#'i'm taking every chance i got / like the man i know i'm not '
Text
things lost and things found | Lewis Hamilton
part one
word count: 9.2k
warnings: smut, smut, more smut, fluff.
There's no way for a friends-with-benefits agreement to fail when both parties understand the rules.
"Do you ever get tired?"
Lewis turns his head to look at her inquisitively.
"What do you mean by that, Clem?" He chuckles.
Clem turns over onto her side, propping her head up in one hand.
"Do you think about having a life of your own without racing but with a family, a wife, and kids? Do you ever want to go home and stay home?"
Lewis stares Clementine in her dark eyes before he turns and looks back up at the blank ceiling.
"I don't know." He whispered into the air. "I don't have much time to think about things like that, serious relationships and such." He winces as he says the words.
"You're not hurting me, Lew, I know what this arrangement is. I was just curious." Clem chuckled, plopping back onto her back. She pulls the covers up to conceal her bare chest.
They lie in silence again, and Lewis is left to think about what she'd just asked him.
He spent a lot of his time in a serious relationship, and immediately after that ended, he was in his single bachelor phase; somehow, as the years went on, it never ended. That's how he's gotten Clementine in his bed.
Of all the girls he chose to spend his time with, Clementine was easily his favorite. She wasn't artificial or an ass-kisser to him; she was simply herself. And Lewis wasn't used to coming across women like that, given his status and all.
Clementine was actually the complete opposite of every other girl in his rotation. She was younger than him, yes, but she was also smart and had dreams she wanted to achieve on her own. He liked to joke that everything about her screamed old lady. Clementine liked that.
What's cooler than an old lady?
"I'm going to take that as a compliment. I can't wait to get old; there's beauty in knowing you've lived; I know I'm going to spend my life fulfilling my potential. It'd be cool to be an eccentric old lady, just happy and peaceful. Content with life."
It was entirely by chance that he ran into her at all that night two years ago. He had been taking a late-night walk in the streets of New York when he first saw her.
Initially, her style caught his attention, but the closer he got to her, the more noticeable was her smile and then her voice. God, she had the voice of an angel. She had that classic American drawl, so sultry and sweet like she was straight out of the fifties but with a twist.
Then he realizes that he's seen her before, and he stops in his tracks, trying to pinpoint where exactly he'd recognized her gorgeous face from.
"Do I know you?" Lewis questions confidently.
Clem halts, her lips puckering in as she squints at the unfamiliar man. "Sorry, Sir. I don't think so."
She surely doesn't recognize him.
And then it clicks, he snaps. "My photographer, Timothy McGurr!"
"Oh wow," she smiles. "I love Timmy. You said he's your photographer?"
"Yes, for the last four years."
"Wow, four years." She marvels, "You model?"
"No." He laughs, shaking his head, "I race cars."
"Nascar?" She wonders, tilting her head to the side.
"Formula One." He corrects, and she hums, impressed.
"I've heard serious things about you guys over there. Anyhow, it was nice meeting you," she trails off, allowing him to introduce himself.
"Lewis." He sticks his hand out, "Lewis Hamilton."
As she shakes his hand, her phone lights up with a notification just as a black SUV pulls in. "That's me. It was a pleasure meeting you Mr, Hamilton." She smiles kindly, and then she slips into the vehicle and rides off into the night.
Lewis stands there for a second. He doesn't know why, but he feels drawn to her for some reason.
The very next morning, he called his photographer for her details. Lewis has always been rather bold, so he isn't nervous when he dials her number. "Hi, Clementine?"
And the rest was history.
Lewis has learned one specific thing about Clem since their rendezvous began. She was an intense person. She liked to talk about any and everything. Lewis didn't mind it, though. It was nice to unpack with someone he knew wouldn't judge him.
She had a way of making anything she asked feel deep. Lewis was both enamored and intimidated by that.
Just as she was intuitive, she was equally as open. Lewis knew he could always bounce the question back to her, and she'd give him the most well-thought-out and theoretical answer.
He loved listening to her talk just as much as he loved fucking her.
"Do you ever get tired?" He ricochets.
"All of the time, and it's sad because I'm still so young, but I often wonder if any of this is even worth it. Is slaving away so hard going to be worth it in the future if I've spent my glory days basking in trying to find glory."
"I have faith in you, Clem. You're already lightyears ahead of the rest of us with that mind of yours."
She chuckles, and they bask in the comfortable silence for a while longer, both looking up at the ceiling of his New York penthouse like they're staring out into the galaxy.
"Do you feel like you have enough glory?"
"No," he answers honestly, "I won't be content until I reclaim my eighth."
From the corner of his eye, he sees her head lull to the side and stare at him. Lewis doesn't get uncomfortable when Clem stares at him like he does when most people do. The idea of her reading into him is flattering more than unsettling.
"If you weren't a driver, what would you want to be?"
"A designer of all sorts, really. Music, fashion, you name it." He lists off, and she lets out an mhhm sound.
"I can actually see that. You have a very creative mind." She praises.
"What about you? What would Clementine Russell be doing right now if she wasn't an actress?"
She chuckles, "Well, for starters, I wouldn't be naked in your bed. I'd probably be somewhere in the middle of nowhere, like Montana." She gasps, "Yeah, Montana! And I'd have a farm full of animals that I'd never eat, and I'd go out and sit and paint or write more stories that no one would ever see. If I could go back in time, I'd just write my stories, not play in them. I would hike the same mountain every day and watch the sunset. Yeah, I'd sit and watch the sunset every day and admire how beautiful everything becomes. "
For some reason, that statement holds a more significant sentiment than she intended.
"You sure do have a way with words."
"I try."
Silence falls over that pair again until she breaks it.
"Do you think I'm annoying?"
"No, never." Lewis reveals, "I actually like having you here to talk to; why do you ask?"
"Sometimes I feel like I talk too much and ask too many questions."
"I think you make people feel seen when you ask questions the way you do." He hums. "Do people ask you questions?"
"No, not really."
"Do you wish people asked you questions, Clem?"
"Yes."
That's when Lewis realizes that all that glimmers isn't gold. Clementine Walker had the life of a star. She could do anything she wanted at any given time. Yet she wasn't content with her life. She was actually rather lonely.
"I write scripts for myself to act out when I want to talk about something." She chuckles dryly. "That's pathetic."
And suddenly, Lewis feels terrible for not asking the woman more questions. He feels like a shit person for receiving her and giving her nothing in return. Clementine was better than therapy for him; who gave therapy to her?
"What if we lay in bed after every meetup and we just talk? I consider you to be a friend Clem. I like listening to you. I like hearing about you, too."
"Okay."
"We can start now?"
"You first." She has a giddy smile on her face as she turns over to face him.
"Why do you think you feel everything so deeply?"
She hums, her eyes casting downward as she allows the question to ruminate.
"I expect everything to be meaningful. I have a hard time seeing anything objectively. Everything has to mean something to me, and if it doesn't, what's the point? If it has no purpose, how am I supposed to accept it? I feel so deeply because every word, action, and situation has to mean something; there has to be a reason behind it. I've never had someone tell me that things weren't that deep; I wasn't taught to brush things off; I was taught to feel and to try to understand everything and everyone."
"I think that's beautiful. You're such a gracious being, you know that?"
She whispers a quiet thanks as she thinks over what to ask him.
"What's one thing you lost as a kid that you wish you could get back?"
"I had a remote-controlled big Homer car when I was a kid, and I used to drive it in the park every day. I got distracted one day and left without it; when I came back the next day, it was gone."
"Who gave it to you?" Clem inquires, and when Lewis turns onto his side to face her, she looks so intrigued by what he has to say. He doesn't think anyone has ever cared so much for what he has to say if it wasn't involving his career.
"My dad, for my sixth birthday. We were poor, so it meant a lot to me; I really cherished it. Felt like I took it for granted, I loved that car so much, but I left it. How could I forget something that important to me?"
Naturally, Lewis opens up to Clementine.
"You can love something and still lose it, which illustrates how much you adore it in the end. You never really know how much you appreciate something until you no longer have it." Clem enlightens.
Lewis wonders how her brain can process such complex thoughts in mere seconds.
"What have you lost?"
"A letter from my dad." Clem hums. "When he was in prison before things got bad with my mom and he stopped reaching out, I was turning eight, and he sent this beautiful card. It was Clementine orange, and when you opened it, a three-dimensional cake popped out with like a million yellow candles. I remember it saying these candles don't compare to the light you brought to the world on this day many years ago." Clem chuckles as she describes the elaborate birthday card. She picks at Lewis' sheets as she speaks.
He sees her lips pressed together, and she turns to face the ceiling again. She doesn't seem like she intends to keep talking.
"I'm listening, y'know. I'd love to hear more." Under the covers, his hand travels down until it catches hold of Clems.
"I-um, He wrote his message in like really elegant cursive, and I was a kid at the time, so I had my grandpa read it to me over and over, like every day, until I had fully memorized it. I had never seen my dad in person. I had never heard his voice, not even over the phone. I had never even gotten a letter from him before. Still, the things he wrote in that letter were beautiful. I remember feeling a little less lonely as if he loved me unconditionally. There were dried tears embedded in the paper material. I knew he cried as he wrote it, and that made me feel like, damn, this is a man who means what he says, feels exactly what he writes. I don't know when I lost that letter or how I just knew when I went for it again. It was nowhere to be found. I'm forgetting the words he wrote to me."
"Have you heard from him since?"
"Once but not directly. When I turned fifteen, he was released. He felt like he wouldn't know how to be a father when he got out. Which I understood. I can't force anyone to have a relationship with me. It must’ve been hard going in when your child is an infant and coming out to her fully bloomed. He cried on the phone to my grandpa every time he argued with my mom. She'd say nasty things to him, like how he'd never be a father to me and how I was better off. I figured when you're locked in a cell, and all you can think about is going home to your child, it must’ve been hard to hear that you would never account for anything. I believe he gave up. Not everyone is strong enough to take on that kind of mental battle."
Even as Clementine describes how fucking sucky her childhood was, she is still showing grace to the people who ruined her innocence.
"He never asked to speak to me during these calls. My mother always kept him at a distance when he was in prison. If he had written more letters than the one he sent to my grandpa, like he wrote that he did, I never got them. She was good at telling him that she didn't want him in my life. I don't blame her either; neither of them was ready to be parents. I got a call on my eighteenth birthday. It was just breathing on the other side for a while. I had a feeling it was him, so I didn't hang up, but it was a gravely voice on the other end and he sounded a little choked up. Said the exact same line from my birthday card, I'm not sure if you like cake, but eat a lot of it today princess. Happy birthday. And then the call disconnected. Kind of fucked me up a little bit because I think I was just getting to a point where I was finally okay with not having parents."
"I'm sorry." Lewis solaces.
"It's cool, builds character." She jokes dropping her elbow and lying completely on her side.
"I pride you on your gracefulness, truly."
"My grandpa always told me that if you can find grace in failings, life becomes more beautiful. If you can find grace in every situation, eventually, those graces will catch up to you. Everyone deserves to have grace; who am I to hold something above someone else because of how it made me feel? You never know what made someone act the way they did. In the end, it may have affected them more than me, but as long as I'm gracious and I consider these kind of things to be a possibility it makes it easier for me."
Lewis thinks back to all the times he handled situations without grace, when he allowed himself to blow up over small things, and how, in the end, it made situations worse than they needed to be. He internally hums at the realization.
"Shit."
She is shuffling from his bed, sheets clutched tightly against his chest.
She gracefully moves around his room, the sheets fitting her like a gown. Lewis props himself up on one arm, watching her gather her belongings.
When she tosses the sheet back onto the bed, he watches as she pulls on her pants and steals his button-up to throw over her thin tank top.
She sits on the edge of his bed, throwing on her worn Adidas sambas.
"It's been a blast, Sir Hamilton." She bows, and he softly launches a pillow at her. She catches it with a sweet grin and places it at his feet. "I have to be on set early tomorrow. My assistant sent a car for me."
"I'll call you when I'm back in town," he suggests, and she nods, letting out a noise of agreement as she saunters over to his bedroom door.
"Be safe out there on the track." She blows him a kiss, and then she is gone, and he hears his front door close gently.
Lewis likes spending time with Clem. She has a way of taking every ounce of stress from his bones.
Lewis wasn't a relationship kind of guy, and he liked that Clem understood that. She wasn't trying to force a relationship on him or was convinced she could change his mind.
Clem was there for the great sex and the even better conversations. The two of them had made great friends out of each other, and they were both content with the status of their association.
Lewis never told Clementine this, but he liked watching her work. He liked how she could put out art, and he could resonate with it. Lewis thinks that Clem is the most emotionally intelligent person he's ever met, which is why everything she puts her hands on just works.
And it shows. Clementine is the kind of person whose words sound like they're straight from classic literature. She has a way of speaking that instantly captivates every person in her proximity.
Clementine was a Jill of trades. She liked to act, but she was an even better writer. This is why she was awarded co-director of her award-winning show after helping to direct only three episodes. He knew she had a knack for all things creative. She liked to draw, paint, and read, and she had a thing for tattoos just as much as he did.
Clementine was actually so fucking cool.
People loved her naturally; she only had to be herself, and it made people gravitate towards her.
Being around Clem was like having the hands of an angel on you. It was impossible to feel troubled, even if you were going through the most unfortunate or stressful circumstances. If you had Clem, trust you'd feel nirvana.
Her words echo in his mind. I write scripts for myself to act out when I want to talk about something.
He switches on his television and clicks on the Netflix app. It's the first option under his 'continue watching' category, and he presses resume.
Lewis loved her show, though he never admitted it. It was artsy and different than what was new and hot now. Clem channeled all of her favorites to make this show. He remembers her describing her obsession with Jim Carrey and The Truman Show. Her favorite movie of all time was Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, and her favorite character also shared her name.
He knew that Clementine cried when she read Tuesdays with Morrie, just like she did when she watched Requiem for a Dream. She had an odd obsession with The Joker movie and was even more obsessed with the lore of how each Joker is portrayed differently. She always saw herself in Charlie, from the perks of being a wallflower.
She rewatched What's Eating Gilbert Grape at least once a week. If you asked her, Tim Burton was the best director in the world, and she had a special connection to Edward Scissorhands. She also loved anything with a narrator.
She was right. It makes you feel each character a little bit more to hear their every thought.
He now knows that she likes to narrate her own show because she likes to talk about what she feels. No one asks her how she feels.
Everything that Clem likes is so deep and complex, and it fits her perfectly.
He must admit that he had never heard of any of these shows, movies, or books before meeting Clementine. But seeing how passionately she described them had him desperate to enlighten himself. He sees the inspiration of it all in her show.
Every episode starts with a question. Clem appears facing away from the camera, an oversized Carhartt denim jacket adorning her frame. He sees that she is sitting on a mountain, a camera held to her face, taking pictures of the most scenic view he's ever seen.
Her voice emerges through the speaker, yet her mouth is unmoving.
"You can go anywhere in the world under one condition. You'd have to stay there forever, everything unchanged and nothing new will ever come. Where do you choose?"
The camera is still panned out but moves to the side, where he views her relaxed frame from the side. As the camera zooms in she breaks the fourth wall, turning to face the camera. The sky is oddly vividly blue in the background and the clouds are all weirdly perfect.
"Probably here."
As the sun sets, the sky adorned in perfect warm hues, she sets the camera beside her and folds her hands in her lap. She turns to face the beautiful view, and she looks more content with life than she's ever seen.
Her voice rings through the speaker again as the camera pans out, and her body begins to look smaller and smaller against the vast sky.
"You can still see the sunset even on the darkest of days.”
-
The next time Lewis sees Clem is at her the Cannes movie festival.
She is obviously the lady of the hour, and he's had a hard time catching up with her.
When he finally does see her, his breath hitches as she maneuvers through the crowd and away from the red carpet in a very elaborate gown. She looks like a princess.
Like she can feel his eyes on her, her head turns and she sees Lewis standing amongst a group of other celebrities.
There are three people surrounding her. Zeus, her bodyguard, SK her assistant and finally her publicist Nia.
She approaches him, ready to greet him with a wide grin; Lewis has a grin of his own covering his face as he steps ahead of the group.
"Lewis, Hi!" She pitches, raising her arms to hug him; he happily accepts her embrace, wrapping his own around her frame.
"Can't wait to see you on the big screen." He boosts, and she smiles up at him, ready to reply, when a hand clamps down over her wrist and begins pulling her away, "Sorry, got to keep going, Clem."
She offers him a rushed smile, lifting her dress so that she can exit with speed. Lewis has never once felt like the fan in a situation until it came to Clem.
"So the movie is going to be about cannibalism?" His friend asks, looking through the pamphlet.
"No," Lewis combats. "I mean, yes, but it's deeper than that, the flesh represents..." and he drones on describing the lore of her new movie, Bones and All.
His description is almost word for word the way you described it to him after he asked the same exact question.
"So it's a movie about eating people?"
Clementine laughed, shaking her head, and moved to sit against his headboard. Her skin was still flushed from their previous actions, and her mouth was dry.
"Cannibalism is just the placeholder for many different vices. Everyone has their vices. By using something that damn near everyone looks down on, the symbolism of just how serious these issues are get understood tenfold. Think of it like this, you get mental illness from one parent, and the other denies that you have it. They believe you're perfect, nothing is wrong, but deep inside, there is this illness growing in you and festering out of control that you can't get help for, that won't be accepted."
"Imagine being homosexual, imagine not being able to express that, especially in the eighties; it becomes a bliss you have to satisfy in private. Something you must keep a secret, or something bad will happen to you. Some vices are passed on, like alcoholism or addiction, and even trauma can be passed on, like mental illness; it's about how you have to hide it all, how it catches up to you, and how it ruins you. If you watch it, think about that, Lewis. Think about what each character represents. What is the flesh they're eating?"
Lewis cries during the movie. He sees that he is not the only one as the lights illuminate the cinema, and there are no dry eyes in sight. Lewis would never understand how Clem was able to have such a complex mind and also make it so simple and still artistic to the point where anyone could understand.
Lewis usually hates being forced to attend film festivals. He especially dreads the standing ovations that drag on and on. But he graciously stands for the entire seventeen minutes that her movie receives.
He's always told Clem that, at a certain point, she'd have to let that humbleness go. Lewis was a humble person, there was nothing wrong with it, but he didn't like that Clem thought she didn't deserve praise for her work. He wanted her to know she was the shit.
He feels his heart swell with pride as she marvels at the cheers, whoops, whistles, and applause.
He places his fingers between his lips, letting out a whistle of his own. It dominates the space, and she turns to face him like she knows it is him.
Clementine's grin grows impossibly larger, and she lifts her arm to wave at Lewis. He spreads his arms out in front of him and bows at her.
Clementine chuckles, shaking her head at him.
Although she attends the film festival every year, this was her first time presenting her work as a director. This was a huge deal to her. Not only was she the star actress in the film, but this was hers. Her work, her words, her art, and people loved it and understood.
As two more dreamy minutes pass on and the cinema falls into an air of collective chatter, she folds her hands over her heart and speaks to her fellow costars.
"Holy fucking shit," Timothee curses, "do you understand that we just got a nineteen-minute standing ovation?" He places her head between his hands, pulling it towards him and placing a kiss in her hair. "Fuck, Clem. You're a fucking creative genius, you know that?"
-
When Clementine finally got used to people she realized that she actually does like parties. Here she was being celebrated by people, some she knew, some she didn't all the way in France.
She is in a mansion in France, fresh off the red carpet, throwing back shots with every pat on the back. There is a thrill in being praised, and with each pat on the back or congratulatory kiss on the cheek she gets, she feels herself levitating.
When Clementine first got the idea for the movie, she stayed awake for twenty-four hours, holed up in her bedroom, typing away at her keyboard as she planned and created rough drafts of a proposal.
If you asked Clem, she doesn't think that she's a creative genius like everyone else believes. She thinks that she materializes how she feels into forms of art that people will understand. She doesn't sit and think long and hard or even look for targeted things to express. She just knows.
Clem wanted to write a movie for those she felt had been denying themselves. For the kids confused about their feelings and things they can't control. From alcoholism, sexual identity, mental illness, addiction, and all the way to feeling lonely and navigating life on your own. She wanted to make a movie that materialized how it feels to come of age without understanding the purpose of life. And she'd done it.
Clem wouldn't say she was particularly close to any of the people here at the afterparty, minus Timothee. They had grown very close since filming together.
Clem actually wouldn't say she was close to many people at all other than her small, tight-knit group of friends and, of course, Lewis. Which is ironic because their entire relationship is built on the basis of sex.
She can't lie; when she first met Lewis, she was instantly attracted to him. He had a certain kind of charm about him that just screamed, You're going to respect me.
Clem liked that Lewis stood ten toes behind what he believed, always. She liked that he was genuinely a kind person and not just pretending for the media. What he put out was actually who he was, and Clementine wasn't used to seeing that in the celebrity world.
Lewis fully intended to be friends with Clementine when he called her that first night, but the longer they were in each other’s presence, the more obvious it was to sense the lingering sexual tension between them.
Clem wasn't offended when Lewis admitted that he wanted to sleep with her and keep her around without the formalities of a romantic relationship.
In fact, she was fine with it.
She didn't judge him when he explained how he wasn't a relationship kind of guy. She listened intently when he described how demanding his job was, and she even hummed along in agreement when he concluded that sex can sometimes just be fun.
It'd been two years since she first met Lewis; she was older and more mature. More demanding of herself.
She was learning to let things go as the days passed and let things come when the world felt.
She feels like she's gotten to know herself better, and she owes a lot of that to the nearly 40-year-old driver who has taken the time to unravel parts of her that no one else bothered.
So when she sees Lewis walk through the grand entrance now dressed in a far more casual outfit than the black Louis Vuitton tuxedo that adorned his frame earlier, she can't help the way her smile makes her eyes crinkle.
She rushes from the bar, slipping past the guests, crowding the home, and speeds up the stairs as fast as her heels can take her.
She lets her dress fall at her feet as she tosses on her own less formal outfit and descends the stairs again in search of her friend.
He sees her first, perched on the stairs with a concentrated face, and he chuckles at just how focused she looks. Her eyes are scanning the crowd, and he waits patiently until her eyes catch his.
When they finally meet, he raises his hand in a cool wave, and she grins, skipping down the stairs. He raises his brows when she finally makes it to him after being stopped time and time again by other partygoers.
"Lady of the hour, huh?" He jokes, pulling her into him.
"I don't even know these people," she whispers, smiling softly and offering a wave as a drunken man passes by and calls out her name. She turns back to Lewis with fogged eyes, "Timothee wanted to throw an afterparty, so here we are."
"You have been celebrating?"
"I've taken a few shots or so." She smiles, "Can we get out of here?"
Lewis nods, "Yeah, of course."
His hand travels down and takes her own, leading her from the full house. "Where do you want to go, love?"
"Anywhere is fine; just want to be far away from people." She sighs.
Lewis peers down at her, watching as she scours the long driveway.
He motions her to his car and she slips from his hold already pacing towards it. She hops into the passenger side when she hears the car unlock and he plops down into the drivers seat.
"Why are you here in France? You didn't tell me you'd be here." Clem inquires as Lewis places his phone into her lap so that she can play music. He always preferred her music taste when they rode in the car late at night.
"I wanted to see the movie and support my friend." He smirked.
"You have to be in Monaco tomorrow!" she gasps. " You can't do that, Lew. You need rest. When did you even get here?"
"I touched down today after qualifying."
"No." Clem disapproves, "I could’ve just gotten you tickets to the premier. You must be so tired."
Lewis shakes his head, "M'fine. Besides, I wanted to be one of the first people to see it." Which was a lie because he was totally exhausted.
"Early flight tomorrow, then?" Clem asks.
Lewis only nods, already knowing her eyes are set on him. Frank Ocean begins to play through his speakers, and he hums along to the song playing. It brings upon his next thought.
"I say you posting in the studio?" He eyes, "Let me find out Clemy girl about to be in the booth spitting."
She laughs shaking her head, "not even, I was just there with Tyler. Did record a few vocals for him though."
"Maybe one day you should, I don't know, release something of your own."
Clem scoffs, "I know you think I can do everything. We're not all great at everything."
"It's true, do you think you can do it all, besides I've heard you singing in the shower; sounds nice."
"So you wait outside of the bathroom listening to me, creep."
He smacks his teeth, removing one hand from the wheel to blindly mush her.
"I'm serious, though. I think you have a beautiful voice."
"Thank you. Maybe one day we'll both stop playing in the studio and do something together." She chortles, "So I guess what I'm saying is, I'll do it if you do."
Lewis smirked, nodding his head. "Deal."
Lewis takes her back to his hotel for the night. He smiles as he watches her from the living room. She is on the balcony, arms spread along the banister.
He approaches her. Like she can sense his presence, she speaks up, "Beautiful, isn't it?"
He doesn't bother looking out to the view. He keeps his eyes on her. "Yeah, very beautiful."
Sometime in the night, the two of them ended up entangled in his bed, both on their sides, as Lewis thrust into her from behind. One of his arms is outstretched and serving as a pillow for her neck, and the other is wrapped around her waist, holding onto her hand as he moves deeper and deeper into her warmth.
He knows that when she squeezes around him for that final time, he's as good as done for, sheathing himself as far as he can get; his mouth drops open as he releases himself in heavy spurts. Clem exhales as he finishes, her grip on his hand loosening slightly.
Lewis doesn't bother to remove himself from her core; the arm nestled between the crook of her neck and shoulder bends until his hand is cupping her jaw and forcing her head back towards him, where he is leaning over her shoulder. He smashes his lips against hers in a searing peck, one after the other, until he holds his mouth against hers. She opens her mouth, and their tongues glide against each other in perfect harmony.
Finally, they pull apart to breathe, and Lewis pulls out with a hiss. They both fall onto their backs, his taken arm still resting beneath her head and his free arm holding their conjoined hands against his chest.
"It gets better and better every time." She admits, and Lewis lets out his signature boyish laugh, turning to face Clem. She is taking the time to catch her breath, a happy, satisfied grin covering her face as she stares up at nothing.
It's like a scene from a movie. The curtains flowed gently against the wind, and the night sky of Cannes was illuminated by stars blazing through his open balcony doors. Clem's exquisite side profile is the main focus.
He reaches over, pulls his phone from the nightstand, and slyly takes a picture before dropping his phone beside him and reconnecting their hands.
"I should go," Clem announces with a sigh. "You have an early morning ahead of you."
"You don't have to go." Lewis tested, "It's late."
"It's always late when we're together, Lewis." Clem reminds.
"I- Just stay the night. It doesn't have to be weird. We know what we're doing."
He feels her head turn against his head and knows that she's looking at him with those same endearing eyes. "Okay," she whispers into the air.
"Besides, we haven't talked." Lewis murmurs, and Clem smiles. "Can't break the ritual. You remember when I asked you where you would be if you weren't you, and you said Montana?"
Clem hums in agreement. "Yeah, what about it?"
"Think we should go one day, you and me. See those animals; climb that mountain."
Clem wills back the tears burning behind her eyes. That conversation occurred two months into their arrangement, and two and a half years later, here he was, bringing up small details to a dream she'd told him about briefly.
"What?" Lewis murmurs, watching her grin.
"Nothing, just surprised you remembered that, is all."
"I remember everything you say to me, Clementine."
"I'd love to go to Montana with you," she whispers after a while. "It's the prettiest in spring."
"Well, we'll go next spring then." Lewis declares.
Clem smiles against against his arm, placing a peck there. "Deal, if you're not sick of me by then, we'll climb that mountain in Montana."
Lewis turns back towards the celing hoping she can't tell that her simple actions had his face burning and had his blood rushing.
"You know in eternal sunshine of the spotless mind when they're laying on the ice?"
"Yeah, Clem." Lewis chuckles. "We've watched it a million times."
"That's what it feels like laying here right now with you."
"Thank you." Lewis grins.
"Her hair was blue." Clem points out. "Her hair changed colors to represent their relationship. Why do you think it was blue?"
"They were starting over. Maybe she was still down about erasing him."
"Huh," Clem sighs, "that's a good take."
"Shower?"
"With you?" She wonders.
"If you're okay with that."
"I just let you fuck me into oblivion. Why not let you clean me up."
Much cleaning hadn't gone down in the shower.
clementine
liked by lewishamilton, tchalamet, and 8,898,465 others
clementine the best week, the most perfect week.
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lewishamilton Amazing movie 🙌🏽 such a deep message.
tchalamet And she's done it again people.
badgalriri Such a beautiful film, queen. ❤️
pharell, You're a literal artistic genius; I look forward to working with you in the future.
user Clemmy + Timmy. The duo we didn't know we needed.
-
As Lewis saunters around the hotel room quietly the next morning, he keeps a cautious eye on the girl in his bed. He trips over his discarded shoe as he focuses on not waking her up. He mentally facepalms himself as she begins to stir.
Clem sits up, dazed and groggy; she clutches the sheets to her chest as she peers at Lewis, who looks like a deer caught in headlights.
"Good morning," he winces, "Sorry, I was packing my suitcase back up, didn't mean to wake you."
"It's fine," she rasps, reaching over to grab her phone and checking the time. When she sees that it's seven in the morning, she internally groans but slides her legs off the side of the bed to get ready to pack herself up.
"Woah, hey-" Lewis is by her side in an instant. "Where you going, love?"
Clem pauses, still half asleep she examines him through puffy eyes. "Your flight is at 8:30, right? You're about to head out."
Lewis nods but lifts her legs back onto the bed. "Yeah, but checkout is not until twelve."
When he realizes that she is still glancing at him in confusion, he sits on the bed beside her. "You can stay here, Clem; get some rest before you get on the road. I'll leave the room key with you. Just let them know you're checking out for the king suite."
He laughs as she furrows her brows. "Don't make it weird." he reiterates from last night.
She lets her head fall back against the pillows, more than happy to return to her slumber.
"How long are you going to be in Monaco?"
"About a week."
Clem tried not to think too deeply about his big palm spread over her thigh, his thumb caressing it so tenderly.
"Oh." She mutters, "and then Canada?"
Lewis chuckles, his hand coming up to hold her jaw tenderly, his thumb caressing her cheek. "Look at you," he chuckles, "got my schedule memorized, huh?"
Clem feels the familiar burning in her face as she suppresses her shy smile. "Oh, please." she scoffs. "We've been at this for two years. Of course, I remember the times you begged me to hop on your plane and fly to you so that you could get your rocks off."
Lewis smirks, "Look at that, caught a flight to you this time." And he's bending down and smearing his mouth against hers. He dominates the kiss, his large hand on her jaw keeping her in place for him to use her mouth as he pleases. "Mhmm." he groans pulling away.
"Wanna stay with you here all day, Clem. But I've got a flight to catch."
He is standing and bending over to press one last unexpected peck to her mouth and then her temple before he is at the end of the bed and latching onto his suitcase.
"The keys on the table, okay? Go back to sleep, and order yourself some food for me when you wake up. And text me, okay?"
Clem sits up, still mind-boggled from the kiss, and nods her head.
Lewis smiles, sending her a wave and easing out of the door.
Clementine nearly screams as the door clicks shut, and she hears his footsteps getting farther away.
Casually kissing wasn't a thing between them. Lewis was sweet, yes, but not once has he sat and caressed her and spoken so softly to her. She had never spent the night with him or fell asleep in his arms. And here he was, flipping her entire world upside down and telling her not to make it weird.
It's what she repeats to herself over and over throughout the day as the tender moments with Lewis replay in her head.
He was just being a friend, of course he would show up to support her, right? Of course he wouldn't want her to be on the road late at night or extra early in the morning? And they've kissed before, only during sex but maybe he was wound up in the moment, they were friends with added benefits, did those benefits now include impromptu kisses?
She groans as she checks out from his room and hobbles into the waiting SUV where her assistant waits with her packed bags. "You had a time last night." SK teases as he takes in his boss' disheveled appearance.
"Shut up." Clem grunts, buckling herself in.
SK raises his hands in surrender and then gets back to typing away on his phone. Clem lets her forehead drop against the window as she drives through the beautiful French city.
"Hey, SK?" When he lets out a noise to signal he's listening, she asks him for a favor. "If I asked you to find something for me and get it sent to Monaco, do you think you could get it there before the end of the week?"
SK smacks his teeth, "Girl, please, do you know who you're talking to? I could have it there tomorrow."
"You're the best, SK." she smiles.
"Don't I know it. What is it you need me to get my hands on."
-
Sure enough, the next morning, Lewis is interrupted by a knock on his door as he clips on his jewelry.
He saunters over to the door his pants hung low and shirtless, swinging open the door to reveal the butler that the hotel provided. When his eyes travel south he see's the luxurious gift box in his hands.
"For you, Sir Hamilton. Delivered early today, pre-approved by your assistant."
Lewis thanks the man, motioning for him to hold still for a second as he rushes to retrieve some hefty bills from his wallet.
He pulls the box from his outstretched hand and replaces it with the bills.
When Lewis closes the door and saunters over to the couch, he plops down and sets the box on the coffee table.
He pulls the stock card from underneath the black ribbon and smiles as he reads over it.
thank you for showing up for me, and congrats on yet another win.
- 🍊
He smiles and taps the card against the box a few times before deciding to open it. He lets out a surprised squawk as he lifts the lid and sees a packaged vintage Big Homer super buggy.
Lewis covers his mouth with his hands stuck between letting out a scream that would resemble a child on christmas day or a cry.
Clementine Russell, he thinks, the woman you are.
He pulls out his phone, snaps a picture of the gift, and sends it to her.
-
#lewis hamilton x black fem oc#formula 1#lewis hamilton#lewis hamilton imagine#poc reader#f1#black reader#black reader friendly#black female oc
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FAMILY BUSINESS
"You want another, son?" Frank Mazza asked as he and his son Anthony sat in the living room of Frank's townhouse. Thursdays after work were generally dad-and-son time, a chance to catch up outside of work. It was pretty much the same every week. Two beers before Tony went back to the "luxury apartment" he shared with his girlfriend Becky. The TV on mute as ESPN or some sports game played. Conversation drifting between small talk to serious matters and back to small talk.
Every Thursday Frank asked his son if he wanted a third beer, and every Thursday Tony declined. Frank gathered Tony wasn't pussy whipped or anything, but the two had shared enough guy talk to know the 24-year-old never liked to miss a day when it came to sex and if he came home too late, or too drunk, Becky wouldn't put out.
The Mazza men had shared a lot more guy talk lately.
Tony lifted up his bottle and gave it a glance before finishing it off with a final swig. The kid had the killer Mazza smile and those soulful brown eyes that made him a ladies man in high school and in his fraternity days at college. "Yeah, sound good, Dad," he said. "Though I'll have to take an Uber or something."
Frank cracked a grin and patted Tony's knee with his big mitt of a hand before he hoisted his beefy body up. "You're always welcome to crash in the spare room."
Tony grinned. "You ever gonna put away all my football trophies?" he laughed.
Frank chuckled. "It's still your room, Tone... I guess a father never gets over the empty nest thing."
Tony rolled his eyes some but didn't lose that Mazza smile. "Empty nest? Dad, we see each other practically every day. More than after the divorce."
Frank winced a little in the grimace. That had been tough. He still didn't know if he'd made the right move divorcing Janice when he did. It killed him to think he'd put his son through that and selfishly he knew it had made his relationship with Tone a lot tougher for a lot of years. "Yeah," he said softly.
"Come on, Dad," Anthony objected. "I didn't mean it like that."
Frank nodded and went to get two more beers. He felt relieved when he came back and indeed Tony was in one of his relaxed, happy go lucky moods.
"Long day," the son said as he took a sip.
"Now you know how I've felt all these years," Frank said. It wasn't that Frank Mazza didn't value being a family man, but he'd always been a workaholic. He loved being in the provider role, maybe, and certainly loved the satisfaction of an honest day's work, maybe it was more satisfying than the emotional connections he sometimes had a hard time with in marriage.
Anthony shrugged. "I don't mind the hours when I know I'm working for myself."
Frank grinned. He was 44 now and thick-muscular Italian looks were now more clearly handsome. Gray temples set off his tan face and his otherwise dark hair. And his clean-shaven scruff made his dark complexion more alluringly masculine. "You know... I didn't expect you'd come back and join the business," he said, opening up with that third beer.
Tony grinned. "Yeah, Dad. I know. But I never had a doubt I wanted to... I mean... you worked hard to build the business up, I wanna do the Mazza name proud."
Frank worried he was going to get emotional. He and Tone had a rough patch when he was in high school, and he knew for sure that once the kid went off to college and got the degree his father never did... well, Frank expected Tony to never look back.
Instead, Mazza Contractors became Mazza and Son. They joked that Frank was the Brawn and Tony was the brains. It wasn't like his son wasn't muscular in his own right - a former tight end in high school and a regular devotee of the gym these days, Tony was downright buff. But he had a Bachelors in Business Administration and a good head for accounting. Tony was already the one interfacing with clients, generally well-to-do suburbanites looking for an upscale kitchen or bathroom remodel job. More than Frank, he knew how to talk those fuckers' language and how to placate demanding Karens. And when needed, Frank would show up to assure them of that blue-collar work ethic.
"So..." Frank said, changing the subject. "Becky not expecting you home?"
Tony shook his head. He had a look that was a mix of wounded and defiant. "Nah, we broke up."
"What?" the father said. Maybe because Tony had rekindled things with his high school sweetheart after graduation, he expected this one to last. "Sorry to hear, son."
Tony shrugged. "It's all right. It kind of sucks, but I was the one to call things off."
Frank leaned forward, his brown eyes showing that parental concern. "Can I ask what the problem was?"
Gone was that Mazza smile as Tony explained. "It's just... you know how Becky is very independent. You know, the career woman type... I don't know, Dad... I think I need someone more traditional."
"Traditional?" Frank questioned.
Tony grinned. "Yeah, you know, kind of like you and Mom. The wife staying home, taking care of things, the man being the bread winner. That kind of thing."
Frank patted Tony's shoulder in reassurance. "I know times have changed," he said. "But I'm pretty sure there are some traditional women out there."
Tony nodded. "Probably, yeah."
Frank leaned in and sais in a quiet, conspiratorial tone. "Just be careful... some of the traditional girls... well, they sometimes expect to be spoiled some. Particularly if they're pretty."
Tony laughed. "I know Mom was a princess, Dad," he said. "You don't have to mince words."
Frank clapped Tone's firm shoulder and withdrew his hand. "Guess not. Look... I made a promise I was never gonna speak ill of your mother to ya. But I'll just say there were times I wish I'd been supported more at home. After a ten hour day, sometimes a man just wants to be pampered a little when he gets home, you know?"
Tony's eyes met his. "That's it in a nutshell, Dad. It's just us guys, right?" the son asked as a prelude to what he was about to say. Not all fathers and sons talked openly about sex, but Frank never seemed to have any hangups, and since Tony had first gone to college they reconnected almost like buddies as much as family.
"Yeah," Frank assured him. "Just us guys."
"Becky was nice and all... and in my way I loved her, Dad. Still do.. but, fuck... I'd get home from the office and she'd be yammering about all her work crap and I'd just want to kick back and get a fucking blowjob."
Tony's crude words didn't shock Frank. Just as Frank's never shocked Tony.
"I hear ya, son," the man said. "Your old man's not one to be handing out dating advice, but you should find a girl who likes giving head and doesn't mind giving it."
Tony grinned. "Had one girl in college who did. But she was a stuck up bitch," he said. "She thought she was slumming it by going out with an Italian dude... I guess we both used each other."
Frank grinned. He had a good idea which girl Tone was talking about.
But his son's train of thought had already moved on. "Well, it's a hell of a lot easier with guys."
Frank's eyes went wide. He'd had a couple experiences like that under his belt. But the father-son chats had never gone there, not even in their most buddy-buddy candidness. "You done that, Tone?"
His son took a sip of beer and nodded. "It's easy as ordering fucking takeout, Dad," he laughed. "You go on your phone, see what's on the menu, pick out a cocksucker... and then it's pick up or delivery." His accent was now half North Jersey, half generic college-bro, but as he talked crudely, his thicker Jersey side won out.
Frank laughed. His mind was going to where he tried not to let it go. To the idea of his own son's cock and some man servicing it. "Easier than when I was your age," the father blurted out.
Now it was Anthony's turn to be surprised. "You done that, too, Pop?"
Frank blushed, but he didn't want to seem like the shy one. "Well, maybe a little younger than you... before I married your mother... sure, but it was more buddies helping each other out, you know?"
Anthony gave a half-shrug, half-nod that said he'd never had that kind of arrangement with his friends. Then his lips curled into a naughty smile. "You, uh, interested in some fun, Dad?" he asked.
Frank gulped. His mind was definitely going somewhere it shouldn't. And at that moment he wished his only son wasn't so goddamn handsome.... "Whaddya mean?" he asked softly.
Tony pulled out his phone and swiped to open it. "There's one guy who always drops everything when I hit him up," he typed the phone screen a couple times and looked up. "He's really fucking good, Dad... my favorite lately... I'm sure he'd be up for taking care of you, too."
"I don't know, Tone," Frank said, caution kicking in.
But his son was undeterred. "Come on, Dad, it'll be fun..." Then leaning back, he flashed that Mazza smile to his father and asked, "when was the last time you got laid?"
Frank shook his head. "I'm not sure this is something a father discusses with his son."
"It's just us guys, Dad," Tony countered. "How long?"
Frank blushed again. "Eight months."
"Jesus fucking Christ," his son swore. He went back to messaging the online cocksucker. "You're definitely getting some head tonight."
The burly, blue collar man thought he'd be pissed at Tony for being bossy like this. But he was secretly glad. He needed to get out of his comfort zone. Maybe Tone was onto something, using guys until the right woman came along. And he even more secretly he felt a thrill at seeing his normally good-kid of a son have a naughty sexual side. A take charge side.
"There," Tony said with a laugh as he set down his phone. "Told ya. He'll be over in fifteen minutes."
Fear came again to the Dad. "Is he... um gonna do both of us? At the same time?" The idea thrilled Frank but scared the hell out of him too.
Tony shook his head. Eyes meeting his father's for that brief moment of illicit knowledge passed between them. Tony imagining that incestuous scenario but he laughed it off. "Fuck that would be wild... ha, no, we'll take turns. He knows you're my dad, though... I think that turns the fucker on... hope you don't mind."
"No," Frank replied quietly. Then looking into Tony's brown eyes, he asked, "He's good, you say?"
"The best," the son replied. He nudged Frank's arm. "Seriously, he's gonna put those high school buddies of yours to shame."
Frank was still nervous when the guy showed up. Ian was his name. Good looking, gym built gay dude in his late 30s. Surprisingly comfortable being led in by Tony.
"Ian... this is my Dad. Dad, this is Ian," Tony said. Weirdly confident and relaxed. "Ok, if I go first? I could fuck a hole in the wall I'm so horny."
Frank felt a tightness in his crotch. He'd shared guy talk with Tone, but never seen his boy quite like this. He just gave a nod and watched his son lead Ian down the hall.
The wait was interminable. But was really five minutes tops. Then Tony strutted in, face flushed, a smile showing. That recognizable just-got-laid relaxation on his face.
"Your turn, Dad. He's waiting in my room for ya."
"Thanks," Frank said, standing up. He considered backing out, but he was too turned on now. He wasn't as nearly self conscious as he should have been by the hardon his son could see or the smirk Tony flashed when he saw it.
Ian was waiting for him all right. Sitting on Tony's old bed, surrounded by his son's old stuff that Frank kept in that second bedroom, all the posters and the football trophies. The man was unzipped and had a cock in hand and a horny look on his face.
"God, I can't believe this," the cocksucker said.
Frank didn't know a lot of gay guys, but this guy was rearranging a lot of his hang ups fast. He looked at the guy's dick. The first he'd seen up close and personal in a long time. He shut the bedroom door and locked it. Then turned to Ian.
"Ok, if I suck you?" he asked. He was almost too chicken to ask, but he knew he'd never get a chance like this again.
Ian's eyes went wide in surprise for a second, then he let go of his prick, a solid tool nearing seven inches and standing ramrod straight as the man leaned back on his arms on Tony's bed. "Sure, man... go for it."
Frank Mazza was running on adrenaline. The way he crouched down and got in place. Like he'd seen chicks do in porn. He was like one of those bimbos, he thought, but the idea didn't scare him like he thought. It turned him the fuck on.
"God yes," Ian hissed as Frank started taking that dick into his mouth. "Suck me, Daddy."
Hell, this was fucking with Frank's mind. He bobbed faster and deeper. He choked some and Ian had to tell him to go slower. He did and gradually he got into a good rhythm, a nice balance between speed and depth.
THIS felt incredible, the father decided. Not like those truth-or-dare experiments or those BJ swaps with his high school buddies. This was raw intense sex between meen. Frank was 44 and just now discovering how right this felt for him. He sucked more furiously, happy his gag reflex was holding off. Barely but holding off.
Even as cum pulsed into his throat. Ian didn't bother to announce his orgasm. Didn't matter: Frank would have swallowed that load greedily. He almost didn't want to relinquish that prick, but Ian was getting sensitive.
"Damn... you should definitely treat your son to THAT," he laughed. "That's some great head."
Frank leaned up. He was beyond thinking straight, he was horny as hell and hard in his jeans. "What?" he asked.
Ian grinned. "Dude, you're both such pervs... Tony couldn't stop talking about you the whole time I blew him."
"For real?" Frank asked excitedly, not concealing what he wanted the answer to be.
"For real," the man assured him. Then reading the older man's face, he added, "That turns you on, doesn't it?"
Frank nodded, tears welling up a little, but his dick hard as steel.
Ian grinned and reached down to rub Frank's crotch and unbutton him. "I wanna suck you too, man... first son, then father... total fantasy on a silver platter."
Frank grunted and nodded. And then watched as an experienced cocksucker crouched down and slowly, expertly brought him off to a deep cum.
The two got straightened up and Ian got a suddenly sheepish look on his face. "If I give you my number, will you let me know if anything happens between you two?"
Frank could tell the incest thing was a big turn on for this guy. But was feeling less comfortable now. "I don't know, man."
"Come on... just take my number. You don't have to tell me anything too private. Hell if you just wanna hit me up for some no-strings fun, that's cool."
"Yeah," Frank relented. He had to admit that idea was appealing.
Ian gave a quick wave as he walked past Tony. "Later, man."
"Yep," Tony half waved and went back to watching sports.
Frank realized he had a similarly primal look of sexual satisfaction his son did a while ago. But as he sat down, he realized that maybe something more had transpired that evening. That maybe the genie was out of the bottle.
He looked over at his son. He had the Mazza nose and jaw line, along with some of his mother's good looks. Tony was a stunner, all right, just the kind of young stud that was just "nice" and approachable to get women to put out.
Frank thought about what it would be like to suck his son's cock.
Tony caught his father looking. He glanced over with a wink. "Ian's good, right, Dad?"
Frank blushed and nodded, turning his attention back to the TV and picking up the beer for a much needed gulp. It was half-warm but he didn't care. The man was parched now. "Yep, Tone," he finally replied. "Like you said... the best."
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chance encounters | pt. 2
character(s): we got all the Triple Frontier boys in this chapter (obvi except Tom). Benny Miller, Will "Ironhead" Miller, Santiago "Pope" Garcia, Frankie "Catfish" Morales, fem!Reader
summary: Days blend together and it's become three months since you started training with Benny, and you use fighting and training as a distraction from your grief. It's when you're alone when things become too much. Luckily, Benny books you your first fight and your mind remains focused on winning (rather than dealing with the loss of your best friend).
word count: 4.1k
a/n: While I do train muay thai/kickboxing, I don't think I'd ever be able to fight (even when sparring in class I'm always so nervous lol), anyway... I hope you guys enjoy. We're going to delve deeper into Reader's grief in the next upcoming chapters and a certain someone might be able to help...
warnings: grief (and Reader doing a poorly job at coping with the loss), violence - it's Reader's first fight!, mutual pining between Frankie and Reader
series masterlist | ultimate masterlist
It had been three months. Three months since you started training with Benny at his gym. Three months since you started fighting again.
But that also meant it had been a total of six months since you lost your best friend. They say that days get better, that they get easier, but why does it feel like you haven’t gotten any better at all? You’re stuck in this same pattern where the only joy and excitement you feel is when you step foot into Benny’s gym. When your glove hits the heavy bag. When your leg connects with the pads that Benny holds. But as soon as you leave, you’re back to square one.
Every morning and every night, you lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling as your mind refuses to shut off. You’re afraid to close your eyes because when you do, all you see is your best friend. You can hear his laugh. You can see his smile. You can imagine him here.
And you hate it. You hate it because when you do open your eyes, you’re back to reality. You won’t ever be able to hear his laugh or his voice again. You won’t ever be able to see him smile or have him physically here with you.
All he is now is just a memory, haunting you day and night.
Benny has been so patient with you and you had gotten to know more about the three men you saw three months ago. The other blue-eyed man turned out to be his older brother, Will. He was quiet and reserved, but just like Benny, whenever he smiled, you felt a sense of comfort and security.
Then, there was Santiago… or Santi, he liked to say. He was just as outgoing as Benny was and he certainly wasn’t afraid to let you know how attractive he thought you were. It was meant to be a compliment and it would have usually made you blush and smile, but instead, it just earned him a curt nod before you walked past him to start training with Benny. Since then, though, Santiago had always tried to make you smile or laugh and there had been a few times where he succeeded, but as soon as the smile touched your lips or the laugh escaped you, you shut down. It didn’t feel right being happy.
And lastly, there was Frankie. He was just as quiet and reserved as Will was, but there was something about him that was soft and welcoming. You couldn’t explain it. In fact, he was the only one you hadn’t really spoken to. He liked to keep to himself, but there were certain gestures or actions that made you feel safe with him. He would hand you your duffle bag when you were getting ready to go home, give you a towel when you were drenched in sweat, and he even went so far to order food one night when you had mumbled that you hadn’t eaten all day.
Today, just like any other day, you step into Benny’s gym. Music is quietly playing and you see all four men wrestling on the mats. It didn’t seem like they were taking it seriously and you can hear their laughter echo the walls of the gym. It makes your heart flutter for a moment because even in the midst of your own grief, these four men managed to sneak into your life and begin to make a home. In fact, you couldn’t even begin to imagine life without them. You knew your best friend would have gotten along with them just fine, especially Benny. And it pains you because your best friend isn’t here to enjoy this with you.
“Oh, hey!” Santiago calls out, finally being overpowered by Benny as he lands on his back with a thud. “We were just messing around.”
“And I won,” Benny grins, climbing off of Santiago and standing up.
“You’re like thirty pounds heavier than I am. Of course you won.” Santiago rolls his eyes, but lets out a chuckle.
“It’s all about technique,” Benny winks. “Anyway, I thought I had you scheduled to start in an hour.” He says to you.
“Right,” you sigh. “I just figured I could come in early and hit the bag. If that’s okay?”
“You sure you won’t be tired?” Will says, sitting up as he and Frankie both try to catch their breaths. “You’re always training. Are you getting any rest?”
“Trying,” you admit quietly.
Frankie’s eyes soften immediately. Since the moment he saw you, he could see the sadness in your eyes, the void that is now left within you after finding out that you had lost your best friend. Loss was something he and the rest of the guys were all too familiar with, especially with being in their line of service, but that didn’t make it any easier. Frankie had numbed his grief and his pain with drugs and alcohol that it got to a point where he almost lost everything, he almost lost himself and it was his friends that brought him back to life. It wasn’t easy, but without them, he knew he wouldn’t have made it.
“Well, we’ll get out of your way. Go ahead and warm up,” Benny says. He and the rest of the guys stand up to give you space on the mat and Frankie is the last one to brush past you. He hears you let out a shaky breath and for a moment he pauses, stands right next to you.
“Hey, are you–” he quietly begins.
“Gotta train,” you interrupt, moving past him.
Frankie sighs and nods, following the rest of the guys towards Benny’s office in the back. Once inside, Benny hands him a bottle of water and sits down on the couch along the wall, glancing over at the door every so often.
“What’s up, Fish?” Santiago asks, arching a brow.
“I don’t think she’s okay,” Frankie points out.
“I’d have to agree with you there,” Benny says. “But if she doesn’t want to share, then we can’t force her. We all know what that’s like. You especially, Fish.”
Frankie tightens his jaw, running a hand through his unruly curls. “She’s struggling. You guys saw me struggle and still forced me to–”
“That’s because we have history, hermano,” Santiago interrupts. “We’ve only known her for a few months. We can’t just– We can’t just insert ourselves in her life when she’s made it clear that we’re all just… Acquaintances?”
“I was going to surprise her, think maybe it’ll cheer her up, but I booked her first fight for this Friday.” Benny says. “I think we’re all more than just acquaintances, but it’s her grief and we can’t push her on it.”
Will nods. “We all grieve differently. We all know this. Just give her time. If she wants to talk, she’ll reach out to one of us.”
“And how are you sure?” Frankie asks.
Santiago, Will, and Benny all share a look with each other before they turn their attention to Frankie. They can all visibly see the concern in his features and it’s only then that they realize that’s probably something more to this.
“Okay, what’s really going on, Frankie?” Santiago asks.
“Nothing,” Frankie waves off. “I’m just– We’ve all been in her shoes and we had each other to get us through it.”
“You like her,” Benny slowly grins. “You’ve barely talked to her and you like her.”
“Oh, shut up. I barely know her.”
Will chuckles. “But you like her?”
“I’m just trying to be nice, okay?” Frankie sighs. “It’s nothing like that.”
“You like her,” Santiago chuckles. “To be honest though, she does stare at you a little longer than everyone else.”
Frankie rolls his eyes. “Okay, you know what, I’m leaving.”
“But wait,” Benny chuckles. “You gonna say bye to her?”
Frankie’s jaw tightens and he playfully punches Benny’s arm, shaking his head. “You guys are assholes.”
“But you love us,” Santiago grins.
“Debatable,” he mumbles. “I just think… Maybe it’d be nice if we got her some flowers or cake or a card? I don’t fuckin’ know.”
“She doesn’t seem like the flowers kind of girl and she can’t have cake.” Benny says. “A card might be a good start," he teases.
“Great, you’ll be in charge of that, Fish,” Santiago winks.
“Bye,” Frankie says with a shake of his head as he leaves Benny’s office. He walks down the hallway and hears the sounds of the bag and exhaled breaths. He sees you hitting the bag with such speed and precision; Benny was right. You did have potential to become a legitimate fighter. Frankie enjoys watching you train because you’re so dialed in, so focused that everything around you just seems to disappear. Just like it is now, you’re light on your feet, bouncing on your toes as you deliver punches and hooks to the bag, finishing with a knee or a high kick. It’s impressive. You’re impressive.
He doesn’t stay long, doesn’t notice the way that your shoulders sag forward when the round ends. It’s almost like your body reminds you of the grief that encompasses your entire being. To be honest, fighting was a way for you to distract yourself from the grief and loss of your best friend. You’re not dealing with your grief. Instead, you’re pushing it as far back as you can, trying to focus on other things because you know that if you put your attention on the fact that your best friend died, you won’t be able to pull yourself out of it.
—
Friday rolls around and you’re in the locker room, warming up. It’s your first fight and Benny seems more nervous than you are. Your hands are already wrapped and you’re shadowboxing to keep your muscles warm, bouncing on your toes and switching stances from orthodox to southpaw. Frankie, Will, and Santiago enter the locker room just a few minutes before your fight begins.
“We wanna wish you luck,” Will says, pulling you into a gentle hug. “We know you’re gonna do great.”
“Thank you, Will.”
Santiago looks at you and smiles. “Make sure this pretty face doesn’t get beat up, yeah?”
You roll your eyes, the corner of your lips lifting just slightly. “You never quit, do you?”
Santiago chuckles. “With you? Never.” He winks.
Frankie then walks towards you. He’s wearing his Standard Heating Oil cap as usual and he lets a small smile line his lips. “Be safe, okay, hermosa?”
Hermosa. The pet name slips and Frankie bites his lower lip. The tops of his ears begin to burn, turning red in slight embarrassment. He brings a hand to rub the back of his neck and even you are taken by surprise by the pet name. It brings a sense of warmth in the pit of your belly though and instead of waiting for Frankie to pull you into a hug, you wrap your arms around him and let out a shaky exhale. With Frankie, it’s almost like he can tell what you’re feeling, can read how you’re doing, and right now, Frankie’s arms tighten just enough around you that makes you feel safe, that makes you feel like things are going to be okay.
“Alright, my little warrior,” Benny grins. “Let’s get out there.”
My little warrior. There’s an immediate shift in you and you pull away from Frankie immediately. He goes to say something, but he notices the look on your face, the distance in your eyes. You’re no longer here with him, with them, and he knows that your mind is elsewhere.
But he can also see the way your eyes glaze over with unshed tears, threatening to spill out. Instead, you take a deep breath and put in your mouth guard, allowing Benny to slide on your gloves.
You’re walking out of the locker room and down the hallway, eyes focused straight ahead of you as the four men remain behind you. You’re supposed to feel excited, thrilled for your first fight, but all you can think about is your best friend and how he wasn’t there to be able to watch you. You clench your hands into fists, your gloves tightening around your hands and you shake your arms loose, seeing the octagon as the crowd cheers and boos.
The cutman inspects you, making sure that you have your mouthguard in and your gloves tight and secure. Afterwards, the cutman then spreads petroleum jelly across your face - your cheekbones, the bridge of your nose, your forehead, your chin. They are the most common areas to be hit so the petroleum jelly is to help prevent cuts and tears from the impact that you’re sure you’re about to take in this fight.
Once the cutman finishes, you turn to Benny and he pulls you into a tight hug. You’re closest to him, especially with him being your coach, but he hasn’t yet known your full story yet. “Stay focused,” he says, pulling away. “You got this.”
You nod and gently tap his chest with your gloves before you turn to see Will, Santiago, and Frankie flash you a thumbs up from their seats in the front. You enter the octagon and let out a deep breath, your opponent staring down at you with narrowed eyes. You feel the nerves settle in, leaning back against the cage of the octagon as the announcer begins to announce your opponent’s name and her current record. You’re obviously the underdog, with this being your first fight, no one in the crowd (except for Benny and the rest of the guys) believe you can win.
“The Warrior!” you hear the announcer exclaim and immediately, you feel a shift within you. All you can do is focus on the woman on the other end of the octagon, eyes staring straight into her and the rest of the crowd disappears. The referee calls the both of you into the middle of the ring and you step forward, shifting between your feet as you keep your eyes solely on the woman in front of you.
“Are we clear?” the referee says after having told you both the rules. You both nod and you reach out to touch her gloves, but she just rolls her eyes and steps away, not bothering to give you the respect you had given her.
You both move back to your corner of the ring and within seconds, the bell rings to signal the start of the first round. You move closer to the middle of the ring, seeing her do the same as you keep your hands close to your face. She delivers several low kicks that take you a while to check, your leading leg beginning to throb in pain.
“Check those kicks!” You hear Benny yell from your corner of the octagon. It’s taking you a while to get the groove of things, still bouncing on your toes. You notice the woman has a habit of dropping her hands every time she kicks you and you know that you just need to time it right.
Your leg is beginning to bruise and it’s becoming a bit difficult to stand on it, so you switch stances to southpaw, keeping most of your weight on your right leg now.
“Come on!”
“Just end the fight already!”
“She’s not even that good!”
You can hear the crowd and it only fuels you even further. You try to remember Benny’s training, try to remember your best friend’s teachings, and they both had told you to be patient. The right moment will present itself.
There’s fifteen seconds left in the first round and so far, you know you’re losing. You’ve only thrown a few punches that haven’t landed. You can hear Benny screaming, begging for you to just do something instead of standing there and taking the hits that you don’t need to take.
The woman puts more pressure and backs you into the corner of the octagon. She clinches her hands around your neck, pulling you close enough to deliver a knee to your abdomen. It hits you straight in your core, knocking the wind out of you that you drop to your knees, falling backwards just as soon as the round ends.
You stand up slowly, walking towards your corner and sit on the seat that Benny sets down for you. You’re breathing heavily and it hurts, dripping with sweat as your abdomen begins to bruise and throb in addition to your left leg.
“You’re losing,” Benny says, lifting the bottle of water to your lips to give you a gulp. “You said you wanted this. You said you wanted to fight. What the hell is goin’ on?!”
You shake your head, tightening your jaw as you keep your eyes straight ahead, focused on the other woman and her team.
“Those kicks–” you begin. “I’m sorry, Benny. I’ll do better. I’ll finish it in this round.”
“That’s a bit presumptuous.”
You stand up from the seat, even with twenty seconds of rest left. “She drops her hands when she delivers a kick, Benny. I’m trying to find an opening.”
“You’re gonna get your ass kicked just waiting for something to happen. Be proactive. You know you’re fast. You know you’ve got the power. I know you can win this fight. Do you?”
You nod and look up at Benny. “Yes, I do.”
“Then fuckin’ win!”
The referee waves in your direction, signaling that the next round is about to begin. Benny looks down at you and his eyes soften for a moment.
“You can do this,” he says. “Believe in yourself.”
You nod and begin to bounce on your toes, the pain you’re feeling taking a backseat as you stare at the other woman with a tightened jaw and narrowed eyes.
Then, the bell rings and the second round begins.
The other woman rushes towards you and you use your footwork to easily move away from her punches. You see her leg begin to lift and her hands drop. This is your moment. You deliver a quick jab that connects with her face and she stumbles backward. It isn’t enough to drop her, so you push forward.
“There you go!” Benny exclaims. “Just a 1-2! She felt that!”
You remain focused, delivering just a simple 1-2 punch that continues to connect with her face. You step back to give you enough space to deliver a high kick to her right side, seeing her drop her hands to block the kick which gives you an opening to deliver a hard left hook across her chin.
You put as much strength as you could behind the hook, hearing the sound of your glove connecting with her chin echo throughout the building. She falls immediately on her back and you quickly scramble to mount her. Her arms cover her face as you just begin to ground and pound, delivering hammer fists to her face.
Then, you feel the referee come between the both of you, waving his hands in the air to stop the fight.
You won. Holy shit, you won!
Benny runs inside of the octagon and lifts you up, cheering and laughing. “You did it!” The rest of the guys rush inside as well, staring at you with excited eyes and grins.
The other woman finally stands up and the referee holds each of your wrists, waiting for the announcer to announce you as the winner. Once your hand is raised in the air, you feel tears threatening to spill over. The other woman comes to you and reaches out to give you a one-armed hug.
“Great job,” she says. “That was a great fight.”
“I’m sure my leg is gonna hurt like hell for the next few days,” you say with a slight smile.
The other woman chuckles and nods, turning around to walk out of the octagon with her team.
You turn around and look at Benny, Will, Santiago, and Frankie. Seeing them stare at you with smiles finally makes the dam break and tears begin to trickle down your cheeks. Benny’s the first one to pull you into a hug, holding you so tight that it provides the comfort you didn’t know you needed.
“Your best friend would be proud,” he whispers and it only makes you cry even harder. He and the rest of the guys lead you out of the octagon, hearing the applause and cheers from the crowd as you begin to make your way back to the locker room.
—
After your fight - and after freshening up and taking a shower - you meet the guys at the local bar that they normally frequent. You’re limping slightly, the bruise on your left leg a painful reminder of the leg kicks you endured during the fight. With each breath, you feel your side twinge with pain from the knee your opponent delivered at the end of the first round.
You keep your hair down and past your shoulders, dressed in a black slip dress that reaches past your knees and sandals. You’re glad that your face didn’t take much damage, but you’re sure that your body is going to be in a lot more pain tomorrow.
Tonight, you feel like you can celebrate… But also because you didn’t want to be alone.
Stepping into the bar, you see the four men in a booth in the corner and they spot you immediately. Their eyes slightly widen at the sight of you and you can’t help but let out a quiet chuckle, your cheeks heating up at the way they’re looking at you.
“You clean up nice,” Benny chuckles.
“I’m not in spandex shorts and a shirt, drenched in sweat,” you tease, sliding into the booth next to Frankie.
“You look great,” Frankie blurts out.
“Thank you, Frankie,” you say quietly, looking over at him.
Santiago, Will, and Benny look between the both of you and arch a brow before the three of them stand up to walk towards the bar. “First round will be on me,” Will says. “What can we get for you?”
“Glass of white wine, please,” you answer.
When the three of them leave, there’s an uncomfortable and awkward silence that fills the air between you and Frankie. He scoots closer to the inside of the booth to give you some space and he lifts the glass of beer to his lips.
“You were great out there tonight,” he finally says.
“I got my ass handed to me in the first round.”
Frankie chuckles. “But you didn’t give up and you came back in the second round.”
“Guess you can call it luck.”
“It wasn’t luck.”
You shrug and look down at your hands. “I just saw an opening and took it.”
“You work hard and it paid off,” Frankie says.
“Trying to,” you mumble. “It’s been hard.”
Frankie leans forward, elbows resting on the table as he looks over at you. “Benny mentioned your best friend…” he begins quietly, eyeing you to make sure that he wasn’t overstepping any boundaries. When he realizes you weren’t going to stop him and change the subject, he continues. “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
Even six months later, that phrase still frustrates you. Even though it’s meant as a way to offer condolences, it’s never brought you any comfort.
“Yeah,” you shrug.
“I didn’t mean to–”
“It’s fine,” you interrupt. “I try not to think about it, about him.”
Frankie nods. “You know, all four of us are prior military. Special Forces.”
“Really?” you ask, brows arching. You didn’t know that, but it does explain how close and tight knit they are.
Frankie nods again. “We lost one of our buddies a couple of years ago. There used to be five of us and now,” he sighs. “Anyway, I just– If you ever need anyone to talk to, we’re all willing to listen.”
“You ever get through it?” You ask. “It’s been six months and I feel… Stuck.”
Frankie shrugs. “You just learn how to deal with it. Learn how to live life without them.”
“But what if you can’t?” you say quietly. “What if you aren’t sure how to deal with it? How to live life without them? Then what?”
Frankie sighs. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Would your best friend want you to move forward? Would he want you to be happy?”
“I don’t know. I can’t ask him.” You sigh quietly and gently reach out to rest a hand on Frankie’s arm, feeling the muscles flex underneath your fingertips. “I’m sorry. I don’t–”
“Don’t worry about it,” Frankie says softly, reaching over to rest a hand over your own. “We all deal with it in our own way. I hope you know, though, that we’re all here for you.” He looks into your eyes, staring deeply. “I’m here for you.”
#pedro pascal#pedro pascal character#garrett hedlund#garrett hendlund character#oscar isaac character#oscar isaac#charlie hunnam character#charlie hunnam#triple frontier#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier fanfic#will ironhead miller#santiago pope garcia#benny miller#frankie cat#story: chance encounters
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i've been loving playing the prologue with fenix bc every time there's an interaction with jackie all i can think about is "you two would hate each other so much"
#rena.txt#actually confirmed by yours truly that they hate each other bc fenix hated hearing about him from vesper every single time and if they#happened to be in the same room fenix wouldn't pass the chance to start a fight. he's just like that he's an asshole we can't stop him <3#actually double confirmed by yours truly bc i have a fic where after the heist and shit and stuff fenix shows up to ves after hearing about#well everything. that she's dying and so on. he showed up to?? show support?? in his way or more like he just wanted to hear everything#from ves bc he was too shocked and couldn't read his own emotions about it. but i'm digressing. he showed up said a really mean thing about#jackie's death and went anyways... see ya. AKCJSKCDNLD#and he was just plain lucky vesper was beaten up or she would've beaten him herself. they had a fight ofc <3 he came back 3 days after and#had another fight but in the end they kinda fixed it more like ves was too tired of him she went u know what i shouldn't expect anything#else from u fuck off and go away. and he sure went and then after other 4 days of pain they fixed it completely i say fixed bc the only way#to deal with fenix is accepting that he will never change. it's a take it or leave it so it's not exactly fixed more like i'm ignoring it#anyways having fun :)) don't ask me about the way i've restarted the game without finishing it. i'll get to it when i'm normal again :))#ACTUALLY let me specify that fenix usually loves to piss off a lot of ppl but with jackie is like pure hostility this man really hates him#and i have the reasons but this post already got too long
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Cállate
Miguel O'Hara x f!reader
Summary: Miguel thinks you talk too much.
S m u t. P in v, dirty talk, Miguel being mean? Cream pie, cum eating. Jfc.
Minors DNI. I'm warning you 😤
It's not that he hated you.
Miguel O'Hara could never hate you. You just annoyed him to no end. Pushed his buttons. Teased him.
"Miguelitoooo," you'd sing in that stupid tone, "you need to relax. You brood too much. Such a broody man, hmm?"
Miguelito.
The goddamn nickname drove him up the wall, though at this point he wasn't too sure if it was irritation, or the lust that's been grabbing hold of his cock lately. What was it about you that had his head spinning with a feral need to sink his teeth into your flesh? To shove his cock so deep inside you you'd be rendered speechless for once?
Fuck, you were annoying. While he was a man of few words, you spoke as if on a fucking time limit, spewing nonsense every chance you could get. Everytime he looked at you it was a rush of emotion, and he didn't know whether to punch something or grab you by the shoulders and shut you the fuck up himself with his lips.
He decided on the latter.
You sauntered into his private headquarters in that tight little suit of yours, already running your mouth a mile a minute about...something. It might have been important, but Miguel wasn't listening, too busy watching the way your hips swayed.
"Miguelito, are you listening? Or are you too busy brooding as usual?" You were looking down at your watch, pressing on a few buttons distractedly, "Honestly, I don't know how you became the brains of this operation."
You stood in front of him, such a little thing compared to his massive size, your eyes still on your watch. "Have you been ignoring Lyla?"
"I put her on do not disturb."
You snorted, finally bringing your eyes to his intimidating ones, "Oh, so I guess I'm disturbing you too, huh?"
"Always." With a grunt, Miguel snatched you by the waist, losing his patience completely. You gasped, surprised by his actions, but you smiled knowingly, looking up at him with doe-like eyes. Finally.
"A first date would be nice, Miguelito-"
"Shut up." He growled, baring his glistening fangs. "Cállate, por Dios."
He wasted no time, immediately surging forward to capture your lips, silencing you efficiently. It was a hungry kiss, sloppy, more tongues than anything else. He pulled moan after moan from you, stripping you both down in a matter of seconds before nipping at the delicate skin of your neck and shoulders.
Miguel had you up against the wall, his brute strength holding you up with ease. You quickly wrapped your legs around his hips, eyes rolling as he slid his large cock over your slippery folds.
"M-miguel," his name fell from your mouth beautifully as you held on to his broad shoulders for dear life, "Miguel, p-please."
"When are you gonna learn to shut up, hm?" He groaned, his arousal igniting from the obscene sounds of your slick cunt coating the underside of his length, "when are you gonna learn to keep your mouth shut for five seconds?" You were cock drunk already, mouth hanging open and tears threatening to fall from your pretty eyes.
"I-"
"Cállate, hermosa, just shut up and take this cock," Miguel muttered over your lips, lining his cock up carefully before nudging your pussy open with the fat head of his dick. You choked, tears finally bursting from your eyes, dampening both your faces as he held you close. Your cunt clamped down on his cock with every inch he pushed in, causing you to cry out.
"Shh, I got you, just let me in," he cooed in the most gentle way he'd ever been with you, "I know you can take this cock, mhm, así, just like that, open that pretty pussy up for me."
You moaned whorishly, your head falling back against the wall with a thump as Miguel began a merciless pace, immediately reaching the place where you needed him the most.
"Ohhh fuck, Miguel," you cried, your juices coating his thighs with every stroke of his cock as he pounded and pounded and pounded into you, "you're so d-deep." More juices leaked from your cunt, giving Miguel easier access into your slick channel.
"Quiet hermosa," he heaved, holding you tight against his merciless hips while clamping a large hand over your mouth, "don't want the others to know how good I'm fucking you, ehh?" The only sounds heard in the room were your muffled cries, his grunts, and his balls slapping against your ass as his cock slipped in and out of you.
You wanted to say something, anything really, to shove him off his high horse, but you couldn't, too far up in cloud nine to do anything but drool all over his palm and let his thick cock kiss your cervix repeatedly, bruisingly, deliciously.
"Asi, hermosa," Miguel sticks out his tongue, lapping at the salty tears streaking your cheeks, "calladita se ve más bonita, hm?" He knew you were close, he felt it in the way your pussy tightened on his cock. He kept ramming his hips into you, grunting with every stroke.
"So fucking tight," he groaned, dropping his head on your shoulder, "I imagined this so many times, stuffing you with my cock, but fuck, who knew it'd be like this?"
"M-miguel, please," you whined, ripping his hand away from your mouth, "p-please."
He pierced his fangs into your neck, and that was when the dam broke. You gushed all over his cock, eyes rolling and mouth open as you silently came. Your pussy spasmed, fluttering over Miguel's cock as he lapped up the blood beading from the tiny wound he inflicted.
"That's it," he cooed, holding you tightly in his arms as you shuddered, "that's my girl." His strokes were sloppy now, too lost in your delicious wet heat to be as precise. After a few more thrusts, he buried his head in your neck again, releasing a growl from the very pits of his stomach, deep and aggressive, as he pumped his seed inside you.
Miguel held you for a moment, the both of you catching your breath. You were like a ragdoll over him, and he chuckled, nuzzling you with his nose. He released you, letting his cock slip out. His cum ran down your leg, white and hot as he gently set you on the ground. He hummed, taking two of his large fingers and scooping up some of the mess he made between your legs before smearing it over your lips.
"Open." He commanded, and you obediently did as told, opening your mouth and curling your tongue around his digits, savoring the taste of your combined juices with lidded eyes. You moaned at the tangy taste, your hands flying to skim down the length of his chiseled abdomen.
Miguel watched you, caging you in with one arm against the wall, mesmerized at how your mouth worked over his fingers.
You looked absolutely fucked out, skin flushed, hair a mess, but most of all, quiet.
#spiderman across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#spiderverse
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tom blyth being obsessed with his girlfriend: a compilation
this was inspired by @astranva’s famous blurbs, love you and miss you novs <3
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
It seemed like the entire world was crushing on the same man: Tom Blyth
Unfortunately for those who watched The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and came out of the theater in love with the man who played Coriolanus Snow, he was happily taken and loved to talk about his girlfriend any chance he got, which lead to fans making several compilations about the times he was a simp over his girl.
The most popular video was a 10 minute and 33 seconds compilation, which had around 445k views.
It started with Tom's interview with Good Morning America to talk about Billy the Kid, the interviewer asking about how he prepared for the role.
"It was during the pandemic, like any actor during that time I was just hoping that the world came back to normal so I could start making a cent," everyone in the set laughed at this, "I was living with my girlfriend YN in a barn house and we were like chopping wood every morning and visiting my friend's ranch. So when I got the part I kinda felt like I was ready for it."
"Your girlfriend, you say," one of the interviewers said making Tom smile right away, "Did she help you prepare for the role too?
"Of course she did, she's my biggest supporter ever."
The video moved to show some behind the scenes of Songbirds and Snakes footage, Tom dressed in his peacekeeper costume and dancing around while Rachel recorded him.
"See this moves?" he got closer to the camera, "I used them to charm my girlfriend."
"And I doubt they worked." Rachel laughed behind the camera.
"She loves me so I'm pretty sure they did."
The next thing shown was Tom sitting next to Hunter as they did an interview for Rolling Stone, the crew just asked about their thoughts on Olivia Rodrigo's single for the movie.
"I love Olivia Rodrigo," Hunter cheerfully said, throwing her arms up to the air, "The new album is so good."
"I'm a big fan as well," Tom joined in, "My girlfriend YN, she's obsessed with her, plays her songs all the time."
"Just so everyone knows, YN is like the coolest person ever," Hunter said, making Tom smile, "She brought us snacks on set so many times, such an angel."
"She's the best."
The following footage was Tom and Rachel's rapid-fire questions with Vogue.
"Can you guess where this is from?" Rachel asked holding up a card that showed a zoomed in picture of a suit.
"That's my Prada suit from the London premiere," Tom asked confidently, Rachel confirming that he was correct, "My girlfriend YN loved that suit, that's why It's one of my favorites."
"Oh I miss YN."
"So do I, so do I."
Next clip was Tom's interview Stephen Colbert, who just asked him if he was a fan of the books growing up.
"I was such a huge fan, I grew up watching the films. My mom and sister used to go to opening weekends to see the movies," the audience cheered at that, "Actually, for my third date with my girlfriend I took her to see the last movie, so getting to play a young president Snow is a real honor."
The video quickly moved to show the lat clip, one of Tom's interviews at the London premiere of the movie.
"Are you here on your own? No date?" The interviewer said once Tom finished answering the previous question.
"I'm here with my girlfriend, actually," his face beamed as he spoke, "She's probably somewhere taking selfies with Hunter, those two are like best friends."
"Is she close to your cast mates?" the interviewer asked again.
"Definitely, they try to steal her from me and I can't blame them, she's the best."
#tom blyth x reader#tom blyth fanfiction#tom blyth imagine#tom blyth blurb#tom blyth x you#tom blyth fake instagram#tom blyth social media au#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow fanfiction#tom blyth fic#harrysfolklore#tom blyth fluff#tom blyth smut#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#coriolanus snow smut#social media au#tom blyth au#1k#2k
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i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((
Banner picture credit: @661ave
possession
noun
the state of having, owning, or controlling something.
Word count: 7 k
Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint.
A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven��t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)
He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.
And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none.
He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.
He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any.
Family, or friends, that is.
When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?
It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute.
There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need?
Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir.
She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…
And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.
She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven.
He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?
He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago.
It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus.
He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy.
When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away.
It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home.
Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard.
It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.
His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.
It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube.
Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.
He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her?
And god, how he would fuck her…
Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…
He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob.
He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.
"Scheisse–"
He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.
She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.
He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.
…
She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.
She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of.
Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.
Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things?
But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.
He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.
With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all.
There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.
What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?
He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.
He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job.
The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.
Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.
So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up.
She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…
She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.
"I got you something... Merry Christmas."
"Aw… You shouldn't have…"
She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.
"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.
He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb.
Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for…
"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically.
Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present.
Well, shit. Fuck.
"Don't worry about it."
"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."
"That’s nice to hear."
"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."
He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.
"You already got me Christmas decorations."
"Yeah, but… You paid for them."
"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"
He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.
"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways.
"I truly did."
She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.
"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying.
"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."
She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.
"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.
"Yes?"
"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."
"...What does that mean?"
"It means 'Happy New Year'."
"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"
Shit.
Shit.
Shit…
"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."
She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.
"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.
"Something naughty."
Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too.
"Really…?"
"Yes."
"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."
Playful, naughty, dirty.
She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.
Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening?
"I want to lick your pussy."
There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.
"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"
"Ja."
It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.
Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress.
With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.
When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.
"Go ahead then," she whispers.
He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.
She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.
It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips.
Mein.
Mein.
Mein…
He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.
Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.
And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.
He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin.
"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"
He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries.
To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.
"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"
She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams.
The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin.
Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined.
Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.
And he's only about to fuck her…
"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.
"Oh–oh god…"
Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds.
"Wait–"
"I will fuck you now."
"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"
She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for.
"Hm. I don't have any."
"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child...
But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.
Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...?
How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?
She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft.
"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.
She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go.
"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"
"I am."
He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.
And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.
He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.
"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."
Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove.
"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"
It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.
"Ok…"
"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"
"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"
The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.
"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.
"O‐oh…?"
"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."
"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"
If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness.
"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."
He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had.
He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely.
"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"
"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"
Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.
He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog.
"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"
He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck.
She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.
"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"
She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.
"Will you stay? For the night…?"
His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content.
"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”
She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity.
She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.
“I'm sorry..."
"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.
For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.
He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…
She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.
She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.
He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.
It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.
The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women.
When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.
"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."
There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.
And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.
"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"
She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…
"Liebling... Me too."
"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."
"Oh I fear a lot of things."
"Like what?"
"Like… flying, for example."
"But you fly all the time?"
"Exactly."
She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…
"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."
She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.
If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one.
"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"
"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"
"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."
She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in.
He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.
What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs.
This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him.
"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.
"...What?"
He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.
"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.
"What do you mean.”
She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.
"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."
He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.
"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."
Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.
So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…
And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy.
But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…
"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"
"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."
"Well, neither am I."
He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.
"No one is."
"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes.
"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."
"Liebling…"
"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"
"Of course."
She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets.
He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his.
Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…
And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise.
He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.
But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.
"Are you still afraid?"
He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness.
"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."
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Pyramid Head Chases You Down and Fills You Up
Pairing: Pyramid Head x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, fear play, cnc roleplay, size kink, clothes tearing, rough sex, growling, creampie, breeding kink, no talking for Pyramid Head
A/N: It's the spooky month so it seems like a good time to write about my favorite DBD man.
How the fuck did you get into this mess? Where were you and why were you being chased by a really tall, really muscular man with a pyramid on his head? It was weird but every time he approached he seemed a little more on the edge of something. You didn't know what bit it made you want to both run and drop down to your knees.
You hid behind a barrel, barely big enough to hide your body as the sound of heavy breathing and heavy footsteps got closer and closer. He got closer. His sword dragged behind him, slicing a trail through the dirt. His strength must be great to be able to hold that sword. Handling you would be all to easy for him. Or pushing the barrel out of the way to get to you. "Motherf- really? How did you find me?!" You jumped away only to be grabbed by the leg and pulled to the ground underneath him with a hard thud. His head tilted from side to side and up and down, scanning your body.
For a man so rough around the edges his hands moved with precision over your body, his sword within arms reach but you knew you couldn't use it against him. With his head covered you could do little to fight him as he lifted your shirt up, taking your bra with it.
"Wai-!" Strong hips made room between your legs for his cock, his pants pulled down to his ankles and apron torn off his muscular chest, his cock glistening with pre-cum. "Is that supposed to go inside me? Are you insane?!" All you got was a grunt in response, followed by the sound of more clothes ripping and your surprised yelp as a thick finger pushed inside of you. "Stop, I'm not... ready for..."
He didn't seem to care about your protests, only for your moans and the warmth of the drooling pussy around his finger. Fuck, how could getting chased, pinned and manhandled by this man, this monster feel so good that it made your toes curl? It was all kinds of wrong, you should be thinking about escape not how his finger feels inside of you.
It was wrong, perverted, it made you question if it had really been so long since you've gone without a cock that you're willing to take his? Your pussy seemed to think so but your mind said no.
"Please, please let me go. I don't even know where I..." Your eyes widened in fear as he pulled his hand away, his fingers covered with the sticky evidence of your arousal and lust. The broad head of his cock pushed against your entrance, he grunted once in frustrating, both of you thinking the same thing: he was way too big. "Wait, seriously, I'm not on birth control! If you do that I might get pregnant!"
As if that was his trigger word to push his big fat cock all the way in with zero warning. Your eyes rolled back as he ripped an orgasm out of you, your slutty body reacting to his cock. "Mmmmn." He snarled as your pussy tightened up around him, your legs pushed to your shoulders, body folded in half, pussy getting dicked down for you to see. You could only imagine the smile he had on his face as he broke you down with his cock.
Was he gonna stop? No, not a chance, he had too much cum to give and you just so happened to be the only thing around that could take it. And no one would be around to hear your screams of terror and pleasure, no one but him.
#pyramid head#dbd x you#pyramid head smut#pyramid head dbd#pyramid head x reader#female reader#dbd x reader#dead by daylight#dead by daylight smut#dbd smut#slasher smut#slasher x reader#x female reader
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cr: @ave661
Simon wasn't a stupid man. He always knew better, knew to look between the lines even when you tried your best to be deceiving. Even then, the pure rejection you showed to your newborn baby was something not even the best actress could hide. Refusing to hold her after she was born and fully shutting down on Simon, screaming at him whenever he tried to offer any sort of help and support, only getting worse if he ever tried to approach you while holding the baby.
Post-partum depression is no joke, Simon realized after doing his own research, only then realizing just how bad it can get after accidentally stumbling on article upon article of mothers getting to the point of harming their own child. You weren't like that— Simon liked to convince himself despite the growing pit of dread in his stomach, anxiety seeping out of every pore of his body when even months later you refused to hold or interact with the baby.
It all came crashing down after he came back from deployment, the nanny holding his daughter while soothing her with calm words, doing her best to console the crying infant despite the tears falling down her cheeks when she confessed to him that you're gone.
Gone without a trace, at first. Simon wasted no time using his connections to know where you were. Laswell was the most helpful, giving him all the details of the help center you were in, yet even then, Simon didn't reach out first in fear of messing up your progress, not wanting to add more stress to your situation when you were trying to get better.
Four years. For four years, Simon's life was divided in deployments and taking care of his daughter at home, never once thinking about moving on, always asking Laswell for updates— updates she was glad to give him using her own connections, wanting to give Simon some peace of mind even if it went against the rules.
“It's okay.” Simon reassured his daughter, his long sleeves wet with cola that she spilled from her little cup. His home was the complete opposite of the absolute hell he grew up in, not allowing himself to scream, hit, or take out his frustration on the little carbon copy of himself sitting on the couch.
“'M sorry, daddy.” Her sweet voice made the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head, taking off his sweater and putting it away, wasting no time on grabbing a towel to clean up the now sticky mess of coke on the table.
“It's okay, love. Jus' don't tip it, 's gonna spill.” She gave him a small salute in understanding, a cheeky grin on her lips when she saw him holding in his laughter, knowing fully well she's copying him— as usual.
The doorbell ringing got Simon's full attention, giving his daughter one last look before he went to answer. His eyes widened slightly the moment he saw your shorter figure waiting for him, purposely making yourself smaller like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, a small folder held in your hands. You're both quiet for what seems like forever, the only sounds coming from your daughter in the living room, the TV displaying a kid's show Simon put on.
“I'm so so—” You don't even have the chance to finish your sentence before you're being pulled into a tight hug, Simon's burly arms wrapping around your body, every single second spent missing you, secretly hoping you'd come back one day crashes down on him the moment he feels your arms wrap around his waist, holding him as tight as possible, as if he'd disappear if you don't hold onto him for dear life.
“I got better.” You whisper into his ear, rubbing his back soothingly when he doesn't let go of you. Not yet— not when the love of his life is finally back after years. He plants a soft kiss on your shoulder before his face goes back to burying in the crook of your neck, taking in the familiar scent.
It takes minutes for Simon to finally let go, hesitation clear in his actions as he looked down at you, keeping one hand on your waist in silent fear of you seeping through his fingers. The folder in your hand gets his attention, giving you a questioning look before you offer it to him, managing to give him a small smile of reassurance despite all the anxiety and fear.
“My psychotherapist wrote it. It's... just a paper that shows the progress I've made from her perspective.” You stand awkwardly as he reads the document, taking in every single word written by the woman who has been helping your for four long years. You can hear your daughter giggling at the TV show, only making the anxiety in your stomach grow more by the second.
To your surprise, Simon steps out of the way to allow you into the home he created, his safe haven. Nothing changed from the last time you were here, other than toys scattered all over the place, likely from Simon being too busy bonding with his daughter to even clean.
You can see the little girl sitting on the couch as you walk closer, her brown eyes fully focused on the screen until she hears something from behind her. She's so much bigger now, looking like a tiny carbon copy of Simon, down to the little skull-patterned pajamas she was wearing.
She turns around after seeing you from the corner of her eye, her little face lighting up into a toothy grin as she jumps from the couch, sprinting towards you as fast as her little legs allow her to.
“Mommy!” You crouch down to her height out of pure instinct, almost being knocked off balance when she crashes into you, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck. The fact that Simon never stopped talking about you to her and kept your pictures warms your heart, being as delicate as possible as you hug her back.
“Y'look so pretty.” She has Simon's accent, making you let out a small laugh before looking down at her, cupping her cheek just to examine her features better.
“Thank you, sweet girl.” You're glad for the way she cuddles up to you again, not bothering to hide the tears falling down your cheeks at the sheer love displayed by the same girl you left four years ago. Your gaze drifts up to Simon, whose eyes are glossier than usual despite the fact that he's not shedding a tear. He gives you a small nod in acknowledgement, not daring to look away from the heartwarming scene in front of him.
“Daddy talks a lot about you.” She whispers into your ear, covering her mouth as if she's telling you the biggest secret ever. You giggle at the little gossiper, your warm hand running up and down the length of her hair.
“He does?” You whisper back, giving Simon a cheeky look at the admission, one of his thin eyebrows raising when he sees your daughter nod her head vigorously, giggling as she looks at Simon.
“Well, I'm sure he talks a lot about you too.” The pure forgiveness that comes from both of them drowns the guilt, if only for a short while.
“You're such a pretty princess.” Your arms wrap around her again, rocking her softly from side to side, allowing yourself to take in their love. It doesn't take long for Simon's resolve to falter, dropping to his knees and wrapping his burly arms around his girls protectively, planting a little kiss on your forehead.
Despite everything, there's no one else he'd rather spend the rest of his life with.
Dad!Ghost Masterlist
#dad!simon riley#dad!ghost#hurt/comfort#cod mw2#cod mwii#call of duty#ghost mw2#ghost cod#simon ghost x reader#simon riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#tw postpartum depression#dad mw#cod simon ghost riley#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley imagine#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost call of duty#ghost x fem!reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost x y/n#ghost x female reader#ghost x f!reader#simon x reader#simon riley headcanons#ghost simon riley#simon riley cod#mw2 ghost
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sweaty!könig with his doll who has a scent kink.
König who barely just closed the door before you're running in his arms, small body clad in a baby pink apron with his initials on it. You utter words of excitement, so happy to see him after a long day of work. "Missed you so much, daddy."
"I need to shower, maus. I'm dirty." Grunting, he tries to pry you off his body, muscles glistening with sweat and grime garnered from training the new recruits but you barely ever budge, kitten nails clawing all over his uniform, eager to rip it off, looking at him with such adorable puppy eyes. Such sweet eyes tainted with lust and perversion.
It doesn't take long for you to scratch your way through his top, nose buried in his nape, small hands cupping his heavy balls over his pants. He's moaning, biting his lip as you lick a stripe between the valley of his pecs, teeth then brushing over his sensitive nipples. You breathe out hot puffs, high on your daddy's fumes.
"Ah, Scheiße. You wanna be a dirty slut, huh?" König is quick to regain control, fists balled against your scalp, yanking your locks. With a tight grasp, he drags you over to the couch, forcing you on your knees. "Open." He inquires, forcing your jaw slack, spitting right on your puffy lips.
Of course, being the man König is, he's delighted that his babygirl was so perverse. Even stroked his ego a bit to know that you liked his manly scent, whoring yourself out to him at any chance you got. He raises a hand on you, slapping your soft cheeks. He loved the way you looked right now, liebling. All teary and sweet, begging for his cock. He was a generous man, he'd give you anything you wanted.
With a click of his tongue, he unbuckles his belt, your puppy eyes following every move he makes. He spreads his legs for you, revealing the mouthwatering bulge poking out over his boxers, a certain spot damp with what you assumed was sweat. "Go on."
You took that as your cue, forcing your nose over his still soft cock, sniffing his heavy musky length over the thin cloth. You were sloppy, tongue running over his balls, then probing over his happy trail, nimble fingers squeezing his pecs. König groans, hips jerking towards your mouth. Squeezing your legs together, you feel yourself going crossed eyed over his smell alone. "Enjoying yourself?" He tsks, smiling condescendingly.
"Mhm."
Slowly, your tongue crept up along the holes of his boxers, licking over the rather bitter spot, barely poking his throbbing dick through it. You're delighted, cock hungry for your daddy; on your knees, hazy dumbed out eyes, and parted, drooly lips. It was a sight straight out of a porno. Soon, you're slobbering all over his thighs, suckling on his hung, bulbous cock as you palm his balls, nose pressed against his happy trail.
König almost instantly creams, the notion of his little girl performing depraved acts was almost too much for him. He bobs your head up and down, hips meeting your wet mouth with every rough thrust. Globs of precum and spit coat his inner thighs, which you eagerly lap up, constantly switching between licking his cock, biceps, and chest.
"Shmell sho good."
König took it a step further, beastial hands gathering your hair to a messy pigtail, feet elevated to the spot beside you to keep you pinned down. Without missing a beat, he begins ravishing your throat, brutally face fucking you, sloppy balls slapping your chin with every thrust, a mixture of sticky drool and juice running down your lips, not to mention his heavy length resting on your tongue, utterly ruining you.
You feel yourself getting lightheaded, the lack of oxygen making its effect on you. You weren't so eager now, hm?
König laughs, rutting mindlessly over his darlings pretty face, rubbing his precum all over your nose, mouth, cheeks, "Agh, f-fuck! Stick your tongue out, liebling." He's panting like a dog, losing his mind over your sloppy, albeit forced blowjob. He's using your weepy hole in every creative sense, thrusting sideways just to see his tip like out of your cheeks, plugging your nose, slapping you with it.
A string of curses leave his lips, thrusts getting sloppier if even possible, he pulls his sticky, dripping length out of your mouth, globs of thick and potent cum spraying all over your face and tits, painting you a pretty shade of white.
After all, you're the one who wanted to smell like him, right?
He doesn't end it there, using his veiny cock to smear his pearly cum across your body, even going so far as to spread it in between your pussy lips, stealing a few licks here and there while you gag on his salty fingers. Once satisfied, he takes a moment to admire his masterpiece.
"There you go, pup. All pretty for me now."
#konig mw2#konig#konig smut#cod#konig x reader#cod mw2#cod mwii#konig cod#smut#free use slvt#stupid slvt#scent kink
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Can I please request dom! Lucifer eating you out? I just know that man is very talented with his tongue
a/n: say less, really; short and sweet lovin' from Luci
warnings: nsfw, eating out, cursing, dom dom Luci
words: 676
additional notes: Thank you all so much for 110+ followers! It means the world to me that you guys enjoy my writing so much!
"Luxury of the King."
Dom! Lucifer Morningstar x Reader
The white, silk sheets beneath you rustled softly. Gentle puffs of air left your lips, saliva coating their plush surface in a light layer. The familiar black dots began aligning along the edges of your vision. Chest rising and falling with erratic patterns; a light sheen of sweat adorning your brow, seeping lightly into your hairline. You felt and looked like the epitome of an absolute wreck.
And it was all because of the man who's head was currently buried between your legs.
Despite your clear state of overstimulation, he was a relentless predator. Well, his forked tongue, rather. It worked against and inside you, like you would be the last thing it ever got to taste. Flicking against you, tasting all of the sweet nectar you had to provide for him. He was determined to eat you dry.
"I-I'm sorry, darling. You just taste s-so...fuck...so damn good."
His mouth continued its assault against you, making sure to take his time and devour you all in the same set of actions.
If he could just stay in between your legs all hours of the day, oh how he could die a happy man. No worries or strife, just you splayed out for him, presenting yourself as a canvas for his tongue to travel. He gulped at the thought.
You truly were the best luxury a king like himself could have.
Lucifer knew he didn't deserve you. He always asked himself how he got so damn lucky with happening upon you, but he never got too curious upon questioning, nor greedy when it came to your services. This was enough to take him all the way to Heaven and back. What more could he possibly ask for, other than your lovely company?
He noticed how your hips were now beginning to move more, as if trying to get away from his relentless tongue. Just the thought of your sweet taste being abandoned from his warm, forked muscle made his pupils slit and eyes narrow. In response, he placed a gentle yet authoritative hand on your lower tummy, pushing your trembling hips downwards to the mattress; that's where they were to stay until he was done with you. You were a gift from Heaven he was sure, and Hell be damned if he didn't savor it. Just thinking that seemed like madness. Lucifer wanted to taste everything you had to offer him. Every. Single. Thing.
"Stay still. Don't you dare try to move away from me." He growled, voice dropping much lower than its normal octave, causing you to flinch in surprise. His head had come up and out from between your legs, almost enticing a whine from your throat at the loss of stimulation, yet a sigh of relief at the same time for the smidgen of a break you were currently being blessed with.
The sudden change in his attitude was a bit of a surprise, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't hot as hell. The puppy dog side of your boyfriend was what you were most used to, so seeing him act this way instead was a very nice change of pace. You could never be scared of him; your safe word was always at your disposal if you felt he was being too demanding or rough, and he knew it too. So unless you used it, he would continue with his advances.
You looked at him through half-lidded eyes and offered the best nod you could manage with the state you were in, letting your head fall back to its original position on the fluffed pillows, lungs grasping for any sort of air they could muster up.
He gave a low nod back, a sly smile gracing his lips as he licked around them in order to clear off the remnants of your juices that he had yet a chance to devour like the other servings he managed to obtain.
"Good..." He said with a pointy smirk, before lowering his head once again to get right back to work.
#hazbin hotel x you#xreader#hazbin hotel lucifer x reader#hazbin hotel x y/n#lucifer#lucifer hazbin#lucifer hazbin hotel#lucifer magne#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer x reader smut#hazbin lucifer#lucifer morningstar#smut#dad beat dad#hazbin hotel oneshot#request#hazbin hotel request
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Starring: True from! Sukuna in a cabin in the woods...
Synopsis: You don't see the point in it; chasing myths on Halloween night, going deeper into the woods than you ever had before. You'd rather be at home than chasing ghosts. But, your best friend insists on finding evidence of the local urban legends, and surely she won't abandon you the moment you find what shes been hunting, right?
Content Warning: Tonight we are serving True form (two dicks) Sukuna, double penetration, tummy bulges, cunnilingus, kidnapping, marking, slight dubcon, and a soft Sukuna if you squint. reader discretion is advised
“So, remind me again why we’re taking a walk in the woods on Halloween night?” You asked your friend, narrowly avoiding a thorn vine as you pushed past the brush.
“Because, historically speaking, people tend to see it on Halloween!” She explained, holding up her camera, “It’s our best chance of finding evidence of the spider demon.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her optimism.
“I don’t know if “Historically” is the right word to use there,” you grumbled softly as you continued your walk together. Ever since the two of you had started taking that Folklore Studies class for an extra college credit she had become obsessed with the local urban legend: The Spider Demon. To her credit, it was a genuinely interesting topic.
As far back as town hall kept records of, there were sightings of the beast: a giant humanoid man that was covered in ancient markings, with four arms, four eyes, and a giant mouth on his abdomen. Rumor has it, he was the one at fault for all the disappearances that plagued your small town, dragging poor, innocent souls into some far off lair and feasting on their flesh.
The sane people knew the real reason for the disappearances though; most of those kids hopped a train and got the fuck out of that dying town while they still could. You couldn’t say you blamed them. If you didn’t go to school here, one of the cheaper colleges around, you wouldn’t be here either.
Your thoughts came to a halt as the two of you came up on an old stream. You knew it well as the boundary between where it was acceptable to play in the woods, and where was off limits. Everyone in the town had followed this rule. Your great grandparents had this rule engraved in their soul as kids, just as your parents and grandparents had, just as you had. And just as your kids would one day. No one really knew why you weren’t supposed to cross the water, just that you weren’t.
And your best friend was trying to hop across. “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doin’?!” You yelled as you grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She looked at you as if you had just grown two extra heads.
"I'm crossing the stream?" She asked as if you were the insane one here.
"Yeah, I can see that dipshit!" You snapped, "Why the hell would you do that?!"
"To get to the other side?"
"What are you, a chicken?! You know we're not supposed to cross this stream." Your friend dramatically rolled her eyes, making her annoyance clear.
"The only chicken here is you Y/n." She scoffed. "Come on, it's just water. It can't hurt you." She said in a tone meant to mock assurance. It grinded your bones and made you wonder why you were friends to begin with.
"Don't be like that. Everyone in this town has been told since birth not to cross that stream, there has to be a reason why."
"The reason why is probably so little kids don't drown." She explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the entire world. It made you want to rearrange her teeth. "I'm going to cross the stream and keep the hunt going, are you with me or not Y/n?" She asked.
You took a deep breath. You absolutely were not with her. Every fiber in your being was setting off red flags, you could hear your ancestors screaming at you to turn around, somewhere from the great beyond, both Cain and Abel look at you and say "girl, don't do it."
And yet, you started to jump across the rocks. As annoying as your friend was, she was still your friend, and you couldn't let her go alone. Your ancestors all collectively face palm, your nerves explode, Cain turns to Abel and shakes his head. There's no saving you now. You swore the air temperature dropped by at least three degrees as you made it to the other side of the stream. You cursed softly as you wrapped your jacket tighter around you, and rushed to catch up with your friend.
“See? We crossed the water and we didn’t explode! Some rules are just made to be broken.” She seemed confident in that, but you still weren’t. Something was so…off. Wrong. But you couldn’t figure out what. The moon was still as full as ever, lighting your way as the two of you walked. Your friend seemed fine, as chatty as hell even. And you were physically okay. Leaves crunched under your shoes, and the crickets chirped-
Wait. No they didn’t. “Hey, shush.” You demanded of your friend.
“What!? Why should I-”
“I said Shut. Up.” You snapped, an unfamiliar edge to your voice taking even you by surprise. She shut up, and you struggled to listen to the sounds of the forest. Except, there were no sounds of the forest. No crickets singing, no owls hooting, not even the rustle of a field mouse in the grass. The woods were completely silent, filled with nothing but the sound of your breathing.
“Do you hear that?” You asked your friend.
“I don’t hear anything.” She scoffed.
“Exactly. We need to turn back.”
“What?! No way!” She protested with a stomp of her foot. You were really starting to think that Darwinism would not look kindly upon your friend.
“The woods are completely quiet.” You pointed out, “That doesn’t happen unless it has a reason to be quiet. We’re not welcome here.” You tried to argue. You would have been better off arguing with the moon itself. Your friend just shook her head as she continued to walk.
“The woods are always quiet Y/n, its what makes it so peaceful, or whatever.”
“But not this quiet!” You pleaded as you chased after her, still not willing to let her die out here alone. “Dude, please, we need to go-!”
“Ooo, whats that!” Your “best friend” quickly changed the topic as she pointed out a building off in the distance, running off to check it out. You felt your stomach fall to the floor. Who would build anything out here? You ran to follow her, deciding to just drag her back home if you had to.
“Its a house!” She pointed out with a laugh as the two of you reached the edge of a lawn, “And they even decorated for Halloween, how sweet.” You looked at the house, an old wooden cabin that looked like something a pilgrim would have built back in the 1700s. You were shocked to see lights glowing in the window, indicating the building had electricity. That wasn’t what unnerved you the most though.
That would be the bones littering the yard. Animal and human alike, some looking older than others. All strewn about as if thrown there without any care, or sense of design. They looked more like discarded trash than they did decor, and a morbid part of your brain forced you to ask; do those maybe look a little too real to be made of plastic? You blood felt colder than ice as your throat contracted, an unseen anaconda choking you as your knees threatened to give out.
This place was cursed. “You should go knock.” Your friend smirked.
“I would rather die.” You whispered.
“I’m serious!” She laughed, “Go trick or treating! You’d probably be the first one to do so here.”
“No way, this isn’t right. Why would they “decorate” for Halloween all the way out here? Why are they out here to begin with? It doesn’t make sense, we need to go.”
“Well, I’m not leaving until you go knock on the door.” Your friend shrugged as if she wasn’t signing your death certificate. “These kind people deserve trick or treaters, and I deserve to take a picture of you scared shitless as you knock on the door.” She laughed.
“That’s not funny!” You snapped, your patience growing thinner as your anxiety grew.
“Oh come on Y/n! Don’t be such a bitch, just go knock on the door and then we can go, okay? I promise.”
“...Swear?” You asked softly, at this point willing to do whatever it took to leave these woods and go home.
“Swear.” Your best friend smiled, locking her pinky with yours. Her smile as angelic, enough to trick you into a facade of ease. You took a deep breath as you approached the door, carefully avoiding the skeletons as you walked. Did they looked chewed on? You didn’t want to think too hard about it. You could feel your heart in your throat, the false courage of your friends pinky promise fleeing faster and faster with every step you took closer to this house. It radiated death.
Climbing the creaky stairs was harder than you anticipated, your jittering joints protesting the very act. You reached a trembling fist to the splintering wooden door, knocking as soft as possible. “H-Hello?” You called out, hating the way your voice quivered, “Trick or Treat!” Your entire body tried to collapse in on itself, the only thing keeping you from doing so was the primal instinct to maintain your ability to run should you so need.
You waited a few seconds, then let out a shaking breath as no one came to the door. As you turned back to your friend, you were blinded by the flash of a camera, freezing you in your place. The sounds of her cackle filled you with rage. You really needed you friends.
You rolled your eyes. “There I knocked. Are you happy? Can we please go home no-” your words died in your throat as you heard the door open.
“Trick.” a rough deep voice said, deeply unfamiliar to you. You watched your friends face contort into fear and her jaw unhinged itself into a scream as she scrambled to get away. Though, you weren’t able to hear her panic, the ringing in your ears becoming deafening as you felt your feet fall from underneath you, a python of an arm squeezing your stomach as you were lifted into the air, and into the house.
You tried to grab the door frame as you were dragged into hell, becoming aware of your own screaming ripping through your throat as the frame was ripped from your fingers and the door shut in your face.
“Quite mortal.” The voice said again, and you almost instantly shut up. Something primal in your DNA sequencing knowing better than to piss off this devil. The monster turned you over in his hands, turning you to face him. Your soul left your body. You took in the visage of the beast, your panicking brain struggling to process what was in front of you.
A giant humanoid man, with four arms, four eyes, and a face and chest full of ancient markings. He was holding you too close to properly see it, not to mention the fact that he was wearing a regal robe, but you would bet an unreasonable amount of money he had a sickening smile on his belly. You were in The Spider Demons claws.
And worst of all, he was kinda cute? Like, maybe it was the unshakeable sense of death that rattled your soul and turned your brain into mush, but if he was like- a normal guy with a normal amount of arms and eyes, you would have been smitten! You were kinda smitten now, even if you didn’t want to admit that. God you…really really hoped this whole experience wasn’t awakening something in you. This would be something to unpack in therapy later- if you survived this.
The demon took your chin in a free hand, turning your head as he examined you. You smelled divine. If you had been a sacrifice for him, he would have given whoever picked you out an A++ for finding you, and a bit more leniency for a while. But, he knew you weren’t a sacrifice. The townsfolk had declared him their enemy long ago, and had been facing the consequences ever since. So, that begged the question.
“Tell me, whats a pretty thing like you doing at my doorstep on the most haunted night of the year?” He asked, turning your head to look him in the eye.
“Wishing you were a myth.” You went with the first thing that came to your head and instantly regretted it. That might have been a little too honest for this situation. But, at least he seemed to find humor in it, snickering at your quip.
“Keep wishing then human, I’m all too real.” He chuckled darkly.
“Yeah, I-I see that…Are you going to kill me?” Your voice was shakier than you intended as you asked. You hated it, but the anticipation of what he was going to do was more painful that anything he could have actually done.
“I haven’t decided yet.” He mused as he continued his examination of you. He smiled cruelly as he felt your pulse quicken under his hands. He could smell your fear, and it was intoxicating. Your eyes, blown wide with fear, were stirring something deep down inside of him, and making you far more interesting than any other human he had come across in years.
Or, maybe it had just been a while since he had anyone to fuck. Granted, he had stolen plenty of mortals from your small town, but most of the time they died in the process. Corpses held no interest to him for anything other than food. But you? You were alive and warm, and vulnerable in his claws. That fact alone made the notion of keeping you alive for a little longer far more enticing than killing you just yet.
“Um, anything I could do to help you make that decision?” You asked softly.
“The decision to kill you?” he questioned
“Well, the decision not too!” You quickly clarified, “Dying sounds kinda, well, not fun and with you being like, a real thing that kinda makes me question well everything as far as mythology goes and that makes dying really fucking scary and-”
“You’re rambling mortal.” He sneered in annoyance.
“Right! My bad I just- please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything not to die.” You begged, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you grappled with being forced to face the unknown. You had the beasts attention though, an eyebrow raising at your offer.
“Anything?” He purred, his eyes falling to the swell of your chest and making you greatly regret your word choice. “Anything at all?”
“Anything.” You whispered softly. You reasoned with yourself that this was for your life and definitely not because the thought of getting railed by a blood thirsty demon made you squish your thighs together in anticipation. You for sure didn’t feel a rush of arousal as the thought of something meant to kill you making you cum instead crossed your mind. That didn’t happen, no way, not at all. You weren’t wondering if his dick was as monstrous as he was, or if his markings graced it as well.
“Alright then Human, deal.” He grinned wickedly as he brushed a stray hair behind your ear. “I’ll let you live, if you give your body to me first.” You felt your face burn at his proposal. Something felt fundamentally wrong about spreading your legs for a demon. You weren’t religious or anything, but that had to be some sort of sin. But, if it was for your life, surely you could indulge- I MEAN- endure.
“Before I agree, we’re not talking about possession, right?” You had to clarify. He smirked at your words. You were cleaver to ask, it showed a familiarity with the supernatural. Maybe you weren’t as foolish as you first seemed after all.
“Smart girl. But no, we’re not talking about possession.” He confirmed.
“Okay, cool, just checking.” You chuckled nervously. “You got yourself a deal.” His smirk turned into a dark grin as his free hands rushed to your clothes. You panicked, knowing he was going to rip them off and you’d be forced to walk back in the nude. That would have been mortifying.
“Wait wait wait!” You yelped, holding up your arms to stop his hands.
“What?” He growled, annoyance flooding his tone.
“Let me undress myself.” You requested, “Please? I’ll make it worth your while.” He seemed intrigued and amused, setting you on the ground with an almost unnerving gentleness.
“Will you now? Lets see.” He hummed. You nodded, taking a few steps back. You took a deep breath and shrugged your jacket off your shoulders. You had never been particularly good at being sexy, at least not in your opinion. But, The monsters eyes could have convinced you otherwise. The way he watched you undress, as if he was a starving man looking at a thanksgiving feast, or a hungry demon looking at his next meal. It gave you the confidence to put on a proper show, teasing him as you slowly shed your clothes.
“I’m Y/n by the way,” You said as your hands reached to unhook your bra, “You got a name, or is it just spider demon?” He huffed humorlessly at your quip. He never liked that title.
“Ryomen Sukuna,” He said, his eyes setting fire to your skin as you finally dropped your bra for him, “you can call me Sukuna.”
“Noted.” You nodded as you dropped your panties. His lustful grin showed off his incredibly sharp fangs as he dropped his own robe, the only thing covering him. You confirmed the mouth theory, seeing it spread and hungrily panting across his toned abs. Your breath hitched when you saw when he was working with.
His dick- or rather, dicks- looked human enough despite the markings, but they were longer and thicker than anything you had taken before. And again, there were two of them. They stood hard and proud against his stomach, twitching to be inside you. You didn’t know if the buzzing in your hands and legs was from regret, or excitement.
You didn’t have time to figure it out either before you were taken back into the demons arms, this time with less violence and more neediness. He pressed you to his stomach, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and leaving you open to him.
“You’re pretty brave for a human, you know that?” He complimented as a large tongue lolled out of his stomach mouth and against your soaking core. He chuckled darkly as the muscle shoved itself into your weeping cunt, making you gasp at the sudden stretch, “And such a slut too.”
“Hey, this was your idea, not mine.” You reminded him though breathy moans, trying to ground yourself as your hips bucked against his giant mouth. Every movement of the tongue felt like being touch for the first time, a ripple of pleasure coursing though your stomach and legs, and making you wonder there was something supernatural going on to make a demonic act feel so heavenly.
“True,” He agreed, “But you’re the one that's gushing for a monster when I’ve hardly touched you.” he reminded you, watching the way your face contorted with pleasure as you dropped the act of innocence. He didn’t know what was more arousing to him, watching your resolve dissolve, or just how sweet you tasted as you desperately you rode his tongue. “I was going to kill you just a few moments ago, you know that right?” He growled into you ear.
“Yeah, but you’re fucking me instead. Sounds like a win to me.” You grinned and he laughed at your sudden audacity. He knew he liked you.
“You really are a whore, Aren’t you?” He teased as his tongue slipped out of your cunt and into your ass instead, watching the way your breasts bounced as you flinched and moaned at the sudden intrusion.
“Not a whore if it’s for my life.” You whined, digging your nails into his shoulders. You were starting to feel light headed from the pleasure pooling in your stomach, your cunt clenching around nothing, pissed off from the loss.
“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” He chuckled as his face fell to the crook of your neck, taking in your intoxicating smell. He could feel his dicks twitch with need as he kissed you there, fighting every instinct in his body to keep from digging his teeth into the thin skin. He tasted your sweet slick as it dripped from your cunt and onto the middle of his tongue, and finally he withdrew the muscle.
You whined as he did, head dropping to his chest, both holes now clenching around nothing. “No, fuck-” You whimpered, only for him curl a clawed finger under your chin and lift your head to face him. “Sukuna..” You whimpered as you looked into his fire red eyes, darkened by lust. His lips crashed into yours, capturing you in a heated kiss. You sighed against his mouth, hands rising to tangle into his soft pink hair as his tongue tangled with yours.
You screamed into his mouth as you felt him shove both of his cocks into you at once, one for each hole. He growled, biting down on your lip as you clenched around him. “Sukuna!” You gasped as you pulled back from the kiss, your body trying hard to push out the sudden intrusion.
“Relax for me Darling,” He groaned softly, the pet name slipping out without his permission. He pressed his forehead to yours as he rubbed your stomach, trying to ease your pain.
“I-I can’t. Too big..” You panted, trying desperately to release the tension in your shoulders. The stretch was searing you from the inside out. You felt overwhelmed, the pleasure in the pain feeling like static shocks. “It’s soo much..”
“You can handle it,” He assured you, extremely (perhaps overly) confident in your ability considering you had met less than an hour ago. You shook your head, tears slipping from your eyes. He lapped them up from your face, then captured your lips in a much softer kiss this time. Slowly, your body came to accept his, the tension melting away as his tongue tangled with yours and he eased his way further into you. The burn faded, leaving just the pleasure there, pulsating through you as he pushed deeper.
He groaned into your lips as he bottomed out into you, stilling both to give you time to adjust and so he didn’t immediately cum in you like a fucking virgin. It was almost embarrassing how good you felt around him, taking him better than any other being had before. You clenched and fluttered around him in a sinful way, bringing him closer to his climax than he would like to admit.
“Told you.” He smirked as he pulled away from the kiss, licking at the string of saliva that connected the two of you. You whined as you looked down to where the two of you were connected, watching a bulge in your stomach appear and disappear with every thrust of his hips. It should have hurt, but no- quite the opposite.
Every thrust of his hips electrified you with pleasure, sending wave after wave of intoxicating bliss through your nervous system. You had never felt so full before, so complete. You could feel his cocks rub against each other, against your walls inside of you, a dizzying sensation that you had never experienced before. Your hips bucked against him greedily as he fucked you, chasing your high.
“Look at me Y/n,” He demanded, pulling your head up so your eyes connected with his again, “I want you know the demon making you feel so good.”
“Ryomen-” You whined, forgetting in your sea of lust that wasn’t the name he told you to use. His eyes widened a bit from shock. Mostly because he wasn’t filled with rage by your insolence, but instead a surge of lust from hearing his name fall from your lips. It really had been awhile, he was feeling himself getting attached far too easily. If he knew what was good for him, he would have finished and disposed of you as quickly as possible. He wasn’t interested in what was good for him.
“Say it again.” He demanded, a hand slipping in between you to rub circles into your clit.
“Ryomen..” You whined, staring at him with fucked out, lust clouded eyes as you trembled in his arms, thighs clenching around his abdomen as the ecstasy crashed through your core and through out your body. You felt your muscles ripple and tense in anticipation.
“Again,” He growled, pulling you closer to him, and dropping his forehead down to yours. “Who does this cunt belong to?”
“Ryomen..” Your brain was too clouded to make out the rest of his command, your body buzzing and bliss building up inside of you. He picked up his pace, chasing his own high and making you scream out his name in a truly embarrassing and needy moan.
You clung onto his shoulders and neck, digging your nails into the soft skin there as the euphoria in your veins finally boiled over and hit the fire inside of your stomach, igniting it in an explosion of ecstasy and lust. Your vision exploded with stars and your brain officially clocked out of work as you melted into a puddle. Your legs shaking around him as you leaned against his strong body, unable to keep yourself up any longer.
Your velvety walls quivered around him and sucked him in impossibly deeper, needy and lustful for him. It drove him mad. He watched as your face scrunched in pleasure, your body reacting to him greedily as you melted into the pleasure he he was gracing you with.
It send him over the edge watching you cum for him, feeling you cum over him, feeling you gush around him. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer, holding you in a grip tight enough to bruise. His fangs buried themselves into your neck, marking you as his and his alone as he came deep inside of you, the warm strings gushing in you and filling you to the point of spilling over.
He held you close to him, head hung back as you both tried to catch your breath. Your mind was starting to clear the fog out, looking up to ask him to put you down before you felt him move inside you again. Your breath hitched as you realized he didn’t even get a little soft. You looked at him with almost horrified eyes as he bucked into you, only acting to encourage him. He looked back at you with lustful and wicked eyes, nipping at your lip as he set his pace and grinned.
“Whats wrong Darling?” He asked, the pet name now fully intentional in its use, “You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?”
🎃🎃🎃
You were warm when you woke up, despite still being in the nude. Probably because of the huge body pressed against yours, radiating heat and holding you close as he slept. Visions of last night ran though your head, making you almost painfully aware of the cum still dripping from between your thighs, and sending another wave of arousal through you. When did you pass out? When did Ryomen?
You stayed still for a few seconds, listing to your bedfellows steady breathing. The bed, despite being made from feathers and thin quilting, was surprisingly soft, and the late afternoon sun filled the old home with a warm hazy light. You realized you couldn’t stay here any longer. You couldn’t get attached to an urban legend.
You slipped out of his arms, freezing as he groaned and only breathing again once he was softly snoring. You sighed as you slipped out of the bedroom and found your clothes again. You quickly got dressed, and went to open the front door. It didn’t budge. Your eyes furrowed in confusion as you pulled the knob again. What the hell? You pulled with all your might, almost screaming with frustration as the door didn’t even move a centimeter.
“Don’t bother with that Dove.” You gasped as you heard Ryomens voice behind you, a wave of dread blanketing you as you spun to face him. He was leaning casually against the door frame of the bedroom, a content smile painted on his face. “It has my seal on it. I’m the only one that can open that door.”
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna x reader smut#trueform!sukuna#true form sukuna#true form sukuna smut#yandere sukuna#yandere sukuna x reader#monster fucker#Sukuna ryomen#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna smut#almost soft sukuna#soft sukuna#soft sukuna x reader
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Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.
To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.
On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.
But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.
At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.
As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.
#writing advice#rambling#first drafts#gotta say not mad on being called a horrormaster#feel like ive a ways to go yet#horror journeyman maybe
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it's valentines day tommorrow- what's alastor gonna do for reader?
I totally forgot about Valentine's Day-
Alastor X Reader Headcanons
✅️Romantic
❌️Platonic
TW: Alastor being a cannibal, Alastor scaring people off
Description: 👆⬆️
Alastor 100% forgets that it's Valentine's Day no matter how hard everyone tries to remind him
He can remember everything else important like birthdays, anniversaries, and other key events in your lives
But somehow, he manages to always forget Valentine's Day
He is so fucking smart but somehow so dumb at the same time, Rosie is the one who saves his ass every year
She literally plans it now, inviting him over the day before Valentine's Day
"So Alastor~ How are you going to spend Valentine's Day with Y/N tomorrow~?"
"How kind of you to ask-What was that now?"
"You forgot again. Didn't you."
Long awkward sip of tea
"You hopeless man, here's what you need to do..."
If it were anyone else then Alastor would be fucked but luckily he's tHe RaDiO dEmOn so he's able to scramble together something impressive
You'll never know he forgot
You wake up to your favorite flowers in your bed and all over the hotel, Niffty having a breakdown because she can't clean them up
Not Alastor standing in the kitchen with an apron on, cooking breakfast for the two of you
Kiss the cook? Don't mind if I do~
He won't accept any gifts from you until he's finished giving you the Valentine's Day you deserve
Mostly out of guilt over forgetting tho
After the most delicious breakfast you've had in awhile, he invites you out for a walk
He's shamelessly checking you out the entire morning, visibly approving of your outfit for the day
He takes you to one of the most beautiful and lush places in the pride ring that he can find, adoring the amazed look on your face
You almost feel like the two of you are a normal couple enjoying the day together, not two sinners in hell who are walking through faux earth scenery
If there's anybody else around then he scares them away so that you two can be alone and unbothered
Keeps an arm wrapped around you the entire walk, resting his head on yours because if he looks at you then he'll lose his mind
You just look so fucking cute rn
While it might just seem like a romantic walk, it's all a ruse to get you to a planetarium
Again, there's nobody there because Alastor wants privacy with his S/O
Because there's nobody there, Alastor took the liberty of decorating it in romantic lighting and getting more comfortable seating for the two of you
Seating might be the wrong word
The two of you end up snuggled together in a hammock, gazing up at stars that used to be familiar to you both
If you can name the stars and constellations then Alastor will happily listen while pulling you to his chest
Maybe you two feed each other snacks
"No, I'm not feeding you a finger, I love you, but I'm not touching that."
"You love me? How embarrassing that must be for you~"
"Still not feeding you that."
"Maybe I should eat you instead~"
KEEP IT PG YOU TWO
If you fall asleep then maybe he'll smooch your face a little bit until you wake back up
Maybe you're only pretending to be asleep
But the gifts don't stop there!
When you two leave, he takes you to the radio tower for a romantic dinner, and that shit is CANDLELIT
🕯 🍝 🕯
It is legitimately a lady and the tramp style dinner date with him doting on you the entire time
He's been a suave gentleman the entire day so far, doing everything he can to make you blush and swoon
But when you finally get the chance to give him your Valentine's Day gift, no matter what it is, he's genuinely flustered
Stares at it while blushing in silence for what feels like the longest time
"You got me this..? For me?"
"Who else would it be for?"
Not his tail wagging
Once he composes himself then he invites you to slow dance with him, holding you inappropriately close to him
Good thing you two are alone
Alastor is a fantastic dancer and a handsome man so that alone is enough to make you flustered
But slow dancing with him while he stares at you with that rare soft expression, with love in his eyes???
You're just a blushing puddle in his arms which is totally what he's going for, cooing at you sweetly
And he only makes it worse once he starts whispering sweet nothings in your ear throughout the entire dance, confessing everything he loves about you
Alastor legitimately has his breath taken away when he looks at your face afterward
You look so grateful for all that he's done for you today, but he still feels guilty for forgetting in the first place
When he thinks of your gift then he only feels worse, cupping your cheek gently
"Y/N...I have something to confess to you..."
"This is all last minute because you forgot about Valentine's Day?"
*shocked Pikachu face*
"...how did you know? Did Rosie tell you?"
"Alastor...darling...baby..."
Not your hand pulling on his cheek before giving it a few condescending pats
"You forget every year~"
Oh yeah
"But you always make it the perfect day~"
Brags about what you said to him the next day with Rosie, not at all noticing how done she looks with him
Hnnnng!! I love this man
#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor hazbin hotel x reader#alastor hazbin x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin x reader
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────141 headcanons: touching the belly────
a/n: y'all know i'm a sucker for the the pregs trope so i had to do this request. and i only did the four dinguses for this one, sorry anon ☺️
warning(s): pregnancy, fluff+angst, invasion of reader's personal space/privacy, protectiveness, hurt/comfort?, afab!reader
‧˚₊ MAIN MASTERLIST ⟢ 141 MASTERLIST ‧₊˚⊹
๋࣭ ⭑ PRICE
⌞one of the perks of being married to john is being supported. quite literally the definition of it, in every form. that goes for your baby too, no questions asked. he's more akin to simon in being traditional while you're expecting. wants you home, resting and not lifting a finger.
he's very particular about who he lets close to you, more than ever now. it makes sense considering his work and the general fragility of a new family. in the same way as kyle, he's constantly stressed. wants everything to be perfect for you and soon to be little one.
always has his eye on you, just like he does all his men. there's nothing he doesn't see or already knows about. honestly, may even spot a bad apple before you do. won't even bother with politeness and will shoo them away before their hand(s) even make contact with your tummy.⌝
๋࣭ ⭑ SIMON
⌞ he was already protective enough before you got pregnant, but he's at a whole new level now. practically a full-time security guard by the time you reach your third trimester. ESPECIALLY when you two find yourselves out and about — which isn't often.
on the off chance that you're at some sort of gathering with simon, he's at your side no matter what. eyeing every person who approaches you, only chiming in when spoken to, out of mere courtesy. as soon as you give him any inkling of discomfort, he's asking you if he should go start the car.
one thing he hasn't gotten used to yet is the touching. how people often belaud pregnant women. cross boundaries constantly to get a feel of them and their bellies. it's already hard enough getting the man to relax, but it's hopeless now with all the new people he "needs" to keep an eye on. it's not a matter of him catching someone touching your belly; he'll already be standing there most likely. glares, huffs, will certainly go as far as removing their hand if it lingers long enough.⌝
๋࣭ ⭑ SOAP
⌞doesn't see any point in excluding you from functions if you think you can handle them. loves having you on his lap or right beside him when he's out, even in pregnancy. as long as you're comfortable and able to signal to him when you're too tired or need something — he's just happy you're there.
most of all, johnny is fiercely protective of the bump. more than he is of you (which is nearly unfathomable, i know). and if there's one thing he loves more than you — it's gushing about you to anyone who'll listen. so, initially, he might not notice someone making you tense while amid his blabbing.
but after so long with him, you've learned to accept the flattery for what it is and remember how easy it is for him to get distracted. a firm squeeze to his hand or a tug to his jacket will do the trick. but once realizes what's happening, he's on it (with his new Dad Speed). finds a way to distract the person and slip you the car keys. promises he'll be out in two minutes to drive you home — and he always is.⌝
๋࣭ ⭑ GAZ
⌞ even though he'd prefer you bundled up in bed and waiting for him, kyle still enjoys doing things with you. he definitely gives a wider berth than the other guys, but he's just as vigilant (if not more). he's more subtle about it, if anything.
it isn't just you to protect anymore, it's you and his baby. so, forgive the man for his pinched brows and clenched fists, he's reverted into nothing but a ball of anxiety the further the months progress.
doesn't mind people having a feel of you, usually, when they only mean well (it's typically older ladies anyhow). but sometimes it's a more unsavory interaction; someone who isn't taking any hints, who can't bear to leave the two of you alone. on one hand, gaz understands — an expectant, attractive couple out on a wholesome shopping trip is bound to lure attention. he takes a slower approach, less hostile to avoid upsetting you anyone. brushes it off with an excuse; "oh, love, you got that appointment today, right? don't wanna be late." and then makes his exit, a guiding hand around your waist.⌝
#dividers by cafekitsune#>>> all creds to them#mw2#call of duty#task force 141#141 x reader#141 x you#141 task force#mw2 x reader#john price x reader#simon riley x reader#soap x reader#gaz x reader#141 headcanons#mw2 headcanons#mw3#call of duty x reader#ghost x reader#ghost x you#soap x you#kyle garrick x reader#john price x you
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" Scraping their teeth over your neck to have a shiver of arousal run down your spine. "
With Bucky. 🥺
This probably didn't go the way anyone wants, nonnie, and I'm sorry!
Give Me a Name
Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Agent!Female Reader
Summary: Someone put their hands on you and Bucky can't let it go.
Word Count: Over 1.1k
Warnings: Tension, threat of violence (not against reader), very minor injury, pet names, possessive behavior, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Because who doesn't want a mob boss obsessed with them? ❤️ Edit by the talented @nixakimbo. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Today was a not-so-friendly reminder that mistakes in your job weren’t so easy to fix. You had been in pursuit of a target for weeks and finally managed to catch him. The rookie agent, however, didn’t secure the cuffs and the bastard managed to get a hard hit in when he broke free. The dizziness from the blow was enough to let him get away.
The rookie went after him, but you knew he wouldn’t catch him. You’d have to start all over with tracking him and you didn’t even get a chance to go home to lick your wounds. Not when Bucky’s men showed up and put you in a car.
You should’ve known they were close by.
“I can walk!” You argued minutes later when they brought you to the Barnes mansion. The mob boss had a few homes, but this one had been in the family for years. He had invited you here before, but never took you by force.
Until today.
The men carefully arranged you on a leather sofa in the den before one of them went to get their boss. He hadn’t left the room before the door flew open, the very man he went to find standing there with a look thunderous enough to kill. He snatched something out of one of his soldier’s hands before he went to you, no one daring to speak a word.
You held your breath as you glanced at Bucky. He had the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up as he assessed you, the veins in his arms popped out as he clenched his fists. He was built like a soldier with his massive frame, his life story told in the tattoos and scars that adorned his covered skin. The notorious crime lord more than earned his reputation and he promised he’d tell you his story himself one day.
Today wouldn’t be that day.
He brushed some of his long hair from his eyes before crouching down beside you. He didn’t take his eyes off you as he dabbed at your cheek with the cloth. He stopped when you winced, but you gave him a small smile to let him know he could continue. You didn’t expect tenderness from such a rough man, but you were different to him, weren’t you? You had been since the two of you crossed paths some time ago. Why?
What made you so special?
“Who did this to you?” He asked in a low voice. You could hear that he tried to keep the raging storm inside of him, but his icy eyes showed you everything. The growing fury was bound to come out. Who would he destroy in his path to sate the beast?
“Bucky. I’m fine,” you croaked as you tried to sit up more, but he stopped you from moving. “The guy got lucky and it isn’t anything I haven’t faced before. Just let me get back to work,” you said.
You noticed most of the men nearby avoided eye contact when you looked around. They had every reason to be afraid. James Buchanan Barnes was downright terrifying when crossed.
And crossing you was a worse offense in his eyes.
“Give me a name,” Bucky demanded, though he didn't raise his voice. “Tell me his fucking name so I can take care of it.”
“I can’t,” you whispered. If you did, he’d kill him. No, he’d torture him first. Likely for days on end before he begged for death. And you needed him alive.
That was your job.
Yet, you could never find it in yourself to bring Bucky in.
“Don’t make me shoot you.”
You froze at the cold tone before you realized Bucky didn’t direct that statement at you. One of his men standing feet away turned his head to the side because he got caught staring. You should’ve known better. Whatever cat and mouse game you and the mob boss were playing, it was for him to catch you in his trap, but never hurt you.
Not when he wanted to keep you.
“I’m sorry, boss,” the man promised, his tone wavering when Bucky reached for one of his pistols. “I-”
“‘Cause I’ll do it in a heartbeat and never look back if you glance at her again,” he promised. He was a man of his word. “Leave us. All of you. Now.”
“Bucky, it’s okay,” you assured him as they filed out. The men were dangerous, but you weren’t about to let him shoot the poor guy for looking your way.
“It isn't okay. Someone put their hands on you,” he nearly growled, the soft touch to your cheek a stark contrast to his voice. “You think I can let that go? I can’t. I won’t.”
You brought a hand up to tuck a few strands of his hair behind his ear. His eyes shut for a moment and grabbed your wrist before you could pull away. He dragged your fingers through the short beard along his jaw, like he was starved of your touch and needed more. You didn’t want to admit how much you wanted him.
Not when you belonged in different worlds.
“You don’t have to ‘avenge’ me, Bucky, because I’m not yours,” you said carefully. Were you telling him for his sake or yours? “Let it go. Please.”
The storm continued to rage in his eyes when he opened them and you wondered who would win the battle of the wills. You held your breath again when he moved close, the scent of his woodsy cologne making your head spin. Instead of brushing his lips against yours, he brought his mouth to your neck. Scraping his teeth over your pulse, you couldn’t stop the shiver of arousal that moved down your spine.
“You are mine, Kisa,” he whispered, giving your neck another nip as you tried not to whimper. “And I’m going to find out who did this whether you tell me or not. And I’m going to kill him.”
Your heart shouldn’t have raced faster at his declaration. “If I tell you, will you let me go home?”
“You are home,” he replied, pulling away and looking into your eyes so you could see how serious he was. “And I’d feel a lot better if you got some rest in my bedroom.”
You shuddered because you both knew you wouldn’t get a wink of rest if he took you to bed. And if you slept with him, there would be no turning back. “You can’t keep me prisoner here, Winter.”
The cold and ruthless man who only wanted you.
“You’re not my prisoner, Kisa,” he said, pressing his lips softly to your pained cheek. “But I’m never letting you go.”
He’d prove that to you.
I don't know about you lovelies, but I kind of love them. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x female!reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky barnes x fem!reader#bucky barnes x f!reader#mob!bucky barnes x reader#mob!bucky barnes x agent!reader#winter and kisa#bucky barnes#mob!bucky barnes#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky x you#bucky x y/n#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fan fic#bucky barnes fan fiction#bucky fic#james buchanan barnes#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan x female reader#sebastian stan x you#sebastian stan
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