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huicitawrites · 1 year

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The Hunt

Yandere! Miguel O' Hara x Fem! Spider! Reader

T/W: yandere (slow-burn(?)), dark fic, violence, assault, spoilers for across the spiderverse.

Status: rewritten.

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Word Count: 2,4k

"Y/N! Get. Back. Here. NOW", swinging away from an infuriated Miguel O'Hara wasn't something you had planned or ever thought would occur, never entertained the thought of it. At least not until now, as you desperately attempted to get away from him and somehow escape him- for your dimension-travel watch (as wild as the concept of it sounded) had been snatched by the same man that was madly hunting you down.

How did it even all come to this? Let's rewind, back to the beginning.

Part I

After being bitten by a radioactive spider in a school trip to Alchemax at the young age of 15, you obtained enhanced spider-like abilities: a sixth sense for perceiving danger, incredible reflexes, amazing parkour skills, extraordinary strentgh and flexibility.

And for the past ten years, you have been New York's one and only Spider-Woman.

Learning to use your powers was a whole trip on itself. They awakened rather clumsily -nothing a leap of faith could not fix- as you began to grasp the ropes of being a masked hero in your teenage years [it's safe to say that your teenage years were truly a heck of a rollercoaster].

Handling a double-life was not easy, that is something you have learned with your ten years experience. You saved a bunch of people and thus many lives, you won many times and saved the city countless more. Yet you also earned a bunch of dangerous criminals and villains tailing behind your back that would want to kill you without hesitation and harm you in any way possible.

In spite of the times you were beaten down, left made a mess in the ground, or at the brink of death- you would always get back up because you were Spider-Woman.

Sometimes, getting back up was hard.

The weight of the sake of the city was on your shoulders. And sometimes, that weight crushed you. When you lost your parents it was devastating, because not only had you failed as a hero, but as a daughter.

[Your dad perished in an attempt to save you from an attack of one of many enemies- the Green Goblin . You two happened to be on a ‘father and daughter’ outing in a nice dinner when the Green Goblin tried to draw out Spider-Woman from her hiding place in Brooklyn (unbeknownst of your true identity and much to your own misery and guilt.) After battling the Green Goblin and imprisoning him, you rose with your dead father in your arms, and an huge crack in your heart that would leave a deep scar.

Months later, your mother's followed suit. That day was chaotic, panic filled the streets of New York as The Rhino, a veteran soldier with super human strentgh and a high-techno advanced armor resembling a rhinoceros, laid waste to the city. You were evacuating all civilians nearby, swinging across and into buildings, picking up and scooping anyone you could encounter and putting them out of danger.

It happened as you held falling debris with your arms. You picked up wailing in between the many cries of people, and your spider-sense guided your eyes up from the ground.

A child, no older than five, was crying. He was glued to the floor, too overwhelmed by the calamity surrounding him. A wall from a building was falling on him and your heart beat raced. You still had people below you that were crawling out and the child was a or two block away. Your thoughts raced in your head, you had to save everyone, down to the last live.

"Come on, come on, come on" you muttered in between gritted teeth as you gathered power and lifted the debris into the air. With the help of your web shooter, you pulled all the remaining civilians out and casted aside the courtesy of double-checking as you swinged toward the child.

You could see how the wall fell over him, and you reached out your arm with your forearm out desperately, attempted to pull him out with your web but the wall was already about to touch his head and-

She pushed the child out of the danger, motherly instincts impulsing her feet at the cost of her own life. The child was pushed onto you and you brought him flush against you with your web, arms encasing him as you witnessed the wall collapse on her.

In shock and disbelief, you gently lowered the child to the ground and ran to the fallen wall. Once again in despair, you clawed through the debris and searched for your mother’s body.

You found her bruised and crushed, her face deformed. You brushed the dust off it. Her pained groan was faint, and you begged her right there and then not to leave you. Not to leave you alone, again.

“Is the kid al…?”

“Yes! Don’t, don’t talk. Help, help is coming. You have to stay, you have to.” But her eyes were already fading, and her limbs growing weak. Your disguised hand snatched up hers and you cried,

“Mom!”

She recognized your voice, the one she cherished the most. Her fading eyes gathered all the warmth they could muster and she reached out a quivering hand to your cheek. Her fingers slid into your mask, and she felt your tear stained skin.

“Ah my baby…[Y/n]…I’m so proud... Your father would be so proud... keep it up”. Her last words were voiced with strain, but you would always remember them.]

They became the fuel for your mission, and no matter how many times you were beaten to the ground and wounded to no end, you stood back up. You would save everyone else, no more deaths, you swore upon your parents' last moments.

Now in your adult life, you found yourself in a stable life besides the implications your side hustle not-so-side -hustle brought. You had an adequate job as a writer for small titles in a decent newspaper, and you had a department you shared with your childhood best friend, Peter Parker [who eventually became your tech-desk guy. Hiding your true identity from your best friend and roommate would have never lasted long anyway. You remember clearly the day you climbed into the living's window, beat up, bruised and tired, when the lights suddenly turned on and a Peter with crossed arms and an eyebrow raised was waiting for you like a parent whose child was past curfew. You were without your mask on. Nonetheless, after stuttering uncontrollably and failing to explain and just simply breaking down in front of him. Without saying any words, he took out the first aid kit and reassured you with a smile. You were so grateful to him.]

So now here you were, crouching on the top of The Clock Tower, the moonlight casting its light on your back and darkening your silhouette. Earlier in the day you dealt with some thugs and minor crimes, but since the sun fell nothing happened. That was odd, NYC was never quite, least of all times at night.

But your spider-sense was running, not rampant, but definetely there like annoying itch on the nape. Something had to be off, you knew it.

"Um, I'm not picking up anything, (Y/n). Maybe you should be calling it a night, you've been doing good work so far. You did lower the crime rate, after all."

"You sure Pete? There's this feeling in my gut and-"

"Your 'spidey- thingy' ?".

"Spider-sense, spidey-thingy sounds dumb" you answered with a small groan, rolling your eyes although he could not see the.

He chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he turned serious " but I'm not getting anything from anywhere. From police radios and stations to our own hidden cameras"

"Nothing? Sure?"

"I mean everything is awfully quiet now that I think about it... All I can pick up is glitching, let's see... let me do my thing and-" you could hear frantic typing through the comms of your suit within the mask, you could even picture Peter hunching and fixing his eyeglasses.

What he said left you pondering. Glitching? It couldn't be a coincidence that all the radio signals he could pick up were glitching.

"Aha! Here it is, your spidey-thingy was right." this time, you chuckled as if saying 'see?'. He continued, "-this should be a very hidden signal from the special forces team. Seems classified, man they should really put a little more money into whatever software they use to protect their privacy" and he pushed on one final 'enter', the glitching and static got louder almost startling you to which your friend apologized softly, but it evened out.

"Report the situation, Lieutenant Stacy"

"Requesting back-up right now, suspect is armed with advanced equipment, we are at the Port, South East, many of my men and women have been wounded and- oh, shit, shit" The man's words died down with the sound of something big crashing and breaking.

Well, that's your cue. You stood up on your toes and balanced you body weight forward, diving to the ground. With your limbs extended, you stretched your forearm and extended your wrist, web shooting out from the slick web shooter Peter designed.

Swinging from building to building under the night sky, you jumped across billboards and slid past tight spaces as you were heading to the location of the conflict, and the closer you swinged, the wilder your spider sense got.

When you arrived at the port, you saw a SWAT truck that was flipped over, it had a huge dent in the form of a what seemed to be a claw mark, and the windows had been broken. There were a few members on the floor, and you noticed there were two trying to lift the heavy vehicle.

"Let me help," you announced your presence and they whipped their heads. Their faces were glistening with sweat and dirt, and you could notice their equipment was damaged. You crouched and lifted the truck, there was one member there below, and his leg was twisted the other way, but he was breathing- well, panting.

Without further a do, the soldiers went and dragged out their friend. A soldier's face lit up, though they seemed hesitant [after all, your line of work was kind of controversial among the government and its forces] but they were thankful. "Thank you, Spider-Woman", their voice was genuine and you smiled below the mask.

"Your welcome, leave it to me" winking at them through your lense, you nodded and propelled yourself to the ceiling of the warehouse. You noticed a roof canopy at the center, lucky you, and brought the palm of your hand to it. Utilizing your sticky finger pads, you carefully removed a pane of glass and entered the building without making a sound.

"Be careful, please" Peter voiced with worry.

You hanged the web from it's strongest point at the peak, and slowly lowered yourself down until your hand gently brushed the cold floor . You got off the web and crawled in direction of the tingling of the spider-sense. You found some warehouse crates, pressed your back onto them, slowly leaning your head out to take a peak.

A man stood there, a middle aged man by the looks of him. He had a round pair of black sunglasses on and a large leather coat on, but the most outstanding feature was apparently behind him. Four metal tentacle-like arms sprouting from his back, with threatening looking claws. That had to be the thing that put such a dent in a SWAT vehicle, the advanced equipment you heard of in the interception.

He was ranting about something, speaking to himself. "The power of the sun at the palm of my hand, only to be ruined by that fucking-"

‘What is this man even talking about…’

His words died down in your ears as it took a few seconds for your spider-sense to peak, and you scrunched your face features. Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes squinted, cheeks squeezing up and causing the lenses of the mask to stretch and flatten.

"(Y/n)? Found anything yet?" Peter inquired.

"This man... I think I know him... but also not..." At this point, your spider-sense was rampant. Your gaze still confused as you tried to decipher him. Your spider sense was alerting you of this oddly familiar feeling. It was someone you had dealt with before, but also someone new. Simply off-putting.

Then the realization fell on you, his tentacle-like arms.

"Is that Doc Ock!?" Without getting a hold of your reaction, you accidentally raised your voice and revealed your location. Your spider-sense tingled again, this time, sensing imminent danger as you backflipped and dodged the incoming attack. The crate you were hiding behind of was broken into splinters.

"Come on out, Spider-Man!" he shouted, his voice in pure anger.

Spider-Man? As long as you remember, you never referred to your disguised self as Spider-Man...

"It's Spider-Woman, mind you" You revealed yourself off the shadows, and the light basked in your costume, revealing its signature colors and design. "Do I know you by chance?" you tited your head, inquisitive in your tone as you were trying to figure things out.

The man's expression fell, and his rage was replaced by annoyance.

"Is this some kind of sick joke, Spider-Man? Have you forgotten the name of the man whose work of life you ruined, Otto Octavius." His tongue rolled of his name with spite and you widened your eyes.

"Doc Ock? But, you are different. You are totally human". Last time you checked, Doc Ock was a mad scientist that turned himself half-octopus by bioengineering his genetics in the name of some sort of sick evolution idea. He had tried to turn the city into mutants like himself for 'the sake of humanity's future' and you managed to stop his plans. Furthermore, he had been sent to a high-security prison for villains, where an anti-serum is being developed to turn him back and halt his aggression.

"Are you pulling my leg Spider-Man?" He said with disbelief, and he began to appear more and more angry by the second. He muttered something below his breath, and you swore you saw one of his tentacles turn toward his face as if it were sentient and listening...

"I've told you it's Spider-Woman." You huffed out, chest puffing out. You had a bad feeling about this...

The man's hand ran down his own face and he groaned, visibly tired. "Well, whatever, but you do appear to be an ally of Peter Parker's, your costume and your name leave little room for further speculation". The mention of your friend raised up your guard, how did he know Pete? Any doubts and hesitation erased themselves of your mind, for your friend could be in lethal danger.

"Oh? What's the matter, 'Spider-Woman'," he sneered.

"Picked right on the web, hmm?" He edged on, a dangerous smirk dancing on his face and two claws raising up in the air, ready to pounce.

There was not much to it, as you jumped sideways to dodge whatever that clawed-tentacle-armor was. You found yourself right back at the gig, fighting a villain as the one and only Spider-Woman.

Or so you thought.

A/n: Hi! So when I first saw this fictional man I KNEW I had to write about him, originally, it was going to be a long one shot, but I decided to break it into parts. I expect this story to be up to 3 parts or 4 as most. Anyhow, I hope you come to like it!, and sorry for the long- ass intro, I really wanted to dwelve deeper into reader as a spider person. Next is the real thing. I have seen some people have asked me to tag them, so don’t be shy to ask too!

#yandere #yandere x reader #self insert #yandere blog #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #miguel o hara x reader #yandere miguel #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o' hara x reader #across the spiderverse #yandere across the spiderverse #female reader #yandere spiderman 2099 #yandere spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader

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rockpapertheodore · 11 months

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Stop giving your fantasy heroes swords challenge

Swords are for dipshits with more dollars than sense, real chad warriors have spears and axes

Spears: probably the oldest weapon humans ever developed that took more effort than just picking up a rock or swinging a branch as a club. Spears are the most venerated and effective weapon in history, used by every culture across the world with very little - if any! - exception. Medium-to-long reach means wider defensive area, ability to change hand position on shaft means you can adjust tip distance for opponents closer or farther away. Fast, maneuverable, throwable; reach for keeping people outside your personal bubble and can be used to just bludgeon people because a wooden pole bonks just as good as another wooden pole without the stabby bit; various styles of tips and blades that can be used to slash (not as effective but still very possible because blood drawn is blood spilled), more room for cool decorations as well as can be used to bear a banner or coat of arms. She does it all and she did it first. (They also twirl real cool)

Axes: PROBABLY THE SECOND OLDEST WEAPON DESIGN MORE ADVANCED THAN JUST PICKING UP A ROCK. Brutal, practical, utilitarian, the axe is excellent for that sweet sweet CHOP. The full force of your swing being focused into an area less than a millimeter wide and several inches long can cause SO MUCH DAMAGE, and if it's dulling mid-fight you still have a brutal tool that will break bone as indiscriminately as any other hunk of metal tied to a stick. They can be small and maneuverable, used with a shield or paired with another axe. They are the most effective way to just hack at an opponent's own shield, and - due to the fact that axes tend to have a much wider, shallower blade than, say, swords - they aren't as affected by the blunt force (with regards to dulling/damaging the actual edge of the blade) or as prone to getting stuck in the wood of the shield. Combat/fighting/war axes are definitely designed and sharpened differently from their wood-chopping brethren with regards to balance and the depth of the blade, but the guiding principle is the same. Chop chop chop chop chop.

Polearms: they're spearses. They're axes. They're both and they're neither. Pikes, glaives, halberds, bardiches, guisarmes, guandao, naginata, scythes, tridents, anything we took a blade or pointy metal and a long pole and ductaped together.

Swords are cool! They can be beautiful! However, they are race horses being used to work the fields: too expensive to maintain, not optimal for the purpose they're being used for, and too easy to irrepably damage if misused. Your opponents are wearing armor? You better hope you have a sword maneuverable enough to work into its weak points, because you're not hacking through that before you find yourself walking through golden fields of wheat. You only have one hand on your sword? Better hope somebody doesn't smack that long lever in your hands in such a way that it just gets knocked from your grasp.

This is the same post as every other Spears and Axes in Fantasy/Fiction post in existence, but I wrote this one and its mine amd im in a mood this morning apparently

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scuderiasundays · 10 months

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8 letters, 14 points

summary: scrabble, chronic overthinking, and late-night declarations of love + a little insta au at the end 💌

words: 522

a/n: thank you for the req, sweet anon! apologies for taking so long! tagging @vamossainz55, @sainzcaleruega, @monzabee, @ssainzz, @holllandtrash, @diorleclerc, and @userlando just because. feedback appreciated as always. hugs and kisses 🫶🏼

A few hours ago, you and Lando had been immersed in a heated game night. Desperate to end his losing streak in McLaren challenges against Oscar, Lando had challenged you to a game of Scrabble. He'd been determined to pick up points with British slang like "bunda" and "peng," which held no place in the dictionary. You had rolled your eyes and let him bask in his victory, savoring the sound of his characteristic laughter.

Interestingly enough, since Lando had come into your life, your episodes of sleep paralysis had remarkably decreased. This was surprising, especially considering that watching him race always gave you butterflies. The constant fear that the love you two shared could be shattered with one fatal blow always lingered. Lando, keenly observant, noticed the tension etched across your face as you got ready for bed; his reflection in the mirror capturing your inner turmoil.

Breaking your reverie, his arms encircled your waist, pulling you back into the present. "Hey, you're in that space again," he murmured, his words melting the ice of your distant thoughts. You feigned innocence, though fully aware that he had caught you in the act. "Picturing all the worst-case scenarios?" he playfully quipped. With Lando, the world seemed steadier, as if his presence was a shield against any harm.

All of these memories danced through your mind as you lay in bed. Your mind was sharp and alert, yet your body lay captive. Shadows played eerie games on the walls, a creeping dread cascading through your senses. But as panic threatened to engulf you, a faint whisper of reassurance reached through the darkness, pulling you back to reality.

"Hey, you're okay. I'm right here with you." Lando’s fingers ran through your hair with the most delicate touch. He sensed the fear emanating from your body and held you closer. "How about we head down to the kitchen? I'll make you a cup of tea.”

Nodding, you felt the security of his presence as he held out his hand. With a tentative smile, your fingers intertwined, allowing him to guide you down the dimly lit staircase. Settling into a bouclé chair, you observed as Lando moved with grace, each motion familiar in the apartment you two shared.

His hands moved with practiced ease, selecting the honey vanilla chamomile tea you adored and filling the kettle. Enveloped in the soothing ritual, you couldn't help but admire the silhouette he cast in the soft glow of the refrigerator light, a figure of calm amidst the chaos.

The Scrabble board, a witness to your earlier play, still lay on the kitchen counter. Your fingertips traced the wooden tiles, arranging them into an earnest declaration: "I love you," at its core. With a warm smile, you gestured towards your creation.

Beside the board, your boyfriend set down your favorite mug, the "I'm With Stupid (Lando)" one, a Christmas gift from Carlos that never failed to make you snicker. A soft kiss on your forehead sealed his response, the three words you longed to hear voiced in his affectionate whisper.

"I love you too, Y/N. More than you’ll ever know."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

liked by landonorris, lewishamilton, and 71,717 others

yourusername: home is whenever i'm with lando!

landonorris: you’re my best friend 🧡

mclaren: scrabble challenge coming right up

carlossainz55: when's the housewarming party happening?

danielricciardo: rsvp'ing yes in advance 🥳

riabish: thank god you chose all the furniture because lando has questionable taste 😓

fan1: so lando coded to be wearing a hoodie in this HEAT

fan2: it's giving heat stroke but more so because he looks so boyfriend 🫠

ciscanorris: glad to see the apartment's coming together. let me know if you need any more help!

#lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris edit #lando norris #f1 x you #lando norris fluff #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando norris one shot #f1 instagram au #lando norris instagram edit

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sebscore · 11 months

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LUCK OF A CHAMPION | SEBASTIAN V.

pairing: sebastian vettel x fem!reader

warnings: swearing.

time - place stamp: september 14, 2008 - Monza, Italy

author's note: AAH !! already on the second chapter!! the first time seb and reader meet at the italian grand prix!! the dialogue in bold is german and the dialogue in cursive is french!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''Miss Y/L! We are so happy to have you here,'' an older man approached in front of the Toro Rosso garage, ''It's really nice to meet you, I'm Franz Tost- the team principal of Toro Rosso.'' He introduced himself, sticking out his hand.

A warm smile appeared on the young woman's face, she confidently shook his head. ''It's very nice to see you, Franz. Thank you so much for having me.''

''It's our pleasure! We're very big fans and the team is very excited to meet you.'' The French athlete had her doubts about the F1 team being ''big fans'', but Franz's words came across as genuine.

She nodded her head, the PR-friendly smile still glued on her face. ''Well, that's very kind.''

''I was informed this is your first time at a Grand Prix?'' He asked, slowly guiding her into the garage. ''Yes, it's my first time attending a race.'' She confirmed with a small nod.

''Fantastic!'' An Austrian accent slightly coming out. ''We're very honoured you chose to be with us today, Miss Y/L.''

''You can call me Y/N, Franz. I'm not an old lady or anything, you can relax.'' The tennis star assured him, not a big fan of the formalities the older man was using.

Franz chuckled at her words, a bit embarrassed. ''My apologies! We don't often receive young women into our garage so it's a habit.'' He clarified.

''It's okay, I understand.'' Y/N brushed it off.

''Anyway- I'll explain some things. So, here,'' he pointed towards a few men who were seemingly doing some work on one of the cars, ''we have the mechanics, they're currently working on Sebastian's car.''

She politely nodded along, paying attention to his words.

''There you have the engineers, they talk to the drivers while they're racing and keep them informed about a variety of things.'' Franz further explained, pointing to some guys that were observing the computer screens.

Y/N glanced around the quite busy garage, spotting a familiar face. ''There's Sébastien!'' She signalled to the older Frenchman to approach them.

The pair had met on numerous occasions, both being French athletes. She had been the one to reach out to him regarding her attendance, hoping he'd be able to get her a ticket to one of his races. Sébastien happily agreed to fix her a special pass, delighted to invite her to the Italian Grand Prix.

''Y/N, how are you? Happy to see you here.'' The driver greeted her in French, a kiss on both of her cheeks. ''I don't have much time, but they told me you arrived so I wanted to quickly pop in and say hi.''

''I'm good, thank you for asking and also thank you for getting me here,'' she grinned, making the Frenchman laugh, ''good luck with your race, I'll be rooting for you.''

''Merci.'' He thanked her, nodding his head to Franz who seemed quite clueless about their conversation- his understanding of the French language not being advanced enough yet.

The team principal awkwardly scratched his voice as Sébastian left them alone to prepare for his race. ''You would like a closer look to the car?'' He asked her, pointing at the machinery with the number five on it.

''Yes, please.'' At her confirmation, he led her to the car. ''This is the cockpit,'' Franz motioned his hands over the area, ''and as you can see, the drivers are basically laying in there.'' He simplified.

''Is it comfortable?'' She asked the team principal, genuine curiosity audible.

Franz excitedly nodded his head. ''Yes, very very comfortable! The seats are custom made for every driver on the grid so they fit perfectly.''

''Do they ever fall asleep?'' Y/N chuckled, a joking tone to her question.

The man laughed at the inquiry, surprised by the woman's sense of humour and unfeigned interest in the sport. ''With our two drivers it hasn't happened, but with others it has definitely happened before.'' Franz answered.

''But not during a race!'' He quickly added, not wanting her to think that drivers have fallen asleep while driving the fast cars.

''I hope not, that would be tragic.'' Y/N commented, a laugh attached to her words.

Franz snickered along with her. ''It would be indeed. The mechanics wouldn't be too happy with that either so we're happy it hasn't happened yet.''

''But to continue- this is the steering wheel and as you can see, it's quite complica-''

''Hey Franz, are you rea- oh…''

A curly-haired young man appeared next to the team principal, taking the young woman by surprise. The unknown man's eyes widened as he stared at her, the tennis star becoming slightly uncomfortable by the guy's gawking.

The older man in-between them seemed to grasp her uneasiness. ''Oh. This is one of our drivers, Sebastian Vettel. He scored our first pole position yesterday and hopefully, our first win today.'' Franz introduced him.

Y/N stuck out her hand, intended for him to shake it. ''It's nice to meet you, Sebastian.'' He instead grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. ''It's very nice to meet you too, Miss Y/N Y/L.''

The woman was impressed by the greeting, raising an eyebrow at the gentleman in front of her. ''You know me. Are you a fan of tennis?'' There was a surprising tone to her voice, his boss hadn't introduced her by name.

Sebastian shook his head, dropping her hand. ''No, I'm just a fan of you.'' He proudly grinned, crossing his arms.

''Well, thank you very much. I'm flattered.'' The athlete would be lying if she said she wasn't intrigued by the man's confidence, her interest in getting to know who this Sebastian Vettel was growing by each passing second.

The German driver unsubtly looked her up and down. ''As far as I know, this is a Formula 1 event, right? You're not gonna find any courts around here.'' He joked, glancing around the garage and pretending to look for a tennis court.

Y/N laughed at his antics. ''I must have gotten the wrong memo, I was promised a rematch with Venus,'' she feigned annoyance, placing her hands on her hips, ''but, uh, your teammate actually invited me.''

''Sébastien?'' He frowned. ''I wasn't aware he knew you. He's been hiding you from me, I can't believe it.'' It was Sebastian's turn to pretend to be agitated, although there might be a truth to his annoyance.

Sebastian wouldn't describe himself as a tennis fanatic, but whenever the French prodigy in front of him would play, he would find himself clinged to the television. Was it her genuine skills as an athlete or the fact that he fancied her in a short skirt? Who would know.

''We've met on a couple of occasions.'' Y/N explained her history with his Toro Rosso teammate. Sébastien and herself were French athletes so they have had a few run-ins with each other at dull award shows.

''I see,'' Sebastian nodded, ''he just didn't want to share you with me.''

His flirtatious remarks not only surprised Franz and Y/N, but himself as well. The 21 year-old had always seen himself as quite a flirty pal, but he had never gone to this level with someone he had just met. It didn't help much that the woman standing opposite him was seemingly enjoying every word he said.

''I guess that's the case,'' she matched the light smirk on his face, ''but I'm very happy he didn't, cause otherwise I wouldn't be here.''

''I'll make sure to thank him after the race.'' Sebastian chuckled, shyly breaking the eye-contact they had been holding for what seemed like forever. ''But, uhm, you're still in recovery? From Roland Garros?'' He asked, dropping the grin as he asked about her injury.

''Yes, I had a surgery in June.'' She confirmed.

The tennis star sustained a back injury at the French Open of that same year. It happened quite early in the tournament, but she continued playing instead of retiring from the competition. It was the first time in 3 years that she managed to make the final at Roland Garros, she couldn't win last time and wasn't going to let that opportunity slip again- even if it cost her the rest of her season.

She did manage to win the final, winning her first French Open title of her career. However, there wasn't much of a celebration as she collapsed after taking the championship point, the pain in her back too much to bear. She was brought to the hospital and was informed she would need to receive surgery and a long recovery process.

''Have you been training again, or how is it going?'' Sebastian continued, interested in her physical state and when he would be able to see her play again.

Y/N unsurely shook her head. ''Uh, I've had some training sessions with my coach, but nothing too serious.'' She answered, an unconscious pout present on her face.

''That's a good start,'' Sebastian encouragingly smiled, noticing the slight decline in courage, ''too bad I won't see you compete soon, though.'' He frowned, genuinely downhearted by her recovery break.

''You'll have to wait until January.''

That's when the first tournament of the new WTA season took place in Australia, something she had been working towards for the past 2 months. Y/N had always been a self-assured person- some of her competitors might say ''arrogant'', but she knew her worth. Still, 2 months of not picking up a racquet had seriously messed with her mentality and doubts had formed in her mind about her future performances as a professional athlete.

Those doubts were visible to Sebastian even if she didn't vocalise them. ''I know you'll make a great comeback, tennis isn't the same without you.''

''My lovely colleagues would happily disagree with you.'' The sarcastic comment made him laugh, taken aback by her sense of humour.

He shook his head. ''They're just jealous! They actually have a chance now that you're not playing.''

''That's very sweet of you, thanks.'' Y/N brushed it off, the amount of praise he was giving her making her a bit shy.

''You know what? I think having a champion here will actually give me some luck for the race, don't you think?'' He told her, her presence giving him all the energy he needed before the Grand Prix.

Y/N snickered at him. ''You got pole position yesterday! I think you're doing fine on your own.''

''No, seriously! You being here will definitely have an influence- I can't embarrass myself in front of a Grand Slam champion, right?'' Sebastian's words lifted her spirits, not used to athletes of other sports speaking and thinking so highly of her.

''You're flattering me, Sebastian.'' Y/N moved a few strands of hair out of her face.

''Seb.''

''Pardonne?''

''Call me Seb, Y/N.''

A tingly feeling settled in her stomach as he asked her to call him by his nickname, meanwhile the way he said her name send goosebumps down her neck.

She timidly nodded her head. ''Alright… Seb.'' Y/N couldn't help but match the smirk on his face, taking way too much joy out of this interaction.

''Uh,'' Sebastian looked next to him where Franz previously stood, but now nowhere to be found, ''oh, he's gone.'' He chuckled, feeling slightly guilty for leaving his boss in the dark. ''I have to go, though, but I'll see you after the race?'' He looked at her with a hopeful glance, not wanting this moment to be the last time he saw her.

A smile slowly formed on her face, his attempt at nonchalance malfunctioning. ''I'll find you on the podium.'' Y/N winked.

Sebastian's cheeks heated up at her response, her confidence that he would finish in the top three flustering the Toro Rosso driver. ''Yeah, yeah- I'll see you there.'' With a final long glance, he made his way over to his engineer.

The Toro Rosso garage erupted into chaos once the German took the chequered flag, their and his first F1 win in the pocket. Y/N observed the mechanics falling into each other's arms and yielding their fists into the air, meanwhile the pit wall yanked their headphones off and jumped up from their chairs in overjoy.

As a fellow athlete, she understood the excitement that came from winning your first big achievement like winning a Grand Prix. You work almost your entire life for just an ounce of success and when it finally pays off? It's a feeling you can't describe.

Y/N was guided to the podium ceremony by a staff member, standing behind the team as Sebastian appeared from the inside of the building and strided to the top step while the team and crowd cheered him on.

The tennis star chuckled at the driver holding up his index finger, a symbolised No. 1, and the way he seemed to be poking it in everyone's faces.

Despite standing at the very back and doing her best efforts to let the Toro Rosso crew have their moment, Sebastian found her in the mass- pointing said finger at her and threw her a smug look as if to say ''I told you you would bring me luck''.

The woman nodded at him, raising her arms above her head and applauding him.

Y/N flinched when the German national anthem ended, and the drivers started spraying each other with their champagne bottles. She turned to the staff member next to her. ''Do they always do this?'' She asked.

The staff nodded, amused by the athlete's shock. ''Yes, every race!''

''Wow… a nice combination with the sweat.'' Y/N was quite disgusted by the stank that would come off from the drivers- champagne and sweat not being a satisfying mix.

After the ceremony was done, she was brought to the Toro Rosso hospitality. Many of the mechanics, engineers and others were, contrary to what she first believed, actual fans of the young athlete and wanted the chance to grab a picture with her.

Y/N didn't mind sticking around a little longer than what was planned. She appreciated the support she was given, especially now that she's injured and might have already passed her prime. Besides, the Toro Rosso team had been extremely kind to her the entire day and it was only right of her to reciprocate the kindness.

A tap on her shoulder made her turn around right as she handed one of the strategists their napkin back that she had autographed.

She was met with a smirking Sebastian, holding a small camera. ''Can I get a picture as well?''

The 21 year-old woman lightly pushed his arm with her hand, laughing at the question. ''Hey, congratulations, Mr. First Race Win.'' Y/N bowed her head.

''Thank you, thank you, but what about my picture?'' He brushed her congratulations to the side.

The athlete jokingly scoffed. ''They already took one of us in the garage, you've had your chance, Vettel.'' She figured he was taking the piss out of her and all the people that wanted a photo with the tennis star.

''But that's for the publicity, this is just for me.'' He contended.

There was a certain tone to his voice, one that explained to her that he might actually wanted a photo with her- and not to just be funny and tease her.

Y/N sighed, but agreed. ''Alright then. If it's just for you.''

Sebastian held up his fist, the same way she did after winning a point in a tournament. ''Yes,'' he glanced around, his eyes falling upon a man sitting at one of the tables, ''Riccardo!'' He called him over.

Riccardo was surprised by the sudden call of his name, but stood up anyway once he noticed Sebastian waving at him.

''He's my engineer.'' He quickly told Y/N, seeing her confused expression. ''Hey, can you take a picture for me? Of us?'' The German asked his engineer, who nodded at the request.

Sebastian handed him the camera and stood next to the tennis player. He rested his hand on her back, but swiftly retreated it. ''Is that okay?''

Y/N moved her head towards him, surprised by his concern over touching her. ''It's okay, don't worry.'' She consented, putting her own hand on his back.

''1, 2, 3. Cheese!'' Riccardo counted down and snapped a few pictures, knowing Sebastian would appreciate a couple of candids. ''Can I get a picture as well?'' The engineer asked, smiling when he saw Y/N nod.

''Here, Seb.'' Riccardo gave him the device back and the two men switched roles.

Sebastian had an indifferent expression on his face as he took the pictures of them, a vast difference from just a few seconds before when he was grinning from ear-to-ear. ''Okay, I got it. Don't want my card to be full.'' The driver put the camera down and back into his bag.

''Thanks, mate,'' Riccardo warily glanced at Sebastian, ''it was very nice to meet you. You should invite the entire team to a match next year.'' The older man joked (but not entirely), looking at Y/N.

''Thank you all for having me, I had a really nice time,'' she thanked them, ''and about that- I'll see what I can do.'' The Frenchwoman chuckled. She was fond of everyone, but fitting an entire Formula 1 team on the courtside? That would be a guaranteed challenge.

''Hopefully see you soon, then. Seb, see you tonight.'' Riccardo bid them goodbye, walking towards where the other pit wall crew members were seated.

At his engineer's ''tonight'' a ring went off in Sebastian's head. ''Oh, uh, we're celebrating tonight with everyone- would you, uh, like to come as well? It would be really cool if you were there.'' He uncharacteristically stumbled over his words a bit, barely managing to get the question out.

''I don't know,'' she hesitated accepting the invitation, ''I have quite an early flight tomorrow and I really can't miss it.''

There were more reasons behind her uncertainty than a simple worry over missing her flight to Paris the next day. She liked socialising, but she had only met everyone for the first time today and most of them were panicking about being in her presence.

The doubt in her mind was clear to him. ''You don't have to, but the option is there. How about you give me your number and I'll send you the address and hour- you can decide for yourself if you want to go.''

His suggestion was reasonable, she figured. That way she also had the young man's phone number, something she wouldn't hesitate taking. ''Okay.''

Sebastian quickly reached for his phone in the back of his jeans at her agreement, unlocking it and opening his contacts app, and handing the device over to her.

''There… you… go.'' She bit on her lip as she concentrated on typing her number in, unaware of Sebastian's unsubtle fascination with her action. Y/N gave the phone back once she was done. ''I already send a message to myself so I'm sure it's your number.''

''Great! So I'll maybe see you later.'' The young man didn't want to say goodbye to her, but he still had things to discuss with the team and not even a Grand Slam champion could make him escape out of his responsibilities.

Y/N nodded at him, an enchanting smile hanging on her face. ''Maybe, yeah,'' she smirked, ''again, congrats on your first win. I'm sure many will follow soon.''

''Let's hope there will be more,'' Sebastian had gotten the taste of success now and he wanted more, way more, ''but, uh, in case I don't see you again- it was very nice to meet you, Miss Y/N Y/L.''

''It was nice to meet you as well. You have my number so if you miss me too much you can just give me a call.'' She grinned, throwing out the flirty remark.

The German licked his lip, taking a few moments to compose himself. ''I'll definitely keep that in mind.'' He smiled to himself.

Y/N chuckled at his shy state. ''Bye, Sebastian.'' At the mention of his full name, he was about to correct her to use the shortened version, but she beat him to it. ''Sorry- Seb.''

''Goodbye.'' He bid her farewell.

Sebastian watched her leave, his eyes following the woman like a puppy when their owner leaves for the day. As soon as she was out of his sight, he pulled his phone from his pocket again and opened his messages. He knew he should have waited a little longer before sending her the address and hour of the meet-up, but he couldn't help himself. Perhaps the young man didn't want her to forget him, he wanted her attention.

While in the debrief with his team, he kept taking glances at his phone- something unusual for him to do, especially during discussions about the race that had taken place.

Her response came in the middle of Franz's opinion on the tyre management, causing Sebastian to make a surprise jolt in his chair, receiving a few side-eyes from the others. ''Sorry… a cramp.'' He apologised, making up an excuse.

| Y/N Y/L: I'll stop by :) I can't stay for too long, but I won't say no to a good celebration!

| Seb Vettel (the flirty f1 guy): Nice! I will see you there then :)

| Y/N Y/L: is there a dress code?

Sebastian loudly chuckled at her question, making him apologise again for interrupting the team boss. ''Sorry, sorry!'' He put his phone away for a minute before sneakily grabbing it again to answer her.

| Seb Vettel (the flirty f1 guy): I don't know

| Seb Vettel (the flirty f1 guy): casual, I guess.

| Y/N Y/L: boring, but alright :)

''No dress code?'' Y/N mumbled to herself, frowning. ''Pinnacle of motorsport my ass.'' The young woman had eventually agreed to go, planning to stay for about an hour or two. She wasn't going to drink any alcohol, because she had a practice the next day and a potential hangover isn't something she needed.

She considered it a night-out so usually she would go for something more elegant, but since Sebastian told her it was casual, she went for a simple pair of jeans and a blouse.

The young athlete couldn't get the German gentleman out of her head in the hours leading up to the celebration of his first win. Some time had passed since she last felt intrigued by someone on this level and that had been her former boyfriend.

There was something about Sebastian.

Was it the way he treated her like she was the queen of the universe or the way the man couldn't take his eyes off of her? Either way, she liked it.

Y/N walked into the Italian establishment with excitement, curious to see what a night with a Formula One team looked like. The space was mostly filled by the Toro Rosso Team, most of them already having had some drinks. She could see some of the mechanics dancing and other crew members cheering them on.

Unsurprisingly, Sebastian was the first person to notice her arrival. He immediately stood up from his chair, making the people around him flinch due to the suddenness of it. He didn't hesitate in walking over to her, grabbing her attention by waving and a call of her name.

He greeted her with a hug. ''Hey, you actually came!'' Y/N was taken by surprise, not expecting him to embrace her.

''Of course, wouldn't want to miss it.'' She smiled.

''Can I get you something to drink? They have a bunch of good stuff here.'' Sebastian politely offered, pointing at the bar.

Y/N glanced to where he signalled. ''Uh, do they have non-alcoholic drinks?'' She hesitated. Sometimes people can act judgemental when someone doesn't want to drink alcohol, especially at parties.

''Sure, I think they have mocktails actually.'' He answered, not making a big deal out of her not wanting to have any strong drinks.

She nodded, appreciating his nonchalance. ''Great, I'll have one of those then.''

Sebastian guided her to the counter, his hand on her lower back. Y/N kept a strong hold on her bag with her two hands, trying not to start acting giddy at the physical contact.

''The menu is on the wall,'' he signalled to the board in front of them with all of their drinks and prices written in chalk, ''let me know when you've chosen something, I'll pay for it.'' The German concluded.

''You're paying? Shouldn't it be the other way?'' Y/N chuckled, wanting to buy him a drink since he was the one who invited her- out of politeness.

Sebastian brushed it off with a wave of his hand. ''No, I'm feeling generous tonight.'' He said, a wink following his words.

She raised her eyebrow at that, sensing an innuendo behind the sentence. ''Well- I'll just have a mojito mocktail, can't go wrong with that.'' She chose her drink, looking from the menu back to Sebastian.

He nodded at her choice, and waved the bartender over. ''A mojito mocktail and a beer, please.'' The older woman behind the bar praised their options and got to work on their drinks. The pair sat down on the stools at the counter as they waited on her.

''So how does it feel to be a Grand Prix winner now?'' Y/N turned to him.

Sebastian laughed at the question. ''I feel really great. If someone had told me going into this week that I would cross the line first, I wouldn't have believed them.'' He answered, still in a state of shock about his performance today.

''I know I haven't been watching the sport for that long, but you did really great today.'' The tennis player complimented him, sincerity flowing from her lips.

''Thank you,'' the German smiled in appreciation, ''how long have you been into the sport?''

''After I was done with my surgery, I had to stay in the hospital for a few weeks and my doctor was actually a huge F1 fan,'' she explained, ''and I was really bored, cause I laid in my hospital bed all day and couldn't do anything, and he came into my room and I told him how bored I was, and he told me the qualifying of the Canadian Grand Prix was on tv. I didn't have much better things to do so I put it on and I liked it. I watched the race the next day and have been following the season since then.'' She recapped how her interest in F1 came to be.

''I think your doctor just wanted to use your tv to watch the race.'' Sebastian laughed, finding humour in the origin of her curiosity in the sport.

Y/N laughed along, admiring the way his eyes smiled. ''Yeah, maybe- oh, thank you'' the bartender set their drinks down in front of them, giving them a polite grin, ''uh, yeah, he suddenly did a few more check-up visits than were necessary.'' She chuckled, finishing her sentence.

''I think Robert won that race…'' Sebastian thought out loud, trying to recall the results of the Grand Prix in Montréal.

''Uh… Kubica, yes- I'm still trying to learn the names.'' Y/N said, feeling slight embarrassment of not being able to recognise Robert's right away.

The German gave her a comforting smile. ''That's okay, there are 20 of us, it's hard.'' He assured her.

Y/N thanked him and took a sip of her drink, needing some refreshment.

''You already know my name and that's the most important one, if you ask me.'' Sebastian added, the smirk making a re-appearance.

''Sure,'' she responded with a small laugh, ''but, uh, is this your first season in F1?''

Sebastian hesitantly answered. ''Uhm, it's my first full season in F1. Last year, I was a reserve driver first, but then I replaced someone else mid-season.'' He explained to her.

''Oh, okay cool. How long have you been racing?'' She continued, curious about his history with the sport.

''I started karting when I was 3 year-old.''

''Wow, that's young,'' her eyes widened at his answer, ''how did you get into it? You have a family that races?''

''I think it was my dad- I'm not too sure, I just loved it. At first, I wanted to be a singer like Michael Jackson, but I quickly found out I didn't have the voice for it.'' He took a big gulp from his beer, the coldness visibly relaxing him.

Y/N chuckled, not expecting Sebastian to have wanted a singing career. ''That's surprising, wouldn't have gathered you for a singer.''

''Wait until you hear me in karaoke, you'll change your mind,'' he grinned, ''but, what about you? How long have you been playing tennis?'' He turned the curious interrogation on her.

''Since I was 4,'' her response was equally surprising to him as well, ''my dad was a big tennis fan and we would watch matches together on the tv. I would like- copy the way the women were playing and would pretend the remote was my racquet.'' She tittered, the image of her younger self appearing in her mind.

''That's cute,'' Sebastian felt honoured to get such a personal answer from her, the female athlete often coming across as closed-off, ''so your dad got you into it?''

''Yeah, and not too far from where we lived was a tennis club so he signed me up for lessons.'' She replied.

''And the rest was history, as they say.'' He smirked, making a weird gesture with his hands.

''Yes,'' she beamed, a certain pride filling her as the talked about her career, ''but it's a little complicated now.'' An injury in your back is a huge setback for an athlete, especially a tennis player.

''I'm confident you will recover- everyone sees how much you love the sport and how much the sport loves you back.''

Sebastian's words meant more to her than she could express in that moment so she hoped the appreciative look on her face told him enough.

Luckily for her, he did understand. The comfortable silence that followed was one of two people connecting in a room full of people, but their eyes and minds were only on each other. It was something new for both of them; it was intriguing.

''Your partner must be proud of you, you've achieved so much already.'' Sebastian did a horrible attempt at trying to find out if the woman in front of him was in a relationship or not.

Y/N snickered at his words, immediately figuring out what he's trying to do. ''I don't have a boyfriend, actually- I don't know where you got that from.'' She teasingly smirked, his red ears and cheeks working wonders on her confidence.

''I think I read something about, a Spanish footballer or something.'' It had been a rumour a few months ago, splashed on the cover of a gossip magazine he had passed in the supermarket.

''Oh, that,'' it hadn't been the first time she was linked to an athlete she had coincidentally been in the same room with, ''no, that's not happening.''

''Good.'' A flash of relief went through his body as she denied the relationship, a deep breath leaving his body.

His physical response didn't go unnoticed and a coy smile played on her lips. ''What about you?''

Sebastian should have seen the question coming, yet he was surprised as she asked him about his love life. ''Oh, uh, actually-''

''Excuse me… are you Y/N Y/L?'' One of the waitresses interrupted Sebastian, glancing at the young woman with nervous eyes.

Y/N's gaze went from the driver to the, what she presumed, 18 year-old girl who held a notepad and pen in her hands. ''Yes, that's me.'' She confirmed her identity with a polite smile.

''I'm sorry to bother you, but could I get an autograph? I also play tennis and you're one of my favourite players.'' She asked in a very small voice, scared the athlete would reject her.

''Of course, what's your name?'' Y/N took the notepad and pen from the waitress' hands.

''Chiara.''

''To Chiara, thank you for the support! Keep playing!'' She wrote in small letters on the piece of paper, adding her signature at the bottom. She gave it back to Chiara who was grinning from ear to ear as she read over what she wrote to her.

The waitress let out a squeal, surprising both Y/N and Sebastian. ''Thank you so much, I really appreciate it! I hope to see you next year when you're playing in Rome!''

''I hope to see you too! Have a nice night, sweetie.'' She bid the fan goodbye, a bright smile on her face.

''You too, thank you again.'' Chiara quickly turned around, running over to one of her co-workers and showing the autograph off.

Y/N moved her focus back to Sebastian, who waited patiently for her attention. ''Sorry, what were we talking about again?'' She couldn't remember what they were discussing before they got interrupted.

Sebastian knew he should have spoken the truth and answered her question on if he was taken or not. He knew that. ''We were talking about your recovery.''

Yet, he didn't.

taglist :: @dannyramirezwife @luligirl_ @mistrose23 @azxulaa @develised @princesselle2111 @topguncultleader @poppyalice2001 @komorebi21 @Livster @spanishgp @red5seb @lilsiz @gagaga167 @perihelionova @callsignscully @nyenye

#f1 fics #f1 x reader #f1 fic #sebastian vettel x oc #sebastian vettel x y/n #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #sebastian vettel #f1 imagine #f1 x you #formula 1 fanfic

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starshideurfics · 2 months

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Thirsty Thursday - Meet me in the restroom

steddie, omegaverse, mdni 🔞

Eddie doesn’t want to be at the club. It’s hot and sweaty, drinks are way too expensive, and he should really be planning the encounters for tomorrow’s hellfire session.

But Chrissy didn’t want to come alone, and the alpha girl she’s been crushing on said she’d be out tonight. Eddie is nothing if not a good friend, totally ready to wingman for Chrissy should the need arise.

It just isn’t likely to, since she’s already off making out with Robin in a dark corner.

Eddie figures he’ll spend the next half hour or so nursing his beer, then he’ll check in with Chrissy, find out she’s going home with Robin, and make his own quick exit.

He’s just looking over his shoulder to check on her when he catches a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. There’s a man—an omega, his brain not-so-helpfully supplies—at this corner of the dance floor. He’s wearing a deep red shirt, sleeves short, his arms and hair dusted with gold glitter. He shines, drawing Eddie’s attention.

All the way down to his perfect ass.

He’s wearing little faux-leather shorts that cling to him like a second skin, showing off toned thighs and the delicious curve of his cheeks.

And from his spot by the bar, Eddie isn’t positive, would know better if he could see him from the front, but it looks like a zipper runs the length of the center seam.

Throwing back the remainder of his overpriced beer, Eddie weaves through the bodies between himself and his golden-skinned omega, sidling up beside him and feeling like a cliche when he says, “I saw you across the room and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to take my eyes off you,” against his ear.

The omega turns, dark eyes glinting with interest as he looks Eddie over, before leaning in to smell him. Eddie’s sure he smells like sweat and Chrissy’s body spray that she spritzed in the van when they arrived.

“You smell like Christmas,” the omega moans, looping his arms around Eddie’s neck and getting another deep pull of his scent. “Like gingerbread. Wanna dance?”

“Yes,” Eddie breathes, being brave and scenting him back, a purr rumbling in his chest at the smell of sweet cherry cut through with lime. He already feels drunk on his scent, on their proximity.

They move together, Eddie mostly swaying, letting himself be guided by his partner, taking the liberty of gripping rounded hips, of pressing their sweaty foreheads together.

The song changes, and this walking wet dream of an omega leans close to whisper in Eddie’s ear. “M’thirsty. Gotta get a water.” Eddie nods, ready to take a step back, but the omega grabs his hip, presses their crotches together. “I think there are better things for us to do together than dance. Meet me in the restroom. Third stall.”

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, mind racing. “How do you know it—”

“Toilet’s broken—no water in the bowl.” He kisses Eddie’s cheek. “Meet me there.”

Eddie does as he’s told, waits in the third stall already half-hard with anticipation, his blood pumping loudly in his ears. Even with all of that noise, he hears the door open, sees royal blue hightops under the stall door and steps back to allow his shining omega entrance.

Here, under the fluorescents, he looks more real, but no less beautiful, a hungry smile on his face as he advances on Eddie. They meet in a biting kiss, one that ends with Eddie sucking on his pretty omega’s pouty lower lip, as the man reaches for Eddie’s belt buckle.

He makes quick work of shoving down Eddie’s pants and freeing his cock, pulls back to spit in his hand, and jerks the alpha to full hardness. “If you want, I can use my mouth. I’m very good with my mouth,” he whispers against Eddie’s ear. “Or…” Reaching for Eddie’s hand, he guides it down to the zipper pull on his shorts, helps him slide it back between his spread legs. “I’m not wearing any panties, and I’m already so wet.”

He lifts one leg up, rests his foot on the seat of the broken toilet, offering easy access for Eddie to slip a finger inside, to pet his lips and gather slick.

Eddie’s not sure who moans first, but they should by quiet, and he dives in to stop both their noises by mashing their mouths together. Soon enough, he’s sheathing himself in tight, wet heat, their bodies rocking as one until Eddie comes with a strangled grunt, his knot tying them together.

“Sorry, baby,” he whispers, reaching between them to jerk the omega off, both of them gasping as powerful muscles convulse around his knot.

“God, Eddie, that was so fucking hot.” Steve rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder, panting as he steps out of their little roleplay.

“You’re hot,” Eddie says, rubbing his back and kissing his temple. “Fuck, Stevie, you need to wear sexy little shorts more often.”

“You get to see me naked all the time,” Steve retorts, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s throat.

“But the shorts really show off your ass-ets.”

Eddie gives Steve a shit-eating grin, and Steve rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe I agreed to marry you.” Then he pulls Eddie in for another long kiss.

#steddie #omegaverse #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #fanfiction #ficlet #thisty thursday

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bluelockmaniac · 3 months

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BEYOND THE PALACE WALLS (ft. alexis ness)

royal/fantasy au - princess reader x wizard alexis ness

no kaiser in this story– feeding ness simps ♡

wc; 1k

"in which a bored princess seeks a wizard rumoured to possess extraordinary healing abilities to find a cure for her ill father"

you were the princess of the vast empire of anastas, a land blessed with fertile soil by the gods themselves, a formidable army, and advanced architecture. an empire revered by allies, feared by foes. but, beneath the deceiving facade of prosperity, there beat a restless heart, longing for the thrill of exploring way beyond the palace walls. you badly wanted to set foot in the crowded markets in town, where street vendors promoted their goods, where the overwhelming aroma of spices filled the air and vibrant tapestry gave the town life. your parents forbade you.

fate, however, had plans for you. sure– the concern for your father, the emperor, had weighed heavily on your heart when the royal knights announced he had fallen gravely ill, and that not even the most skillful of healers in anastas could cure him– but, as sickening as one might think, you felt a strange feeling of excitement after getting the reluctant approval of the empress to finally leave the palace and venture into the ancient forest with a purpose; to seek the mysterious wizard rumoured to possess unrivaled healing abilities, ness.

you began your journey into the forest and it was beyond comparison to the royal gardens in your wing of the palace–no offense to your gardeners. large trees and colourful plants and flowers decorated the area and the scent of wet earth was lingering in the air. it was very quiet, and only the sounds of rustling leaves and frequent chirps and squeals of creatures you have yet to see can be heard.

however, this ancient forest did not align with the rumours. it seemed as though some mysterious ‘force’ was attentively tending to every leaf and branch of the forest. the fierce beasts you had expected to encounter weren’t there. neither were the giants or tiny, cunning, elf bandits that your mother warned you about. everything was well preserved– from the mushroom on the soil to the ladybug climbing the tree.

you had absolutely no clue where you were going, only guided by the subtle hints of ness’ whereabouts. and finally, you reach an ancient tower–cracks and crevices on its withering stone walls along with overgrown ivy draped tightly around it. suddenly, the man you were looking for emerged from the tower as if he had sensed your arrival. it was him. it was unmistakable, plain as daylight.

he had an exceptional, distinctive aura, an aura that surpassed even the best mages of anastas. despite your best efforts to appear composed, you could not help but feel suffocated by the tension of the atmosphere that… he involuntarily portrays?

“sir,” the words trip awkwardly out of your mouth as you look at him with twitching lips, a failed attempt to smile at him, “y-you must be ness, the legendary wiza–”

“oh my, the princess herself–the embodiment of royalty– graces me with her presence,” he chuckles and walks closer to you, bending slightly as he gently takes your hand and presses a soft kiss on it, “please, fret not, my princess,” he grins, “it’s been quite a while since i’ve last seen someone.”

pulling your hand away, a soft blush spreads across your face, tinting your cheeks a rosy pink, “ness, i desperately need your help,” it felt strange. despite experiencing this gesture from countless tedious suitors who seeked your hand in marriage, you had never felt your heart race as much as it does in this moment. “...my father, the emperor, has fallen ill and is in critical condition,” you utter with desperation, tightly clutching onto his cloak as you look at him pleadingly. “please, help my father,”

“oh,” a soft sigh escapes his lips as he holds his elbow and rests his head against his palm, “i suppose i can heal the emperor, princess,” he starts, a smirk playing on his lips, “but, naturally, nothing comes without a cost. my assistance is no exception,” he adds as his fingers gently lift your chin to meet his gaze.

you feel your heart drop as you prepare yourself for the conditions he is about to lay out. is he some sadistic bastard who’s going to make you fight to your death with a monstrous cerberus he summons? with reluctance, you gulp, “n-name your price, i’ll give you whatever you wish for– be it a thousand white horses or a million gold bars,”

he adjusts his coat, dismissing the material offerings, “horses? gold? far too ordinary, not my style,” he laughs, his fingers gently tucking your hair behind your ear, “what i’m really after,” he teases with a glint of mischief in his eyes, “is a kiss,”

you pause, shock washing over your face. did you hear that correctly? or was your mind playing games with you? “a… a kiss?” you stammer, your heart was beginning to beat uncontrollably against your wishes all over again. you felt conflicted, unsure of how to respond to ness’ unexpected demand. “why? a kiss won’t benefit you all, so wh–”

“says who?” he laughs, patting your head gently, “dare i say, i’m certain any man would be thrilled to have the opportunity to share a kiss with the princess, hm?”

“...i…” what you feel for this man is unlike anything you have ever felt before– your racing heart, the warmth spreading across your cheeks, the sudden consciousness of your own appearance– they’re all sensations you remember your palace nanny describing in fairy tale books, sensations you thought were only for the characters of the novel. you once dismissed those feelings as mere fantasies, but now you couldn’t deny it any longer, “ness, it’ll be my first kiss,” you gaze deeply into his magenta-coloured eyes, looking for assurance, “make it good.”

grinning playfully, he tenderly rests his palm against your cheek, pulling you in closer by your waist, “your wish is my command, princess,” he murmurs softly before pressing his lips affectionately against yours. his lips felt distant, yet strangely familiar, as if you had not just met this man a few minutes ago. your arms instinctively find their way around his neck, pulling him even closer until your chests were pressed together.

you still vividly remember the day you granted his request– the day his hand guided you towards the enchanted tree of healing and extended its branch to you. it’s been three years since that encounter, yet you still find yourself gazing out of the window of your palace chambers, yearning for the day when fate would reunite you once more.

thank you for reading!! comments appreciated ♡

a/n: this was so much fun to write, i've been obsessing over manhwas lately and thought i could somehow incorporate ness' backstory in a royalty setting.

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chadillacboseman · 10 months

Note

your work needs more praise!!! specifically the marakrov stuff lately. the whole possessive/protectiveness thing in the past one definitely did something to me 🙈would it be okay if i ask for a something?

maybe sitting in between his legs, resting your head on this thighs and looking up at home while he talks about all the things he’d do to protect you, his precious. maybe a little smut added into that?

also the fact you call him V *chefs kiss*

Thank you so much for that kindness!! :)

CW: Reader has an encounter with a very creepy dude who threatens them.

It was a split second, really. The man at the bar let his hand wander too low, fingers brushing where they had no business being.

You had told him to fuck off countless times, rebuffing his outrageous advances with a scoff and rolled eyes.

The hand was the last straw.

Your hand passed across his cheek, crisp, hard, and loud, ringing out as he recoiled from the force of the slap. You stormed out in a huff, abandoning the friends you had come with and exited into the rainy night, pulling your coat around your frame.

In hindsight, probably not the smartest idea. Your apartment was at least six blocks away and the rain was coming down in sheets, soaking your jacket and the clothes underneath.

You pulled your phone from your pocket and texted Vladimir, "Just left the bar, walking home. Some asshole wouldn't take a hint."

"Hey!" a voice called from behind you, nearly swallowed by the pouring rain.

You spun on your heel, finding yourself face to face with the man from the bar. Panic took root in your chest like an icy hand wrapping its fingers around your heart.

"What do you want?" you braced yourself, fists balled in your pockets, prepared for the worst.

"The fuck is your problem?" he spat; his face was twisted in an ugly snarl, "Embarrassing me like that in front of the whole bar?"

You didn't have an answer- nothing you could have said would diffuse the situation. You contemplated running, sprinting into the night and hoping you were faster than him.

"You got a hearing problem, bitch?" the man barked, beginning to close the gap between the two of you.

You took an instinctive step back, acutely aware of how alone the two of you were in the street, "Listen, I'm sorry I slapped you-"

"Not sorry enough," He closed the gap quickly and you turned to run, your heart racing, banging in your rib cage like a snare drum.

You ran face first into something, bouncing back a few inches before two arms embraced you, stopping you from falling backward. You yelped in surprise, eyes snapping upward to meet the face of the person who had caught you-

Makarov.

"V-" you choked out the nickname you'd given him, your heart still hammering, "He- he was going to-"

You didn't need to finish the sentence. Makarov was on the man in an instant, his fists hurtling through the air, blood and rain blurred together as he beat him. You turned away, averting your eyes from the scene as Makarov pinned him to the ground and battered him, his hands growing more bloodied with every blow.

When he was satisfied, he rose to his feet, adding a final kick to the man's ribs before coming to you, his voice hushed, arms wrapping around you in a familiar embrace.

"It's alright, Солнышко," he murmured, "Let's get you home."

The journey was a blur of rain, cold, and darkness, as Makarov guided you to the car and into the passenger seat. The streetlights flicked past in orange blurs as the two of you drove on without a word.

He kept a protective hand clasped on your thigh the entire trip.

"I should have killed him," Makarov ran his hand through your hair as you rested on his thigh, "Should have gutted him like a fish."

You stared up at him from you place at his thighs, head rested comfortably on the muscled surface, "Why did you...why did you find me?"

Makarov scoffed and glanced down at you, "You told me you were walking home. Alone." He seemed annoyed at the idea.

"Sorry," you looked away and he dipped his mouth to your forehead for a kiss.

"You did nothing wrong," he muttered, lips still brushing against your skin as he spoke.

You felt like crying, all of the emotions of the night bubbling to the surface as you laid in his lap, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

"I was so scared, V," You whispered, still choking back tears, "I thought-"

Makarov interrupted you with a hand to your chin, turning your gaze to his; his eyes were intense, burning with an emotion you couldn't place.

"Nothing is ever going to happen to you," his eyes were dark, fixated on yours as he spoke, "No one will ever hurt you. Ever."

"Ever?" you goaded him a little now, enjoying the way he looked at you with such possessiveness.

"Ever," he echoed with a sly smile, "And if anyone lays a finger on you, I'll fucking kill them."

You knew he meant it.

#makarov x reader #vladimir makarov x reader #ns/fw

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dailycharacteroption · 1 year

Text

Roleplaying Races 13: Strix

(art by Akerion on DeviantArt)

We’re back with another special on the various playable ancestries/races in Pathfinder, and honestly, we’re actually running fairly low on those that we have not covered. Don’t fret though, that just means we’ll move on to their 2nd edition versions!

In any case, today we are tackling the strix, a species that have a long history that unfortunately has some relatively recent bad blood with humanity.

While not humanoid in form as they are in the game, the word strix was used to describe a mythological “bloodthirsty monster in bird form”, that flew with their heads low and the legs up high, blending in ideas of both bats and owls. Early references credit the strix with tormenting infants as night, while later versions had them outright killing and eating infants and adults alike.

Following that Greek origin and the general assumption that people have long made monsters out of ordinary nocturnal animals that didn’t want anything to do with them, we can see how Pathfinder’s strix starts to take shape, not just in form, but also in how they are treated.

In Pathfinder, the strix (or itarii, to use the name they call themselves) are a people of humanoids most distinguished by their fully functional wings on their back. In the continent of Avistan, the only confirmed enclave of these avian beings is a jagged mountain range in Cheliax called the Devil’s Perch. However, their history goes back further than that.

Supposedly, the strix were created by syrinx owl-men of Arcadia to be their favored servants in their tyrannical empire that favors those that can fly and enslaves all others. However, while it is possible some strix still live under syrinx rule, this has not been explored yet. However, many clans of strix have left the syrinx behind, settling other parts of Arcadia, the shattered remains of Azlant, and indeed, the group that came to Devil’s Perch. (though they did not arrive their by choice, apparently being separated from their kin by a titanic storm.)

While we’ve only seen glimpses of the Arcadian and Azlanti strix, who do not harbor any ill-will towards humanity, the cause of which is well-deserved, though colored by how the strix view the world.

Indeed, the strix did at one point ally themselves with Aspex, the first king of Cheliax, who agreed to leave them to their devices. Later rulers would flaunt that agreement, and the strix, who mistakenly assume that humans are as tight-knit and singular as they are, believed they have been betrayed and that humans were untrustworthy as a rule.

This escalated as the strix began attacking Chelish pioneers and soldiers as invaders and villains, and the Chelish in kind fought back against these “savages”.

It may yet be possible to mend these relationships, especially if the strix got back in regular contact with their kin across the sea, who know no such hatred, but that remains to be seen.

Superficially, strix resemble humans with their mammalian, primate-like traits, but the more one looks at them, the more clear they are clearly something different, and not just in the large wings that sprout from their backs. Strix stand about 6 feet tall on average, and their skin tones and plumage range from a dark blue-black to more human-like skin tones and lighter feathers as well. They have human-like hair, but long, pointed ears than hang out to the side at a slightly drooping angle, setting them apart from elven ears. Meanwhile, the eyes of a strix are large and seem pupiless due to the darkness of their large irises. What’s more, said eyes cannot rotate in their sockets, requiring the strix to move their heads to focus on individual details, giving them a distinctly bird-like manner as they take in their environment.Their bodies typically are lean with well-defined muscle, especially in the chest to help drive their flight. Finally, their feet sport powerful talons, and have a distinctly raptoral structure.

Itarii society is matriarchal and close-knit, with individual families or tribes living communally under the oldest and wisest female member, called a rokoa. The needs of the community outweigh the needs of the individual usually, and due to their small numbers in Avistan, the loss of even a single of their number is considered devastating. It is that tight-knit society that has kept them alive, but also what has led to so many misunderstandings with humans and other people, though obviously the blame still truly rests with the Chelish humans whose mistreatment and brutality led to their long-standing hatred.

The strix are agile, but their insular nature means they aren’t exactly social outside their own kind.

While they are just as fast on land as humans, they really shine in the air, flying swiftly and with great agility.

True to the owls they were drawn from both conceptually and in regards to the syrinx, strix have powerful eyes capable of seeing in low to no light, and are especially perceptive in the dark.

Whether it is purely from viciousness or special training, strix often know the best way to strike true against human targets.

Their distrust of outsiders, particularly humans, also makes them suspicious of magic meant to deceive them.

Of course, not all strix are from Devil’s Perch, and many others have differing traits beside. These might include practicing nonlethal combat so their own combat rarely leaves lasting harm on their kin or upon others they do not wish to kill, while others trade their night-sight to guard their people during the day. Some adopt a fierce demeanor to unnerve potential attackers, while others are especially agile and able to avoid attacks. Some are especially tough instead. And some, whether by deformity or injury, have weak wings, flying much slower and clumsier and ostracized by their kin. They make up for this by learning to better deal with outsiders, making them the envoys of the itarii people, albeit those strangely distant from their kin.

With their aerial superiority and dex bonus, the most obvious class for the itarii to take is some sort of ranged martial class like fighter, ranger, bomb-focused alchemist, and the like. However, don’t underestimate the power of the Fly-by Attack feat, especially if you complement it with feats or abilities that let you deal some strong damage with a single attack, such as Vital Strike, cavalier challenge, investigator studied strike, the magus’s spellstrike, or certain bloodrager abilities. As far as casters go, they can easily take any Intelligence or Wisdom caster with no problem, but they suffer a bit in both social roles and Charisma-based spellcasting. However, this can be worked around, especially since they have the range to keep out of reach.

That will do for today, but it’s interesting to see where strix came from in folklore and how it, however distantly, shaped their portrayal in the game.

#pathfinder #race #strix #Advanced Race Guide #Inner Sea Races

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thesightstoshowyou · 4 months

Text

Shoot for the Moon

Bo Sinclair X GN Reader

Warnings: None. Just fluff. Who am I?

Keys jingle as you cut the engine. The thrum ceases and a moment of tranquil silence passes before the nighttime sounds rise to life all around. Crickets and frogs chirp, night herons splash, a barred owl calls. Cypress, oak, and maple trees creak and rustle in a gentle breeze. Car door hinges squeal as you slip from your vehicle and your boots swish in tall grasses as you make your way to the trunk.

Carefully, you unpack the telescope, flashlight, guides, and notepads. The scents of damp earth and decaying wood wash over you as you move. Already, the oppressive Louisiana humidity sticks your hair to your forehead, yet you wear a jacket and jeans to protect your limbs from mosquitos and ticks.

Satisfied with a small, nearby clearing, you meticulously set up your equipment. You peek through the eye piece and adjust the telescope’s position incrementally. Little flashlight clutched between your teeth, you scratch notes on the illuminated portion of paper before repeating the process.

An hour or so in, you abruptly surface from the lull of peaceful concentration. At first, you’re not certain what distracts you, but then you recognize the silence. All the wildlife has gone quiet, disturbed by something close by.

You frown and quiet your own breath, tilting your head to listen intently. To your left, a sharp snap; twigs underfoot. Something stalks through the brush, just out of sight.

A bear, maybe, or a stray dog. Your mind whirs with the possibilities, but you will yourself to stay calm. Nothing you can’t handle.

However, when a man emerges from the tree line, your heart stutters. Fear and confusion take root in your brain and you must consciously fight back the panic to keep your thoughts clear.

Where the hell had he come from? There isn’t a town or house around for miles, as far as you’re aware. You’d carefully chosen this particular spot for that very reason.

The man saunters toward you, hands buried in the pockets of the deep blue coveralls he wears. His pace is leisurely, every step measured and deliberate, meant to instill dread. You can’t make out the details of his face through the gloom and the cap perched atop his head does you no favors.

“Yer out here awfully late,” he notes, the pleasant drawl of his voice disturbing the hush of the clearing. He nods toward the crescent moon hanging low in the sky as though you need his help to tell it’s nighttime.

“Could say the same about you,” you respond, slipping the flashlight into your palm. You could blind him if he gets too close.

He stops his advance about twenty feet away, head tilting slightly as he studies you and your equipment. “Folks out this late don’t often have the best intentions.”

Pot, meet kettle. You resist the urge to call him out and instead motion to your telescope. “Just star gazing. I wasn’t aware this was private property. I’ll go—

“Nah, s’not private. Yer good, sugar.” He takes a few steps closer. The muscles in your shoulders tense. You swallow thickly, mind racing. What now?

You speak before you can stop yourself, “I, uh, I just found Saturn. It’s nice and clear tonight. Wanna see?” The man stops abruptly, obviously taken aback. He’s silent for a moment, contemplating.

“…Yer serious?” he questions. His steps are tentative now, cautious. You caught him off guard, it seems.

Roll with it. “Yeah!” You wave him over and allow the excitement to take control of your vocal cords, “And the Milky Way is so pretty right now. We can look at that next….”

He’s close enough now that you can make out the incredulous expression on his face…his very handsome face. The scents of engine oil, burnt grease, and metal hit you and the outfit suddenly makes sense. Still, you question why he’s out for a midnight stroll in such a remote area wearing his work garb.

You scoot out of the way and instruct him to look through the eye piece. He shoots you one more skeptical glance before carefully leaning over and peering into the telescope. You smell him now too: Cigarette smoke, faint aftershave, and woody musk that is not at all unpleasant.

You watch the exact moment the man spots the planet. What you can see of his face lights up and he shifts his body in toward the telescope, hunching more to get a better angle through the eyepiece. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmurs, hand coming up and hovering over the finderscope, hesitant to touch. You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face.

“So beautiful, right? Do you see the rings?”

“Sure do,” he replies, straightening and flashing you a hesitant, crooked smile. Your thoughts are almost derailed by the charm of it, but the eagerness to teach keeps you grounded.

“Here, scooch over a sec, lemme just readjust it….” You quickly check your notes then fiddle with the telescope. You’re overly aware of the man standing next to you, but he surprises you with polite silence, hands on his hips, apparently content to watch you work.

“Here, look,” you excitedly tell him as soon as it’s adjusted. With a quizzical expression, he leans down again, though there’s more enthusiasm in his movement this time.

“…What am I lookin’ at?” he asks, glancing over at you expectantly.

You giggle and mutter a quick, “Oh right,” before launching into an explanation. You gesture and describe, the animation in your voice and knowledge on the subject captivating the stranger.

He watches you speak with a mixture of admiration and bemusement on his face, like he can’t believe he’s listening so attentively, but doesn’t want to miss a word. All previous tension evaporates as you show him the charts you’ve drawn and move the telescope to and fro.

“Oh, and you should be able to see Phobos right now—

“What’s yer name, darlin’?” the man interrupts suddenly. You glance up at him and realize just how close he stands. Your shoulder brushes his chest, his body heat palpable. You’re glad for the darkness when your cheeks burn.

You do your best not to trip over your own name when he smirks, sudden shyness drying your throat and making your heart skip a beat. There’s irritation there too, annoyance with his smugness. You’re easier to read than you’d hoped, apparently.

“Bo,” he tells you as he holds out his hand. You turn to face him and accept his outstretched palm. It is then you notice your watch.

“Oh christ, it’s late. I really gotta go!”Hurriedly, you gather up your notes and pack away your equipment. Bo watches quietly and you can tell by the way he stands so stock still that he’s contemplating something.

You don’t give him a chance to decide on whatever it was he was planning when he entered the clearing.

“I, uh…I was gonna come back on Thursday if, you know, if you wanted to learn more.” Bo blinks at you, genuine surprise on his face. You’re just as shocked by your own words. Offering to meet a strange man with questionable intentions, alone, in the middle of rural Louisiana to teach him amateur astronomy?

Have you lost your damn mind?

Yet, the way he’d engaged with the subject and how eagerly he listened makes you think there’s something more to this man. The initial trajectory of your meeting had changed, hadn’t it? There was a spark, a yearning for connection. He wants to learn, and you want to teach.

That, or you’re completely delusional.

“Next Thursday?” You nod at his question. He tips his head again, like he’s thinking. Slipping his hands back into his pockets, he shrugs. “I can try and make it.”

He does make it on Thursday. You do too. And again on Saturday. And the following Friday. And Monday.

Sunday finds you seated on a blanket, Bo at your side, flashlight in your mouth and pen in had. Around you, the nighttime creatures sing their songs. Your trusty telescope points to the sky, ready to capture the comet you’re tracking.

You’re relaxed in his presence now. You’ve decided to attribute your initial meeting to simple chance. He hasn’t given you a reason not to trust him, and you’re not going to look for one.

Your name murmured in a hushed and careful tone breaks your reverie. You hum in response before lowering the flashlight and glancing up. The look in Bo’s baby blues freezes you in place and brings heat to your cheeks.

He’s closer than you anticipated. He removed his hat at some point and his dark hair is ruffled like he hastily ran his fingers through it. That self-satisfied smirk you tell yourself you hate pulls at the side of his mouth and there’s warmth in his eyes as they trace the curve of your lips.

“Been tryin’ t’kiss ya for the past ten minutes,” he teases, his hand reaching out to playfully flick the pen in your hand. You release a breathy laugh as your heart flutters in your chest like a trapped bird.

“Oh, um…s-sorry,” is all you can manage, mouth curving in a weak smile. Your teeth worry your bottom lip when Bo slides closer to cradle your face in his palms.

“Looks like I finally get t’teach ya somethin’ huh?” he jokes, lips ghosting across yours.

You huff, “Oh shut up,” but there’s no real bite to your words. Bo chuckles affectionately and smoothes his thumbs over your hair.

His next words are soft, the vulnerability in them meant only for your ears. “You been real sweet, darlin’. Ain’t nobody taught me anythin’ like you.”

“Oh,” you breathe, moved by his admission. The gratitude in it warms you deep in your chest. Bo wrinkles his nose.

“Alright, enough a’ that. Turnin’ me into a fuckin’ sap.” Your next scoff and eye roll is cut off when he finally claims your mouth in a searing kiss.

Overhead, stars twinkle, your silent spectators.

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #thesightstoshowyou #house of wax (2005)#slasher x reader #beauregard sinclair #sights dreams #yes indeed this came to me in another dream #I’m glad for my brain sometimes

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doumadono · 5 months

Note

I have come to confess for sinful Sunday that I have heirophilia, and I have it bad, and as much as I love religious imagery, I also love the thought of demons who play as false priests or saviors. If there was anything I could ask for, more than anything, could we get some Sekido x fem reader where he degrades and yells at the reader to repent for their sinful lust even though he's obviously the one who's been fucking them while they prayed for mercy?

SINFUL SUNDAY

Warnings: non-con, hierophilia

A sense of unease settles upon you as you enter the church, greeted not by the familiar warmth of a congregation but by an eerie emptiness. The air carries only a faint hint of iron, and an unsettling stillness replaces the usual harmonious chorus of communal hymns. A glimpse near the entrance hints at something amiss – perhaps blood, though uncertainty veils your perception. The ordinary atmosphere, once brimming with the warmth of community and shared songs, now feels cold and distant, shrouded in an unspoken disquiet.

Abruptly, a towering presence advanced from the confessionary. "How may I assist you, my dear child?"

Your uncertainty lingers, but you muster a response, "I came for a confession, but… isn't the mass supposed to be happening now?"

The figure, a man with dark hair, smiles as he draws nearer. "We've adjusted the schedule. Nevertheless, I'm here to help. Follow me, my child."

A furrow forms on your brow as you observe him guiding you to a different section of the church, revealing the rectory where priests reside between masses.

As the door shuts behind you, a chilling shiver races up and down your spine - a premonition that danger lurks right behind your back.

Sekido, the false priest, clad in the vestiges of religious garb, becomes the harbinger of damnation. "You need to repent for your lust, I can smell it lingering on you, little sheep."

Torn garments leave you exposed, and you frantically attempt to shield yourself, using your hands and tightly pressing your thighs together in a desperate bid for modesty. "Please, Father, please let me go..."

Sekido's lips curl into a sly smirk in response to your pleas. "I am not a Father, but for you, my dear child, I can certainly play the role of a daddy."

He picks you up easily and throws you onto a tiny bed standing near the beautiful stained glass window.

Laying on the bed, you feel the sting of his firm hand on the meat of your ass, on and on, each spank punctuated by a low growl of Sekido. His commanding voice reverberates, demanding, "Confess your sins, woman! I insist on hearing your confessions!"

You plead with him, your voice a fragile murmur, "Please, please, release me…"

Sekido, in his relentless resolve, dismisses your entreaties, administering a more forceful spank to your exposed flesh, leaving a red mark in a shape of his hand there. "You're destined for damnation, the gates of heaven shall forever elude your grasp."

Tears stream down your face, a silent plea for mercy, as you desperately attempt to crawl away. The disconcerting sound of a zipper being undone reverberates through the air, accompanied by the subtle rustling of fabric, signaling the descent of his obsidian pants.

Before you realize it, the crimson, swollen tip of his dick teases against the tender entrance of your ass.

A sharp cry escapes your lips, a melody of anguish, as he thrusts into you unyieldingly, affording no respite for your senses to acclimate. The relentless intrusion establishes a vigorous, unrelenting rhythm, each forceful thrust sending tremors of intensity through your form as you cry and scream, suffocating on your own tears.

Sekido seizes a handful of your hair, yanking your head back, causing your back to arch in response to his forceful advance. As he pushes deep into you, his balls resting against your ass, he leans forward, his voice a sultry whisper against your ear, "You relish the intensity, don't you? I can see you do, your breath quickening like a bitch in heat. You like the demon's cock splitting you open, yeah, woman?"

The agony courses through you, pushing you to the brink of unconsciousness, while an unfamiliar heat simmers in the depths of your abdomen.

Sekido releases his climax inside you, a guttural groan escaping his lips, accompanied by a triumphant exclamation, "Yes! Yes! Take it, bitch, take it all!"

The scarlet-eyed demon departs, leaving you sprawled on the bed, your consciousness wavering, tears marking your face.

Sekido adjusts his trousers, offering gentle pats to the now reddened flesh on your ass. "You did well. Your next confession awaits this Sunday, remember to grace the damn chapel with your presence."

taglist: @aliorailrow

#doumadonos sinful sunday 🔥#sinful sunday #anime smut #divider by cafekitsune #sekido smut #sekido #hantengu clones #sekido x reader #sekido x y/n #sekido x you #kny smut #demon slayer smut #sekido kny #kny sekido #kny x reader #kny x y/n #demon slayer x reader

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youkissedareaderinthedark · 11 months

Text

Girl on Fire

Synopsis: When Y/n listened to “This Girl is on Fire” on her way to the track, she didn’t think she’d actually become the girl in the song

young female driver reader x 2023 f1 grid plus daniel

You like hot weather. It gives you an excuse to go to the pool, eat ice cream, and spent some time outside. You like hot weather, until you’re going to drive in it for 57 laps. The weather forecast stated it was going to be 95F (35C) degrees for Sunday’s race in Qatar, and the track temperatures were going to be around 113F (45C) degrees.

Hot races always made you nervous. Your overheating body and the claustrophobic feeling from the cockpit was the worst combination, and you were dreading it already.

High temperatures on track also decreased the amount of grip you had going into corners, so braking and turning was also going to be difficult today.

It was a risky race, but that’s part of why you loved Formula 1.

You left your hotel and drove to the Lusail Circuit, quickly turning on the radio. Music always calmed you down and helped you focus on the race. “Girl on Fire” by Alicia Keys happened to come on just as you pulled into the parking lot.

You walked into the paddock, half-smiling and saying hello to everyone you knew as you walked into your garage. You changed into your race suit, attended the race briefing, and warmed up with your trainer before you walk into the garage. You confirm with one of your engineers that the temperature will stay consistent throughout the race, and try to utilize the fans as much as possible before you climb into your car.

You drive out for your formation lap with last calls of good luck from your team and merge with the other 19 cars in the track. You meet your grid position of P5 and try to relax yourself one last time before the five red lights come on and off.

“And it’s lights out and away we go in Qatar!” The voice of Martin Brundle becomes audible as the 20 cars accelerate towards Turn 1. Carlos Sainz was behind you in P6, and you put your focus in defending for the first laps of the race.

In Lap 15, everything was going somewhat smoothly, until at Turn 3, when Carlos attempts another overtake on you. In his advancement, his front left tire becomes caught in your back right tire. The contact sends your car spinning across the track and towards the barriers. The force of his car and the speed you were driving at was fast enough to push your car onto side as it slid into the barriers.

“Oh! Big collision between Sainz and L/n! L/n’s car gets turned onto its side and heads into the barrier!” Martin Brundle commentates as he watches the race.

The friction of the car skimming the already-hot track was enough to start a spark of fire, and the right side of your car’s body alights. By the time you hit the barrier, the flames have progressed and the right side of your car was almost completely engulfed in flames

“L/n’s car has gone up in flames! Y/n L/n’s car has caught fire as it slides into the barriers! It’s a red flag and safety marshals are hurrying to turn 3!” Brundle looks down at the scene worriedly.

The other 19 cars were guided into the pits by the safety car, yet, everything was happening too quickly to know if they can exit their cars or not. The drivers had seen you spin across the track, but they hadn’t seen you catch fire, so questions of all kinds were being asked from the curious drivers.

“That was Y/n?”

“What happened?”

“Where is she?”

“Do we know if she’s okay?”

Meanwhile, you were completely disoriented, the speed you were going at and the heat making it hard to comprehend what was going on.

Okay, I got pushed off the track and now I’m in the barriers. Your head was spinning and it started to get harder to breathe in your cockpit. And it’s a million times hotter here than on track. Your car hitting the barrier had set your upright again, but the flames kept climbing around your car and towards the cockpit.

Once your vision was clear, you begin to notice the smoke surrounding you, and finally look up to discover an inferno of red and orange climbing towards you. My car is on fire! It took you a second for your brain to work, but once it did, you try to remember all the safety procedures. Your shaky hands unclipped your harness and tried to pull yourself up using the halo, but flinched away once your gloved hands made contact with it.

The flames surrounding you made everything burning hot, and you tried to think of another way to escape, but time was running out and the smoke around you was becoming thicker. Bracing yourself, you wrapped your arms around the halo, pulled your body up, and stood up in your seat.

Black spots danced in your vision as you jumped out of the burning car and onto safe ground. You clutched your hands close to you as you fell, watching your car be scorched only a few feet in front of you.

You were frozen to your spot on the ground, struck with fear and pain. You didn’t even notice the team of safety marshals piling out of an ambulance near by and towards you. You winced when two of them pulled you up by your arms but didn’t resist. They helped you walk towards the transport while men with fire extinguishers tried to tame the blaze set upon your car.

I almost just died. You finally snapped back from your shaken state. Holy shit. I almost just died.

Yes, you knew that this was what you signed up for and you knew the risk of getting into that machine every Sunday but this was like a wake up call. 2023 was only your second season in Formula One, and sure you had gone off track and bumped into the barriers before but you’ve never spun across track and been on fire before.

It was this realization that made tears fall from your eyes. You recognized you were sitting in the ambulance now, the doors closing and medics encircling you. You tried to pull off your helmet but recoiled once you felt the sting of the burns on your hands. One of the paramedics gently pulled it off and your balaclava for you, revealing your teary eyes and flushed face.

The medics worked around you, fetching water, gathering bandages, and looking for something that could soothe your burns. One of the medics tried to softly pull off your gloves, hesitating when you cried out in pain.

“We’re going to try to cut the gloves off your hands, okay? Can you find her some pain medicine?” One said to you and the other medic. You just nodded your head, trying to hold in a sob. You closed your eyes once they brought the scissors, not wanting to see beneath the cloth. You cried out in pain as they continued, letting tears fall down your face.

They quickly smeared a salve over your burned hands and covered it with a bandage. They took off your cooling vest and left you in your sports bra to further check for burns along your body. “Is anything else hurting you?” They asked as treated the burns they found on your forearms with the same supplies.

You shook your head and the team of medics gave you a container filled with pain tablets and instructions for them, along with a cup of water. You went over to the sink and mirror to wash the tears from your face as you refreshed your dry throat with the cold water. You looked terrible, with your messy hair, flaming cheeks, and teary eyes. You felt it too, your burns hurt, your body was sore, you still felt too hot, and you needed a hug. You wanted to go home, to your friends and family, not to the hospital or to your hotel.

On the track, the 19 drivers were now fully informed of the crash and were enveloped with worry about you. Everyone knew you had gotten out of your car within 15 seconds but they didn’t know if you were actually okay or not.

The pilots were allowed out of their cars until the race restarted, and filled the time by watching the replay of your crash. Your garage was filled with a nervous atmosphere. They had spoken with one of the medics, they knew you had gotten out and were in the ambulance, but didn’t know the full details of the crash.

Luckily, Daniel Ricciardo wasn’t driving, and nobody could stop him from seeing his friend. Daniel was like your uncle or older brother, the two of you got along really well and he cared about you. The Australian left the Red Bull garage and went to the medical center, where the ambulance had taken you after the crash.

Daniel nearly runs there and thankfully it only takes his ID card for the security guard to let him in. The medical centers are small so it doesn’t take long to find you and Daniel frowns when he does. You’re sat on the medical table, shoulders hunched over and head down, not even aware he’s entered the room.

“Hey, kid” He half smiles. You look up at the sound of his voice. “Hi Daniel” Your voice is creaky and he can tell you’ve been crying. The man doesn’t waste anymore time and rushes over to hug you. You instantly wrap your bandage-covered arms around him and press your face into his shoulder. “It’s okay, you’re okay ” He whispers to you over and over, figuring the least he could do is comfort you a bit.

Daniel lets you pull away first but one of the medics interrupt before he can say anything else. “I’m sorry but it’s best if we can transport you to the hospital as quick as possible.” The woman says to you. “You are allowed to bring someone in the ambulance with you, though” She looks towards Daniel.

“Would you mind-“ Daniel cuts you off, knowing that no one else is here with you. “Of course I’ll come with you, let me just tell the team and I’ll be back quickly, alright?” The Australian plants a quick kiss to your head and runs off again.

Daniel comes back just as you are being taken to the ambulance again. The information he gave to the Red Bull garage spreads quickly, and everyone is glad to hear you are okay and on the way to the hospital for a check up. The race does restart but your crash is on the back of their minds through it all.

You’re glad your hospital trip is quick, only consisting of questions and a brief physical examination. They diagnose you with second degree burns and advise you to wait until they heal before racing again. You meet back up with Daniel in the hallway, happy that’s he brought some food for you to eat before he drives you to your hotel. As much as you want to go back to the track and make sure everyone knows you’re okay, you want to relax.

Daniel only asks about your injuries while he’s driving before leaving his car to walk you to your team’s hotel and to your room. The man wishes you goodbye and a fast recovery and gives you one last hug. “Let me know if you need anything, feel better, alright?” And leaves to head back to the track.

You don’t see anybody from work until the following Friday at the United States Grand Prix. You answered a lot of messages but mostly hung out at home with your friends and family.

Your hands and arms haven’t fully healed and your car isn’t completely repaired yet, so you’ll be waiting until next Sunday to race again.

Still, you are a welcomed sight in paddock Friday morning, bringing smiles and welcoming hugs. Carlos finds you first, wrapping his arms around your waist, careful not to hit your arms.

“Y/n, I am so sorry. I did not mean for that to happen at all. Are you okay? I am so sorry” He’s already told you all of this over text but you reassure him again.

“It’s okay Carlos, I’m fine, it wasn’t your fault. Plus, I’ve been feeling better, you have nothing to worry about” You pat the Spaniard’s back.

“But you are not racing this weekend-“ You cut him off.

“But I will race next weekend. Trust me, it’s okay”

He has to let you go to get ready for Free Practice 1, but still insists on making it up to you, and leaves after placing a kiss on your head. Charles finds you next, never too far from his teammate and brings you in for a hug. “I was worried about you, you are feeling better, yes?” He pulls away and puts his hands on your shoulder. “Better. Not the best, but I’ve been feeling better” You shrug. “Good, I will see you later, I can’t wait to see you on the track again!” The Monegasque shouts over his shoulder as he leaves.

You find George and Lewis walking together next. “Y/n! How are you feeling?” Lewis greets you first, hugging you. “Feeling better, I hope?” George says. “More or less, yeah.” You pulled away. “ We’re glad you’re back in the paddock. I’ll be here for you if you need anything, okay?” Lewis assures you and steps aside. “Me too, you get better quickly, alright?” George drawing you in for another hug before leaving.

Lando and Alex are the best pair you come across. “Hey love, how are you?” Lando embraces you first, wrapping his arms around your back. “Glad you’re okay, Y/n” Alex says as he hugs you next. It was safe to say you were good on hugs now, grateful for the much-needed support from your friends. “I’m better. I promise we’ll talk more later, yeah?” You didn’t want to spring all your emotions on them right now and they have practice soon. “Yes, definitely. Let us know if you need anything, Y/n, feel better” Lando waves goodbye as you walk away.

You pull out your phone as you walk back to your garage, and see the comments on your newest Instagram post. They were giving you a new nickname, “The Girl On Fire”. Only now did you remember that you were listening the song, “Girl on Fire” hours before your car actually caught on fire.

this isn’t good but I didn’t want it in my drafts anymore

#reader insert #formula 1 #formula 1 driver imagines #f1 grid x reader #platonic daniel ricciardo #driver reader #young driver reader

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