern green eyes, and the defined line of his jaw to his handsome dimples.

It didn’t help that you got distracted watching him tend to Copper as you put the tack in the trailer, biting your lip as you watched the thin material of his shirt cling to his back muscles.

“Honeybee, you alright over there?” You almost needed to shake your head out of your trance, before trying to quickly put the tack away in the closet of the trailer, trying to focus on the task at hand and not on your lewd thoughts.

As soon as you turned around from putting the tack away, Tyler was at the entryway. Both hands on the edge of the storage space prevented any chance of escape, sluttily leaning his weight on the frame like the scantily-clad men in those romance books Tyler always teased you for reading. He didn’t have anything to complain about though; he reaped the reward of it everytime.

Your eyes met his mischief filled ones. “You got something on your mind, Honey?”

You diverted your gaze from his eyes to his Stetson. He noticed, promptly removing it and placing it over his denim-clad pelvis with a teasing smile as he saw your eyes follow his movement. He always loved the dust of pink on your cheeks when he flirted with you. He took a step into the trailer, feeling his intoxicating scent invade your senses.

You took a step forward, letting your eyes obscenely run over from his sweat-slicked back hair, to the slight crook in his nose, to his plush lips. Leaning into his ear, “I’ll tell you once Copper is in the trailer. Fed and watered.” Tyler almost shivered at the barely decent tone you used. You both were in a public space for Christ’s sake.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You bit your lip, a chuckle vibrating in your chest at his pace towards the patient stallion grazing from his well deserved hay bag as soon the words left your lips.

—

After ensuring all of your belongings were packed away, you went to check on Tyler and Copper. As you turned the corner, Tyler was just finishing up putting the latches on the trailer. “How’s our big guy doing?” You asked, leaning against the side of the trailer.

He turned to you, “fed, watered, and out like a light. Copper’s going to sleep well on the ride home. Gave him a few extra flakes of hay to keep him occupied.”

“Now,” he took a step closer to you, a smirk painted across his lips, “I wanna hear what was on your mind earlier, pretty girl,” he purred.

You took a step closer to him with a flirtatious smile blooming on your face, reaching out for his belt loops on his jeans.

—

“Honeybee,” he whimpered, heading hitting back against his truck as you sunk to the dusty ground beneath your knees, scrambling to unbuckle his obnoxiously large belt buckle, and unzipping his denim jeans with a harsh tug. He hissed, “careful, sweets, don't want to damage the goods,” you chuckled before bringing his jeans down to his knees. His breath freezing in his throat as you ran your palms against his defined Adonis belt and abs, scratching at the hair of his happy trail as your smooth palm found its home - wrapped around his thick, pulsing cock in his briefs. Tyler's eyes clenched shut, a hiss leaking from his kiss-swollen lips as you began to pump him in a corkscrew motion. God, he looked so good like this. Letting you take care of him and make him crumble beneath the palms of your hands.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” His hips stuttered as you gave his oh so sensitive, engorged tip delicate kitten licks before taking him into your mouth, sucking softly. Eyes drifting shut as you savored the subtle musk of your husband and the salty taste of the precum leaking out of his cock. You hummed around his dick as his fingers weaved into your hair, keeping his cock encased in your hot mouth.

Jesus, the glorious sight in your mind- Tyler’s head and Stetson tipped back, lips agape, cheeks flushed pink with sweat and arousal, dress shirt unbuttoned, strong abdominal and pectoral muscles exposed from years of ranch work, hips jutting out as his jeans and briefs tethered his ankles as you worked his fat cock.

A sound akin to a mewl left his lips as you bobbed your head along his length, working his cock with your saliva soaked hand.

“Oh fu- baby, that feels so fucking good.” His graveled voice made you clench your thighs, his eyes opening to see you pumping his cock as you playfully sucked on his balls. Saliva dribbling down your lips to the dirt below, leaving your mark on the event grounds. Your sinful acts hidden in the shadows of your truck and trailer.

This was definitely the best way to celebrate a world championship win, he thought through a hazy conscience as he failed to find a steady tempo of breath.

You could feel the tightness of his balls and the steady throbbing of the vein running underneath his thick cock. His fingers tightening in your hair.

“God-Fuck-” His trail of words were cut off with a deep groan he tried to muffle the best he could.

His hand kept your mouth around his cock as he shot his load down your welcoming throat, letting you swallow every hot drop he had to give. His body slumping against the truck, catching his breath as you rose up off the dirt, tenderly tucking him back into his jeans, bringing your lips to his.

After a few moments, Tyler deepened the kiss, reaching for the backseat door. He broke away from your lips, littering your neck and collarbones with messy, open-mouthed kisses. Your lips would get swollen soon from how hard you were biting them to conceal your mewls. His hands palmed and toyed with your cotton-clad breasts, feeling his calloused fingers slide under your t-shirt to fondle at your steadily peaking nipples. “Baby, we might need to do this half-clothed,” you murmured against his lips. He let his lips leave yours, realizing where you guys were: on the outskirts of the arena grounds.

“Well, Honeybee, we’ll just have to do it with your pants down then, pretty girl.” He smiled sinfully. His gravelly tone always made you clench your thighs in need, and feel excited and jittery inside; like a new-born foal learning to run.

He stripped off his dress shirt, leaving him with chest and abs exposed in the shadow of the truck. Before you had the chance to admire his half-bare body, he was unzipping your jeans and pulling them down along with your panties in one fell swoop. He guided your legs out of them before placing his beloved Stetson on your head. The sight of you bare below the waist and his white stetson had his cock twitching again.

He hopped on the seat, laying down on the leather upholstery. “Come on, honey girl, get up here. I want a taste.” He purred, eyes raking from your face down to the little honey stash between your thighs with a Cheshire-like grin.

You chuckled, excitement thrumming through your belly like a current of electricity. His hands guided your hips over his twitching dick, over his thick pecs, and right above where he wanted you. Your breath catches in your throat as Tyler brings your hips down with his broad hands, clutching at your soft waist as he starts lapping at your drenched core.

“Fuck, Ty-” you clutched at his tufts of hair that peaked through your fingers, like the daisies in the hayfields. He toyed with your clit, his stubble scratching deliciously against your sensitive inner thighs. He gently sucked on your clit to pull each sweet moan and gasp from your lips. His thick fingers forming troughs along the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, keeping your weeping pussy pinned above his eager mouth.

“Please.”

He grunted as your hips rocked against him, his grip tightening on your hips, guiding your movements. Your head tipping back as your thoughts failed to construe into something tangible besides broken moans and words. It’s amazing how Tyler’s Stetson has stayed on during your impromptu ride.

God, the sight he had from below your thighs; black t-shirt riding up to just below your bra, your hands clutching at his hair and your covered breasts, beautiful parted lips, reddened cheeks and his staple atop your head.

You looked divine like this. Hell, you were divine for wanting to marry him in the first place.

He gave your clit a delicate kiss, just enough to make you whine a little. Littering kisses along your inner thighs, feeling the tender flesh quake above him as you protested him giving attention to places that weren’t where you needed him to be. He licked his lips savoring the sweet taste of you on his tongue, and gently teased two fingers at your entrance making you gasp and whimper at the intrusion.

“Baby, you look so good from down here, so fucking good.”

His graveled voice was marked by a unique breathlessness that times like these brought him. Your hands pushed your t-shirt up and your bra down to toy with your exposed breasts and perky nipples as the Oklahoma evening air pebbled them. Your hazy gaze looking downward at your lover’s tousled hair, flushed cheeks and lust-blown pupils with a characteristic devilish grin on his arousal soaked lips.

“Fuck, baby”

He smiled as he guided his fingers into your welcoming heat, your pretty moans music to his ears.

His fingers finding the perfect tempo against that little spot inside you that made your toes curl against the upholstery of the car. His free hand holding an iron grip on your hip, keeping you steady.

If you hadn’t felt like you were going to cum before, you were now.

Tyler could feel your velvet walls constrict around his welcomed digits. A soft yelp leaves your lips as he finds your clit again; toying and sucking at the delicate bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. He sucked harder the more you pulled at his hair.

“Tyler, I’m so close, please make me cum baby-please.”

The wanton, sultry tone your voice got in this state made him ache in his jeans and move his fingers that much more eagerly.

You felt the familiar build up of pleasure in your tummy and the sparks of pleasure traveling from your toes. Tyler watched as you fell apart over him with a wracked moan of his name as his fingers continued to rub that special spot inside you, and as he continued to toy with your poor, abused clit.

He slowed his movements to a halt, letting his fingers leave to hold your hips steady, bringing his lips to languidly kiss and lathe at your cum soaked folds, drawing out any last sparks of pleasure and the sweet, little noises you always made for him.

Your thighs shook with the aftermath of your orgasm, your body still ringing with small sparks of pleasure and sensitivity, your whimpers pouring out.

He lathed his last set of kisses to your pussy before sliding your hips down to rest over his throbbing dick, hidden behind a layer of denim.

Tyler brought both hands to encase your face, bringing your lips to his in a kiss full of teeth and tongue, your mouth going to the prominent vein on the side of his neck, lathing and marking the flesh as your own, spurred on by the deep groans of the man underneath you. He growled, feeling you bite into the skin there. It would surprise him if you didn’t draw blood.

“I want to ride your thick cock, baby.” you simpered.

“Fuck, you make me so hard, Honeybee.” He growled, feeling you unzip his jeans, pulling out his aching cock and lining him up at your entrance. Gently teasing the tip, running it along your folds, letting it soak up your arousal. You smirked as you listened to the borderline moans that reverberated from his chest. He felt his eyes almost roll back at the feeling of your walls welcoming him in; back home. You watched with lust hazed eyes as his face was consumed with tension; his eyes clenched shut, brow lines rippling the tanned skin of his forehead, his tense jaw and kiss swollen lips.

He guided your hips, savoring the feeling of you. His hips bucking up into your awaiting pussy as he got more and more invigorated for his release.

“Fuck, Honey-fuck!” He growled as he felt your walls squeeze him for all he was worth.

“God, you’re always so good for me, such a good fucking girl” he said as he held your hips tighter, fucking up into you at a faster pace than before. Gasps and moans falling from your lips as he pummeled that sweet, heavenly spot inside you that had you seeing a kaleidoscope of sensations behind your eyes, and your fingers clawing at his pecs and shoulders for stability. Tyler could feel the coil in his stomach tightening as his release was barreling towards him like a train going into a station. His abs tightening, pace unrelenting as he chased his high. He could feel you were close with this new set pace, your lips parted as sweet sounds echoed from your lips. He held on until he felt your walls snap close on him like a vice, your thighs shaking as your high washed over him with a broken moan and tremor. His hips rose, fucking into you one last time before releasing his hot load into your pretty pussy with a deep growl.

—

He gingerly pulled up your panties, keeping his cum trapped between your folds. He snapped the button of your jeans closed as he languidly made out with you. He changed into a t-shirt that hugged his biceps just right, keeping his jeans on. You both silently changed into your new set of clothes with content, lovesick smiles on your face. You gave him a kiss as he passed you his sweatshirt to wear during the ride home.

You both settled into the front seat of the truck. By now, most people had gone home, the bright stars above watching over you. He placed his Stetson on the backseat, smirking as he watched you reach out for the cowboy hat, placing it on your head with a cute smile that made him smirk and shake his head.

He leaned over, placing a soft kiss to your lips.

“I love you, Honeybee.”

“I love you too, Ty.”

You give his thick thigh a squeeze, smiling as he groans into the kiss. He pulled black from the kiss, putting the truck into drive. As soon as his hand is free, he takes your hand in his, making your cheeks warm at the gesture, kissing the back of it as he pulls out of the dirt road onto the interstate towards Arkansas.

Let me know what you guys think :) Be sure to leave a comment and reblog :) My inbox is always open to requests and any thoughts you have <3

@marvel-hotchner @nemesis729 @a-lil-bit-nuts @justagirllivinginaghibliworld @mizzzpink @themusingofagothicsoul @sebsxphia @potato-girl99981 @a-beaverhausen @withahappyrefrain @hangmans-wingman @callmemana @joalslibrary @peachiicherries @whiskeyswriting @entertainmentgirl80

@jkbindigo11 @princess76179 @clancycucumber230 @teacupsandtopgun

@chaoticassidy @superskittles @cherrycola27 @cheekymcgrath @h-ngm-ns @emma8895eb @djs8891 @novastories @urmom-999 @taytaylala12 @zombicupcake3 @catsficrecs @abaker74 @kmc1989 @hangmanshoney @caidi-paris @i-wanna-be-your-muse @shara-ne @memeorydotcom @memoriesat30 @shanimallina87 @whoeverineedtobe @gigisimsonmars @slippinginto-theairwaves

#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #glen powell #twisters 2024 #twisters #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens fanfiction #whatislovevavy

346 notes · View notes

valkyrieromanoff · 2 months ago

Text

God bless your dad's genetics… Dilf! Anakin x son’s girlfriend!reader

PREVIOUS NEXT

CHAPTER THREE: NIGHT BREEZE

synopsis: after Anakin's embarrassing outburst at the wedding anniversay, you escape to the ship's deck for some air—only to find yourself face-to-face with your boyfriend's father once again.

warning: age gap (Anakin is 44 years old and the reader is in her early 20s), cheating, alternate universe, mild flirting in front of his wife

words: 1.4k

a/n: hello there, I'm so happy with the engagement the fanfic is getting, I'm thinking of having 10 chapters. So, get ready because in the next ones we'll have a little more action, if you know what I mean… kisses, and enjoy reading ;)

The mixture of alcohol and the constant sway of the high seas was a disastrous combination. You realized this as your steps wavered across the deck, each movement feeling heavier, less certain. The lingering tension from dinner still buzzed in your veins, amplified by the wine that had flowed too freely. Luke had left, needing time alone after the awkward family reunion. You hadn’t noticed his departure until the silence around you grew loud and the chill of solitude seeped in.

You staggered, the thin heels of your sandals a cruel joke on the uneven deck. Squinting, the world swayed, lights blurring into golden halos. "Oh, for fuck’s sake," you muttered, the words slurred and childlike. Your foot caught on an unseen groove, the delicate heel wedging firmly into the platform's slope. You shifted your weight, trying to free it, but your movements were slow, uncoordinated. The imbalance felt inevitable, gravity pulling you into its sway.

Suddenly, strong hands gripped you. “I got you, angel.” Anakin's hoarse whisper ignited goosebumps along your skin, his breath hot against your ear. The scent of whiskey and spice enveloped you, grounding and disorienting all at once. He held you suspended a few inches off the ground, one arm around your back, the other firm on your waist.

You met his intense gaze, an electric current crackling between you, unspoken desires simmering in the depths of his eyes. His fingers, strong and calloused, pressed into your waist, searing through the thin fabric of your dress. Every nerve seemed to wake under his touch. Neither of you moved, the moment stretching into something charged and unspeakable. When he finally set you back down, his hand lingered, the heat of his palm a brand against your skin.

You tried to speak—to thank him, to say anything—but the words tangled, emerging as a soft, incoherent murmur. His eyes danced with amusement, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Oh, angel, do you need some help?” His voice was a low, teasing drawl, the nickname sending a shiver down your spine.

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. He smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he knelt before you. The sight made your breath hitch. His hands, strong and sure, slid over the arch of your foot, fingertips barely brushing your skin.

The feather-light contact sent electric tingles racing up your leg, each touch igniting sparks that spread through your body like wildfire. You couldn't suppress the soft gasp that escaped your lips, the sound barely audible with the waves of the sea, but he heard it, his eyes drawing back to yours, a smoldering intensity burning in their depths.

With careful precision, he unbuckled the delicate strap of your sandal, his fingers warm against your ankle as he worked. It was a simple task, but the way he touched you, the way his gaze never left your face, made it feel like so much more. Like he was unwrapping a precious gift, reverent and hungry all at once. As he slid the shoe off, his touch lingered, calloused fingers skimming along the sensitive skin of your instep, drawing another breathy sigh from your parted lips.

Anakin's eyes never left yours as he repeated the process with your other sandal, his movements slow, deliberate, each touch a caress. The heat of his gaze seared your skin, igniting a different kind of fire low in your belly. By the time he straightened, both shoes removed, you were flushed and trembling, your body thrumming with the force of your desire.

He held out your sandals, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Can't have my angel stumbling around all night." The words were casual, but the underlying growth in his voice hinted at a deeper possessiveness. As you took the shoes from him, his fingers brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice small and unsteady.

Anakin’s eyes softened, the intensity giving way to something warmer. “Come on, let’s get our feet wet,” he suggested, taking your hand. His grip was firm, grounding, as he led you to the pool.

You watched, bemused, as he sat at the edge, pulling off his shoes and rolling up his pant legs before dipping his feet into the water. He looked up, a boyish grin softening his features. “The water’s good.”

Tentatively, you joined him, gathering your dress in your lap as you dipped your feet in. The cool water was a relief, soothing the ache you hadn’t noticed from the heels. The tension in your shoulders began to melt.

But the relief was temporary, quickly replaced by a different kind of tension as Anakin's thigh brushed against yours. You tense, heart racing, the heat of your skin burning through the thin fabric of your dress.

Anakin's eyes were on you, warm and intense. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low, his thumb brushing over your knee.

You nodded, swallowing hard, trying to find your voice. "Yeah, just... tired." The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but it was easier than admitting the truth. That you were dizzy with forbidden desire, that every touch from him set your nerves on fire.

He smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. "Well, then, let's relax." His hand slipped higher up your thigh, his touch light but insistent. Your breath hitched, the ache between your legs growing with each passing second.

You couldn’t look away. Every inch of you was hyper-aware—of the way his shirt clung to his broad shoulders, of the roughness in his voice when he’d spoken your name. On the way his fingers had lingered on your skin, igniting something dangerous.

You knew this was wrong, knew that he was your boyfriend's father – well, technically, you're just pretending to be Luke's girlfriend, but still – he’s married, so much older than you. But none of that seemed to matter in the face of the raw, pulsing need that consumed you. Your eyes fluttered closed as his hand crept higher, your hips shifting unconsciously, seeking more of his touch.

Anakin's breath hitched, his fingers stilling. "God, you're beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His gaze drifted to your lips, his own parting slightly. Your breath hitched. The space between you felt electric, fragile. Time seemed to slow, the air thick with unspoken desires and impossible possibilities.

Would he kiss me? The thought was intoxicating, terrifying. Do I want him to? Your heart pounded, each beat a thunderous echo in your chest. The answer, whispered from somewhere deep and reckless within you, was undeniable.

Yes.

The silence stretched, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had narrowed to just the two of you. His hand, rough and warm, shifted slightly, almost reaching for you. You leaned in, breathless, the scent of him—spice and whiskey—filling your senses.

But before the moment could shatter into reality, footsteps echoed on the deck. You both froze, the spell broken. You pulled away abruptly, your heart hammering as the sound grew closer.

A uniformed crew member appeared, clearing his throat apologetically. “I’m sorry, but the pool is closed at this hour.”

You swallowed, cheeks flaming. “Oh, of course. Sorry.” Your voice felt too loud, too breathless.

Anakin’s eyes never left you as he stood, extending a hand to help you out of the water. His grip was firm, steadying you when your legs wobbled. He held your high-heeled sandals in one hand, his gaze lingering as if he wanted to say something, but the words hung unspoken between you.

You stood there for a moment, barefoot on the cool deck, your eyes locked. The world seemed to tilt, every rational thought fleeing in the face of what had almost happened. What would have happened?

As you walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last, the questions swirled in your mind, relentless. Would I have let him kiss me? The answer, a dangerous yes, twisted your stomach with guilt and something darker—desire.

You reached your cabin, sliding down against the door, heart pounding. The cool metal at your back did nothing to calm the heat still simmering under your skin.

What the hell am I doing? This was Luke’s father. Married. Older. Everything about it was wrong.

Yet the memory of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, burned like a bonfire. The trip was going to be harder than you’d ever imagined. And a part of you, a reckless part you tried to ignore, knew you were already in too deep.

#anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #dilf anakin x reader #dilf anakin #alternative wolrd #star wars #hayden christensen

176 notes · View notes

legionofshaza · 2 months ago

Text

♡No need for poetry♡

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

An Azriel x Reader Fanfic for Azriel week day 5

@azrielappreciationweek

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

The shadows always whispered when he was near, curling around your ankles like tendrils of smoke. You didn’t mind; it was just their nature, as much a part of Azriel as the scars on his hands or the silent way he moved through the world. Tonight, they lingered in the corner of the room, as if even they knew something weighed heavy on his mind.

You sat by the hearth, the fire casting long shadows on the walls of the House of Wind, warming your skin but doing nothing to touch the chill in the room. Azriel stood near the window, gazing out over the night-blanketed city of Velaris, his wings slightly flared, the tension in his posture unmistakable.

“Az,” you called softly, but he didn’t turn.

A sigh escaped your lips as you set your cup of tea on the table. “You’ve been brooding for hours. I’m starting to feel neglected.”

That caught his attention. He turned, golden-hazel eyes flicking toward you, but there was a storm behind them. Shadows danced around his shoulders, restless and uneasy, and he stepped away from the window as if trying to escape whatever thoughts had been circling his mind.

“Neglected?” he murmured, his deep voice low but not cold. His lips quirked, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You know I could never neglect you.”

You smiled, rising to your feet and crossing the room to meet him halfway. He stood still as you reached him, your fingers brushing his as you took his hand in yours. The silence stretched, heavy and weighted with something unspoken.

“Then tell me what’s bothering you,” you said softly, your gaze steady on his. Azriel’s face was a mask, as always, but you had learned to read the cracks in it over time. And tonight, something had broken through.

He sighed, the sound almost lost in the crackle of the fire. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, but you knew better.

You squeezed his hand. “Azriel, it’s me. You don’t need to hide.”

He was silent for a moment, the tension in his body vibrating beneath your fingers, before he finally spoke again. “It’s… complicated.”

“I can handle complicated.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across his face, but it faded just as quickly. He looked away, his gaze flicking toward the fire, as if it held answers he couldn’t find.

“It’s just… us,” he said quietly, the words slipping out as if he hadn’t meant to say them. “I’m not… good with words. You deserve someone who can give you that. The poetry. The romantic gestures.”

For a moment, you blinked, taken aback by the vulnerability in his voice. Azriel, the shadowsinger, feared he wasn’t enough. It seemed absurd — but you understood where it came from. You knew the weight of his past, the scars that ran deeper than the ones on his skin.

“Az,” you whispered, stepping closer, your free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. His skin was cool beneath your fingers, and his shadows, usually so controlled, fluttered around him, as if they, too, were unsure. “I don’t need poetry.”

His brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes. “You don’t?”

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I don’t need poetry. I don’t need grand speeches or flowers or sonnets.” You leaned closer, brushing your thumb along the sharp line of his cheekbone. “I need you. Just you.”

He stared at you, as if trying to figure out how to respond to that. Azriel had always been the quiet one, the one who lurked in the shadows, who spoke when it mattered but never for the sake of filling the silence. He wasn’t like Rhysand, with his charming words, or Cassian, with his wild, carefree affection. He loved in ways that weren’t loud — but they were steady, like the beat of a drum you could feel but not always hear.

You pressed your forehead against his, closing your eyes. “You show me how much you care every day, Az. You don’t need words for that. I don’t need grand gestures. I just need you.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his breath mingling with yours as his shadows curled around your feet, softer now, quieter. Then, slowly, his hand came up to rest against your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His wings flared slightly behind him, but they wrapped around you both, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“I don’t know how to be more,” he murmured against your hair, his voice almost a rasp. “But I want to be. For you.”

You smiled, the warmth of his body sinking into you. “You already are.”

And just like that, the tension bled from him. His shoulders relaxed, the storm in his eyes calming as he held you close. There were no more words between you, but there didn’t need to be. His hand, rough and scarred, traced a slow path down your spine, the gentle pressure of his touch saying more than any poem ever could.

Azriel had always been a man of actions, not words. He showed his love in the way he stood guard at your side, the way he brought you tea without asking, the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking. It was in the little things — the way his shadows curled protectively around you when you slept, the way he always made sure you were safe, even when he was the one bleeding.

And as you stood there, wrapped in his arms, his wings shielding you from the world, you knew there was nothing else you needed.

Azriel didn’t need to speak to tell you he loved you. He didn’t need poetry.

He was enough.

And he always would be.

End

#acotar #fantasy #romance #azriel shadowsinger #azriel appreciation week #azriel x reader #poetry

163 notes · View notes

quidell-fics · 5 months ago

Text

New Story "Hearts Over Havoc"

A Black Myth: Wukong fanfic

Sun Wukong x Reader

Summary: When the Monkey King and Reader finally steal some much-needed alone time, chaos still somehow inevitably follows.

A fic about love and shenanigans and Sun Wukong being Sun Wukong.

Snippet: Of all the days to be caught off guard by mother nature, it had to be today. A crimson stain bloomed on my underwear, the kind that drew a resigned sigh from deep within as I sat on the toilet, my neck still slightly damp from a certain someone's…affections before I had to disappear into the nearest bathroom when I felt something appear between my legs.

The bad kinda something, too.

Just perfect.

And here I was, marooned in the wrong bathroom—the half bath, the one devoid of my arsenal of period supplies. Under any other circumstances, this would be a minor inconvenience. I’d do the awkward waddle down the hall, toss the evidence in the hamper, plug-er-up, and move on with my life.

But "normal" had become a foreign concept to me.

Ever since I stumbled into another whole ass world—dragged along on a journey with a mischievous monkey boy, who had the nerve to grow into a full-blown monkey man at the end of his journey—I had to recalibrate everything, including how to handle life’s little awkward messes now that I had a new…well, life.

If it weren’t for said monkey man loitering just outside my bathroom door, eager to demonstrate just how deeply he… revered me… I'd be making that waddle of shame, praying my underwear wouldn’t get any more defiled than it already was. But no, my life was now full of surprises, where blood and flattery and the occasional shenanigans collide at the worst possible moments.

His voice, sharp with a teasing edge, slipped through the cracks of my flimsy wooden door, drawn by the sound of my sigh, “Having trouble, are we?” I could practically hear the smirk in his voice… ass monkey. “Need the Great Sage’s assistance with whatever human nonsense you’re dealing with in there?” He followed his words with a chuckle—light, playful, that familiar monkey-like trill. It always had a way of crawling under my skin, setting my cheeks alight -- in a good way.

“This… isn’t something you can help with, unfortunately," I called out, loud enough for him to catch. Not that I needed to raise my voice—his keen ears could’ve picked up a whisper from a mile away, a lesson I learned the hard way.

It really made bathroom trips a joy .

And yes, that was sarcasm.

"Not this drivel again. You really think I’m powerless against your human troubles? Do you doubt the abilities of your Great Sage so much?” His voice crackled with indignation, and I knew if I didn’t calm him down, he’d do something drastic.

And stupid.

Though I couldn't deny that hearing him say ‘YOUR Great Sage’ made my cheeks burn hotter.

But I had to act fast…

“Trust me, this is something you can’t help with. Not unless you know how to stop blood—wait, no! Oh, shi—”

The word ‘blood’ was barely out of my mouth when the door flew open—literally blasted off its hinges, crashing to the floor near where I sat to my right.

#black myth wukong #black myth wukong fanfic #sun wukong x reader #sun wukong x oc #sun wukong #monkey king #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 #ao3 link #hearts over havoc #so nervous

167 notes · View notes

evanchantingpeters · 6 months ago

Text

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 6)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Summary ─ Evan and Y/N are back in LA. When he dares Y/N to wear vibrating panties at his friend’s party, things go from flirty to explosive. What starts as a cheeky challenge turns into a heated race to the guest room, where they unleash an erotic showdown of throbbing heat and raw need. Just as their passion peaks, a shocking announcement throws their world suddenly into chaos.

Warnings ─ Swearing, oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, vibrator teasing, overstimulation, mild daddy kink, nipple teasing, spanking, vaginal sex, pinned against the wall, doggie, extra smutty—it’s the norm by now ;)

Read Part 1 | Read Part 2 | Read Part 3 | Read Part 4 | Read Part 5

Word count ─ 4.5K (they’re getting longer, you guys 😱)

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

The evening sun dips below the horizon, bathing your apartment in a warm, honeyed glow. You adore these longer days—they make everything feel more alive. You saunter across the room, the hem of your mini skirt flaring and swishing around your thighs. Your outfit hugs your body like a second skin, leaving just enough to the imagination.

Your phone screen catches your eye, gleaming in the dim light. 21:16. You’re officially late for the party, and you can’t shake the nagging feeling that you should be rushing out the door. “Evan, we’re gonna miss all the fun if we don’t hurry,” you call out, trying to keep the urgency from creeping into your voice as you spritz on your favourite perfume.

Evan lounges on the couch, long arms draped over the sides and legs stretched out, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “Chill, baby. Fashionably late is our brand,” he defends with a confident wink.

A script lies forgotten across his lap, the pages flipping slightly from the ceiling fan overhead. He’s petting Rufus, your housemate Mayra’s Siamese cat, who purrs contentedly beside him. Mayra had barely returned from NYC before jetting off to Turkey to tend to her ill dad. With no time to get Rufus’ travel documents in order, he stayed behind, leaving you in charge of his care. You couldn’t ask for a better arrangement, to be honest.

Evan’s eyes are not on the words bouncing across the page in front of him; they’re on you and with a laser-focused intensity that makes the room feel a few degrees hotter. You sense his gaze tracking your every move as you flit from room to room; he traces the way your hair smoothly cascades over your bare shoulders, following the delicate arch of your back and the fabric clinging onto the curve of your ass just right.

His eyes linger, greedily drinking in every inch of your body as you rifle through your porcelain jewellery box. His gaze feels like a warm caress, drawn to the rhythmic sway of your hips with every stride, your smooth skin glowing under the light. Your bare feet make no sound on the plush carpet, but the air between you two seems to crackle like a live wire.

You pick out a discreet rose gold necklace, clasping it around your neck so it flows over your protruding collarbones.

“Are you gonna stare all night, or do I need to start charging for tickets?” you tease huskily, glancing over your shoulder with a sly smirk.

He chuckles, a rich rumble that sends a delightful tingle across your skin. “If I had to pay for a view like this, I’d be flat broke. I’m not sure I’m ready to share you with anyone else’s eyes tonight. Maybe we should skip the party and stay in,” he taunts, waggling his brows with a suggestive crooked smile.

Although his deep voice purrs with a seductive charm that always sends a shiver down your spine, you shake your head with a mischievous grin. “How about no? Nice try, but we’re going. So, get your adorable ass off that couch and put on your shoes, handsome.”

You head to your bedroom to grab your shoes and jacket, feeling his eyes trained on you. “Looks like you and Rufus are hitting it off, despite your die-hard dog obsession,” you mock as you pace back to the living room, fluffing your hair in the mirror with a casual toss.

He nods in agreement as he gently scratches behind Rufus’ ears. “We’re practically besties, but there’s only one pussy I’m interested in tonight,” he spills out, his lips curling into a knowing grin.

You catch his reflection in the mirror, snorting at his bold remark. “Is that so?” you coo, eyebrows raised, your voice dripping with feigned surprise.

There’s a wicked, predatory glint in his eyes as he slips off the couch with fluid confidence, nodding. In an instant, he’s beside you, his arms sliding around your waist, pulling your back against his chest. He brushes his chin along the nape of your neck, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your shoulder blade as he lets out a shallow breath into the shell of your ear.

“You know, miss, you’re making it very hard to concentrate on anything but you,” he rasps, his tone a low, intimate murmur that makes your insides flutter.

He peppers kisses along your shoulder until his lips find your earlobe, taking it between his teeth for a gentle nibble that makes your breath hitch and your pulse quicken. His arm glides across your stomach, splaying possessively on your hip, while the other hand sneaks up under your top. The electric feel of his fingertips cupping your tits and tugging at your hard nipples forces a gasp out of you.

“Evan,” you manage to huff out, trying to wiggle free from his grasp, but his robust arms only tighten around you. Each breath you take stutters in your chest as you struggle to form a coherent thought. “We gotta go.”

“No, we don’t,” he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your neck as he leans in to kiss the sensitive spot just below your jawline. “Come on,” he pleads and pulls you back in, his teeth grazing your skin as he leaves love bites along your flesh. “We’ve got a few minutes for a little appetiser before the main course, right?”

“We’re already late, Evan, and you’re not exactly helping,” you growl lowly through gritted teeth, playfully swatting his hands away. You’re giving him a reality check, but the scratchy undertone in your voice betrays your growing arousal.

“I could help you out of these clothes, though,” he blurts out with a smug smile, his arms glued around your waist, making your heart race even faster. You can feel the hard lines of his body as his fingers fiddle with the hem of your top.

“It’s just a house party, no biggie. My friends are cool with it…but you’re too hot to handle… and I’m having a very haaard time keeping cool,” he rambles, his face buried in your hair. He inhales a deep whiff of your jasmine scent, his hands roaming hungrily over your curves.

“Evan, we won’t get outta here if you keep this up,” you chide tenderly, though your words tumble down breathless and wanting.

Every fibre of your body screams at you to resist, to not let him fuck up into you. Even when his crotch is hard of rocket magnitude and leaking for you, and he’s only intelligible for a mere “Just sit on it, baby, please.”

Even when he’s mindlessly babbling utter nonsense crap because he truly has nothing in his head but the feel of your hot, wet pussy restlessly sliding over his cock until he loads you up to the brim.

Even when all you want is to play with his angered red tip, pull it back to open his little slit up and make him mewl, a chocked oh my fucking god, please escaping him. Even when you press his cockhead to your clit and rub it around, slapping it relentlessly on your cunt, and he implores you to stop.

“Evan…” your voice a breathy whisper as he hikes up your skirt, his feather-light touch making your cunt pulsate. He hums as his hands travel over your torso, now slowly and tortuously snaking underneath your skirt. “It’s not nice...your friends are waiting for u-u-s,” you trail off, your tone dying out as you feel his erection nudging insistently against your lower back.

You love the hard press of his boner against you. It makes your heart thud and your pussy drip, knowing you’re the sole source and cause of all that raw desire.

“We need to leave-e…” you protest weakly, torn between the ticking clock and the sinful temptation to stay and get laid. But your voice lacks conviction as he drags kisses down your shoulders, each one more insistent and heady than the last.

He chuckles softly, sensing the crack in your resolve. “We can, don’t worry,” he murmurs, his hot breath sending electric jolts down your core. “I’ll make it worth every second.”

Deftly unzipping your skirt from behind, his hands—firm and decisive—massage your ass as he leans in, peering into your panties. The sight of your black thong on full display makes him suck in a sharp breath and instinctively squeeze your waist in his strong hands.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Y/N,” he hisses, voice thick with lust and just a hint of disbelief, like he can’t believe his luck. You let out a soft mewl as his erection grinds between your ass cheeks, almost spreading them apart with its intensity. The heat of his body seeps into you, and you can practically feel your slick pooling, turning your thoughts into a jumbled mess.

His lips find your neck again, this time more urgent and harsher, nibbling at your skin with a fervour that makes your brain go all mushy. You wince reflexively, but the brief sting melts into pleasure as his tongue laps over the forming hickey, soothing the bruise with gentle strokes.

His fingers hook under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down with agonising slowness. Just as you’re about to speak, his fingers slide against your inner thigh, dangerously close to your slippery folds, and you lose all train of thought. You moan, tilting your head to grant him better access, your fingers threading into his hair to massage his scalp, holding him close.

His free hand moves over yours, and you guide his fingers towards your bundle of nerves. “Oh, shit,” he hushes, his breath hot and laboured against your skin. His thumb brushes against your plump lips, parting them gently to reveal the soaked slit of your beautiful pussy.

“Imagine my dick drowning in these waters,” he mumbles more to himself, his chin resting on your shoulder as he holds you firm. His hips rub against you with a slow, deliberate rhythm, the friction making you arch into him, craving more of the pleasure he promises with every motion.

“Evan…” you breathe, the sound barely audible over your thundering pulse. But he hears you perfectly. His lips curve into a devilish grin against your neck as his fingers continue their teasing dance, sliding through your wetness with practised ease.

His thumb circles your clit with maddening slowness, and you can feel the heat swimming in your belly, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. His other hand grips your hip, anchoring you to him as he rubs against you. The pressure of his cock, still slotted between your ass cheeks, is a constant reminder of how desperately he needs himself inside you.

When he plunges two fingers through your sobbing walls, you mewl loudly. Your hands clutch at his shirt as your arousal splashes across your lower abdomen, trickling down your thighs. The sensation makes your legs quiver, begging to clamp together, but he keeps them firmly apart, teasing you with a wicked smile. He purposefully pops his fingers out just to smear your slick juices over your entrance before brushing his thumb along your swollen clit, and then sliding back in.

You bite your lip, your knees buckling, choked moans escaping as you watch his fingers disappear beneath you. They stretch your cunt, his index and middle fingers screwing and twisting just enough to draw a series of desperate whimpers from your lips. The way they press against your sensitive, gummy walls makes you feel deliciously full.

“I-I need my cock in here like…yesterday,” he huffs out, his voice strained with lust. His eyes flicker between your face—your brows furrowed, jaw slack with uncontrollable pleasure—and your beautiful sex clenching around his fingers.

“Evan,” you moan again, more insistently this time, your tone quiet yet desperate. His fingers probe in and out, deep in your cunt at an excruciatingly slow pace, curling expertly until the knot in your stomach stiffens. You can feel yourself spasming around him, your body on the edge of bliss.

You know you’re losing this battle, but a part of you doesn’t care. Not when he’s making you feel like this.

“T-t-tell me what you want, baby,” he dares in a passionate whisper. He keeps working his fingers in sync with your choppy breaths, angling them just enough to tease your deeper spots.

“I want more,” you exhale, every word laced with despair. “Finish me up,” you plead, and your eyes lock onto him. His dick twitches needily, responding to every tug of his fingers and the wanting moans gushing from your throat.

He lets out a dark chuckle as his fingers pump in and out, his knuckles sinking in through your arousal. “Consider it done,” he fires back, his voice a low growl as he swipes his fingers left and right with rapid precision. The messy, obscene sounds of your slick, wet cunt echo through the room, making him impossibly harder.

Your thighs twitch and ache with every deep plunge, instinctively trying to close around his hand that’s practically fucking you into exquisite sensitivity. Your hand wraps around his forearm, an attempt to slow him down, but it’s like trying to stop a freight train with a feather. Your nails bite into his skin, forming little half-moon indentations.

He laughs breathlessly, his teeth scraping your sensitive flesh as he ruthlessly works you over. His eyes are on your flushed face from the side, watching how your expression shifts with every thrust, your cunt squelching embarrassingly loud. He smirks at the sound, utterly captivated by your body’s reactions.

“You sound so pretty,” he grunts, nudging his hips against your bare ass as his fingers milk small sobs out of you. “You’re so fucking perfect like this,” he hushes, lips caressing your neck. Your pussy practically moulds around his slender fingers, holding them captive as you claw at him, your orgasm building and rolling through you like a storm about to break.

Evan groans, his arm veins (aka your fetish) popping out, the muscles in his shoulders straining against his shirt as he picks up speed. Your moans become louder, your breathing erratic and desperate.

“Cum for me, baby girl, would you?” he sighs, smacking your ass with his free hand as his clothed erection rages against you, demanding attention.

You nod eagerly, your eyes darting down to his bulge, wanting to reach out and feel him through the fabric. But he’s quick to catch your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it with surprising tenderness. “This is your moment,” he whispers, his voice filled with possessive intent. “I want you fully here with me, no distractions.”

Was that a man written by Olivia Laing, directed by Sofia Copolla and sung by Lana Del Rey? Just sayin’...

He dips inside you all the way to the hilt, upping his pace and rubbing tight figure eights against your clit like he’s discovered a new hobby. He mutters a string of curses under his breath as he watches your pussy swell around him, your clit throbbing under his relentless touch. You’re milliseconds away from an earth-shattering climax when an unexpected clatter slices through the air.

Rufus, your ever-watchful feline roommate/guardian, has knocked his metal off the dining table, sending it clanging across the floor like a gong of doom. His eyes are on you both with a judgmental glare, as if he’s caught you skipping class to make out behind the bleachers. It’s like he’s planned this interruption—a well-curated, meticulously premeditated offence.

You both flinch, gasping at the sudden chaos that shatters the moment. Evan snickers, reluctantly pulling away, his fingers shiny with the evidence of your disrupted freaky time. You lock eyes with Rufus, who’s perched on the table like a miniature tyrant, his tail flicking, clearly unfazed by your antics.

“Your son’s hungry,” Evan quips, smirking as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, sucking off your cum with exaggerated flair, humming at your taste. “Perfect timing, really. The little guy just wants to make sure you’re not having more fun than him.”

You scoff, playfully rolling your eyes at him as you smooth out your clothes with hurried hands, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Rufus is a more responsible and diligent adult than us,” you mutter, adjusting your top. “Honestly, he’d make a great personal assistant if he didn’t have such a lousy attitude.”

Rufus merely blinks, unimpressed, as you dash off to the kitchen to grab his food, trying to ignore the lingering heat between your thighs. But behind you, Evan’s throaty chuckle reverberates across the room, making your knees weak all over again.

“Shoes, please,” you call over your shoulder as you scoop kibble into Rufus’ bowl, trying to maintain some authority. “We’re leaving, Evan… like now. And not a second later, or I’m dragging you by your shirt collar. Don’t make me put on my mum voice.”

“Woo, feisty,” he teases, puckering his lips mischievously as he slides on his shoes, still flushed and grinning like a naughty schoolboy. You shoot him a glare, trying to stay serious, but your lips twitch with amusement.

He throws his hands up in feigned remorse, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine,” he concedes, though his eyes light up with mischief. “But I’m definitely picking up where I left off.”

You glance back at him as you set Rufus’ food down. “And what does this mean, Peters?” you challenge him, tongue grazing your side teeth. Your curiosity is piqued, wondering just how far he’s willing to go once you’re back alone together.

Rufus sniffs his food approvingly, tossing you a look that says, Finally some service in this house as he begins to eat with regal disinterest, tail swishing like a sceptre.

Evan disappears briefly, and you hear him rummaging through his bag. When he returns, he’s got a small box behind his back, and the tension in the room skyrockets with each passing second.

He slowly pops the lid off, each moment stretching out as you watch, breathless with anticipation. “Are you gonna propose?” you squeak, already half-freaking out at the prospect.

He bursts out laughing. “Close enough… but not yet,” he cheers, eyes drown in yours, eager and mischievous, as you peek inside to find a burgundy bullet vibrator nestled in a cocoon of velvet.

Your heart skips a beat as you stare at the object, a swirl of thoughts crashing through your mind. “You didn’t,” you gasp, eyes almost bulging off their sockets.

Evan’s fingers stroke lightly over the smooth, silky silicone. “Oh, I did,” he murmurs, a malicious grin spreading across his face. “I want you to wear this. To the party.”

“You’re joking. What’s that for?” you ask, suspicion lacing your voice as you eye the device like it’s a ticking time bomb.

“It’s my hand’s substitute,” he quips, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Thought it’d make the party more… stimulating,” he adds with a wink. “It’s a night out and a night in, all rolled into one.”

Your jaw drops as the implications hit you. “Evan, you wouldn’t dare in front of all those people.”

“Oh, yes, I would,” he counters, brandishing a small remote like it’s the ultimate power tool. “Let’s see if you can behave yourself,” he dares, his thumb hovering tantalisingly over the on-off button. “I’ll have you buzzing all night, baby. All highs, no lows.”

You shake your head, biting your lip between excitement and disbelief. “You’re impossible,” you giggle, your voice barely above a breathless whisper.

He steps closer, pulling you into a deep, searing kiss that leaves you breathless, his lips moving with a hunger that makes you tremble. “Only when it comes to you,” he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip. “And I promise to be gentle…most of the time, ma’am,” he continues, tailing it all off with a teasing soldier salute.

The bass from Gorillaz’s Feel Good Inc. thumps through the walls as you step into the house. The party’s already in full swing, laughter and joyful chatter floating up from every corner. Evan’s hand is a warm, reassuring weight on your lower back, steering you through the crowd like he’s the captain of this chaos.

Your outfit is drawing more than a few admiring glances as you weave through the throng of partygoers. If only they knew about the little secret buzzing beneath it all—a pair of vibrating panties, locked and loaded, with Evan holding the remote like it’s his personal plaything. His grin is downright wicked, a mix of triumph and mischief, like he’s got you on a leash, promising both pleasure and torment. You swallow hard, anticipation pooling low in your belly.

As you tread past the other guests, you catch sight of a few familiar faces from past outings with Evan during the nine months you’ve been together. There’s Mike, the self-proclaimed beer pong king, who’s always boasting about his legendary tournaments, with Evan often being the unfortunate opponent. And then there’s Lily, your lovely girly pop, who wouldn’t be caught dead without her portable fan, waving it like she’s a Southern belle about to faint from the heat.

You bump into Jake, your host, who’s holding court by the swimming pool with a group of friends. As soon as he spots you both, his face lights up, breaking into a wide grin.

“There they are! The dynamic duo!” Jake bellows, raising his solo cup in a toast as he swaggers over, pulling you both into a hearty bear hug.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Evan assures, his grin expanding. “Heard you were rolling out the red carpet just for us.”

“How else would I welcome the celebrities, eh?” Jake hoots, playfully thumping Evan’s arm like it’s a punching bag. “And look at my boy, all beefed up for Tron after that Dahmer famine. Y/N’s keeping you well-fed, I see,” he jests, wrapping Evan into a playful headlock and rubbing his head like a proud big brother.

Evan lets out a hearty laugh, pretending to struggle. “What can I say? She’s a miracle worker. Took me from beanpole to beefcake in record time!”

“Had to get him back on his feet, didn’t I?” you quip, watching Evan flex his muscles dramatically like he’s auditioning for a superhero movie. The exaggerated poses have you all in stitches. “Careful, those guns are a safety hazard,” you exclaim, poking his bicep.

Jake rolls his eyes, still grinning. “Well, you’ll need those muscles to handle the drinks tonight. They’re stronger than ever, so pace yourselves,” he warns, winking like he’s letting you in on juicy gossip.

You exhale loudly, placing the back of your hand to your forehead in mock drama. “Are we talking rocket-fuel strong? Got anything that won’t make me see double in two sips?” you ask, giving Jake a playful nudge.

Jake gasps in mock outrage, clutching his chest. “Hey, I’m practically a mixologist now,” he grumbles, acting deeply wounded by your lack of faith.

Just then, you feel Evan’s hand slipping into his pocket. You know what he’s up to, but before you can react, your panties spring to life with a gentle buzz. The loud Maroon 5 playlist drowns out the sound, but it doesn’t stop the sudden bolt of pleasure that zips through you. You inhale sharply, eyes widening.

Evan inspects you with a sidelong look and a mischievous gleam in his eyes, his lips curving into a knowing smile. “Everything okay, Y/N?” he asks, feigning innocence like he’s not the one flicking the damn remote buttons in his pocket.

You cast him a death-stare, running a shaky hand through your hair. “Oh, just peachy,” you croak, forcing a smile towards Jake while the vibrations catch deliciously against your clit and slit. It’s a struggle to keep your knees from buckling, but you’re determined not to give Evan the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, my love, would you?”

Evan grins, his expression the epitome of mischief. “Not a clue.”

“Maybe it’s the party vibe getting to you,” Jake retorts, snapping his fingers as the music swells. “Let me whip you up something real quick. You’ll be singing my praises for my drink by the end of the night. Be right back.”

As soon as Jake’s out of earshot, you lean closer to Evan, lowering your voice to a hushed yet playful mumble. “You’re such a bastard,” you hiss, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as another wave of pleasure ripples through you. “I’m gonna get you back for this,” you mutter, but you bite your lip to supress your moans, dulling the sharpness of your threat.

His hearty laugh engulfs you, clearly showing how much fun he’s having with your delightful predicament. “I’d like to see you try, baby girl,” he taunts, giving your waist a gentle squeeze and your lips a set of loving pecks. “Besides, I think you’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on.”

You click your tongue and narrow your eyes at him, trying to act nonchalant despite the relentless vibrations. “You just wait, Mr. I-think-I’m-so-clever,” you begin, but he shuts you up by crashing his lips against yours. His tongue raids in your mouth, like he’s claiming it, while his left hand wanders up to fondle your breast with playful desperation.

Without warning, Lily sidles up beside you. “Hey guys,” she cries out, arms wide open as she air-kisses you both. “Oops, am I interrupting your get-a-room moment? Long time no see! Y/N, my stunner. What’s your secret? A killer workout routine, or just pure happiness? I swear, I’m trying to drop some fat, but those damn fries keep calling my name,” she rambles, pouting in frustration.

You laugh nervously, struggling to focus on Lily’s chatter over the persistent, teasing pulse of the vibrator that Evan has intentionally set to a teasing low. “Uh… you know, Lily… I-I. It’s mostly yoga and... m-maybe...uh a little too much caffeine,” you stammer, doing your best to mask the delicious distraction fluttering between your legs.

“Or maybe it’s a little too much of Evan’s company,” she teases with a mischievous wink.

Evan chuckles, his eyes dancing with a roguish glint as he casts you a sidelong glance that says more than words ever could. “I like to think I’m a positive influence,” he quips, his hand tightening on your lower back as he plants a kiss on your forehead. His gaze hints at a playful secret, clearly plotting something.

Just then, Jake struts back over, handing you a drink with an exaggerated flourish. “One cocktail for the fair lady,” he declares dramatically. “Tell me this doesn’t taste like heaven.”

You take a sip, and the fruity concoction explodes on your tongue like a carnival parade. “Alright, I’ll give it to you, Jake. This one’s a keeper,” you cheer, nodding appreciatively.

Jake bows deeply, puffing out his chest with mock pride. “You’re welcome, Y/N!” he sings, standing tall with exaggerated poise, as if he’s accepting an award for best bartender. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, chicos, I’ve got more magic to conjure.” With a final spin and a wink, he leaves you and Evan to your own devices, his exit as theatrical as his entrance.

The garden is a dimly lit dance floor, pulsing with the beat of the music. You and Evan are wrapped up in each other, swaying to the rhythm.

“God, I love this song,” he purrs, his body pressed close to yours, moving in perfect harmony. “But I love you more.”

“I love you too,” you mouth, smiling bashfully, as you reach up and tangle your fingers through his hair, tugging him down for a kiss. It’s soft at first, a teasing brush of lips, but swiftly escalates into something rougher. His tongue sweeps past your lips, exploring and tasting, invading your mouth. You lose yourself in the kiss, the world around you fading into a blur of tunes and arousal.

A group of friends gathers around, joining in a spontaneous dance choreo. You raise your drink to your lips, savouring the moment, when suddenly the vibrations crank up, hitting you like a jolt of electricity. You cough, nearly choking on your drink and almost dropping the glass. A wave of pleasure crashes through you, finally making your knees buckle. You gasp loudly, your face burning bright red. Lily pats your back, her concern evident as she watches you with raised eyebrows, while Evan’s grin stretches impossibly wider.

Evan vs Y/N 15 - 0

As the night wears on, you’re deep in conversation with Lily about her latest dating disaster—a guy who thought karaoke night was a perfect first date and that feminism is just an overhyped fad—when Evan decides it’s the perfect moment to dial up the levels to the max because…he can. The panties whir harder, the palpitation surge ruthlessly. You clutch the edge of the table for support, covering your mouth to stifle any sounds, praying no one notices your red-hued cheeks.

Lily, ever observant, glances at you, her head tilted with curiosity. “You okay, Y/N?” she asks, frowning slightly with worry.

You force a twitching smile, your eyes watering as you nod vigorously. “Yeah, just...really into the party,” you slur, your words catching in your throat, and you hope your tone doesn’t give off the sweet agony you’re enduring.

Evan, ever the tease, smirks at you from across the room, clearly pleased with himself. He raises his glass in a mock toast, enjoying the little game he’s orchestrated.

You give him a look that promises retribution. You swear, you’re going to wipe that smug look off his face later.

Lily heads straight for the buffet, giving you a perfect chance to escape the outdoor mayhem. Realising the downstairs bathroom is occupied, you make your way to the one upstairs. Evan floats up behind you, his hands slipping around your waist. His beer bottle presses against your hip bones, and his hot breath against your ear makes your core shudder.

“Having fun?” he purrs, his tone velvety and inviting. Before you can catch a breath and reply, he spins you around and hammers his lips against yours. His tongue dives into your mouth again, taking charge with an eager frenzy that leaves your senses reeling. He’s kissed you a hundred times tonight, but each one sends you spinning into another freaking dimension.

You don’t mind the way his lips are bruising yours with each expert tilt of his head. His hands glide down, and with a playful smack on your ass, you groan into the kiss. He always kisses you senseless, leaving you breathless, aching and craving for more.

You draw in a shaky breath as you try to regain your footing. “You’re lucky you’re so damn cute,” you coo, tucking a stray curl of hair behind his ear, “or I’d be prepping up some serious revenge right about now.”

Evan lets out a playful giggle, his lips brushing yours as he leans in for another fiery kiss. “I’d be seriously disappointed if you weren’t,” he rasps against your mouth, his voice hoarse and filled with mischievous intent.

“You’re such a troublemaker.” Once again, you try to sound stern, but the twinkle in your eye gives you away as you start for the bathroom.

But Evan’s having none of it. He slams his arm against the doorframe, effectively boxing you in. “I know,” he growls softly, his voice laced with lust. “But you love it.”

“You wish,” you hum, teasingly pinching his cheek. As you try to sidestep him and go back to the party outside, he shifts with you, his body melding into yours, blocking your every escape route.

“We’re not leaving until I fuck you.”

A shudder of arousal runs down your spine at his statement and the gruffness of his voice. You arch an eyebrow, trying to stay composed despite the heat rising between you. “Do I look like an idiot to you? Begging you for my freedom?”

He chuckles darkly as he gives you a once-over, his eyes flashing with raw desire. “No, you look like you want me inside you,” he fires back, your heart thumping wildly like it’s going a mile in a minute, and you struggle to swallow past the lump in your throat. “Y/N, I don’t think you quite understand how much I want you.” There’s a short distance between you as he’s looming over you, his breath scorching hot on your neck. “Every time you try to move, it just hits me how badly I need you.”

You shiver intensely as his words ignite a fiery thrill inside you. Trying to ignore the way his body is pressed firmly against yours, you clear your throat and force a playful grin. “Well, you know, a little public pressure never hurt anyone.”

His lips form a wicked smile as he walks you backwards, step by step until your back hits open the door of one of the guest rooms. Pushing his nose against the curve of your neck, he snarls, “All I know is that my cock is so fuckin’ hard for you right now. If I don’t have your pussy wrapped around it within the next thirty seconds, I’m taking you out there in front of the whole damn party.”

You can feel the hardness of his muscular chest through the thin fabric of your top as his hands move over your skin, with a confident yet affectionate grasp. They cup your ass beneath your skirt and drag you closer. You think you can tamp down the soft groan trapped in your throat, but you’re sorely mistaken when it tumbles down, strained and punchy, without remorse.

“So what’s it gonna be, Y/N? In this room or out there where everyone can watch me ruin you? Your call,” he insists, his tone both commanding and mischievous, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I-in here,” you stutter.

The Cheshire cat smirk you receive in return spikes your nerves even higher. “Bingo.”

Without giving you a chance to backtrack on your decision, he hoists you up into his arms with powerful ease. The door clicks shut behind you with a definitive thud as he smothers the little squeal ripped from you with his lips. The new angle allows him to roughen the kiss even more, and you feel every tensing muscle of his body against yours.

He wastes no time—he dives in like he’s starving, tongue slashing into your mouth with hungry urgency, fighting for dominance like always. His slurred groans vibrate against your lips, his tongue darting and flicking against yours. A zing of electricity shoots straight to your pussy, and you’re clumsily fumbling with his clothes to get them off him—buttons popping, belt clinking, a flurry of desperate hands.

In a swift, flawless motion, he strips you off your skirt and top, tossing them aside with a flick of his wrist before gently laying you on the bed. You perk yourself up on your elbows, staring up at your boyfriend’s towering stature. Your chest heaves with exhilaration, imagining the joy of having his load spilling inside you.

Still holding his beer like a trophy, he unzips the fly of his trousers with excruciating suspense. He shuffles them down just past his ass until his cock bounces out. You gasp at the sight; he really is hard for you already, if the angry-looking vein bulging from his thick length is anything to go by. He’s throbbing—you can see his dick viciously twitching with needy desire, sending another gushing wave of slick pouring out of your eager pussy.

As he kicks off his pants, he pounces on top of you, his rock-hard erection rubbing continuously against your slick folds. His mouth slips down your collarbone, igniting trails of fire as they move up to your neck. Each kiss is a jolt as his lips sloppily slide along yours, both of you swallowing each other’s moans.

“I’ve been dreaming about those sweet lips of yours all night,” he murmurs, his voice a heavy, lustful whisper that vibrates through you. “But not these ones.” He nibbles gently at your nipple, his breath hot and sensual against your flesh. He releases the area with a resounding pop before continuing his sweet ordeal, kissing up the column of your throat to your jaw and then finally your lips. “I wanna make out with your bottom lips until you crumble to dust in my hands.”

The thought of his mouth on you, his nose deep on the ridge of your clit while his tongue plunges deep into your gummy walls, lost in the sauce, sends a spark of excitement rushing through your veins. Those wet, slow licks across your slit until his chin drips with your juices…my god.

But as his hand and mouth drift lower to your sensitive bud, your playful defiance takes over. With a mischievous grin, you flip him over with a strength that makes even you recoil in surprise. You straddle him, pressing your palms against his firm chest, practically caging him beneath you with a triumphant smile.

“Sorry, baby boy, but you’ve got me so worked up with your freaking remote that I need you deep inside now. Ravage me,” you demand, your voice a sultry growl.

That sputters a chuckle from him as he spanks your ass, biting his lips, anticipation building to a fever pitch. With a gentle but firm grip, he takes your chin between his fingers, locking eyes with you. His dark orbs seem to pierce right through your soul. “Then, I guess I’ll just have to enjoy the ride,” he whispers, his smirk promising a world of velvety pleasures.

led with equal parts lust and admiration. His hands massage your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his forefingers before gripping your thighs, nails digging in just enough to make you shiver with want.

As you hover over him, poised to take on cowgirl duties, a sudden commotion from the hallway erupts through the haze of passion. Voices, loud and furious, yank you back to reality like a bucket of ice water splashed over your heated skin.

“What was that?” you gasp, freezing mid-motion, eyes wide darting to the door.

Evan sits up, concern etched on his face. His hands are still steadying your hips, but his body is in full alert mode. “Damn it,” you whisper-shout as something heavy shatters against the wall outside. Your pulse hammers as you scramble off Evan, instinctively clutching the sheet to your chest to cover your nudity.

His protective instincts kick in immediately. He wraps his arms around you protectively, pulling you into his warm embrace. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, tenderly kissing the crown of your head. His voice is a soothing balm against the tension—the voices outside now distinct as those of a man and a woman trapped in a fierce argument. “Probably just some drunk jerks. I’ll handle this. You stay behind,” he commands, his expression hardening, a deep furrow in his brow as he reaches for his clothes.

Together, you sneak toward the door, the shouting growing clearer as you get closer. You exchange puzzled looks, trying to figure out what’s going on out there.

You press your ear to the door, listening intently. But then the angry voices suddenly shift—what was a heated argument dissolves into… laughter? You blink in confusion, pulling back slightly.

“Is that... Mike?” you mumble, recognising the unmistakably boisterous laugh of his friend, mingling with a few others.

Evan lets out a breath he’s been holding, shaking his head with a mix of relief and annoyance. “Those idiots,” he spits out, sighing, as his shoulders relax and the tension of the false alarm dissipates. “I swear it’s like a damn sitcom in here sometimes,” he scoffs. His hands find your waist again, his touch warm and familiar, as if he’s trying to rekindle the heat that was simmering between you just moments ago.

“Maybe we should go back to the party,” you suggest, your voice a little sheepish, trying to ensure everything’s okay.

“No way I’m letting you go,” he croons, his lips hovering dangerously over the soft, greedy slope of your neck. His hard, thick cock is just a whisper out of reach, teasing and taunting you with its nearness.

You hiccup a gasp as he lifts you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall with a force that makes your knees wobble. His mouth captures yours in a sloppy kiss that wipes away any remnants of anxiety, replacing them with a renewed surge of burning desire.

“I’m so wet for you,” you breathe in half-protest, half-plea as he trails kisses down your neck.

“I can tell,” he mumbles, chuckling against the steamy flesh of your boobs as he slides our panties off. Your breaths come in tattered and frayed bursts as he sheathes himself entirely inside your slick, sobbing sex with one smooth yet forceful thrust. Your nails dig harshly into the firm muscle of his bicep as you whimper, jaw dropping open in pure, blissful shock.

“H—Holy shit,” you yelp, your voice high-pitched and shaky as you squeeze your eyes shut, surrendering to his delicious torture.

With your legs twined tightly around his torso, you silently beg him to dive deeper. He obliges, rocking back and forth with a primal intensity, his hips slapping against your thighs. “Take it, baby, you can fuckin’ take this cock,” he growls, his voice raw with lust as he slams into you with merciless pumps. “It was made for you, just for you-u.”

He flashes you a victorious grin, his eyes half-lidded and intense. He scrunches his cute nose with every thrust that drives his stiff length deeper into your core, his balls pulsing against your tender slit. He bites your bottom lip to muffle his own groans, his breathing slipping out in ragged gasps.

So hot. He’s so hot.

“Ahh, yes. Give it to me rough,” you beg, your legs tightening around him as your mewling grows stronger.

“You sound so fucking pretty,” he pants. He nibbles and sucks on your lips before his tongue enters your mouth, tangling with yours in a tantalising assault. You whine as his thick girth slides out inch by inch until only the tip nestles teasingly inside you.

He’s fully pressed into you, his hot breath a mix of short and shuddering huffs against your neck. He pauses for a moment, burying his face in the crook of your neck, soaking in the scent of your skin as if trying to memorise every part of you. “I don’t wanna finish that soon,” he laughs breathlessly, fighting to keep control.

“You got me seeing stars, baby boy,” you whisper huskily, your words barely audible over the pounding of your own heart. Your lips brush against his ear, planting an affectionate peck that sends a tremor through his core. As he quickens his pace, his eyes roll back, his hands gripping firmly onto your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

He leans back, his abs flexing with each powerful pull of his chest and arm muscles as he slams back into you again. He’s so shredded, and you can’t help but skim a few teasing fingers down his chiselled pecs. So ripped, and you’re not missing the opportunity to trace a few veins that prod against your fingers. He gasps delightfully at your touch, his cock convulsing inside you, driven wild by the way the brief gape of your pussy grips him like a vice.

“Fuck, you’re like a glove on my dick,” he moans, his voice catching as he gazes down at the way your cunt hungrily swallows and slurps him deeper. The filthy, lewd sounds of your groans and bodies melting together skin-against-skin reverberate through the room, echoing your shared need.

Unable to utter a word without screaming, you bite down on his neck, leaving a dark purple bruise. “So good—cock feels so good in me. Fucking me just riiight,” you cry out against his lips. Your voice rises in pitch, the words dissolving into incoherent moans as your nails rake his back, leaving tiny red crescents in their wake.

He lets out a dark chuckle, pressing his forehead against yours, eyes fixing onto yours with a feral intensity. “You’re markin’ me, huh? Want everybody to know who I belong to?” he grunts, squeezing your thighs with a possessive grasp, a crooked smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

You nod faintly, a soft whimper escaping your lips as your fingers tangle in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. You’re trying to keep it together, you really are. But the way the head of his cock repeatedly strokes that delicate, spongy spot inside you turns your brain to utter mush. It leaves you no option but to spiral further into bliss and moan like a whore.

Evan tuts, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “Guess I have to do everything for you, hm?” His voice is coated in a low rasp, the words gliding into your ears like a warm cuddle. His lips curl up in perverse satisfaction as he shoves three of his fingers into your mouth, eyes glittering with enthusiasm.

You hum around them, staring at him with a lustful challenge. You gargle around his large hand, jolting each time he rams into you, drool spilling from your chin down to your tits only to finally land on his lower stomach and dick.

“Can’t even let my fingers keep you quiet, huh? Gotta let everyone know how good I’m fucking you?” he taunts, his tone a hoarse, sensual growl. His hips snap forward, and your body responds instinctively, every nerve lit up with pleasure.

You keep on sucking on his fingers, your eyes hooded with desire, each swirl of your tongue around his digits drawing a ragged breath from him. With a soft thud, he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, a smug smile tugging at his lips as he runs them down your body, tracing a path from your lips to your breasts, down your stomach, and finally to the apex of your thighs.

“Right, I need to take stricter measures, then,” he mutters, his voice like gravel, as he carries you to the bed, still buried deep inside you. You gasp at the sudden movement, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

He sets you down in the middle of the bed and gruffs, “Bend over f’me,” his tone leaving no room for disobedience. You barely have a moment to comply before your ass is met with a rude spank, forcing a sharp moan out of you and flipping you over on your chest.

His voice is a deep rumble, and you feel yourself pulse between your legs every time he speaks in these rough low decibels.

“Mhm, don’t get shy. Let’s see that arch again, baby girl…like the good slut you are,” he urges, and your face gets smashed right into the crimson coloured sheets, his fingertips softly caressing down your exposed spine and over your ass facing skywards, his touch both gentle and demanding. “Let’s see my favourite wet pussy, best piece of ass I’ve ever seen,” he growls, admiring the view.

“E-Evaann,” you drag out, your voice breaking as you suck in a shaky breath. It’s almost humiliating how much he makes your pussy clench and drip for him, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when he's looking at you like that and goes to great lengths (no pun intended) to satisfy you.

He rubs his hand against the stinging part of your ass, soothing and igniting at once, before aligning his leaky tip with your entrance. Your cunt is soaked, practically begging for him, profusely sweltering hot with your own slippery slick. He licks his lips at the sight as he smacks his fat cock against your puffed folds, the sound wet and filthy.

“Don’t tease me, p- please,” you whisper, glancing over your shoulder at him as you balance on all fours, your voice barely a breath above a whimper.

He lets out a sinister throaty cackle as he leans down, staring at your dripping cunt before rubbing his fingertips right down between your slit. “Quiet, baby. I’ll fuckin’ tease you if I want,” and you moan, feeling the pad of his thumb smear the lustrous trail of cum near your hole and back down towards your clit. “I love hearing you beg,” he teases, but it’s short-lived as he slides the head of his cock inside you, stretching you inch by inch with delicious pleasure.

“My big boy, railing me so damn well,” you babble out as his thrusts become faster and harsher, your eyes widening once his lengthy dick hits against that perfect, sensitive spot so effortlessly. His sharp hips are so unapologetically mean, each snap of his body forcing you forward and back into him like a yo-yo he’s toying with.

He’s drilling into you at full speed, the headboard bashing against the wall in time with his thrusts. Your thighs jitter with ecstasy at just how nastily he’s using you, your needy walls biting around his shaft as he reels you back into his sculpted pelvis. You let out sweet sobs that fall on deaf ears as he practically splits you open each and every single time.

“D-don’t stop. F-f-fuck me, Evan. Right there, ‘s fuckin’ big,” you pant, your mouth hanging open, more spews of whines leaving you as he accelerates his hips ever further. The bed screams beneath you, each creak sounding like it’s about to give way, and you’re almost sure it’s going to break. “More, more… please,” you yelp as he thoroughly swivels inside you, wearing you thin.

“Shit, you feel.so.damm.good,” he growls, pumping even deeper with every word only to grab one of your wrists and restrain it behind your back. Your limbs grow knobbly as the heavy and thick base of his cock smacks against your ass. You’re dizzy, insanely so—your eyes rolling back and the wet hit of sounds of your desperate cunt fill the room, blending heavenly with your breathy mewling that matches his pace.

Docile dark irises meet yours as you look over your shoulder. Raw, guttural grunts die from the back of his throat as he allows you a moment to seize control, letting you rut back and forth, bouncing against his swollen, throbbing cockhead. The slanting curve in your back deepens, elevating the spectacle before him and inviting him to spank you again. You watch him bite his lip, his brows knitting together with ravenous desire as he throws his head back. Your name spills from his lips in a breathless mantra, and you reciprocate with endless whines. It’s your personal plea for more, for everything he has to give.

“Fffffuck, keep going,” he hisses, peering down at the way your sobbing cunt fervently takes him in. “Such a good girl—fuck, wanting my cock,” he mumbles, and you feel a rippling wave of goose bumps running down his body as you walls tense around him.

Shivering breaths ghost down against your sweaty skin as his pace falters and weakens, humping into you with his mouth prying open, falling slack. A gasp wretches from his throat as the melting crown of his cock smacks up against your g-spot over and over until you’re seeing nothing but pure white.

With a cry, your orgasm crests and crashes over you, your folds convulsing with pure euphoria. You stretch upwards, and he seals your lips in a steamy kiss from above, consuming the sounds of your sweet release with affectionate back rubs and a victorious grin against your mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps, your hips bucking and jerking as the violent aftershocks of your high wrack through you. Evan holds you tight, chasing his own climax.

“Who owns this little pussy?” he hisses through gritted teeth, hitting against your cervix a few times before shooting ropes of hot cum deep into your womb. It’s abundant and warm, your pussy continues to constrict and pulse around his length. He whimpers curses into your neck as he collapses against you, twitching and pouring generous amounts of himself into you.

Rough tides of overstimulation wash over you as Evan climbs on top of you, his lips capturing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Your mind is still foggy from riding out the seismic waves of your orgasm, but a nagging thought breaks through: you’re in someone else’s house, and you need to leave things as you found them.

“The sheets,” you gasp, gently pushing him off the bed. Baffled and out of breath, he observes with hooded eyes as you kneel down and begin to lick and suck the remaining creamy love from his spent cock.

“Oh God, Y/N,” he moans, his eyes widening in shock as his fingers tangle in your hair. “You’re killing me,” he whines, his voice a mix of pleasure and overstimulation. His lungs heave with each breath as you clean off the mass of cum he’s dumping into your mouth, drool spilling down your chin. Your mind swims in ecstasy from the adrenaline-fuelled, earth-shaking orgasm, and you moan against his shaft, the vibrations sending shivers through him.

The moment is pure, unfiltered bliss, and you’re lost in it—until the door suddenly flies open, banging against the wall.

“Evan!” a voice yelps. I look up in shock as Jeremy, another close friend of Evan’s, stands frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed and red-faced at the sight of us. His cheeks flushed crimson as he averts his gaze, embarrassed to have walked in on such an intimate moment.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” he gasps, his voice cracking as he takes in the dishevelled scene before him. Evan, caught mid-stumble, face turning beet red, fumbles for his clothes, his stammers response coming out in a strangled mix of embarrassment and confusion.

“W-what’s up, Jeremy?” he stutters, his voice barely a whisper.

“It’s Jake,” Jeremy blurts out, his expression twisting into one of anguish. “He’s fallen off the roof.”

Jeremy’s words hit like a punch to the gut, the colour draining from Evan’s face. The room goes deathly quiet, the weight of his words sinking in. The room spins as everything comes to a screeching halt.

To be continued...

------------------------------------------------

Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling

168 notes · View notes

awkward-walking-potato · 5 months ago

Note

Hey there! Just found your profile and I really love your content, and since I saw your requests were always open, what about a Deadpool x Fem!Reader were their first encounter is during one of Deadpool's battles, and once the reader takes up an offer of rooming she saw on the newspaper, she finds out she's roommates with him now and has to put up with his antics? I noticed the CRIMINAL lack of Deadpool fanfic and it hurts😭🙏

Unexpected Roommates

The sound of gunfire echoed through the alleyway, followed by the unmistakable crash of metal hitting concrete. You peered cautiously around the corner, heart pounding as you tried to make sense of the chaos unfolding before you.

There, in the midst of the wreckage, stood a man in a red-and-black suit, dual katanas in hand, surrounded by a small army of mercenaries. It was like something straight out of a comic book, except it was happening right in front of you, in the gritty underbelly of the city.

“Alright, who’s next?” the man—Deadpool, you realized with a start—quipped, twirling one of his swords with a flourish as he eyed the remaining thugs. Despite the danger, there was an almost playful air about him, like this was just another day at the office.

You had only heard of Deadpool in passing—rumors about a mercenary who was as unpredictable as he was deadly—but seeing him in action was something else entirely. And yet, despite the absurdity of the situation, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

One of the mercenaries lunged at him, but Deadpool was faster, sidestepping the attack with ease before dispatching his opponent with a quick flick of his wrist. Blood splattered across the alley, and you winced, pressing yourself against the wall to stay out of sight.

Unfortunately, your attempt at stealth was in vain. The last of the mercenaries fell, and Deadpool, now apparently free of distractions, turned his attention to you. “Well, well, well,” he drawled, sheathing his swords as he sauntered over, “what do we have here? A damsel in distress? Or just an innocent bystander with a bad sense of timing?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he stopped in front of you, his masked face tilting slightly as he examined you. Up close, he was even more intimidating—taller than you expected, with an energy that crackled in the air around him.

“Uh… neither?” you finally managed, your voice a little shaky. You cleared your throat, trying to muster some semblance of composure. “I was just… passing through.”

“Passing through, huh?” Deadpool echoed, leaning in slightly. “Interesting place for a midnight stroll, but who am I to judge? I mean, it’s not like *I* ever do anything reckless.” He straightened up, giving you a mock salute. “Well, don’t let me keep you. But if you ever find yourself in need of a charming, devilishly handsome mercenary, you know where to find me.”

Before you could respond, he spun on his heel and started walking away, whistling a jaunty tune as if he hadn’t just left a pile of bodies in his wake.

Shaking off the encounter, you quickly decided it was time to get the hell out of there. You took one last glance at Deadpool’s retreating figure before ducking out of the alley, eager to put as much distance between you and whatever mess you had just stumbled into.

A few days later, you found yourself standing outside a dingy apartment building, clutching a newspaper ad in your hand. The headline read, “Roommate Wanted: Cheap Rent, Great Location, No Serial Killers (Probably).”

It was, admittedly, not the most reassuring advertisement, but you were desperate. Between the sky-high rent prices and your recent run of bad luck, you couldn’t afford to be picky. Plus, you figured it couldn’t be worse than your last living situation.

With a deep breath, you pushed open the door and made your way up the narrow staircase, your footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. You reached the door marked “6B” and hesitated for a moment before knocking.

The door swung open almost immediately, and you were greeted by the sight of the same red-and-black suit you had seen in the alley. “Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Midnight Stroll!” Deadpool exclaimed, his voice laced with amusement. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon. Or, you know, ever.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “*You* put out the ad?”

He grinned—or at least you assumed he did, given the way his mask crinkled around the eyes. “Guilty as charged. Didn’t think I’d find a roommate this fast, but hey, the universe works in mysterious ways. Come on in, make yourself at home!”

You stood frozen in the doorway, struggling to process the absurdity of the situation. “You’re Deadpool,” you finally blurted out, stating the obvious.

“The one and only!” he replied, stepping aside to let you in. “But you can call me Wade. Or Deadpool. Or hey, Roomie! I’m not picky.”

Part of you wanted to turn around and run, but the more practical side of you— the one that knew how hard it was to find affordable rent—reluctantly stepped inside. The apartment was a bit of a mess, cluttered with weapons, comic books, and various other oddities, but it was surprisingly homey.

“So,” Wade said, closing the door behind you, “what do you think? It’s got charm, right? Or, at the very least, it’s got four walls and a roof, which is really all you need.”

You glanced around, taking in the chaotic but oddly inviting space. “It’s… something,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you’re the one who put out the ad.”

“Why, because I’m a world-famous mercenary with a questionable moral compass and a penchant for breaking the fourth wall?” he quipped, flopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, well, turns out even world-famous mercenaries need someone to split the bills with. Plus, the last roommate bailed after, like, a week. Something about too many explosions and not enough peace and quiet.”

“Shocking,” you muttered under your breath, but Wade caught it and laughed.

“Hey, I can be a great roommate when I want to be!” he said, holding up three fingers like he was making a pledge. “I’m clean, I’m considerate, and I almost never bring work home. Unless, of course, it’s convenient. Or funny.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, the absurdity of the situation starting to wear down your initial reservations. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering this,” you said, shaking your head.

Wade leaned forward, his tone suddenly serious. “Look, I know I’m not exactly a normal roommate, but I can promise you this: I’ll always have your back. Plus, if anyone tries to mess with you, they’ll have to answer to me. And trust me, they don’t want that.”

It was strange, but there was something oddly reassuring about the way he said it, like beneath all the jokes and bravado, there was a real person who genuinely cared.

“Okay,” you said finally, the decision made. “I’ll give it a shot. But no explosions inside the apartment.”

Wade’s eyes crinkled again as he gave you a thumbs-up. “Deal! Welcome to the madness, Roomie. I have a feeling this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you looked around your new home, your mind already spinning with the possibilities of what living with Deadpool might entail. It was going to be wild, unpredictable, and probably more than a little dangerous.

#deadpool imagine #deadpool x reader #deadpool oneshot #deadpool #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson imagine #wade wilson

204 notes · View notes

philokaliist · 1 year ago

Note

HI LOVELYY!!Can you pls do a fanfic / oneshot with Clarisse basically seeing reader get ignored by their friends and like comforts them and flips off the so called friends?BDJDJD TY IF U DO 😇😇

'I Got Your Back'

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Reader

A/N:Hi lovely!Tysm for requesting!Yes I can try!I love this idea sm!

Your 'friends' ignore you,but hey,at least you've got Clarisse.

Clarisse strolled through the bustling camp,on her way to the armory to get something fixed. As she passed the training grounds, she noticed you sitting with a group of 'friends'. A frown creased her face when she realized that your friends seemed oblivious to your presence. They chatted and laughed, completely ignoring you.

"Hey, idiots!" Clarisse barked at them, her voice cutting through the air like a sword. "You blind or just stupid? Look at your friend over there, sittin' all alone!What kinda friends are you,losers!"

Your 'friends' exchanged confused glances but continued their banter, leaving Clarisse seething with frustration.She stormed over, her face contorted with anger. "You think it's funny to ignore someone!? Huh?!" She realized she'd probably be punished if she did anything she shouldn't - but she couldn't give a damn in that moment.But before she did anything - you placed a hand on her shoulder and your eyes pleaded with her own not to do anything she might regret.She was still mad but begrudgingly stepped away.

Still no response from your 'friends' though.The air crackled with tension as Clarisse turned back to you. "Forget these losers," she grumbled as she took your hand. "Come with me."

She led you away from the oblivious group, guiding you to the shores of the camp's lake. Clarisse's usually stern expression softened as she looked at you, concern etched on her features.

"What the fuck their problem?!" she snapped "Nobody deserves to be treated like that.What a bunch of good-for-nothin' assholes." She muttered.

She sat down next to you, still fuming but now with an added layer of protectiveness. "You don't need those jerks. You're worth more than that."

Clarisse took a deep breath, trying to calm her anger. "Look, I don't do this kind of mushy stuff or whatever,but I can't stand by and watch someone get treated like shit.You deserve better."

You looked up, meeting Clarisse's intense gaze. There was a mix of surprise and curiosity in your eyes.You were genuinely shocked it was her of all people who said this.

"They don't appreciate you," Clarisse continued, her voice oddly sincere. "But that doesn't mean you're not worth a damn. Got it?"

As Clarisse continued to vent her frustrations about your so-called friends,it was an unexpected moment of vulnerability from her.

"They're not worth your time," she asserted, her tone sharper now as she wrapped her arms around you "If they can't see how awesome you are, they're not worth having around.Besides,you don't need people who don't appreciate you," she said "You've got me. And if they can't see how amazing you are, then screw 'em.We don't need those losers,they just hate us 'cause they ain't us.But I've got your back,pretty girl."

A/N:Another quick drabble for this morning!Will probably do 1 or 2 more rq's by tonight if I have time

342 notes · View notes

anastasiareadsnwrites · 4 months ago

Note

Can you do one for Anthony x Male reader where reader is an open minded writer with more…… scandalous erotic melancholia and decides to show Anthony he can please him better than any woman.

Be Wherever You Are (Anthony Bridgerton x Male! Reader)

Author's note: Hiya, it's been awhile and I know this came out late as well as the Benedict fanfic as well but I am working on finishing the series I have out for the mothers of the Ton. Please if this wasn't to your liking request another one or point out some tips for future requests. Thank you so much for requesting!

Summary: As days passed on with your writing you couldn't help but notice that some of the men in your story had basically described the man you were starting to grow close with. Being the bold person you are you couldn't help but make your move

Warning(s): NSFW, 18+, bold! reader, sexual tension, describing muscular bodies, Anthony gets a little jealous, scandalous yearnings, oral sex, Anthony! recieving, Reader! giving, more to be added.

The MAIN Masterlist

The Bridgerton Masterlist

The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the dimly lit study, casting flickering shadows across the grand room. Anthony Bridgerton sat behind his desk, his brows furrowed as he poured over a stack of papers-estate matters, no doubt, the weight of responsibility ever-present on his shoulders. The world outside these walls saw him as nothing but the proper Viscount, the head of the Bridgerton family, always in control, always composed.

But you had come to know him differently.

Leaning against the door frame, you observed him quietly, the air between you thick with something unspoken. It had been weeks since you'd grown closer, you conversations no longer confined to polite society. In your stories, in the stolen glances, in the unguarded moments, you'd both begun to unravel before each other.

The flames in the hearth case a golden hue on Anthony's sharp features, highlighting the tension in his jaw as he worked tirelessly, ever the perfectionist. Yet, you could see it-the weariness in his eyes, the subtle sag of his shoulders. He was a man in need of something more than duty and tradition.

And tonight, you were bold enough to give it to him.

Stepping into the room, your presence commanded his attention instantly. He didn't look up right away, but you could sense the way his body tensed, the way his feathered pen faltered ever so slightly. Without a word, you moved closer, your footsteps soft against the Persian rug, until you were standing across from him, just a breath away.

"You always surround yourself with work," you said, voice low, carrying the weight of the moment. "Don't you tire of it?"

Anthony finally glanced up, his dark eyes locking onto yours, the flicker of something dangerous lurking in them. He didn't answer right away, his gaze trailing over your form with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"What I tire of is being questioned about matters that don't concern you," he replied, his voice measured but with an edge that betrayed his frustration.

You smirked, undeterred by his attempt at resistance. "Is that so? And here I thought you might enjoy the company of someone who sees more of you than just the Viscount."

His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening-but you knew better. Beneath his facade, you had already seen glimpses of the man behind the title. And tonight, you would see even more.

You took another step closer, leaning over the desk just enough for the firelight to catch your face, your eyes meeting his with unmistakable intent.

"I see you, Anthony Bridgerton," you whispered, "and I think it's time you let someone else take control, if only for a little while."

Anthony's eyes narrowed, but not with anger-there was something else there. A flicker of uncertainty, perhaps even desire, the kind he was used to suppressing. The air between you was electric, charged with the weight of things left unsaid.

"Take control?" he repeated, his voice tight, almost mocking, but you could hear the strain behind it. "You overestimate your influence."

You smiled, the kind of smile that made your intentions clear without a single word needing to be said. Slowly, you moved around the desk, not breaking eye contact with him for even a moment. You could see the tension in the his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the armrests of the chair just a little too hard. He was trying to maintain his composure, to keep his distance, but the fire in his eyes betrayed him.

"Oh, Anthony," you said softly, standing beside him now. You let your hand rest lightly on his shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath his jacket. "I think you've been in control long enough."

His breath hitched, just for a moment, before he converted it up with a scoff. "This isn't a game."

"No," you agreed, leaning down to whisper in his ear, your lip just barely brushing the edge of his skin. "But you and I both know you're tired of pretending."

You could feel the way his body stiffened beneath your touch, but he didn't pull away. His hands remained on the armrests, knuckles white, his chest rising and falling in measured breaths as if he was trying to will himself back into the Viscount's rigid armor.

"I am not pretending," he finally said, though his voice lacked it usual conviction.

You straightened up, your fingers trailing lightly from his shoulder down the length of his arm before you leaned against the desk in front of him. The firelight danced in your eyes as you watched him, letting the silence stretch between you.

"Really?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "Then why haven't you stopped me?"

Anthony's jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked away, his gaze settling on the fire burning low in the hearth. He was fighting it-fighting you-but you knew you had already won. Slowly, he turned his gaze back to you, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"This is highly inappropriate," he said, though the words came out softer than they should have.

You leaned in, your face inches from his, daring him to push you away.

"Is it?" you whispered, your breath mingling with his. "Or is this exactly what you want?"

For a moment, you thought he might argue, might stand up and walk out, but then his hand twitched on the armrests, his fingers finally relaxing. His breath was shallow now, and when his eyes locked onto yours again, all traces of resistance were gone.

"Show me," he said, voice barely more than a whisper. "Show me that you can give me what no other woman can."

Your smiled widened, knowing that this was the moment everything changed. You stepped closer, your hands brushing over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his waistcoat.

"As you wish, Anthony," you whispered, your lips hovering just above his. "But remember.... you're the one who asked."

With that, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was both fierce and gentle, a collision of control and surrender. Anthony tensed at first, as though this was something he wasn't used to-being on the receiving end-but then, slowly, you felt him relax under your touch, his hands finally reaching up to grip your waist.

The kiss deepened, and for the first time, you could feel him let go. The walls he had built around himself, the armor of his title, the expectations-it all began to crumble as he allowed himself to be vulnerable, to feel something more than duty.

You pulled away just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against his. His eyes were dark, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty, as though he couldn't quite believe what was happening.

"This is only the beginning, Anthony," you whispered, your voice low and full of promise. "I'll show you want it feels like to be truly wanted...and to let go."

As you hovered close to him, your hands still resting on his chest, you could feel Anthony's breath starting to steady, but there was something else-something weighing on his mind. His eyes flickered with a sudden sharpness, as though he had remembered something important.

"I saw it," Anthony said, his voice low, almost husky, but laced with something more-a challenge, perhaps. "The draft on your latest story. You left it open on the desk last time you visited."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued, though you didn't pull away. "Did you now?"

His lips curled into a faint, almost teasing smile, but his eyes were serious. "It's funny how your protagonist...how he reminded me of someone."

You let your hands drift lower, fingers tracing over the fabric of his waistcoat, but you didn't break eye contact. "Is that so? And who might that be?"

Anthony's breath hitched as your hands slid down to his belt, your fingers working the buckle with practiced ease. You could feel the tension in his body heighten, but he remained still, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Someone who spends his days pretending he doesn't want things he shouldn't," Anthony murmured, his voice rough as you undid the belt, the soft clink of metal filling the room. "Someone who think duty can replace desire."

You chuckled softly, your fingers now teasing at the buttons of his trousers, working them loose with slow, deliberate movements. "I suppose you could say that the protagonist is inspired by someone," you whispered, your voice full of wicked amusement.

Anthony's breath grew shallower, his chest rising and falling as his trousers loosened beneath your hands, the fabric slipping from your fingers, revealing more of him. "And what is it that he wants?" Anthony asked, his voice barely more than a whisper now, but the question was heavy, loaded with meaning.

Your hands paused, fingers lightly brushing against the bare skin of his hips as you leaned in closer, your lips grazing the side of his neck. His pulse raced beneath your touch, and you could feel the weight of his anticipation hanging in the air.

"He wants," you murmured, letting the word linger in the space between you, "to be freed from the chains he's put on himself...to be claimed, to be wanted, in ways no one else dares to want him."

Anthony swallowed hard, his body trembling ever so slightly beneath your touch. You could feel his control slipping away, his composure cracking as your fingers dipped lower, brushing against the heat of his skin.

"And who is it that claims him in the story?" Anthony asked, though his voice was strained now, almost as if he already knew the answer but needed to hear it from your lips.

You leaned in, your mouth hovering just over his, your breath hot against his skin. "Someone bold enough to see him for who he truly is...and who isn't afraid to take what they want."

With one swift motion, you undid the last of his trousers, letting them fall to the floor, freeing him completely, your hands grazing along the edge of his bare hips. Anthony gasped, his control faltering completely as his hands gripped the arms of the chair, his head falling back slightly as he surrendered to the moment.

You stood there for a moment, admiring the sight of him-the usually unshakable Viscount, vulnerable, exposed, and at your mercy. The firelight flickered across his bare skin, casting shadows that dances with the unspoken tension between you.

"Now tell me, Anthony," you whispered, your voice low and commanding. "Is this where your story ends, or is it just the beginning?"

The weight of the moment hung in the air, heavy and electric, as you glanced up at him, meeting his gaze with a look that spoke volumes. He was waiting, teetering on the edge of control, the authority he wielded in every other aspect of his life slipping further with each passing second.

Without a word, you got onto your knees in front of him and leaned forward, your lips brushing against his length, teasing him, barely touching at first. Anthony's entire body tensed, his grip tightening on the arms of the chair, his breath catching in his throat.

You smirked, pleased by his reaction. You had him exactly where you wanted him-no more pretense. Slowly, you parted your lips, your mouth enveloping the tip of him with gently pressure. The heat of him the taste, filled your senses as you moved, taking him in inch by inch, your tongue swirling against his sensitive skin.

Anthony's head fell back against the chair, his eyes fluttering shut as a low, guttural moan escaped him. His hand moved as though to stop you-his last attempt at control-but it faltered, fingers curling into the armrest instead his resolve crumbling.

You moved with purpose now, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm, your lips and tongue working together to bring him pleasure. Each time you pulled back, you teased him with just the tip of your tongue, before sinking down again, deeper this time, letting him feel the full warmth of your mouth. His hips shifted involuntarily, his body reacting to the sensations, even as he tried to keep himself still, tried to maintain some semblance of composure.

But it was no use. Anthony's breaths came out in ragged bursts, his body trembling as you continued to work him over, the wet sounds of your mouth filling the room, mingling with the crackling of the fire. You could feel the tension in him building, the way his though tightened beneath your hands, the way his muscles quivered under your touch. He was losing himself in this moment, and you loved it-loved seeing him like this, vulnerable and at your mercy.

You paused for a brief second, just long enough for Anthony to groan in protest, his eyes snapping open, dark with need. "Don't...stop," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper, his control slipping with each word.

You smiled, your hands lightly stroking him as you spoke. "Who's in control now, Viscount?"

Anthony didn't answer. He couldn't His mouth opened, but the only sound that came out was a low, needy moan as you took him into your mouth once more, your hand working in tandem with your lips, faster now, pushing him closer to the edge.

His breathing was erratic, his body moving with you now, no longer able to hold back. You could feel him getting closer, the way his muscles tightened, the way his moans became more desperate, more raw. You pushed him further, sucking harder, faster, your tongue flicking against the most sensitive part of him, until-

"God-" Anthony's voice broke as his body tensed, every muscle tightening as he reached the peak of pleasure. His hips jerked involuntarily, his hand gripping the chair so hard his knuckles went white as he came, his release filling your mouth in hot, pulsing waves.

You didn't stop until he had given you everything, your mouth and hand working together to milk every last bit of pleasure from him. Only then did you pull back, swallowing and licking your lips as you looked up at him, a satisfied smile playing on your lips.

Anthony sat there, breathless, his head still tilted back, chest heaving, his eyes closed as he struggled to regain some semblance of control. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire and the sound of his labored breathing.

You stood slowly, leaning in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "I told you....no one could please you like this."

Anthony's eyes opened slowly, meeting yours with a mixture of awe and vulnerability. For the first time, he looked at you not as the Viscount, not as the man always in control, but ask someone who had been utterly, completely undone.

And he liked it.

Anthony's chest still rose and fell with the remnants of his release, but as the silence settled over the room, something new flickered in his eyes- something darker. He watched you, his gaze sharp and intense, but not with the softness of vulnerability that had been there moments ago. Instead, a shadow of jealousy clouded his expression.

You hadn't even had time to fully stand before Anthony's hand shot out, gripping your wrist with surprising strength, pulling you back down toward him. His gaze bore into yours, his voice low, edged with suspicion.

"Tell me," he murmured, his tone filled quiet intensity. "Do all the men in your stories end like this? Growing 'close' with you like this?"

The question hung in the air, thick with jealousy, his fingers tightening around your wrist as though he were afraid you might slip away, just like the words he was too proud to say aloud. You could hear the accusation in his voice, see it in his eyes-the doubt, the possessiveness. Anthony Bridgerton, the man who had always been in control, was now desperate to know if he was special...or just another conquest.

A slow smile spread across your lips, and you couldn't help but tease him. "Of course they do," you replied, your voice light, dripping with playful mischief. "Bold men who know what they want always find their way into my stories-and into my life."

You felt the shift immediately. Anthony's expression hardened, his grip on you tightening further. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as the weight of your words sank in. For a moment, you wondered if you had pushed too far, but then something changed in him- a flash of determination, of possessive need that eclipsed his earlier vulnerability.

Without warning, he stood, towering over you with newfound intensity. He was no longer the man caught off guard by his desires. He was the Viscount again-dominant, commanding. In one swift movement, he cupped the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, guiding you back down to your knees.

"If that's how it is," he growled, his voice rough with jealousy, "then you can show me how much better I am than any of them."

Before you could respond, Anthony's hips pressed forward, guiding himself toward your mouth. His movements were deliberate, demanding, as if he wanted to erase any lingering thought you might have of anyone else. There was no hesitation now as he thrust himself between your lips, his hands still gripping your hair tightly, setting the pace.

You moaned around him, the sudden shift in power igniting something deep inside you. You liked this- liked the way Anthony took control, the way he used your mouth for his own pleasure, his jealousy fueling the intensity of the moment. Every sound you made only seemed to spur him on, his hips moving with more urgency, more need.

"That's it," Anthony muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watched you, his eyes half-lidded, dark with lust. "You like this, don't you? You like being used."

You didn't answer with words-you couldn't. But the way you moaned, the way your hands gripped his thighs as you eagerly took more of him into your mouth, told him everything he needed to know. You tongue swirled around him, your lips tight as you sucked harder, wanting to please him as much as he wanted to claim you.

Anthony's breathing grew heavier, his head falling back slightly as his hips rocked against your face, the muscles in his body tensed with the building pleasure. He groaned deeply, his hand tightening in your hair, his voice husky and filled with unrestrained desire.

"Better than any woman," he rasped, his words punctuated by a sharp thrust of his hips. "None of them could ever do this...none of them could ever make me feel like this."

The praise sent a surge of heat through you, and you responded by taking him deeper, your mouth working faster, more eagerly. Anthony's moans grew loader, more desperate, and you could feel him edging closer and closer to release. His grip on you was almost bruising now, but you didn't mind-you reveled in the way he lost himself in you, the way he surrendered to the pleasure you gave him.

"Look at you," Anthony muttered, his voice thick with lust. "My perfect thing. You'll never leave me wanting for anyone else."

You moaned in response, the vibration of your voice making Anthony curse under his breath, his bucking wildly as he reached the peak of his pleasure. His fingers gripped your hair tighter, his whole body tensing as he came, his release hot and heavy in your mouth. You took all of him, your hands steady on his thighs as you let him use you until he was spent.

When it was, Anthony stood there for a moment, chest heaving, his hand still tangled in your hair. Slowly, he released you, his fingers brushing your scalp softly as if he realized he had been rougher than intended. He looked down at you, a mixture of pride and satisfaction in his eyes.

He pulled you up to your feet, his fingers tracing along your jaw, his thumb brushing over your lips, swollen and slick from the intensity of what had just passed between you.

"Better than any story," he whispered, his voice low and possessive. "Better than any fantasy."

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #Anthony Bridgerton x reader #x reader #x Male reader #male reader #gay men #Anthony x Male reader #Anthony x reader #Anthony Bridgerton x you #Anthony Bridgerton x y/n #smut #oral service #reader insert #fanfic #gay

133 notes · View notes