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a-killer-obsession · 2 days

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Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 19 - Lost and Found

Everything really goes to shit. Please heed the A03 tag warnings, this one is going to be dark.

WC: ~4k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @iggy5055

It was hard to even remember that you'd ever had a life outside of a cell by the time you woke up on what must have been at least day ten of your new imprisonment. The seastone cuffs were forming new rings of red on your wrists and the bullet burned like a wild fire inside you. Breathing was difficult, on one part because of the broken rib, on the other from the daily beatings you'd received as the marines tried to put you back in your place and gain information on the Kid Pirates. You'd never talk, of course. They were the only friends you had, even if you felt in your heart that they'd abandoned you. It was fitting, really. You'd told Killer to run, you'd said your goodbyes, but secretly you'd hoped that maybe he did love you enough to come back. After ten days of rotting and starving in a cold cell, your hope had faded. They weren't coming back, and you were alone again.

It was a small miracle that you'd been given antibiotics for your wounds, but you knew it was only to keep you alive. If you died of infection they'd actually have to put in effort to finding your fruit before an enemy could eat it. It was easier this way, and they were well practiced with keeping their torture victims alive. You hadn't been able to sleep on your back for several days now, the result of the weeping wounds that covered your already scarred skin, the lashings dished out as a punishment for ‘going AWOL’, like you hadn't been thrown away by the marines years ago when you'd proven yourself to be untameable. Maybe Kid had come to the same conclusion, maybe you'd talked back one too many times to be worth the effort it would take to rescue you. Maybe if you'd spread your legs for him you would have at least had some use that was worth rescuing. But as always, nobody wanted you. Your father had the right idea, leaving before you were even born. He must have known all along how worthless you would come to be.

You felt yourself giving up. Nobody was coming for you, and your body ached and stung from the cuts and bruises that covered it. If you just gave in, stopped eating what little they offered you, let yourself succumb to your injuries, it would all be over. Nobody could hurt you anymore if you were dead. The feeling gave you a little hope, this would be over soon. Your body would stop hurting, your heart would stop hurting, and you would no longer be a burden on every person you met. You only had yourself in this world, but even you didn't want you.

Today was going no different than it had every day since your capture. The only small comfort you had was Killer's sash, now wrapped around your own waist. It was covered in your blood, but it was all you had, so at night you held it close to your heart, mourning what could have been if you'd made it back to the ship. You hoped above all else that he still wanted you, that the love you'd felt through the kiss still held true, even if he hadn't come for you yet. Maybe he wanted to, maybe he was just following an order from Kid to forget you. You played with a loose end as you laid on your side, the door to the cell opening as it had every morning so you could be dragged upright your daily torture session. You let yourself dissociate as you were pulled up by your hair, your cuffs attached above your head to a chain that hung from the ceiling. Your cuffs rubbed raw against your wrists as your weak legs struggled to keep you on your feet, but you dare not cry out in pain. Years of abuse had conditioned you to keep quiet.

The mindless goons who had strung you up remained on guard as their commodore entered the room, a disgustingly smug look on his face. You did your best to stare right through him, but couldn't deny that his expression made you ill. There was something different about it today, something darker and more knowing. It made you feel exposed and anxious as he stomped towards you in heavy boots. He was a larger man, someone who looked like they'd gotten where they were in life through intimidating those smaller than him. He smelt of cigars and cheap cologne that made your nose burn.

“How are we feeling today, little mouse?” He purred, forcing your chin up with a hard grasp to look at him. You spat in his face against your better judgement and he quickly retaliated with a hard backhand across your cheek. He wiped the spit from his face before continuing, “You'll never guess who I've just been speaking to on the den-den,” he gave you a cold smile that made you want to gag, “none other than your old pal Vice-Admiral Thompson”

A shiver ran through you and your eyes widened in fear as memories best kept forgotten began to bubble to the surface. Thompson had been the first to take charge of you after being discarded, back when he was still a commodore, and he had raped you mercilessly on a almost daily basis. The man had a pension for blood, and enjoyed cutting you as he fucked you. Your torture had only come to an end when he was given a promotion, and you were passed along to the next enthusiastic rapist, the one you had killed when Kid had found you. Your back featured many scars from his blade, since taking you from behind had been his preference. He didn't like to see your face, he preferred to just concentrate on the sound of your screams to get off. He'd grown bored when you stopped screaming for him, probably why he chose to pawn you off to someone else when he got his big promotion. It had been a blessing in disguise, and had taught you a valuable lesson about staying quiet. The new commodore had still raped you every chance he got, and taunted you daily, but at least he was a small-dicked three pump chump.

“He gave me some very valuable tips on how to tame you, little mouse,” he circled your body, and you winced as his calloused hand ran over the fresh cuts on your back from yesterday's whipping. “He had some very interesting techniques to share that I am quite interested in testing out for myself”

He nodded to the other men in the room, and they grabbed you from either side, making sure you couldn't do anything to kick or fight back, not that you had the energy. They pulled your skirt up and your panties down roughly, and the commodore kicked your legs further apart to make room for himself. It put more pressure on your painful wrists, and tears pricked at your eyes. You heard the distinct sound of his pants unzipping and he began to palm himself behind you.

“Are you going to talk mouse, or am I going to have to fuck it out of you?” He growled.

Tears began to fall against your will as you prepared yourself for the inevitable. You blanked everything out, swallowing your mind till it sat deep inside yourself, your eyes blank as the tears flowed freely from them, your body lose as you gave over any control to your hindbrain, which focused only on breathing and keeping your heart beating. Nothing else was necessary, and for a sweet moment you felt no pain as you dissociated. The world went white and silent, you had given up.

The last ten days had been torture for Killer, pacing back and forth in the navigation room while Kid pinched the bridge of his nose. They'd wanted to go after you, all the commanders had, but they'd lost the element of surprise. Kid had been ready to turn the ship around and wage war, but at Wire's sage advice he had held back. Killer hated that Wire was right. They needed to wait, they needed the base to think they had abandoned you, because without the element of surprise they might not make it to you without heavy losses on their side.

“Kid, you promised,” Killer growled, “why are we still waiting? Has it not been long enough?”

Wire sighed from his seat, Heat next to him in the same unwavering haze of sadness he'd been in since Killer had gotten back. It was the island all over again. “We agreed two weeks, Killer, that was the decision. It's only four more days. She's strong, she'll make it”

“But what if she doesn't?” Killer yelled back. His mask had been abandoned on the table hours ago, he felt like he was suffocating in it under the stress of the situation. Kid's chest hurt watching the way Killer's face morphed with pain whenever he spoke of you. “Her vivre has been burning for days now, she's dying!”

The last ten days had been hell for everyone on board, and Killer's body was wrecked with self-inflicted cuts under his clothing from multiple manic episodes. Kid didn't know what to do anymore, he feared his friend would lose his mind all together if they didn't get you back. The only reason his room was inhabitable at all was because they'd spent the last six days docked at a nearby island; his furniture had been replaced multiple times at this point.

“Wire, a few days less won't kill the plan,” he finally surrendered, “if we set sail today, we'll be there in two days from now. I agree with Killer, two weeks was a good plan to begin with, but I don't like the way her vivre is looking. We may be too late if we don't act soon”

Wire sighed in defeat, but was relieved to not be the one to give in. He may not be as close to you as the others, but Heat was his best friend, and the man hadn't been the same since they lost you. Everyone needed you home, it wasn't the same on the ship without you. “I'll give the orders,” he declared, taking his leave to head to the deck, followed by a sulking Heat.

“We're gonna get her back Kil,” Kid assured, “When have I ever broken a promise to you?”

“You haven't,” Killer mumbled, replacing his mask to head out.

“Exactly, so just rest your fears with me, I'll get her back, whatever it takes,” he pressed his flesh hand to Killer's shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. “Well make plans tomorrow, for now just stay strong. We'll bring her home Kil”

As expected, the commodore had been less than gentle with you, and after he was done pumping you with his thick load, he'd let the other two men have their turn as well. You were naked by the time they left you, and you laid on the floor crying and holding Killer's sash to your face, your pussy aching and torn from their abuse. The next day, when you still hadn't talked, he repeated the process. This time he brought a blade with him, cutting into the small of your back. The blood had at least acted as a lubricant as he fucked you mercilessly, but you still ached from the previous day's abuse. He'd brought more men with him this time as well, the collective cum of five men slipping out of your abused hole as you lay on the floor. You didn't cry today, there was nothing left in you. You were entirely devoid of any emotion, resigned to letting yourself starve until it was over. The lashing wounds from several days ago were growing infected from the commodore playing with them, he'd purposefully reopened your wounds as he raped you to add to your misery. You still hadn't talked, at this point you weren't sure if you were capable of speaking.

By the twelfth day you were just a shell. A ragdoll of a body, burning with fever and devoid of any feeling or thoughts. You hadn't slept, just stared blankly at the wall, unmoving from where they had dumped you on the floor after using you. You laid in your own blood, the wounds they had left still trickling for many hours after they had finished with you till they finally clotted to stop the bleeding. Your clothes had been taken from you, except for the sash. You considered hanging yourself with it, but you weren't sure it would even work. You had nothing to allow for a short jump to snap your neck, you would have to rely on strangulation, but that would mean the already heavily damaged sash would have to endure your weight for long enough to kill you. You didn't have the energy to do it right now anyway, it would require standing and your legs were far too weak for that. You'd pissed yourself at some point, unable to find the will to get up even to squat over the bucket in the corner.

There was thick silence around you, as there had been every day since your capture. The walls of the cell were particularly thick, blocking out any sound from outside, blank and dirty and grey, the only light being a single flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling that was never switched off. It was all carefully crafted to break you, to drive you insane till you gave up your secrets and spilled everything you knew about the Kid Pirates. The joke was on them, this wasn't your first experience with a cell like this, you learned last time how to sink inside yourself to hide from it all.

The door opened as it had every morning, and like every other morning your body was manipulated to wherever they wanted it to be. You didn't register how or where they moved you, your eyes continued to stare blankly ahead. You didn't register the cuffs being removed, the scarred arm or striped mask, the change of scenery as you were carried away. Daylight hit you, burning your eyes, so you closed them, your last connection to the outside world severed as your protective shell finished building up around you, fully encompassing you as you fell to a deep, exhausted sleep.

The Kid Pirates had started their wanton destruction the second they made landfall. The base had in fact been caught off guard, wrongly assuming that after twelve days of not making any attempt to rescue you, that you had been written off as not worth the effort. It couldn't be further from the truth as they slashed and burned and smashed their way through the base, killing every man and woman they encountered. Every building was checked, and if you weren't inside, immediately destroyed. Kid welded his gigantic metal arm, sweeping through the marines and sending decimating blows through every building, followed by Heat who set fire to any remains and any marine who got close enough. Wire was running ahead with Killer, the two of them being the fastest on the crew as they scouted every building for you, following your vivre on a warpath.

Double hadn't been able to locate the cells on the map, and suspected they were underground somewhere. His suspicion proved to be correct when they found a set of stairs hidden in the back of a small building, leaning to a short hall of dire looking cells. Killer's haki told him someone was alive down here, and the burning sliver that remained of your burning vivre card agreed. Killer sliced the lock off the door on the only occupied room, opening it with his heart in his throat as he dreaded what he would find inside.

He and Wire stood in shocked silence as the door swung open. You were there, naked on the floor, laying in a pool of blood and piss and clutching something close to your face like it was a lifeline. It took him a moment to register that it was his sash, it was so soaked with dark, dried blood that there was barely any blue left. Your eyes were open, but you didn't see them, not even when he waved a hand in front of your face. He touched your shoulder gingerly, and you didn't react at all, not even a shiver or painful wince. There was just nothing, you were just a shell, and he felt like they'd come too late. You were alive, but you were no longer living.

Wire took off his long hooded coat and handed it to Killer, who swaddled you in it before lifting you carefully into a bridal hold. Your body was littered with bruises and wounds, several of which were weeping pus. You were hot to the touch, near scalding, and your skin was clammy, damp with sweat from your fever. The two men said nothing to each other, there was nothing to be said that wasn't already painfully obvious to both of them. The second he had you in his arms, he was running.

He ran as fast as his legs would take him, his solitary mission to get you to Mohawk as quickly as possible while Wire covered his back from enemies. Kid opened his mouth to speak as they passed, but Wire just shook his head at him as he ran behind Killer. Kid roared in anger and lifted every piece of metal he could get into the air, forming a giant hammer and crushing everything in sight. The rest of the crew retreated, they knew better than to get in the way of Kid's fury.

As soon as Kid was satisfied that the base was sufficiently destroyed, any remains set alight by Heat, the Victoria Punk had set sail, with the intention of getting as far away from this awful place as possible. Mohawk had spent the last several hours working diligently on your wounds. Only Wire had been allowed access to the infirmary, being that he was the least emotional right now, and Mohawk needed unaffected assistance to help considering your state, which teetered dangerously at the edge of life and death. With some struggle he'd managed to surgically reopen the wounds that had begun closing, including the gunshot, so he could remove the bullet and any contaminants, and disinfect them all properly before stitching them closed. There wasn't much he could do for your broken rib other than make sure there were no shards of bone threatening to pierce your lung, and pump you with sufficient pain medication. You would likely be asleep for several more days given the extremely high dose he had you on, but that was for the best.

The worst of it had come though as he and Wire carefully cleaned your body, and Wire had discovered the blood between your legs. They felt awful about having to spread you open, but Mohawk was a doctor, and he was concerned about the damage that had been done to you. He cursed himself for never having bought a speculum now that there was a woman on the ship, he could only do so much to check your internal wounds without feeling like he was violating you. He did what he could for the outside though, stitching you delicately with dissolvable thread so you wouldn't have to go through the trauma of having him remove them, and making sure to add every anti-STI medication he had on hand to the cocktail of drugs he already had you on.

With Wire's help, they had cleaned and closed and dressed every wound on your body, and they carefully slipped a set of comfortable underwear and shorts on to you, along with a medical gown so Mohawk could still easily access the worst of the wounds on your torso until you woke up. It had taken over five hours to attend to you, all the while Killer had been pacing nervously outside the door, his sash balled up in his hand. He'd rushed to your side the second Wire opened the door, taking your hand gingerly and holding it firmly between both of his as he sat in a chair Mohawk had pulled over for him.

“She's going to be asleep for a few days at least,” Mohawk reported, standing on the other side of the cot as he pulled a blanket over you to finish up his work. “She still had the bullet inside her, so I suggest getting her bracelet back on soon before she wakes now that she's free of the seastone. She's got a broken rib, and too many wounds to count. It looks like many of them were from a whip, a handful from a blade. She's got a black eye, a swollen cheek, and most of her torso is covered in bruises in different stages of healing that look like they go back as far as when we lost her. Her wrists are also rubbed raw, I'm assuming they hung her by her wrists and the cuffs cut into her that way. She's definitely emaciated so I've got her on a lot of supplements right now, as well as a lot of antibiotics and pain meds. The pain meds themselves will have her out for a few days till I feel confident that she'd be okay on a lower dose, but that won't be until her fever breaks”

Killer wanted to cry hearing the doctor's report on your condition, and he held your hand close to his mask as he struggled to hold back tears. “Killer, there's one other thing,” Mohawk continued. Killer looked up at him with deep concern. “She's been raped, multiple times if I had to guess from her injuries. It was bad enough to need stitches. I've got her on every STI preventative I have on hand but I'll need to run some tests in a few weeks to make sure she didn't catch anything”

Killer let out a single wheezing sob as he failed to keep his composure. It was no wonder you were so lifeless when they found you, the worst had happened and he only had himself to blame for it. Mohawk gave him a pat on the shoulder and took his leave, giving the Massacre Soldier the space he needed to get his feelings out. Killer began to sob, tears leaking through the holes of his mask as it rested against your shoulder till he caved and tore it off. At some point Kid and Heat joined him, the three of them sitting in silence watching over you, save for the occasional sniff or new bouts of sobs from Killer.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

#one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #killer one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #heat one piece #heat x reader #kid pirates

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idanit · 21 days

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solidarity

#letters regarding jeeves #my pal bertie #dracula daily #jeeves #Tom Gauld #made this for myself because i started getting a bit green eyed over how big the dracula bookclub is #even though i totally understand that the appeal of dracula is naturally much broader #than the appeal of some episodic-ish comedic stories about a rich british aristocrat who talks weird and his hypercompetent servant #and anyway it's very cozy here in the jeeves corner I have to say #it's surprisingly nice to be involved in a fandom active enough to be engaging #but slow enough to be able to keep up with practically everything that's going on #idanit talks #?#i don't have a tag for memes lol

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squishycheekanon · 2 months

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Another sweet sweet price thot💋

Okay but let’s talk about Mountain man Price. He retired a few years ago and decided he much prefers the solitude of the beautiful mountains, with the tips of them all covered in snow. He likes the quiet, knowing he won’t run into anyone here. No one from the little town at the bottom of the mountains would be brave enough to hike the mountain trail.

He remembers the day he built his nice log cabin with the help of his trusty lieutenant of course. Simon helped his Captain one last time, before parting ways. Price wanted to be alone, after everything he’d experienced in the military, he wanted it to be just himself and the weather to keep him company.

He’d have the survival skills no doubt about it, but the more time he spent up there the more his social skills began to fade away. He’d have to come down every six months or so to restock his food, he make his trip down the hike trail to the little town at the bottom of the mountains and through the woods.

But the shop workers weren’t his biggest fans. He’d practically clear them out of their stock, the poor little local shop. They didn’t like his attitude either, found him strange and unapproachable. Though that’s exactly what John was going for. The less people that spoke to him, the better.

Until he met you of course.

It was only your second week at your new job, you’d just moved to the little town around a month ago and this was the only job available after some woman called Darlene went of maternity leave.

My gosh the way you’d be so nice to him having no idea the stigma that surrounded him and how suprised he’d be at the kindness you showed him. He’d actually look forward to coming down to the town.

He’d come more often as well, saying he’d ran out of supplies and yet he’d only buy a bag of fruit or some meat. Then he’d start to tidy up his appearance too, trim his over grown beard and moustache back to its former glory. The blush that would spread across your cheeks the first time you see him like that.

Hair trimmed too, you’d be able to see his perfect lips and crooked smile. It provoked a feeling in you that you’d long forgotten. Slowly but surely he’d start trying to flirt. Trying. Though you found it endearing how bad he was at it. Finally though he’d succeeded asking you out on a date and fuck the moment he’d turn up in his dark blue jeans, black shirt and dark brown leather jacket and boots. You swooned.

He had the charm turned on, especially after his phone call with his ex team. They could all hear how nervous their former captain was for this date. It made them very intrigued to meet you one day.

John didn’t miss a beat, almost as if he’d laid this date out like a mission. Going step by step to win your heart. He made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, made you smile until your cheeks ached. Ordered the food and drinks impressively, no umming or stuttering.

He gave you butterflies when he reached over the table to grab your hand in his larger one. The skin was rough and calloused, but it felt amazing against your hand. He loved how soft your skin felt against his. He traced around the palm of your hand with his thick index finger, those gorgeous ocean eyes gazing into your soul.

After dinner, John took you to a local bar that you were pleasantly surprised with. A few drinks later you tipsily confessed how handsome you thought he was. The longer the evening went on, the more longing looks and teasing touches were shared.

The evening ended with the two of you slow dancing until last call. The way your bodies pressed together, the intimacy and warmth. The way he’d always make eye contact, almost as if he was trying to read you. The way he held you so tender yet tight, his large hands on your body. It all just felt so right.

John walked you home, looking so sad when it was time to part ways. “Please, let’s do this again sweetheart.” When your manager Billy had called you that, it made you feel sick. Had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, disgust shivering down your body. But when John said it, damn. Your body shivered in delight, the deep mumble entangled with that delicious accent of his made you gulp back a lump in your throat. You swear your underwear was a little wet too.

You nodded leaning forward to kiss his cheek goodnight, John was quick to take your cheeks into his hands and press his wanting lips against yours. He was hungry and almost vicious when he kissed you, it made you wonder what kind of lover he was like as he pressed you against your front door and kissed you like he’d never get the chance again.

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erwinsvow · 2 months

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babe i have a thought but idk if i can word this right

so rafe x shy!reader when theyre still taking it slow with the dry humping n fingering but she wants to make rafe feel good as well yk but she isnt mentally ready yet for sex !! n so she quietly tries to learn on how to give head from porn n when she executes it on rafe hes all like ?? huh ???? how the hell .

rafe asked you what you were doing last night. you told him you were studying.

you were studying, you hadn't lied about that. he'd just assumed it was your schoolwork and didn't ask further questions, when you were really about six pages into the pornhub results, searching up deepthroating. an hour ago it'd been just blowjob but all the videos seemed to indicate this was the superior method.

you were nothing if not thorough, studious. you were a quick study too, swiftly realizing nearly all the 'blowjob' videos had some aspect of 'deepthroating' in them, and you wanted to learn everything for rafe, learn the best for him, be the best for him.

so that's how you ended up like this, practicing your new techniques on a second banana from your kitchen. you had accidentally choked and bitten down on the first one, so you had to go back for another, avoiding your parents' questions.

you were getting better though, which is all that mattered. another tab was helping you learn how to not trigger your gag reflex, and another still reminding you to breathe through your nose and use your hands where your mouth couldn't reach. you had accumulated enough knowledge, you just needed to practice, hence the fruit.

rafe was taking you to dinner tomorrow, and you always slept at tannyhill after one of your dates. that would be the perfect chance to show him your new skills.

rafe was experienced in every sense of the word, all you wanted was to impress him, make him realize you can handle more than he thinks you can. he's still concerned he's gonna break you and even though you know he can—the first time you guys tried to have sex lingering in your mind—you know he won't.

after dinner, rafe tries to take you for ice cream, the way he always does, and you surprise him by saying no. you never refuse dessert so he thinks something's wrong, but you surprise him again, getting to your knees in front of him while he takes a seat on his bed.

"what're you doin', kid?" he mumbles, thinking you're not sure what you're causing right now.

"you said i can have dessert. this is what i want," you murmur back, taking out his hardened dick. everything's a blur, you don't even remember unbuckling his belt but it rests beside your knees.

you glance up hesitantly, remembering another website that had said to keep eye contact. you'll have to go back to that, too concerned with how much you can fit in your mouth—rafe is bigger than your banana.

you start slowly, looking up while your hands stroke up and down. you think you're doing well—rafe's reacting how you imagined, heavily breathing, his hand snaking into your hair.

"jesus, shit, kid-" now you know you're doing well, lowering your entire mouth onto rafe's dick, feeling him fill up your throat. you choke around it for a moment, sucking down and running your tongue over the veins there. you take him out, catching your breath for a second while spit runs down his length and the side of your mouth.

you spit again, this time on his head, licking all the way up and then bringing him into your throat again. it's going good—you think! rafe's moaning and you definitely like the sound of it, staring up at him with watery eyes while you choke and moan around it.

he's getting close you think, the way his grip tightens on your hair and his hips start thrusting up into your mouth. you don't stop or slow down, but rafe does, yanking your hair and pulling you off.

you sputter, catching your breath, wiping away the spit.

"what happened?" you question quietly, looking up at him. a tear runs down, not able to stay in place. you're not upset though, just curious. "was it not good? did i do something wrong?"

"you told me you've never done that before."

"i haven't," you reply, shaking your head.

"so, so you just knew? to do all of that? don't fuckin' lie to me, kid, i'm not playin' around-"

"i didn't! swear! i've been studying, i told you-"

"this is what you've been studyin'?"

"...yes. i thought i was doing good." you mumble the last part, hugging your knees. you look away from rafe, feeling embarrassed.

"hey, hey. you were. i just wasn't expectin' that, s'all. scared me. you're too good at that." you perk up.

"i am?"

"yeah. you little freak. c'mon, finish up. gotta put that studyin' to use, hm?"

#oh ur fucking lovely for this prompt im OBSESSEDDDDDDDDDDDD #i adore u #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader

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k3n-dyll · 2 months

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Munch(ies) [Ellie W.]

||Men, minors, and ageless DNI

CW: not proofread, 18+, wlw, drug usage (weed), tummy kisses, reader is described as having a "soft tummy" but there are no descriptors otherwise, high sex, oral(r!receiving), fingering (r! receiving), spit, sloppy kissing, established relationship, Ellie calls reader mama like once, dom!Ellie ig

AN: she's a munch, what more can I say

DONT FORGET PALESTINE

Masterlist Divider Creds

Ellie's body is tucked snug between your legs, head perched on your stomach as she looks up at you leaning up against the headboard, watching the small cloud of smoke swirl out from your nostrils. She can never get enough of you, especially when you look like this, eyes lidded and bloodshot, a soft smile on your face as you mess in her auburn locks with your free hand. She practically purrs with each gentle scratch on her scalp, her own hand kneading at your thigh.

You reach to pass her the joint again and to your shock, she shakes her head.

"Jus' finish it" she murmurs, shifting herself slightly so that she's able to slip her cold hands underneath your top. A breathy chuckle escapes her lips when she feels you tense up from the sudden contact

"God, Ellie your hands are freezing"

"Why d'you think I'm trying to warm 'em up?" She retorts with a giggle, having absolutely no intention of removing her them from the warmth of your body.

Ellie's hands travel even further up underneath the cloth of your t-shirt, long slender fingers groping at your breasts and forcing a groan out from behind your lips. You don't resist the urge to grab onto her chin, pulling her up on top of you for a kiss.

As these things often go with your girlfriend, the slow kiss becomes sloppy rather quickly; lips wet and slick with your combined saliva, your shirt hiked up to your collarbone, her hands lightly palming the soft flesh of your tits, pinching your hardened nipple between her fingers.

Everything feels so much more vivid in this state. She's barely touched you and yet you begin to feel that familiar dull, pulsing ache between your thighs that's only intensified by her kiss muffled moans, and wandering hands. She breaks from your lips only for her lips to find their way to that sweet spot on your neck, gently sucking and nipping at the area before whispering in your ear

"Can I eat your pussy, baby?"

The question sends a shiver through your body, and who are you to deny your girl? You nod and she lights up for a moment, her low-lidded eyes widening to their normal size for a moment in pure excitement.

Ellie wastes not a second, shifting her body back in between your legs and beginning to place moist kisses along your soft tummy, her thumbs hooking into the hem of both your shorts and your panties and tugging them down. Using her veiny hands to keep your legs nice and wide for her, she stops for a moment and simply admires how soaked you are, a teasing finger gliding along your slit and making you twitch.

"Ellie, please I-" you whine

"Shh, I know, mama. You just look so fucking sexy" she interrupts, the slight rasp in her voice from the smoke making waiting all the more difficult. She uses her finger to tease you a bit more before pushing two inside of you, a cocky little grin forming on her freckled face when she feels you clench around them.

"Els-"

You start to whine out again but before you get the chance, she's got her tongue flush against your clit. Her movements are slow and sloppy, sucking and lapping at your clit, a mixture of her saliva and your juices dribbling along her chin and down to your entrance where she's lazily pumping her fingers in and out of you. For a moment she pulls back and your squirm at the neglect, peering down at her with a furrowed brow.

Ellie, of course, is oblivious to your frustration, using her free hand to spread your already slick folds to spit on your sensitive bundle of nerves. She stares at her handiwork for a moment, in her own little world as she admires the way her spit slides down your cunt, letting out a low groan as it coats her fingers that are splitting you open.

"Mmmgh, Ellie please, I need you" you cry out, wanting - needing her mouth again, bucking your hips up near her face.

Ellie snaps out of her little trance and giggles, but she obliges without stopping this time. She picks up her pace as much as she can in her marijuana-induced haze, messily slurping you up and moaning into your pussy as if she was the one getting fucked right now.

"F-fuck 'm gonna cuh- g'na cum, Els" you manage to stutter out in between shaky breaths and desperate moans, your body already beginning to convulse underneath her, legs tensing up on either side of her head.

Your back arches up when you cum, head thrown back onto the headboard, jaw slack as your mouth is caught in a silent scream. Vulgar praises spill from Ellie's lips as you finish on her fingers but you can barely understand what she's saying, each one of your senses completely taken over by orgasm.

Ellie just barely wipes her mouth off when she finally pulls away from you, only really stopping the slick mixture from dripping further down her chin before crashing her lips to yours. The kiss is messy. Nasty, even. but you don't mind in the slightest, tasting yourself on her mouth before breaking the kiss to admire how pretty she looks with her lips swollen and her cheeks rosy - all pussydrunk and high. A satisfied, stupid grin graces her features before she speaks, eyes nothing more than cute crescent-shaped slits on her face

"Is it my turn now?"

Taglist: @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery,@ikoinsblog

Reblogs appreciated☆ Requests are open

#tlou2 #lesbian #wlw #☆kennie's works #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou2 #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x female reader

1K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 3 months

Text

Brake Balance

Charles Leclerc x mafiosa!Reader

Summary: something about the brake issues that Charles had to deal with in Bahrain just seems off … so you take matters into your own hands while your boyfriend is none the wiser

Warnings: depictions of violence and minor-character murder

You make your way through the paddock of the Bahrain International Circuit, weaving between team members and mechanics as they go about their pre-race routines. The energy in the air is electric, everyone buzzing with anticipation for the first race of the season later tonight.

You flash your paddock pass at security and head into the Ferrari garage, eyes scanning the organized chaos for the familiar mop of brown hair.

There he is, sitting in his red race suit that matches the iconic color of the Ferrari he drives, focused intently as his mechanics make some last minute adjustments. You walk up behind Charles and place your hands over his eyes.

“Guess who?” You say playfully.

Charles reaches up and removes your hands, a smile breaking across his face as he turns in his seat. “Ah, mon cœur! My favorite surprise.”

You lean down and kiss him softly. “How are things looking for today?”

“Good, good,” he nods. “The team had to change the left front brake duct exit deflector earlier, just as a precaution. But I’m feeling optimistic, the car has been solid all weekend. I think I might even be able to challenge Max for the win if everything goes to plan.”

His confidence makes you smile. Charles has been working so hard, both physically and mentally, to start this season strong. You know a win today would mean the world to him.

“I’ll be cheering the loudest when I see you on that top step today,” you say.

Charles grins. “We’ll see. Still have a race to get through first.”

You lean in to give him a quick kiss and head to the back of the garage so you’re out of the way. The mechanics are in full focus mode now, choreographing their dance around Charles’ car with practiced precision.

Charles goes through his usual pre-race routine — sips of water, reviewing data on the screens, and loosening up his muscles. He’s the picture of calm, but you know him well enough to see the coiled adrenaline thrumming just under the surface, ready to be unleashed once he settles into the cockpit.

The time comes to head out to the grid. Charles pauses before he puts his helmet on, meeting your gaze. You close the distance between you and cup his face in your hands, kissing his lips sweetly. Then you take the helmet from him and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips over the smooth surface where his would be.

“Be safe out there,” you say softly.

He nods, face disappearing behind the tinted visor, and climbs into the Ferrari. You watch as the car pulls away, weaving between other vehicles making their way to the starting grid. With a deep breath, you head deeper into the garage and take a seat next to Charles’ performance coach, Andrea. He hands you a headset so you can listen to Charles’ radio during the race.

“Let’s hope for a good one today,” Andrea says.

You nod, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fit the headset over your ears. On the monitors, you see Charles lining up on the grid in P2 after the formation lap, Max Verstappen’s Red Bull beside him on the front row in P1. The lights go out and the cars leap forward, engines roaring to life. Charles gets a good start, but Max keeps the lead through the first few turns.

The pack of cars higher up on the starting grid stays bunched up through the first few turns, but then you notice Charles starting to fall back little by little. His lap time slows as Max opens up a gap in front.

“The car doesn’t feel right, something with the front end,” Charles says. Your brow furrows in concern.

Only a lap later, George Russell in the Mercedes overtakes Charles on turn 4. Then Perez in the other Red Bull breezes past not long after.

“Come on Charles, stay focused,” you murmur under your breath. But things only seem to be getting worse. Carlos battles with Charles and eventually gets by, which frustrates you to no end. Charles fighting his own teammate for position is the last thing you want to see.

“Something felt very wrong with this set, the fronts were locking up like crazy,” Charles reports over the radio. Your heart sinks. Andrea shakes his head, equally perplexed.

The issues continue to persist. “What’s going on with my front left?” Charles asks, audible tension in his voice. “I just cannot get out of front locking. Everywhere ...”

Xavi, his race engineer, replies calmly, “We have temperature imbalance, higher front left.”

“How much is the imbalance?” Charles asks.

“Around 100 degrees.”

You grimace. That kind of discrepancy could make the car undriveable. Sure enough, Charles continues to struggle. It’s clear he’s fighting with the car now rather than racing the drivers around him.

“My car is fully going to the right when I am braking. With this I cannot fight, it’s dangerous,” Charles says, frustration seeping into his tone. You chew your lip anxiously. The rational part of you wishes Charles would just retire the car before he gets himself hurt trying to wrestle with it. But you also know that’s never been in Charles’ nature — he’ll keep fighting until the very last lap, no matter what.

Lap after lap, Charles battles to keep the car under control. “I think we can forget about driving now. It’s pulling everywhere,” he finally concedes. For a brief moment, you wonder if he’ll pull into the pits and call it a day. But no, your boyfriend is never one to simply give up. After the radio, through sheer force of will, Charles somehow overtakes George to reclaim P4. You can only imagine how hard he must be having to fight to keep the car in the track.

In the end, it’s a disappointing P4 for Charles while his teammate makes it on the podium in P3. As Carlos is lead to the cooldown room with Max and Checo, you watch Charles, frustration etched across his face as he tugs off his helmet and balaclava. He doesn’t even glance your way before the mechanics descend on him to start looking over the car.

Clearly the brake issues have cost him any chance at challenging for the win today. Most other drivers would have given up even trying to reclaim P4. But not your Charles. Never your Charles. Your heart aches for him.

Charles gets led away swiftly for the usual post-race weighing and interviews. You know from his body language that he’s utterly deflated by today’s results.

While the reporters pepper him with questions, you pull out your phone and scroll through your contacts. Enough is enough — something is clearly not right with Charles’ car and you want answers.

Your finger hovers over the call button as you contemplate who to reach out to. The last thing you want is for Charles to have to fight against his own machine again. A solution needs to be found immediately, and you know just the person who can help.

With a determined nod, you press call and lift the phone to your ear, ready to get to the bottom of these brake issues once and for all.

***

The phone only rings once before a gruff voice answers. “Boss?”

“Hello, Gianluca,” you say. “I need you to do something for me.”

You go on to explain in detail the brake issues Charles faced during the race, how the problems started right after they replaced the left front brake duct exit deflector.

“I don’t think it was just bad luck,” you say. “Something seems off about the whole situation. I want you to look into it, see if anyone on Charles’ side of the garage could have tampered with his car.”

Gianluca is quiet for a moment. “Sabotage, you think?”

“Possibly. I just … I can’t shake this feeling that someone meant for this to happen to Charles’ car. He truly thought he could at least try to challenge Max for the win, then suddenly it’s like he’s driving an entirely different machine. Too much of a coincidence for my liking.”

“I’ll look into it boss, don’t you worry,” Gianluca says. “I’ll go through the team with a fine tooth comb, see if anything seems out of the ordinary. If someone did intentionally compromise Charles’ car, I’ll find out who and how.”

You let out a breath. “Thank you, Gianluca. Let me know as soon as you learn anything. Charles can’t afford issues like this again.”

“You got it. I’ll be in touch.”

The call ends and you lean back against the garage wall, gaze fixed unseeingly out across the pit lane. Your mind turns over the events of the race, Charles’ baffled frustration over the radio. He’s worked too hard for too long to have valuable points stolen away by something like this. If there is sabotage afoot within the team, you’ll get to the bottom of it.

A few days later you’re back in your study after flying home from Bahrain. A knock at the door interrupts your work and you call for them to enter. Gianluca steps in, an uncharacteristically grim look on his face.

“Boss,” he greets you. Wordlessly, he steps forward and places a thick manila folder on your desk. You flip it open, eyes scanning over photos, documents, even what looks like stills of CCTV footage. Gianluca remains silent, allowing you to take it all in.

“I went over every inch of security camera video from the Bahrain paddock and garage,” Gianluca finally says. “And I found something.”

He leans over your desk and flips to a page in the folder, tapping a finger on a freeze frame showing one of Charles’ mechanics.

“This is Tomaso, one of the brake technicians,” Gianluca explains. “I noticed him acting strange all race day. Fidgety. Nervous. He was trying to hide it but his body language gave it away.”

Your eyes narrow as you study the photo. There is a shifty, almost guilty look about the man as he glances over his shoulder.

“I watched him like a hawk after that,” Gianluca continues. “When the team went to change the brake duct exit deflector, that’s when I saw it happen.”

He flips to another page, this one showing screen captures of CCTV footage in the Ferrari garage a few hours before the race start. You can make out Tomaso slipping the replacement deflector into his pocket before taking out another piece and installing it in Charles’ car. Your blood turns cold.

“He tampered with the part,” Gianluca confirms grimly. “There’s no doubt in my mind he switched that deflector with a compromised one. Sabotage, just like you suspected.”

You sit back, shaking your head in disgusted disbelief. “Why? Why would he do this?”

Gianluca shrugs. “Hard to say for sure. Could be someone paid him off, wants to see Charles fail. But what I know for certain is that he meant to damage Charles’ car.”

You drum your fingers on your desk, thinking hard. This level of betrayal from someone Charles trusts, it’s unthinkable. An affront you won’t let stand.

“You’ve done excellent work, Gianluca,” you finally say, meeting his gaze. “Thank you for getting to the bottom of this. I’ll handle it from here.”

Gianluca nods. “Of course, boss. Let me know if you need anything else.”

He turns and leaves your study, closing the door quietly behind him. You lean back in your chair, fingers steepled under your chin. Your expression is stone, but internally your thoughts roil with anger. Tomaso will pay for this, you’ll see to that.

Charles has enough challenges to face without sabotage from his own team. Your resolve hardens — you won’t stop until justice is served and he can race with full confidence again. The treachery ends now.

***

After Gianluca leaves, your mind turns over what to do about Tomaso. The team flew straight from Bahrain to Saudi Arabia to prepare for the next race, so he’s out of your reach for now. Still, you won’t let him slip away that easily. You pick up your phone and call a trusted associate, instructing him to organize a surveillance team to keep constant eyes on Tomaso until you arrive in Jeddah yourself.

The days crawl by painfully slow as you wait to confront the saboteur. You resist the urge to call Fred Vasseur and have Tomaso removed from the team immediately — better to handle this yourself. Finally, it’s time to fly out for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Upon landing, your associate meets you at the airport.

“We have eyes on the target,” he reports. “He’s currently at the hotel bar, quite intoxicated.”

You nod curtly. “Good. Let’s pay him a visit.”

You’re led to the hotel and pointed towards the bar. Sure enough, there’s Tomaso, stumbling drunkenly out the door into the night. Now is your chance. You follow him down the street, waiting until he turns into a shadowy alley to make your move. In a flash you have him by the collar, shoving him against the brick wall.

“What the hell, let me go!” Tomaso slurs, trying to shove you off. But drinking has made him clumsy and weak.

“I don’t think so, Tomaso,” you reply coldly. “We need to have a little chat.”

His eyes widen in fear and confusion. You press on before he can respond.

“Let’s see, Tomaso Barbieri, born May 5th, 1992 in Turin. Moved to Maranello in 2021 to begin work as a mechanic with Scuderia Ferrari. Parents Lucia and Giacomo Barbieri, both schoolteachers. Sister Cecilia studying abroad in London.”

As you rattle off details about his personal life, Tomaso’s eyes grow wider and wider.

“What the hell, how do you know all that?” He stammers. “Who are you? Does Charles know the ugly truth about his girlfriend?”

You fix him with an icy stare. “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know exactly who you are, Tomaso. A mechanic for Ferrari … and apparently a master of espionage and sabotage in your spare time.”

Tomaso’s eyes dart wildly, still trying to make sense of the situation in his inebriated state. He attempts an unconvincing laugh.

“What are you talking about man? Sabotage? I think you’ve had too much to drink ...”

Your response is to slam him hard against the wall, causing him to grunt in pain. You lean in close, anger simmering in your eyes.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Tomaso. I know what you did in Bahrain, switching out the brake duct deflector to sabotage Charles’ car. Did you think you could get away with it? That there wouldn’t be consequences?”

Up close, you can see the color drain from his face, eyes wide with fear. He tries to retain some composure.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats weakly. “I would never sabotage Charles’ car, I want him to win ...”

You slam him against the wall again, cutting off his lies.

“I said, enough bullshit!” you snarl. “We have you on video. We saw everything. We know you pocketed the real deflector and installed a defective one instead.”

He is trembling now, any hint of drunkenness replaced by sobering fear.

“Please,” he whimpers pathetically. “I’ll do anything, just please let me go. I made a mistake ...”

You shake your head in disgust. “A mistake? You betrayed Charles’ trust and tried to ruin his race out of what? Jealousy? Greed?”

Tomaso says nothing, eyes downcast in shame. You take a breath and continue in a low, menacing tone.

“Here are your options. One: you go directly to Vasseur first thing in the morning and resign from Ferrari immediately. You will leave the team and ensure you are never so much as in the same country as Charles again. Two: I deal with you myself, in a much less pleasant manner. The choice is yours, Tomaso. What’s it going to be?”

He meets your steely gaze again, jaw clenched. “I can’t just quit,” he says hoarsely. “My job is my life. You might as well just kill me.”

You purse your lips and shake your head. “I was afraid you’d say that. Very well.”

In one swift motion you draw your gun from its concealed holster and press the barrel firmly under Tomaso’s chin. He recoils in terror, plastered back against the wall.

“Last chance,” you say calmly. “Walk away from Ferrari and never look back, or your days end tonight in this alley.”

Sweat drips down his brow as the gun digs harder into his throat. His eyes are saucers of fear, flitting between your steely gaze and the weapon poised to end his life.

“Well?” You ask after a long silence. “What’s it going to be?”

Tomaso swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing against the gun barrel. When he speaks, his voice is a terrified croak.

“I … I won’t quit. I can’t.” He closes his eyes in resignation, awaiting his fate.

You click your tongue in disappointment. “That’s unfortunate. I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

Your finger tightens almost imperceptibly on the trigger …

“Wait, wait!” Tomaso cries out, hands raised in desperation. “I’ll do it, I’ll quit! Just please, don’t hurt me!”

You pause, gun still aimed steadily at his throat. “And why should I believe you now?”

He swallows hard, eyes brimming with tears. “I swear, I’ll resign first thing tomorrow. You’ll never see me near the team again. Just let me go, I’m begging you!”

You consider him coldly for a moment before lowering the gun. Tomaso sags back against the wall in relief. But you’re not done with him yet.

“Who paid you?” You demand. “Who put you up to sabotaging Charles’ car?”

The blood drains from his face again. “I can’t tell you that. They’ll kill me, and my family ...”

In a flash the gun is back at his throat, your grip like iron on his shirt collar.

“I assure you, I can do much worse than they ever could,” you say menacingly. “Now give me a name, or you can say goodbye.”

Tomaso shakes uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face. You can see the internal struggle, debating which is the lesser evil — defying you or those he conspired with. Finally, he slumps in defeat and leans in close, voice barely a whisper.

“It was ...”

He utters a name directly into your ear. Your eyes widen briefly in surprise before narrowing again. You release Tomaso and take a step back, processing this new information.

“I see,” you say slowly. You nod over your shoulder and two of your associates emerge from the shadows.

“Get him out of my sight,” you order. They grab Tomaso roughly by the arms. He sags between them, the fight gone out of him completely. You fix him with an icy stare.

“My men will escort you to the airport,” you inform him. “You will be on the first flight out of this hemisphere. And you are never to go near Ferrari or Charles again — don’t even think about trying to contact the team to explain yourself. As far as they will be concerned, you simply resigned. Am I clear?”

Tomaso nods wordlessly, defeated. The men begin dragging him away towards a waiting black SUV.

“Oh, and Tomaso?” You call after him. He glances back warily. “If I ever see or hear of you so much as setting foot in a paddock again, you won’t get a second chance. You’ll simply disappear. Permanently.”

The color drains from his face one final time. Then he is shoved into the back of the SUV, the door slamming shut behind him. You watch impassively as the vehicle drives off into the night, carrying the saboteur away for good.

Or so he thinks.

Unbeknownst to Tomaso, you have contacts everywhere, including at his destination. The second he steps off the plane, thinking he’s escaped your wrath, your local associates will be waiting. And his life will be ended swiftly and permanently, as promised. You don't make idle threats after all.

Betrayal of this magnitude must be punished, no matter how far Tomaso runs. The message will be clear — cross you, and nowhere on Earth will be safe. You've given the order, and your associates are nothing if not ruthlessly efficient. By the time the sun rises, there will be one less threat to Charles’ success. The sabotage ends here and now. You'll see to that personally, no matter the cost.

For a moment you simply stand alone in the dark alley, processing everything. This is bigger than you initially realized. Tomaso was clearly just a pawn, the sabotage orchestrated by someone higher up the chain — someone with enough power and influence to scare a man into risking his career and life.

Your jaw clenches as you think about Charles being targeted like this, not only being robbed of a deserved finish but also put in danger as collateral. Well, it ends now. The shadowy orchestrator thinks they can get away with playing games in the dark? They’re about to realize just how big of a mistake they’ve made.

Now that you have a name, you can start unraveling the web, tracing every thread back to find where it leads. And when you do find the spider at the center? You’ll make sure they can never endanger Charles again. For good.

Satisfied with this plan, you straighten your dress and exit the alley onto the brighter streets. Time to put your considerable resources to work. Phone records, financials, travel records — you’ll dig through it all, leave no stone unturned.

And you have a feeling the name Tomaso gave you is only the first thread. This goes deeper. But it doesn’t matter. You’ve dealt with far more dangerous criminal elements before. These shadow games don’t scare you. You’ll keep following the threads until you reach the source, uprooting the entire enterprise in the process.

By the time you reach your car, your phone is already buzzing with incoming calls and updates from your associates. They know the drill by now — when you give the word, they mobilize into action immediately, utilizing the full extent of your influence and power.

For you, they’ll tap every resource, call in every favor owed. Because you protect what’s yours at all costs. And Charles? He’s under your protection now, whether he knows it or not. So for his sake, you’re going to find the ones trying to undermine him, and you’re going to tear out the threat root and stem. Permanently.

Let them keep playing their games for now, oblivious to the axe hanging over their heads. They’ll find out soon enough that nobody crosses you and gets away with it. And when that time comes, no mercy will be shown. No loose ends left to unravel.

Time to remind them exactly why your reputation precedes you in certain circles, why your name is uttered only in hushed whispers. They’ll regret the day they dared threaten someone you care about. You’ll see to that personally.

With your jaw set in determination, you climb into the idling car. Time to go hunting.

***

Two days after dealing with Tomaso, you make your way through the Jeddah Corniche Circuit paddock towards the Ferrari motorhome.

Your stiletto heels click along the pavement and you glance down, frowning slightly at the flecks of blood still staining the pointed toes of your red soles. Such a shame about these Louboutins, you really love this pair. But a bit of blood is a small price to pay for protecting Charles, especially after personally dealing with the orchestrator who had been paying Tomaso off.

You had tracked them down and made sure they could never threaten Charles’ success again. Subtly, you crouch down and wipe at the stains, managing to remove the worst of it.

Satisfied, you straighten and continue on your way. The familiar bright red motorhome comes into view and you sweep inside, immediately spotting Charles standing with some team members. His face lights up when he sees you, excusing himself to rush over.

“Mon amour, you made it!” He exclaims, enveloping you in a tight hug. You melt against him, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss seeing you race for anything,” you reply, pecking his lips sweetly.

Charles takes your hand, leading you to a quiet corner where you can talk. “I missed you so much while you were away,” he says. “But I’m so glad you’re here now.”

You smile and stroke his cheek. “Me too, darling. But I’m here now and I’ll be cheering the loudest for you all race.”

Charles’ grin falters a bit. “It’s been a strange few days actually. Tomaso, one of my mechanics, just up and quit in the middle of the week. No explanation or anything.”

You school your features into a look of surprise. “Really? That’s so odd.”

Charles nods. “Very weird timing to just resign like that. But maybe it’s for the best if his heart wasn’t fully in it anymore.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” you agree. “The team is better off without any negativity.”

Before Charles can reply, Andrea enters the motorhome. “Charles, time for some quick physio before the race.”

Charles sighs but nods, giving you a swift kiss before following Andrea out. You watch him go fondly before making your way trackside to the Ferrari garage. The mechanics are in race mode, voices terse and movements precise as they make final adjustments on Charles’ car.

You stay back, letting them work, thoughts drifting back to everything you did to get to this point. A small price to pay to ensure Charles can race with a fair chance again.

Finally it’s time for Charles to get in the car. You approach as he’s putting on his helmet and balaclava, stealing a tender kiss that he returns happily. Then you lift the helmet and slide it gently into place, brushing your lips softly over the smooth surface where his lips would be. Your ritual.

“Be safe out there,” you murmur. Charles squeezes your hand, then lowers himself into the cockpit. You watch tensely as the car pulls away, the lights of the circuit glittering against the dark night sky.

In the garage you pace anxiously throughout the race, listening to the radio chatter. Again Charles qualified P2, behind Max Verstappen’s Red Bull. But this time, you have no sabotage to worry about. The Ferrari proves fast and consistent all race, not quite keeping pace with the Red Bull but allowing Charles to maintain P2 smoothly.

The SF-24 doesn’t have the speed to challenge Max, but there’s no issues, no sudden grip loss or components failing. Your shoulders finally uncoil with relief as Charles crosses the line to take P2, securing a podium finish.

The garage explodes into cheers and applause as Charles pulls into parc fermé. He’s beaming as he climbs from the car, pulling off his gloves and balaclava. You run over to the barriers and throw your arms around him ecstatically as soon as he nears.

“I’m so proud of you!” You exclaim. Charles hugs you back tightly.

“Thank you, mon cœur,” he says warmly. “It felt good to finally have a clean race again.”

You just smile knowingly, heart bursting with joy at seeing Charles on the podium where he belongs. During the celebrations, he keeps meeting your gaze in the crowd, smiling and pointing down to you in the crowd of red. As he sprays champagne with Max and Checo, he looks utterly elated and at peace. No frustration or disappointment, just the satisfaction of a hard fought race with the result he deserved.

Afterwards, in the privacy of Charles’ room, he takes you into his arms again. “I don’t know what changed or why, but the car just felt right this weekend,” he says. “It makes me so optimistic for the rest of the season.”

You stroke his face gently. “You deserve it. All your hard work is paying off.” Inside, you allow yourself a small, satisfied smile. Charles doesn’t need to know just how much work went on behind the scenes to get here. He only needs to focus on driving his heart out, and securing the championships you know he’s destined for. The rest is simply details.

“Thank you again for being here,” Charles murmurs, pulling you close. “Having your support means everything to me.”

You rest your head on his shoulder contentedly. “Always, my love. I’ll be right by your side.” And you mean that with every fiber of your being. No matter what happens going forward, whoever tries to interfere or stand in Charles’ way, they’ll have to go through you first.

You won’t let anyone toy with Charles’ performance and safety again. The lesson has been sent — Charles is untouchable now. Dare to threaten the success that is his, and you’ll come for what’s theirs.

But Charles doesn’t need to carry that burden. He just needs to keep his head held high and drive his heart out. You’ll handle the rest. It’s the least you can do for the man you love more than life itself.

So as Charles holds you close, you silently promise to always shield him from the ugly underbelly that lurks beneath the glitz and glamour of Formula 1.

He gives so much of himself already in pursuit of greatness. Let others vie for power and influence through dirty tricks and mind games. That’s not Charles’ way, which is why you’ll ensure he remains untainted. For him, you’d walk through fire without a second thought.

So really, what’s a little blood on your Louboutins in the grand scheme of things? A man like Charles Leclerc deserves that and so much more. And you’re going to give it to him, no matter the cost.

Let them keep playing their games in the shadows. Little do they know, you’ve already checkmated them all.

1K notes · View notes

roolette · 5 months

Text

How Mk1 Men Fuck You

CW: NSFW, gn!reader

Bi-Han is just mean about it, frankly. Teasing you, never exactly hitting the spot you need him to, close enough to feel it, but not enough to really do much. And don't bother begging with him. He'll just roll his eyes and scoff, wiping the tears from your eyes with his thumb and not doing anything to give you release.

"I've barely touched you... how are you that desperate already? Honestly, it's ridiculous. You'll get what you want, just be quiet."

When he finally fucks you, it's at a relentless pace, holding your hips in place as he thrusts into you. He's stopped the teasing now, and is wholly focused on making you fall apart in his arms.

Tomas just wants to make you happy. He begs to taste you, to let him touch you where he wants to. He whines at the slightest touch from you, and you both know that you're the only one who can elicit these reactions from him. He could spend forever between your thighs, seriously, he'd die happy there. He'll run his hands up and down your thighs while he gives you head, he has to be touching you.

"Ahh... you look so... like this, I mean- don't tease me! I'll come up with a good description, just... let me have this."

PLEASE hold his jaw and make him look at you while you ride him. Remind him that he's yours, and he'll practically melt. He'll likely be the more vocal out of the two of you, babbling about how good you feel.

Kuai Liang is possessive in bed, but how can you blame him? It's the place where you're his, completely. And maybe this is just me being insane over that skin where his hair is up, but but he likes when you pull his hair while he fucks into you. You can also run your nails along his back, and good luck to anyone who comments on it. He's yours, and you're his, and he wants sex with you to be a reminder of that. He likes being able to look at you while he fucks you, especially those lovely expressions you make.

"No, don't look away. Keep your eyes on me. I don't want to miss a second of this."

You didn't initially expect him to be so open with his feelings in bed, but he likes to be vulnerable with you. He feels safe with you, and he doesn't have to be anyone but yours.

When it comes to fast and hard, it's Johnny Cage. Sex with him is always so energetic, and you have to wonder where that energy comes from. Admittedly, it took some time in the relationship for him to be intimate or slow with you, but you got there. Even then, he just likes sex to be fun. He'll crack jokes, tease you, or randomly bite you when you're least expecting it. He'll thrust up into you while you ride him, just to be a dick and throw you off balance. Have I mentioned he's a brat? Because he's a brat.

"So. You come here often? Well, you're about to, and- hey, ow! I'm supposed to be on camera, you know."

When he's intimate and slow, though, he really is. He'll whisper praises in your ear, words so genuine that it makes you blush more than the things he's doing to you. Everything he's too afraid to say sometimes, it all falls apart when you're in his arms.

I'm SICK and TIRED of people saying that Raiden doesn't know anything about sex, etc. He is loving, tender, and occasionally giggly. He sees sex as another way to be near you and show you how much he loves you. He'll kiss you all over while he's inside you, and he loves to praise you. He likes to fuck you with you in his lap and your legs wrapped around his waist. It's perfect, really. He can go deep inside you and look at you at the same time.

"You look so perfect like this. I'll move, love, I promise, just let me watch you for a moment."

He can make you cum fast, but he chooses not to. He likes to draw out your pleasure. Less to tease, and more to make it last as long as possible. He wants to fall apart with you.

Kenshi is going to make you cum on his fingers before he even thinks about fucking you. He's infuriatingly good at it, too. He'll leave you gasping and moaning just from his fingers, and he can't help but smile smugly about it, which only makes it more frustrating. You can beg him to fuck you, but it won't work. That's happening when he decides to, and not a moment sooner. So you may as well get used to cumming on his fingers.

"You're seriously still begging? C'mon, you know it's not going to work. Still, it's nice hearing you like this."

When he finally fucks you, it's slow and rough, going as deep as possible with each stroke. He'll wrap his arms around you while he does, face pressed against your shoulders, muttering praises and teasing words against your skin.

#mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat imagine #mk imagine #mortal kombat smut #johnny cage #johnny cage x reader #tomas vrbada #tomas vrbada x reader #bi han x reader #bi han #kuai liang x reader #kuai liang #raiden x reader #raiden #kenshi takashi x reader #kenshi takahashi

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hungercityhellhound · 2 years

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Things People Don’t Mention About Top Surgery or Mastectomies

There is reluctance to do the surgery if you live alone, even if you have a good support system. One of the most stressful things was the hospital constantly asking about who would be looking after me, picking me up, etc. I really felt the bias towards people who are married and against people who are single. I don’t think it was intentional but it was definitely there. (Please read more about this situation here) That being said you will definitely need a robust support system of some kind to get through everything in the first 4 -8 weeks or more after surgery.

All your pill bottles will have safety caps and you won't have the strength to open them on your own without a lot of struggling.

There are soooo many medications. Take them as prescribed and when they say take the level of pain meds you need to manage your pain, do it. I got opiods and ibuprofen. If the pain is bad 5-7+ on the 1-10 scale take the stronger meds. Pain can slow healing by causing stress on the body.

Drains are a pain in the ass. Every hour pushing the hoses so they don't clog. Major drag but they are very important and if they get clogged it can cause issues

Sleeping sitting up, prepare for this. Lots of pillows or recliner or something. Practice for a week or more before surgery to get used to it.

Sleep as much as you need. Don't feel like you should stay awake or whatever because you are supposed to or it is day time or whatever. Listen to your body.

Drink lots and lots of fluids. You may think you are drinking enough but you probably aren't. The fluid in the drains and the medicines and peeing all the time and sweating from the tight wrap. You need to replace all of this fluid. I think I have been up around 80+ oz the past few days.

The month before and a month after surgery eat a high protein and higher calorie diet. It will help with surgery and recovery. You need the energy and the protein to recover.

Cut out added salt, caffiene, alcohol, and nicotine before surgery and during recovery. All of these can increase fluid retention, slow healing, or be dangerous with the meds.

Your chest will feel very strange. At first you can't feel anything and then the skin feels tight everywhere and still strange. The recovery process feels real weird. Your whole torso feels kind of bizarre and new.

Ask all the questions. No question is stupid. It's trauma to your body ask all the questions. YES all of them.

The tube (intubation) from surgery irritates the throat. Coughing from this sucks so damned much because of the binder and the chest tightness and what not. Find lozenges (Both cough drops and just candy) that you like. I say candy because too many cough drops can upset the stomach and you don't need that after anesthesia and with all the meds. Also get popsicles.

Take everything out of packages you can before surgery. They are damned hard to open. Those paper cartons holding the apple sauce and snapping apart pudding cups and pulling apart pill blister packs.. ugh I should have taken them apart before the surgery.

Scissors are your friend and every package is an enemy. Seriously, get a good pair of scissors for packaging.

Also, skip 2 liters of pop, gallon of milk, etc. They will be too heavy to pick up after surgery. You can be more independent if you get smaller size things.

Timers are your friend. All the phone timers forever. Also, handwritten or some other chart type to keep track of drain cleaning and taking meds. You will be sleepy and forgetful the first few days. Use other things to help you keep track.

Take stock of how your lights go on and off. Can you reach them while pretending you are a T-Rex. If not, especially ceiling fans and that, put long strings on the pulls so that you can operate them while you can't raise your arms.

Also check your doors to make sure they don't stick. You won't be able to tug hard on doors or drawers or whatever.

Get yourself some treats. Food related or clothing or whatever. Treats will help.

Before surgery plan out and prepare at least a week of meals. Be sure to include some that are easy on the stomach like crackers, rice and chicken, etc. Just in case you have stomach upset from the anesthesia or meds. Gentle foods include starches and chicken/tofu that is low fat and low spice so that it is gentle.

Soft fuzz free and easy to get on clothing is essential. I went out and got a couple of those shorts and button down shirt pajama sets. Life savers. Also, get a size or two bigger than usual to accommodate drains and padded bandages and things.

Strange pains, you will probably have them.

Be sure to do the arm exercises as directed by your surgeon and watch your shoulders hunching. The shoulder hunching is from the chest tightness but you don't want your back to start hurting. Try to sit up as straight as you can.

Pump action soap dispensers will be too hard to use the first few days.

Weeks before surgery, start teaching yourself how to do things without your arms; like standing up, getting into and out of bed, squatting, getting up from chairs, etc. Practice doing things with your elbows next to your chest like a t-rex; getting food and drinking, brushing teeth, taking meds, etc This will be very important

I am sure there are more but I thought some of you might benefit from the things I have learned so far from going through surgery.

#Mastectomy #Top Surgery #Trans #Transition #Tips

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fanwarriorfictions · 29 days

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Not Again - Part Twelve

Summary: Y/n is desperate to save her mate, they keep telling her he will be fine, but she knows something is wrong

Warnings: ANGSTY!!!! Madja is a good healer I swear, it’s solely for the plot

Series Masterlist

-Part Twelve-

Wake up, please wake up. Faint, desperate words in his mind. Not his shadows, the voice was female, with a soft, swirling accent like the mountain breeze running through his hair. There’s a feeling, like this female is everything, that he needs to get to her, to tell her something. Fight, Az, come back.

He tried, so hard, it hurt to much.

Mate, mate, mate.

The word beats in her head in time with his heart. She could feel it, beating in time with her own, across the bridge between their souls, the shadowy tether that she could feel like another limb connecting them.

Mate, mate, mate.

Azriel was her mate, this male, laying before her, thick bandages wrapped over the wound on his chest from the arrow he took because of her. Because of a broken goddess, because she knew the anger, the ferocity caused by a mate being hurt, would unlock that fire in Y/n, Mala’s own power, the only thing strong enough to finally kill her. Her mother had only a drop of it left, Y/n had inherited a deep well of it, deeper than she thought she had, a final gift from Mala.

Amren theorized that Deanna had opened the gate that brought Y/n to them. That she was trying to bring Y/n to whatever world she’d been trapped in, to use the power in her veins to gift her the death she desired, but something happened when the gate opened, the bond between her and Azriel had altered her course, had brought her to him. A gift from the Wyrd, to find her mate all the way across the stars.

Mate, mate, mate.

The gate Y/n had opened had been hijacked by Deanna before it could find Terrasen, and the goddess was able to take the Walking Dead and open her own gate. Amren assumed that, without Deanna’s interference, the gate would work as it should, that they would be able to try it again. She could go home now, could see her parents, her family, Terrasen.

Mate, mate, mate.

It had been nearly a week, since Deanna, since that arrow had pierced Azriel’s chest and she had felt that mating bond between them. Felt it thin as his heart slowed in his chest. It had felt like she was dying with him. A healer, Madja, had tried to lay her hands on him, Y/n had been so deep in a furious red haze that she almost burned the female alive. A red shield had surrounded her as Cassian had ripped her away, she’d almost killed him too, Madja had to heal the burns left on his arms. Feyre had been the one to finally calm her down, arms covered in cold water so she could hold onto Y/n’s scorching skin.

“He’s okay!” She had screamed, when the water had started to boil. “She’s healing him, Y/n look! It missed his heart, he’s okay!”

Y/n had watched the arrow clatter to the floor, the blood coating it, and the wound slowly stitching together beneath the healer’s hands. Feyre let her go, only when Y/n had gone practically limp in her arms. She’d crumbled to the floor, no longer supported by the High Lady, and she crawled towards him, laid down beside him, and pulled on that bond, refusing to let him go.

A week had passed, and she hadn’t attempted to open a gate, to go home, she’d barely even left his room. She couldn’t, not when he was still asleep, not when this bond in her chest was the only indication that he was still alive. Would she still feel it if she left? Will it feel like when he’d almost died, that thinning, that pain, that fear? The thought was so terrifying, so painful, she couldn’t even attempt it, wouldn’t step in that room that still smelled of his blood.

Wake up, shadowsinger, please.

He didn’t.

The inner court checked on her and Azriel periodically, rotating through, Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, Mor, Nesta, Elain, Lucien, over and over again. Even Amren had visited a few times, she’d been the one to finally drag her to the dining room to eat with the rest of the court.

“You can come back and wallow in your misery after you eat, girl.”

Amren didn’t practice kindness, not in the way many would. Forcing her out of that room, quite literally dragging her down the hall, was her form of being kind, of reaching out to make sure Y/n was okay. She wasn’t, she was far from okay, but she let the tiny female force her into her seat, met the concerned eyes of each of the court members, and ate whatever the house forced onto her plate.

“He’ll be okay,” Cassian says gently, his own voice weighed down by his concern for his brother, “Madja has healed worse injuries, he’s had worse.”

She didn’t want to know what those injuries were, “I know.”

“Y/n-“

“How long did you all know,” she cuts him off, looking between each of them, “That he and I were mates? I’m assuming you all know.”

A few of them had the decency to look ashamed. Feyre especially, who gives her mate a hard stare, no doubt speaking to him in his mind. By the way he winces, Y/n assumes it’s not a pleasant conversation.

“After the fight you two had,” Rhys starts, “I had Amren ask the Book of Breathings for more answers, she wrung the information out of it. I told Azriel what it had said, I left it to him on how to tell you.”

After their fight, when he’d disappeared for hours and hours, when she’d felt so lost and miserable, an echo of how he felt. He’d come back, had known exactly how awful she was feeling, called her a coward.

“I wanted to tell you,” Feyre says, glaring at her family around her, “I know how awful it is to be left in the dark-“

“He should have told me,” Y/n says, no heat, no anger, “Azriel should have told me.”

Cassian winces at the cold emptiness in her voice, “He wanted to, but he didn’t want to burden you with it, to hold you back from getting home.”

“He should have told me,” she says again, voice so cold, “He doesn’t get to call me a coward, while he was hiding this.”

“Y/n,” Mor’s gentle voice, “He didn’t want to hurt you.”

Of course he didn’t, that’s not why she was upset. She knew that Azriel cared about her, cared enough that he would suffer beneath the weight of this mating bond alone so she wouldn’t have to. He would take an arrow for her, again and again, and that was terrifying, that he would die for her without ever telling her why. That he would die and leave her behind knowing that she lost the mate she hadn’t even known she’d had.

Y/n stands, ignoring the pity in their eyes, the understanding in the eyes of the High Lady’s, the anger on her behalf from Nesta, the disappointment from Amren. She didn’t want any of it, any of them, she wanted her mother, her father, her family. More than anything, she wanted Azriel.

Days passed, Azriel kept sleeping. Something was wrong, so unbelievably wrong, he should have woken by now, he’d been asleep to long. Y/n couldn’t do anything, the panic pressing down like the mountain had crumbled around her, pinning her beneath the red stone. She yanked on that bond, begging and yelling for him to, wake up, wake up, please, Az, wake up.

Nothing, just that faint steady presence of his heartbeat, the bridge of shadows dark on his side like he couldn’t even dream in his sleep.

Madja looked him over, changing his bandages, she found nothing wrong, he just needed rest. That’s what they all kept telling her, he’ll be okay, Y/n, he needs to rest.

She wanted to scream, to burn the next fae that told her he was okay, he wasn’t, something was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Please, Azriel, I need you to wake up.

He wanted to tell her something, needed to tell her something. He tried so hard to wake, to reach for her, but he couldn’t.

I’m here, Princess. I’m here.

“Help,” she’s screaming, “Help, please! Cassian!”

Azriel’s body violently shakes beneath her hands, his skin hot and coated in sweat. She’d woken to his limbs colliding with her own, part of her had thought he’d woken up, but when she’d shot up, seen his eyes still closed, felt the intense pain coming from him down the bond, she screamed and screamed for help.

A seizure, he was having a seizure. She’d spent time in the southern continent, at the torre with her aunt. Learning the basics of healing because she was fascinated with it as a young teenager. There had been a man who was yelling for help, his wife had collapsed in the street and she was shaking. The healers had helped her, her aunt had described the situation as a seizure, told her what to do. She knew what to do, but in this moment she was panicking to much to do it.

The door slams open, Cassian running, dagger in hand, “Mother above.”

“Get the healer,” she screams, “Get Rhys, Feyre, anyone, please!”

That far away look in his eyes, “They’re on their way, just hold on.”

“Help me turn him on his side,” Y/n pleads, forcing herself to breathe, to do what her aunt had instructed her to do.

Cassian rushes to her, helping her haul his brother up and onto his side, “How long has he been like this?”

“I don’t know, a few minutes maybe,” she says, “Where’s Madja?”

“Almost here,” he answers, that look in his eye, “Rhys is flying them up now.”

Y/n gently holds Azriel, his shaking form beneath her palms, whispering down that shadowy bridge between them, You’re okay, it’s going to be okay, it’s okay.

She didn’t believe herself at all. Not even when the seizure subsided, not when Madja had arrived with a frantic Rhys in tow, not when she checked him over and found nothing outwardly wrong with him.

“All we can do is wait,” Madja says, laying a gentle hand on Y/n’s shoulder, before leaving with Rhys and Cassian.

She couldn’t wait anymore.

The room is pitch black, the moon and stars covered by clouds in the sky, the only light comes from the small candle in her hand. It still smells of his blood, the whole room reeks of it, his combining with her own.

The cut on her arm was a dull ache, barely noticeable beneath the pain and fear in her heart. Her blood was warm on her fingertips, she pressed them to the floor and drew, drew the symbols she’d memorized, drew the name she had learned as a child, one of many.

Her voice sounded hallow in her ears, the painful words tearing through her vocal chords. The blood turns green, casting the room in its sickly light. Her hands shook as she finished, wide eyes staring into the darkness.

“What is that?”

She almost sobs at the voice, at the woman who comes into view, peering into the gate. The only person she could think of that would know what to do, to save him.

“Yrene,” her voice broke as the woman’s eyes landed on her, “I need your help.”

“Oh gods,” her aunt sobs loudly, “Y/n, my darling girl where have you-“

The door behind her aunt flies open, a man as familiar as her own father running through, sword raised to protect his wife, “What is it? What’s wrong-”

He spots the gate, sliding to a stop, “Y/n? My gods-“

“Please,” Y/n sobs, “I need help, please something is wrong, he won’t wake up, a seizure, he can’t, I can’t-“

“Y/n slow down,” Chaol lowers his sword, “Sweetheart breathe, calm down, who’s hurt, where are you?”

“Yrene please, he needs your help,” Y/n begs, she falls to her knees, her hands raised over her head, palms up, “Please, help him.”

There’s a shift in the air as Yrene steps through the gate, Y/n sobs when her aunt’s hands grasp her own. Yrene pulls Y/n to her feet, supporting her weight. Behind her, Chaol takes a step towards them but Yrene shakes her head.

“Get Aelin and Rowan,” she commands.

Chaol looks ready to argue, but a sharp look from his wife has him nodding once, “Be careful, my love”

“Where is he?”

Y/n runs, forcing herself to slow down, to keep pace with Yrene’s human form. She follows that bond, pulling on it, feeling the heartbeat on the other side and nothing more. It was like Azriel was barely there, blocked, hidden from her.

She felt then, a rumbling power, night kissed darkness. Rhys was coming, he’d felt the portal open no doubt, she didn’t care to stop, to explain to him what she had done. He could wait, Azriel couldn’t.

The door to his room is wide open, the house already knew what was happening, the room lit by fae lights. Yrene didn’t hesitate, just ran to the bed, to Azriel.

“What happened?”

It was a struggle to keep calm long enough to briefly describe what had happened, that he’d been shot in the chest by the goddess Deanna, that he’d been in a coma ever since. Yrene lays her hands over Azriel’s chest, faint warm light glowing from her palms. Her magic searching, washing over him and into that wound beneath his bandages.

“What is this?” That night kissed power explodes into the room, “Get your hands off my brother!”

Y/n throws herself in his path, a cold harsh wind blowing him back, “Rhys stop! She’s helping him, this is my aunt, I told you about her.”

“You opened a gate? Alone?” His voice is scathing, “What if something had happened again? You almost died last time! Damnit Y/n, you could have asked-”

“I needed to do something, I couldn’t keep waiting,” she snaps, her voice breaking, “Rhys I can’t- I can’t lose him.”

The anger in Rhys shatters, “I know, Y/n, I know, me too.”

“I don’t know what’s going on over there,” Yrene calls out, “But I could use some help.”

Y/n turns from Rhys, offering no translation, “What? what is it?”

“There’s something here,” Yrene says, hand hovering over the bandages, “Magic, it’s old, older than the valg. It feels similar though, to what was paralyzing your uncle, it’s attached to his heart.”

“What can I do?”

“Hold him down,” she says, “Get the angry one to help, this is probably going to hurt really bad.”

“Rhys,” Y/n throws over her shoulder, “Help me hold him down.”

The High Lord does without hesitation, “What’s wrong with him? What is she doing?”

Almost in response, Azriel screams. Arching off the bed, wings flaring beneath him, almost knocking Y/n over. Rhys throws his weight over his brothers kicking legs, using some of that power to restrain him. Y/n’s own wind holds Azriel down where she can’t reach, keeping his arm from swinging into Yrene.

His screams are so achingly painful, shouting down the bond between them, the first sign of him she’d had in nearly two weeks.

“You’re okay,” she shushes him, “It’s going to be okay. Just hold on.”

He screams and screams, tears streaming down his cheeks. Y/n can only hold on, can only cry with him. Every feeling is thrown down the bond, like it had been opened like a door between their minds, pain, fear, agony, Y/n could feel it all like it was her own chest, like it was being torn open, like her heart was being ripped out.

“I’ve almost got it,” her aunt says through clenched teeth, “Just a little while longer.”

Hold on, just hold on. She hopes he can hear her, he only screams in response. Roaring loud enough to shake the mountain beneath them. She screams with him, her already hoarse voice shattering, she could taste blood on her tongue.

A bright silver light shines through Yrene’s warm healing glow. It nearly blinds Y/n, she has to squint to see what it even was. Slowly pulling it from Azriel’s chest, it looked almost like a worm made of moon fire, writhing inside a bubble of Yrene’s magic.

Azriel slumps to the bed, breathing hard and fast, his eyes do not open. Y/n collapses against him, cradling his head to her chest, her fingers running through his hair.

“What is that?”

She looks up at Rhys, “One last fuck you from Deanna.”

The magic reeks of the goddess, a shred of her left in it, mocking, laughing. Y/n holds out her hand, and her aunt wordlessly drops the silver thing into her hand. It writhes in her palm, she glares at it, at the final shred of the wretched goddess.

“Go to Hel,” she spits, and her palm lights in the deepest, hottest blue flame, until there’s nothing left.

Wake, wake up, here, she’s here, wake up, tell her, wake up! The voices hurt his head, adding to the pain that radiates through his whole body. It hurt, his head, his chest, his heart, it all hurt.

He couldn’t force his eyes to open, so he relies on his other senses. He was laying down, surrounded by soft pillows and blankets, warm. From the scent surrounding him, he was in his own room, but there was another scent, pine and snow and embers, home. It clung to the pillows beside him, he wants to turn his face into it and inhale deeply. He tries, but the motion causes his already aching head to scream in pain.

“Az?”

That voice, soft and swirling air, the northern breeze that caught in his wings and lifted him high into the sky. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, her voice, the one he’d heard in his dreams, the one begging him to wake. He had to tell her something, desperately needed to tell her.

“Princess-“ he coughs, his throat felt like sand paper, felt like he had been screaming.

“Here,” she says.

He feels the bed dip beside him, something cold presses to his lips, water. The cold liquid slides over his tongue soothing the pain in his throat. He drinks deeply for several seconds, groaning when she takes the glass away.

“You’ll make yourself sick,” she chides.

He wanted to open his eyes, to see her, to tell her everything, “Princess, I-“

Her hand in his, so right, so perfect, “I know, shadowsinger, I know.”

Azriel finally forces his eyes open, the sunlight shines through the open curtains, settling over her like a blanket of gold. Beautiful, so achingly beautiful. He could feel her, that tether of shadow more like a solid bridge between them.

“You know,” he breathes, “How-“

“You should have told me,” she stops him, her hand shaking in his palm, “Gods, Az, you should have told me. Instead, I watched an arrow go into your chest, I felt you dying on the other side of the bond.”

The words send a shock of pain through his chest, like that arrow was finding home in his heart once again. It echoes the pain she felt, still feels.

“It felt like I was dying with you,” she says, her eyes burning with lingering rage, “I killed her. I didn’t think, couldn’t, I felt that bond in my chest, knew that you were my mate, and she had tried to take you from me. I burned her to nothing but ash.”

Azriel could only stare at the female, she had killed a goddess, an ancient terrible creature, for him. His mate, his viscous warrior of a mate, gods killer.

“You should have told me,” she repeats again, and Azriel can feel the anger and the fear she feels, “You almost died, and I- I didn’t- I couldn’t- You“

“I’m sorry.” The broken words tear into his heart, “I’m so sorry, Princess.”

“I know,” she takes a deep breath, “I know why you hid it, I understand that, I just- I almost lost you before I’d even known I had you.”

Her face falls, looking down at the hands in her lap that fidget with the loose black fabric. Night court black, it almost seemed like mourning black to Azriel.

“Hey.” It takes more effort than he’s willing to admit to lift his scarred hand to her cheek, turning her face back to him, “I’m okay, you still have me, if you still want me.”

Her eyes are lined with silver tears as she nods once, a simple gesture that breaks and rebuilds every part of his soul. He didn’t need some big mating ceremony, didn’t need a party, didn’t need her to offer him food, just that nod, that simple yes, was more than enough.

Despite the pain, Azriel sits up, cradling her face in the palm of his hand, marveling at the sight of her wide eyes, no cold, no heat, just full of wonder. A single tear runs down her cheek and Azriel leans in, kissing away the drop.

“You’re my mate,” he whispers against her skin, it feels like a weight lifting off his shoulders, off his heart, “Mine.”

She pulls back, just enough to look into his eyes and say, “And you are mine.”

Azriel runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek, “My beautiful, wonderful, vicious mate.”

She smiles and he could fall apart completely. He looks down at those lips, soft and sweet, and Azriel kisses his mate, and for once in his life, everything felt right.

Y/n had been the first to pull away from the kiss, so achingly gentle, “You must be starving.”

Azriel’s eyes were firmly locked on her lips as he said, “Yes I am.”

Every instinct in him was roaring to keep kissing her, to do more than that. His mate, gods this was his mate.

“You’ve been asleep for nearly two weeks, you need to eat.”

That gets his attention, his dark brows furrowed, “Two weeks?”

“The others are waiting in the dining room,” she says gently, “We can wait, we’ll go whenever you’re ready, but your family is desperate to see you.”

He’d been asleep for two weeks, they’d be beside themselves with worry, his brothers especially. There’s two voices in his head, one begging to see them, one that remembers that they’d also seen that arrow go into his chest, had watched as he nearly died. The other voice begs him to stay, to lay this female down and claim her in every way he could, his mate.

“You’re still recovering,” Y/n says, hand coming up to rest on the bandages over his chest, “Eat first, see your family. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yet. That unspoken word, she wasn’t going anywhere yet. He wonders if she heard it too, wonders if she could feel his heart squeeze painfully in his chest.

Azriel wants to scream, instead he swallows it down and says, “Food first then.”

Y/n smiles and Azriel memorizes the image of her, tucks it away for later, ignoring the feeling of sand trickling down an hour glass, like their time was running out.

“Here, let me help.” She stands, grabbing a shirt from the wardrobe.

Azriel throws the covers off, feeling the sore and stiff muscles throughout his body. He forces himself through it, to lift his arms as she pulls the shirt over his head, to breathe as her hands button the shirt beneath his wings. Each step he takes feels like fire lancing through him, he doesn’t wince, doesn’t complain, only holds onto her hand as she guides them through the halls closer and closer to his family.

“Hold on.” He stops, pulling on her hand just before they turn that final corner, “Give me a second.”

Worried eyes, searching him head to toe, “What is it? What’s wrong? Do you need to sit down?”

Azriel smiles, “I’m alright, Princess.”

“What-“

He doesn’t give her the chance to finish her sentence, his arms wrapping around her waist and tugging her to his chest. The smallest gasp leaves her lips and he breathes it in as his lips find hers. He needed one more kiss, to steady himself, to prepare himself for the overbearing love and care from his family.

Y/n holds tightly to his shirt, “Az.”

He squeezes her hips, his name on her tongue was one of his favorite sounds. He hums against her lips, memorizing the feel of this too.

“Az I need to tell you-“

It could wait, everything could wait. He needed her now, who knew how much time he had left with her. He kisses her like he was trying to steal the air from her lungs, so entwined with her, with the feeling of her mouth, of her hands, of her body, his defenses down. Not even his shadows warned him.

A blade pressed between his shoulders, between his wings, the sharp tip digging in just enough to sting, and a lethally calm voice, “I recommend you take your hands off my daughter.”

Tag list

@inloveallthetime , @microwaveallthedemons , @nayaniasworld , @thecraziestcrayon , @fightmedraco , @blackgirlmagicforever , @nikt-wazny-y , @fangirlloza010 , @thisiskaylin , @wolfgirl624 , @khaleesihavilliard , @fluffy-bnny , @mariahoedt , @durgenyx , @glitterypirateduck , @byyalady , @amberlynn98 , @ferrarisbitch , @a-cup-of-nightshade , @breella , @hnnybee0 , @superspideyparker , @that-one-little-soybean , @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife , @websterss , @sassybluebird , @fakesocialmediaa , @balsalmic-vinegar , @lees-chaotic-brain , @yashiw , @a-mexican-waffle , @thefairlyaveragegatsby , @tele86 , @emidpsandia , @nickishadow139 , @basicwhiterat , @namelesssreaderrr , @feyres-fireheart , @some-person-somewhere , @flowersinvegas

#a little shorter but whatever #I desperately want to write the next part #it didn’t fit in with this one #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar x reader #rowaelin daughter #rowaelin #not again

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minhyungsluvr · 4 months

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MARK + 00' LINE | FIGHTS WITH THEM

a/n: would you believe this has been in the drafts for a year now!!! The dialogue kicked my ass, but alas I prevailed

MARK: NOT TAKING CARE OF HIMSELF

He had texted you, saying it was another late practice. For the past week he had left earlier in the morning, and came back late at night barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to slip into bed beside you. You had brought it up before, or tried to, and he brushed you off. Saying it was apart of his job, he doesn't need a break, he feels fine. You not even sure if he's eating properly. The final straw was when he came home late again, this time you were away waiting on him. Like clock work, he comes through the door sluggishly. Movements slow, eyes heavy from lack of sleep. It almost pained you to bring it up now when the last thing he probably wanted was to hear you fuss over him again. But if you didn't bring it up now, then would you be able to again. "Mark, this really isn't healthy. You're not sleeping, I'm not sure your even eating meals. I'm sure you can afford a couple of days to relax." You spoke softly, hoping that keeping your voice soft would slim the chances of a fight starting. That didn't work. "Baby..." he started with a sigh. " I really don't want get into this tonight, I'm tired" he said as he walked past you to get to the bedroom. You followed him, still trying to make your point. "I'm not trying to nag or anything, but I just want you to start taking better care of yourself". He's still not listening to you, he to busy chaning into his pajamas. "Are you listening to me", you ask, now feeling frustrated. "I am, and I mean it when I say I'm fine. So can you please drop it so we cam go sleep." He turns to you as he speaks, waiting for you to say something else before moving. You nod once, "okay, fine." You slip under the covers, back towards him, you don't say goodnight and neither does he.

RENJUN: NOT WANTING TO MEET YOUR FRIENDS

Renjun was your first serious relationship, and you had hoped he'd be your last. He was everything you could ask for in a boyfriend. He was caring, you had similar interests, and be made time for you despite his busy schedule. You've met a lot of the members of his group, you loved their dynamic. The way they were like family, how they were able to joke with each other like brothers. Your relationship was moving beautifully, until you invited him to brunch with some of your friends. When you asked, he Immediately froze up. Stumbling over his words to give you a quick, barely thought out excuse of why he would be busy during that time. You asked him again a week later, this time it was bowling. And again, he suddenly had to go do something with his members that he just thought about. It had been a month of bad excuses and dodging ever attempt at trying to meet your friends. They were starting to think you were making it up. It came to the point where you had to confront his about it. On a day where he was most definitely not bust you asked him again, "do you want to come with me a few friends for lunch"? You could feel him tense from his position on you as you both were stretched across the couch. "Ummm....." he started, beginning to sit up. "Why don't you want to meet my friends? I've met yours, and it was a lot of them." You spoke, exasperated. He starts looked around, like he's trying to find another excuse. "Stop" You saying, now also sitting up, "be honest with me Renjun. Why do you keep lying?" He hears your voice wobble, see your eyes get glossy. "I just don't understand, I've told how important my friends are to me and you won't even try to meet them." He's quick to console you as a tesr finally makes its way down your cheek. "It's not that I don't want to, I'm just nervous. I know how much they mean to you, and-" You cut him off, " I really like Renjun, and for us to get build our relationship your going to have to meet the important people in my life like I've met yours." You had taken his hand in yours, giving reassuring squeezes every now and then as he let your words sink in.

HEACHAN: DOESN'T TAKE YOU SERIOUSLY

This problem has been festering for a minute, and it’s probably your fault the situation is as big as it is. You should’ve brought it up when it was only a small issue, not when you came home from work later than usual with an attitude because your boss is a jerk. All you wanted was to come home to a clean and quiet home, instead you walk through the door to hear your boyfriend yelling through from the bedroom. All the dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, including the ones from the morning that you asked him to clean before you got home. When you walked in the room to ask him about the mess that was your kitchen, you didn’t want it to turn into a fight. It started with you asking him why he didn’t wash the dishes like you asked, especially since he was home all day. Then it ended with you accusing him of never taking you seriously. “What do you mean I don’t take you seriously?” he asked, no longer shouting. “I mean exactly what I said, you don’t take me seriously. When I tell you something you only joke about it.” The frustration was on your face and his as you started listing instances where he turned what you were feeling or what you said into a joke. Hot tears welled up in your eyes as you kept talking, anger building up from the long day you had and the argument you were having with Haechan. Seeing your face, how tired you looked, he calmed down. “Gorgeous, why have you never brought this up earlier?” You shrugged,feeling all the fight leave at his quiet tone. "Look, I promise to start listening better if start telling me how your feeling before it blows up." He stands in front of you, head tilting down to meet your teary eyes. He's only given a single nod, but the small, barely there smile on your face tells him everything will be alright.

JENO: FORGETTING IMPORTANT DATES

It's embarrassing, humiliating! You sit alone, at a table for two, in a restaurant with fancy lights, all by yourself. Looks of pity are being thrown from across the restaurant as you check the time of your phone for the fourt time that minute. Nope, still no text from Jeno. No text saying he's late, no text telling you why he hadn't shown up yet, not even a text to cancel. You could feel your face heat up as other couples walked past to get to their tables. Finally you gave up, you've waited thirty minutes too long. Walking out the restaurant, you call him, eager to see what held him up. "Hello" he answers on the first ring, "y/n..... are you there"? You had froze, he didn't show up to dinner because he was sleep! Not because he was in some life threatening situation. After the last time he had missed a date, he promised that he wouldn't miss another. Or at the very least let you know ahead of time why he couldn't come. You held the phone for another second before answering. "Did you forget about out plans" you ask. You hear him cuss quietly on the phone, before there is a rustling sound. Probably him fighting with his sheets to get out the bed. "I'm so sorry", he starts, "tell me where you are and I'll meet you there, ok sweetheart." He throws the pet name on at the end, knowing what it does to you. But it doesn't have the same effect this time. "Don't worry about it Jeno, I'm going home." You hung up before he was able to answer. He wasted no time calling you back while getting dressed, each called went ignored and only fueled him to move faster to meet you. By the time he showed up at your door, all his calls and texts still went unanswered. He could only hope you'd answer the door so he could try and make it right.

JAEMIN: NOT MAKING TIME FOR YOU

Of course you knew how busy he was before you even started dating. But if he was able to make time for you when you were just friends, you assumed that wouldn't change when he became your boyfriend. You'd spend weekends together watching romcoms, going out to eat, and now your lucky if you see him at least once a month. At first you blamed it on comeback season. Then of course there was the tour. But now he was back, and the most he done is respond to your texts telling you he's made it back home, or to laugh at a meme you've sent. You'd ask if he was free one day to come over, to hang out, he says he can't because he's playing games with Jeno. A new movie with your favorite actress just came out, and he can't see it with you because he's already getting lunch with the members. This goes on for a while, you trying to set dates up and him declining because he already has plans. You and your relationship have been pushed aside for a while, and you were sick of it. You called him on night, to ask him when he'd be free next. "I'm not really sure, I was going to spend some time just relaxing." Normally, he would've invited you over, but your not sure whats going on with him now. "Jaemin, are you tired of me?" He makes a noise of surprise over the phone, "What makes you say that, you know I'm crazy about you". You sigh, "It's like you don't want to be around me anymore. You're always busy, but not to busy for everyone else." It's a hot minute before he answers, "I didn't realize I was making you feel like that, I didn't even realize I was pulling away from you". "I understand that your busy, but I don't know...." you trail off. "No, I get it, I do. And I'm sorry", he says, "I just need to find balance is all. But don't think you're not important to me". His reassuring words bring a smile back to your face, "so are you going to be free soon" you ask hoping his answer would be different from earlier.

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ronwestbreeze · 1 year

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too fast

pairing: miguel o'hara x spider!fem!reader warnings: more angst summary: he should've stopped you... word count: 2.4k author's note: this will be the last installment! since we don't know what happens after atsv we're gonna leave it here for now! thanks for giving too slow so much and i hope you enjoy part 2!

part 1

If Miguel O’Hara had to guess, it all started going downhill when you accidentally discovered that your sister was going to die. It wasn’t supposed to happen, you finding out. Like everything else in a Spider person’s life, it was a canon event that was bound to happen, a significant event that would truly make you who you were now. The White Spider. An event that would happen naturally, like all tragic ones do.

Because the truth was, they happen. And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

That’s what Miguel tried to tell you. That if you tried to interfere, then your dimension would unravel just as his did. He didn’t want that for you. Couldn’t want that for you. There were worse fates and that was one of them.

But of course, you were determined.

“Don’t tell me to stand by and let it happen, Miguel, all because of some stupid canon shit. Don’t tell me that.” You gritted out as you stalked down the hall, him right behind you.

“I am, Domino.” Miguel argued desperately. “I am telling you not to endanger your dimension over something that is supposed to happen. I am doing this to protect you—“

You whirled around on him, causing Miguel to stop short in front of you, “This is your way of protecting me? By telling me to stand by and let my sister die all because of some computer program?! Be fucking for real, Miguel!”

“Yes, because I know the dangers of what’s going to happen if you—”

“No, Miguel, no you don’t.” It hurt, your words. You knew what he had gone through, what he had lost. But you were too stubborn. He knew this. “I’m gonna try. Because that’s what we do. We try even if the odds are against us. That’s what all this shit that happened to me has led up to, right? Why stop now?”

It wasn’t like Miles Morales. No, this was before he learned that there were more forceful ways to stop something like this from happening.

He should’ve stopped you.

But things just fell apart too fast for him to keep up in the end.

Miguel practically dove through the portal to your dimension with Jessica and a few other Spider-men at his side. The crisis was a disaster. The Brooklyn Bridge was halfway in the water, cars either destroyed or hanging by black webs made by you. Immediately, Miguel and the others played damage control. There was yet another villain that had escaped their world and fell into another. This time it was a Green Goblin. One large enough to do this much damage.

It didn’t take long for Miguel to spot your white suit swinging about frantically, your head turning quickly every second. Which meant he had arrived just in time to stop you from making the biggest mistake you could’ve ever made for yourself and your universe. Miguel kept his eyes glued to you while leading people to safety. Until he spotted your sister’s car being thrown up in the air, quickly being caught by your black webs.

You were at the top of the bridge, trying to convince your sister to calm down, revealing your identity to her. Miguel landed on top of the bridge, you sent him a scowl and raised your hand, “Don’t!”

“You know what will happen, Domino.” He tried warning you. “One life or an entire universe? Over other families? Other brothers and sisters? What then?!”

You ignored him and shot a web down to your sister to grab onto. “If I don’t do this, then I will never forgive myself. I’m not like you, Miguel.” You looked at him pleadingly, desperately. “I can’t—”

The green hulking figure hurtled right into you, taking both you and Miguel off guard.

Your grip on your sister slipped but she was able to grab onto another web and hold on while you were preoccupied with the Green Goblin. A wave of rage—fear?—hit Miguel as he dashed toward the ugly beast, using his whole weight to throw it off of you and tackled it down to the ground.

“You don’t get to touch her!” He growled, pounding the goblin’s face until it was finally unconscious.

The bridge began to fall. Jessica began ordering every spider person around to quickly gather all the civilians left on the bridge. The top of the bridge where your sister was hanging began to crumble and Miguel watched as you swung back toward her.

He should’ve stopped this long before. He shouldn’t have let it get this far.

You were already dashing across the top of the bridge, Miguel had ended up behind you in seconds. You glanced over your shoulder at him, “Miguel, don’t!”

But he ignored you and shot his scarlet webs toward your figure. But of course, you were quicker than him, You always were.

His webs had missed. The web holding your sister up snapped. She was falling.

And you had dived after her.

Miguel leaped off the bridge, shot a thick web toward you and above him. In seconds the fall had stopped. You were now hanging and attached to Miguel’s web while the other half of his web kept him attached to what was left of part of the bridge.

But your webs had already been released.

You had already caught her.

No. No. No. No. No.

You had been too fast for him.

When the adrenalin cooled down a bit, you shot your head up at him, the angered glare evident on your face, “Were you really about to fucking stop me?!”

Instead of acknowledging your anger, Miguel shot back, “Do you realize what you’ve done?!”

“I saved my sister!”

“You’ve given your universe a death sentence!” Miguel shouted. “Why do you have to be so fucking selfish?!”

“Selfish?!” You snapped. Now you were quite pissed. Truly, he had never seen you this angry before now. He supposed that it made sense that it would be him to cause this. There had been many close calls. Now, it was different. You couldn’t keep your resolve. “I didn’t invade another universe and replace a girl’s father! Did you ever think that your situation was different?! Did you ever think that what you did was a lot worse than me saving my sister?! You can’t project your problems onto me, Miguel. It’s not the same and you know it—”

“Did it ever occur to you that I did this because I love you?” Miguel hissed. “Did it ever occur to you that I couldn’t bear to watch you lose everything over the same mistake I made?! Did it, Domino? Did you ever stop and think—”

“Wait.” He realized then that you weren’t looking at him anymore. Instead you were looking down. At the end of your web. “If I screwed everything up, then how come my dimension isn’t unraveling?”

The way you asked this, the way you posed the question made him go silent for a moment. Because he just then realized things weren’t changing. Other than the chaos that was happening around them already, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. No holes in the dimension. Nothing disappearing.

“I….” Miguel looked back to you, “I….M-Miguel I saved her, didn’t I?”

He still couldn’t respond.

You reached your web up and tied it to Miguel’s wrist before snapping his web attached to you apart.

“Domino—”

But he watched you fall toward the bottom.

It didn’t take him long to get there too. It didn’t take him long to see the limp body attached to the end of your web. It didn’t take him long to realize that your universe wouldn’t unravel any time soon.

Your sister was dead. Just like it was supposed to….

This was supposed to be better. This was supposed to be what kept you and your universe safe.

Miguel O’Hara always made the tough calls. The decisions that no one else could.

So why did it feel like the dimension was tearing itself apart in front of his eyes? Why did it feel like you were going to disappear at any second? Why did it feel like he had already lost you even though you were right there.

He did. He lost you.

You slipped from his fingers so fast…

“Is this what you wanted?” A weak whisper left your lips, your back still turned to him.

There were no words he could say that could fix any of it.

Miguel removed his mask, so that you could see his face. So that you could see how sincere he was. Only for you to see. Only you mattered in that moment.

“Sometimes you can’t stop what’s meant to happen.” When you glanced over your shoulder at him, when you looked at him through glassy eyes—your mask now gone—it made the words a lot harder to force out, “I never wanted any of this. Not like this…”

Jessica and the others arrived but didn’t say anything. Jessica had been one of the people on Miguel’s side about the whole ordeal, but even she was smart enough not to say anything. You were already hurting too much.

You glared at him through the water falling from your eyes, you glared at Jessica, you glared at all of them.

“Well, congratulations.”

“Y/N…” Jessica tried, only she went silent when she noticed your sister’s body limp behind you. There was nothing to be said.

You tore off your bracelet and threw it at Miguel’s feet. “You saved the canon, O’Hara. You should be proud.”

After that, you stopped coming to HQ. Except for that one time when you announced you were quitting the society for good. After that he stopped seeing the White Spider swinging around your dimension and stopping bad guys. The only time he saw you don your suit was to fight a new villain called the Electro. After that, he hadn’t seen you in the newspapers nor social media ever again.

This wasn’t something he really didn’t see coming. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure if the canon knew this was what exactly would happen after your sister’s death. That you would just stop being the White Spider. That you would give it all up.

Fuck. Of course this would be the last straw. He knew you. He met your sister multiple times.

You weren’t like Miguel. You would not bounce back easily. That was never you.

He should’ve stopped it. He shouldn’t have let it get that far…

The fight on the train didn’t last for long. Like you had said beforehand, you hadn’t planned on fighting him. Only keeping him at bay so that Miles was given time to go back to his dimension. So you had gotten your licks in, getting to kick your man’s ass was something so refreshing and should’ve happened sooner if you were being honest.

You landed a few kicks at Miguel—his waist, face, and legs—before he grabbed you and threw you off the train. But you fell gracefully, knowing that you had done your part. So you entered your data into your bracelet, a portal appearing behind you.

“He’s just a kid, Miguel.” You called.

The last thing you saw was Miguel, an unreadable expression on his face as you disappeared through the portal.

Gwen had recruited you to help Miles a couple hours after you had gotten back to your dimension. Apparently, he had been sent to the wrong Earth so now it was your job to track him down and help him complete his goal. Helping him succeed at something that you couldn’t.

So before you started this long fight, the long journey ahead, you went to your sister’s grave. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were here. After the funeral, you weren’t sure you even came here alone yourself. Just to see her.

It hurt too much before. It only just kept reminding you how much you failed. Why you stopped being the White Spider. Why your relationship with Miguel could never quite be the same.

Your spine shuddered and you turned your head slightly away from your sister’s grave. “It’s kind of insensitive to do a sneak attack when I’m visiting my sister, O’Hara.”

Behind you, Miguel stood a little further away. His mask was off. You didn’t move from your sister’s grave and he didn’t move from where he stood. The two of you took to staring at each other for a long moment.

Since it didn’t seem like he was going to say anything first, you sighed, “Don’t act so surprised. I thought you knew me better than that—”

“I thought I did too.” Miguel scowled, though the harshness was mixed with something looser. Something that would’ve made you crumble on the spot.

You cleared away some of the dead rose petals from the last bouquet of flowers that were left here, “Is that what you came here for? To berate me into changing my mind? I’m convinced already—”

“I’m not here to convince you. How can I do that when you won’t listen to reason?” Miguel hissed. “If you are willing to die over this, destroy another universe, then…” You looked at him fully then. Perhaps you were too far away to see, perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn his eyes were red. Not from his unique abilities.

The emotion in his eyes, god you wanted to look away. You didn’t want your resolve to fail again. Not this time.

This time was too important.

“Then what?” You asked him quietly.

Miguel never responded to your question. He ducked his head down for a moment. The words that left his mouth almost barely audible. “How many times will I have to lose you, Domino? How many times will you leave me?”

You stood and slowly inched toward the man. Cautiously, you gently grabbed his face once you were close enough and leaned your forehead against his. Your thumb caressed his cheek. His larger hands wrapped around you until his face is buried into your neck, practically inhaling your scent.

God, it was always like this. One moment you were in each other’s arms and in the next throwing each other off of trains or running until neither of you could run anymore. Moments like this, the gentle, the quiet. It never lasted.

In the next moment Miguel wasn’t in your arms anymore. You weren’t on your Earth anymore. Now you were flying about in search for Miles, hoping to find him before Miguel and his gang did. You were never sure when the two of you would ever find that semblance of peace again. Those moments were gone in seconds and you were back to the real world. That’s how your cycle went.

That was your canon.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara one shot #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara across the spider verse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv #atsv #marvel #jessica drew #hobie brown #gwen stacy #peter b parker #mayday parker

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1800jjbarnes · 7 months

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◇ 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟏 : 𝐁𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐱 - 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 ◇

A Ride To Last A Lifetime

【Synopsis】 : Bucky had begged for weeks for you to go for a ride with him... Cavinging in, you finally realize how pleasurable it is to ride his bike.

『W.C』 : 939

-> Genre: Suggestive, Fluff.

Paring: Boyfriend!Bucky x Girlfriend!Reader

[Warnings] : Edging. Swearing. Pet names. Mention sex. Cheeky Bucky.

Masterlist | Kinktober List

He would never pressure you, but oh did he beg. Just one ride… one ride with him to see the city at night. He had been so excited to finally get a motorbike, and he desperately needed you to celebrate with him. Which of course required you to get on the thing. And it wasn’t like you hated bikes or anything. You were just… scared.

“Come on, Baby, just one ride, please.” He whispered in your ear while you were trying to do the dishes. His hot breath tickles your ear. You swear it sounds a lot more sinister when he had to practically moan in your ear for ‘one ride.’ God, can he make you frustrated, and after a few more nags and groans, you gave in and agreed. And oh, to see his face light up the way it did again would bring you so much joy. Because at the end of the day, even though you were terrified of these types of vehicles, he loved them. So you agreed for him, and the bright smile and passionate kiss he gave you in return was certainly payment enough.

“Okay, so you’ll get on first and sit on the back here.” He helped you guide yourself onto the beast. You were shaking like a leaf while trying to get your leg over, but once you were on, you could try and slow your heart by focusing on your breathing. “Are you sure you’re okay with this doll?”

Even though he begged for who knows how long now, he didn’t want to do something that made you uncomfortable. He was a loving partner in that aspect, always putting your needs first. “I’m okay, just hurry and get one.” You wanted him on quickly so you could wrap yourself around him. And surely, as he mounts the bike, your arms immediately find their place, hugging Bucky's waist.

Bucky did one last check of your gear and helmets before finally turning the bike on. The roar of the engine sent shock waves through your body. Were these things always this loud? He walked the bike out of the garage slowly, watching you through his mirrors to make sure you were still okay with the situation. And once he made sure you weren’t showing any signs of uncomfortableness, he picked up the feet and turned onto the street.

Your grip tightened, keeping your eyes closed for the moment. The wind began to whistle around you and the street lamps were painting your closed lids every time you passed one. Bucky was careful in picking a perfect route so he could show you the beauty of riding on a bike so late at night. And once he got onto a longer stretch of road, he got faster. You finally opened your eyes and what you were greeted with was none other than magical. The city lights seem brighter, everything was clearer. You felt a sense of power shiver down your spine. Then Bucky revved the engine.

“Ah…” You didn’t mean to gasp, but since you were sitting so forward you were able to feel the vibrations through your core. Your nails dug into Buck's leather jacket and you begged silently he couldn’t tell you were practically being stimulated by his bike. It felt so good, leaning more into his body you angled yourself without even thinking, feeling the low hum against your clit. You needed more. It was so bad, your heart racing every time you came to a stop light and once it turned green and he sped up quickly that was when the engine roared more, gifting you with a delicious rumble against your core. Fuck you couldn’t handle it, and Bucky caught on quickly. The frantic fingers playing with his leather or the way he could feel you slightly hump the seat. His smirk only grew.

He knew what he was doing.

He turned down a long dirt road he’d been on at least four times a week since getting his bike, he knew this would be a perfect place to play around with his revs. Switching gears he swore he could slightly hear your whines every now and then. You were so close, just needed a little more and with his last big jump of speed you gasped feeling yourself get to the edge. And then stop.

“Fuck..” You choked, rubbing your helmet against your lover's back feeling as if you were about to cry. And when you noticed the engine being switched off followed by a low chuckle you felt your cheeks go red. Did this fucker really just edge you with his fucking motorbike!? You wanted to scream in frustration and hit him for being mean. But when he took his helmet off and only the light from the large moon clearing your view your anger was switched into hunger, need.

“So what you think ‘bout the bike doll face?” His deep voice cooed at you, with a big grin painting his beautiful features. He helped you get your helmet off and once it was undone you jumped on him. Luckily he had put the stand down on the bike cause neither of you were paying attention to it as your lips found his desperately.

“I…” Your tongue slipped into his mouth “…Fucking…” You both dance your tongues around one another “..Love it.” You moaned as he bit down on your lip suckling the flesh against his teeth before letting it go with a pop.

“I’m glad.” Was all he replied before placing his lips back on yours.

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iamnotokaythx · 11 months

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part 2 to the miguel fic. its rly terrible and not finished but i need to get this out or ill never finish it

tw: miguel is delusional, mentions of his past, not native spanish so i used spanisdict, none of this is thought out nor proofread and i am so burnt out that none of the plot is comprehensive

“hello?” you mutter. the couch you’ve been draped over feels gross. the room is hot and your skin sticks to the material. leather? maybe faux leather. you push the thoughts away—what you’re more concerned about is where you are.

“y/n! dios mio, okay, good, you’re awake!” miguel rushes in breathlessly from the other room and sits on the floor in front of you. “i always get so… so scared when i use the venom on you. i don’t know what i’d do if you didn’t wake up. i mean, it’s already been two days, if you didn’t wake up soon i’d probably have—“ he rambled before stopping abruptly. “…i’m glad i didn’t hurt you.”

you’re not quite sure how to respond. you try to kick your feet to sit up, but your ankles are stiff. realizing how your skin feels, you realize your feet are tied together with the futuristic cuffs he’d only threatened you with before.

“did you cuff me? what the fuck?”

“i-i didn’t want to! you left me no choice.”

“you have plenty of choice! choose to let me go. i want to go home.”

“i can’t do that. you could get hurt! your dimension could collapse, a villain might kill you, or you might die from a mugging. i can’t let you go.” he’s explained his reasons a million times over. his gaze is pleading for you to understand, to forgive him.

“as opposed to your venom? i think i’d rather take a bullet than that ‘slow and painful death,’ but i’d honestly rather have the venom than spend another year of my life with you.”

you know you shouldn’t have said that. you can practically see his heart shatter at your words. miguel’s eyes widen and he blinks rapidly. tears are threatening to spill from his eyes. he swallows and stands up. a shaky smile pulls itself onto his lips.

“you were just angry. it’s okay. you didn’t mean it. it’s okay. you still love me, right? you—“ his voice breaks. “you love me! you do.” tears prick his eyes and he paces back and forth. “you love me!” he shouts. “say it. say you love me.” he whispers as he suddenly lunges himself towards the couch and gets in front of you on his knees. he sinks his hands onto your thighs, begging you to just please say those three minuscule words.

“miguel, i—“ you used something other than a nickname, it was the first time in a while.

“no—no, no, no, no, no. just say it.” he murmured.

you stay silent.

“you don’t even have to mean it. just say it, okay? …y/n?”

“…okay. sure. i love you.” you decide to appease him because he gets awfully clingy when he’s upset and that’s something you’d rather not deal with. “just tell me where we are.”

miguel’s head shot up. he exhaled in relief.

“we’re in a safe house. nueva york is miles away. it’s-it’s okay, don’t worry, i’ve spent a lot of time and money on this. you’re really gonna like it here. i was planning on moving us out here for a long while, but your little outing was the push i needed.”

“…why do you bother keeping me prisoner? what’s in it for you?” you decide to ask.

miguel’s hopeful smile dropped. “um, i love you. isn’t that enough? i know that the whole ‘permanent house arrest’ is a little too far… but given enough time you’ll be able to earn back my trust. we can go back to nueva york after a while, if you want.”

“is LYLA at least installed in the house?”

“…yes? why?”

“so i have someone to talk to.”

“you have me, cariño.”

“…so i have someone to talk to when you’re not at work.” you correct yourself.

“oh. okay, that’s understandable.” he said absently. he shook his head and flashed a smile. “do you want me to cook you anything?”

“sure.” you reply simply. “i don’t care what.”

“right, you must be starving. it’s okay, i’ll make a little of everything.” he kissed your forehead and stood up, hurrying to what could only be assumed was the kitchen. he hums a song you were able to recognize while he turns the stovetop on and you hear the sound of food cooking. awkwardly, you shamble to a sitting position.

“miguel?”

no reply.

“miguel, can you hear me?”

was he doing that petty bullshit again?

“miggy.” you call out unenthusiastically.

“sí, mi querido?”

“turn the cuffs off.”

“sure thing, amor.” the cuffs on your ankles opened and you stretched uncomfortably.

“i would rather you use my name.”

“it’s just a nickname. would you rather i call you ‘darling’ or ‘dear’ or something?”

“i would rather you call me y/n.”

“you know i can’t do that. you’re my partner. maybe even spouse if we get the chance. i could never just call you y/n!” you can tell he’s smiling from the tone of his voice.

“we aren’t dating.”

“yes we are!” he laughs enthusiastically. “why else do you call me all those cute nicknames? i mean, my favorite’s definitely ‘baby,’ but every time i talk to you you call me some kinda nickname.”

“i called you ‘baby’ when we’d date. and i call you nicknames because you ignore me otherwise.” you correct him this time.

“hm. so we are dating!”

“is that seriously what you got out of this goddamn conversation? no. we aren’t dating.”

“of course, my love. hey, let’s not argue, hm? agree to disagree?”

you sigh in annoyance and stand up from the leather couch. it’s the only leather furniture item, as far as you can tell. the bottom floor seems to be rather big, very well decorated.

some of your favorite flowers are withering in a glass vase. miguel never cut the stems and the water hasn’t been changed in a while.

there’s a large living room, the kitchen, a bathroom, a dining room, and a library/pool table room. on the upper floor, there’s a master bedroom with a balcony that overlooks a lake, a master bathroom, 2 guest bedrooms, and a nondescript closet.

outside is a small flower garden and a lake, as well as a large shed. the entire house is surrounded by trees and there aren’t any obvious paths back to civilization.

“miguel! am i allowed to go outside?”

you look back and see he’s out of the kitchen, walking towards you. when he meets your gaze he paused and you turn back to the window. you feel miguel step closer to you and place his hands lightly on your hips.

“y/n. you know about… my wife. and my daughter. i want another chance with you. i… want you… to want a chance with me.”

…way to completely miss the question.

“get a different me. from some other dimension. one where i’m so terribly lonely that i would fall for everything you say.”

“that’s not funny.”

“it’s hilarious.”

you hear him sigh.

“i love you. i know that you’ll love me back eventually.”

“i did love you, miguel—and quit that petty nickname shit, by the way—i loved you way before you kidnapped me. i don’t know if i can ever think of you as anything other than my captor, at this point.”

“no. don’t say that. you still love me.” he insisted softly. he must be seriously delusional. “it’s been two fucking days of you just… lying there! motionless! i thought i hurt you. i did hurt you. i need to make it up to you—but do you know how scary that was? to see you still and pale on the couch? i can’t do that again. please, just play nice, okay?” his back was tensed and he was blinking back tears again. he must be in a very fragile state, killing his wife and daughter accidentally and then almost killing his partner on purpose.

“fine, we can talk about this later. can i please go outside… baby?” you spit the pet name out like it’s poison. a smile quirks up from under his tear-filled eyes.

“yeah. i planted all of it just for you.” he promised, wiping his eyes and then taking you by the hand and leading you to the backdoor.

—

part 3 coming never probably god i hate everything /hsrs

i am just rly bad at continuing things ok :(

#yandere miguel o’hara x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #x male reader #x dom male reader #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #yandere miguel o’hara x gn reader #tw yandere #miguel o’hara x male reader #miguel o’hara x reader #x masc reader #yandere miguel x reader #male reader

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chichiscloset · 3 months

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WHAT IS THIS SEASON OF LIFE TRYING TO TEACH YOU?

When you’re in pursuit of the life of your dreams along the journey there will be many seasons. Some seasons will be triumphant and you’ll feel like anything is possible, while others will be so difficult you’ll be unsure how you’re even going to make it through this season of life.

I want you ladies to remember, and as a reminder to myself as well, that the only constant in life is change. When change comes are you able to withstand the turbulence of life while remaining faithful and focused? And when things are great can you show gratitude for all that you prayed for and received?

“To whom much is given, much will be required”

I love that quote! It’s a reminder that if you want a lot you have to go through a lot. The best things in life are found through effort and experience. I know the “soft life” has convinced us all that being a “bad bitch” is enough to achieve the life of your dreams. However, in reality, that’s not all it takes! The life of your dreams doesn’t just appear! It is a treasure, and like a treasure, a hunt is required because you only find what you seek!

God/the universe, whatever you believe in, is always guiding you to become your best self. Let life mold into what you need to become, so that you can receive the desires of your heart. There is a lesson to learn in every season, and it’s your job to have enough wisdom to let life be your teacher.

At the end of the day, as much as we all want to, there is no avoiding the process or the discomfort that different season bring. If you are not already born into money you’re going to have to figure out how to get everything you dream of. Which means, you’ll have to go through some thangs!

How to embrace each session if your life?

I. PRAY

Pray, pray, pray.

Seriously! Without getting too religious, prayer works! Plenty of the darkest seasons of my life required a crap ton of prayer to get through the days. You have to remember nothing is happening to you, and everything is happening for you. You are where you are because that’s where you’re supposed to be. Trust that God has a plan, and it’s more beautiful than anything you could imagine.

Pray for guidance, pray for clarity, and pray for wisdom. Prayer has a way of providing calm in the midst of a storm.

II. SLOW DOWN

Take a moment to reflect on everything that lead you to where you are today.

Realize that some days will be productive, while others will feel like you aren’t doing hardly enough. We are all human, and growth is never linear. If you’re always moving and doing it’s hard to hear your intuition. It’s ok to slow down and listen to what the universe is trying to tell you.

III.FIND A NEW PART OF YOU TO EXPLORE

As humans we’re always evolving. We change the way we dress, the activities we enjoy, who/how we like to spend our time, and everything in between.

As you enter a new season of being take the time to reflect on what’s changing about yourself. Is it a change you like? Are you regressing? Take the time to explore and get to know this new version of yourself. Be curious without being judgemental.

IV. PRACTICE GRATITUDE

Practicing gratitude is the quickest way to call more good into your life. By being thankful for the good things in your life, no matter how big or small they may be it allows you to focus on the positive aspects of your life and acknowledge the good things that have come your way.

Some ways to practice gratitude include keeping a gratitude journal and expressing gratitude to others, taking time to appreciate nature, and focusing on the present moment. By practicing gratitude regularly, you can improve your overall well-being and increase your happiness, and better weather any season in your life.

Ultimately, accepting the changes and transitions that come with different stages of life, whether they be joyful or challenging. It means acknowledging that life is a journey with ups and downs, and learning to appreciate each moment for what it is. By embracing the seasons of life, we can grow, learn, and become more resilient individuals.

Until we talk again ❤️

Chichi

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tsimvkas · 2 months

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A/N: i wrote a sentimental blurb about mase’s goal already but i think we deserve a smutty blurb for such a special moment. there’s no plot so keep in mind it’s literally just sex :)

You’ve been waiting an entire day for your man to get home. This is the worst part of away games — you need to wait so many hours to see him, kiss him and tell him how good he was.

But this time, it was practically torture. Seeing Mason scoring his first goal, doing your favourite celebration of his, sticking his tongue out.

As if it wasn’t enough, your boyfriend had to give his shirt to a fan, showing you his chest compressed by the tight tank top underneath. And of course he had to throw his head up during the post match interview, the way he likes to do when you’re straddling him.

Obviously, you texted him the whole night, anxious for him to come home. You’re not proud to think about the context of your texts, but what can you say? You were blind by desire.

When Mason finally got home you were still sleeping, so he quickly changed his clothes and tucked himself in bed, humming in content when he was finally able to cuddle you.

He wasn’t able to nap much though, as your half awake mind started to rock your bum against his hips.

Mason squeezed your waist, trying to keep his groans in. He knows pretty well that you often dream with him when you go to bed too worked up, and he just saw how worked up you were last night.

He hugged you tighter, brushing his nose against your neck.

“Are you good, babe?” he murmured gently, kissing the spot behind your ear. “Everything’s good?”

“Yeah, I just missed you” you turned around to watch him, and his chocolate eyes made your legs feel all wobbly.

“I’ve missed you too princess, but you should go back to sleep” he smiled before checking the hour. “It’s only 7am”

You kissed his chin, feeling warm and settled. “Are you tired?”

“A little bit, yeah” he confessed, and you locked your gaze on his. You know what he wants — you just felt it against you, but you also knows he doesn’t have the energy to do it.

“Would you let me take care of you?” you gently scratched his stubble.

By the look on his face you knew he was about to tell you that you didn’t need to, that he wanted you to rest and that he could wait, so you brushed your lips against his and started a slow kiss, keeping it soft until his hands slipped to grab your ass and you let a moan escape.

Mason took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth, deliciously slotting it against yours, and you bite his lower lip softly before pulling apart for air.

“Will you let me take care of you now?” you asked again, hands slightly pulling his hair.

Your boy nodded, tucking your hair behind your ear before leaning in for another kiss. You didn’t lose time, your hand roaming through his bare chest whilst your kiss became hotter and needier.

It didn’t take you long to reach the waistband of his sleep shorts, sticking your hand to grop his bulge. Mason whined, and you instantly knew that you were right — he needed to be taken care of, a special type of attention.

Without waiting any more, you pulled down his underwear and took him in your hand, smiling when a tired moan fell from his lips.

“I’m so proud of you” you murmured, kissing Mason’s chin and smiling to the sound of him panting beneath you.

“Yeah- I can feel how proud you are” he groaned. “But if you keep squeezing me like this I’ll cum embarrassingly fast”

“Like what?” you teased, brushing your thumb over his tip before squeezing his length again. “Oh, like that?”

“Y/N…” he whined, head hitting the pillow.

“What if I want you to cum fast? So I can make you cum again. And again” you murmured, your lips brushing his whilst you gave him sloppy kisses in the middle of your sentence. “What if I want to end you tonight?”

Mason slightly choked with surprise and you could feel the effect your words had on him, his member now even harder and heavier on your hand.

“Babe-” he whined, tightening his grip on your waist. “God, please. Do whatever you want. I’ll be a good boy, yeah? I’ll come how many times you want me to”

“I know you will” you kissed his chin before forcing him to lay on his back so you could do your job easier. “You’re always a good boy for me, aren’t you? So gentle and caring. Always the one taking care of everything”

You know how much Mason loves your praises, and the way his tummy’s muscles contracted told you what you needed to know.

“Let it go for me, baby. Show me how badly you like it when I touch you, yeah?”

You kept your pace, stroking him like you know he loves, watching his face when he came. You love how Mason will always throw his head back when he’s cumming, how his hips will slightly buck forward trying to chase the pleasure, how his hands will grip the sheets — or even better, your hair.

You didn’t move your hand away, slowly stroking him through his high and after it.

Mason hissed with the sensibility, but you brushed kisses all over his face, telling him how much you love him.

In a matter of seconds, your boyfriend was hard again on your hand and soon he was whining and groaning one more time.

When you finally made your way down and helped him get rid of his shorts and boxer, Mason was already growing impatiently.

“Babe, please” he moaned when you kissed one of his thighs, your breath hitting his tip torturously.

“Look at you, whining and begging” you giggled, taking him in your hand again. “Where’s the man who scored last night? All furious and energetic. Where’s your leader instinct, bubba?”

“Y/N- please, please. Do you need me to beg more? Cos I’ll do it. I’ll beg it, baby. You have no idea how much I want you right now- oh”

You giggled with your lips around his tip, which made Mason moan again. You love how he becomes more vocal when he’s tired and sensitive, and the little sounds will just slip.

Since the second orgasm it’s harder to build, you started softly and calm, just tasting him. Brushing your tongue over his tip, licking his length, slightly sucking.

It was only when his hands finally found their way to your hair that you started applying more pressure on your lips, taking him deeper on your throat.

It took him less than you thought it would to cum again, and Mason groaned and you swallowed and made your way up to give him a kiss.

“So you think you got another one or I drained you already?” you gently asked, straddling him.

“I think that what I think doesn’t matter” he murmured, hand on your waist already encouraging you to move. “But if you ask me again, I think you should fuck yourself on top of me”

You went to bed last night only wearing one of his shirts and your panties, panties that are now incredibly soaked after all of Mason’s groans and moans, and the wet material made it even easier for you to feel his length against your core.

“Just keep lying down” you asked him, a hand on his shoulder so you raise your hips and put your panties to the side before going down again.

“I wouldn’t be able to move not even if I wanted, baby” he chuckled, and you giggled with him before both moaned with the skin contact. “And I don’t want to”

You rocked your hips carefully, knowing by his face that he was even more sensitive than the second time, but slowly his pouty face became cloudy and hazy.

You kept the slow pace even when he was totally hard again, enjoying the feeling of rubbing your clit against his length. Mason tried to guide your movements and make you go faster, but you only had to give him a look to make his hands fall to the sheets again.

“If I had the strength- God” he rolled his eyes. “I’ll payback, you know?”

“Oh, you’re pissed off you can’t control my pace?” you leaned down to kiss his face, and the new angle made you moan.

“Stop torturing us both, yeah?” he cupped your face, kissing you slowly and deep.

You got on your knees and raised your hips again, using your hand to guide him where you wanted, slowly getting down on his cock.

Mason looked at you with hazy eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips while he watched you bouncing back on top of him. In order to help him build another orgasm, something that should be a bit harder, you described your feelings, always telling him how good he makes you feel.

Even though it took him a while more than his normal to feel his muscles contracting and that feeling on his tummy, it was still fast. Hearing your little and low moans helped a lot, he’d say.

When you put your hands on his knees and stretched your body backwards, Mason gave you a long and low moan, the hottest noise you’ve ever heard from him, and shut his eyes close.

Instantly connecting his thumb with your clit, he started to rub it the way he knows it makes you cum faster, and soon you were clenching around him whilst your climax took over you.

Your orgasm triggered his, and after being guided through it Mason just melted against the sheets, closing his eyes trying to breath.

“Wow” he shyly sighed, laying on top of you when you joined him and relaxing his shoulders.

“Do you like just laying down whilst I do the work, uh? Lazy” you teased, poking his waist.

“What can I say? I’m always so tired when I get back from a game that we know I often don’t have the energy to do what I want with you” he murmured, tucking his neck in your neck. “So yeah, I liked how you took control. You can take control more often”

You kissed his head to show him it was okay.

“Score next game and we’ll see” you giggled.

“If I was you, I’d start to plan what you’ll do to me. Cos I am scoring next game” Mason brushed his lips against your neck, and you could feel his stubble tickling you as well.

“Great. Handcuffs would look good on you, bae” you laughed before gently pulling his body away and getting on your feet to grab what you needed to clean him, so he could sleep a bit more.

#✧･ﾟ: *✧ tsimvkas — works #mason mount fanfic #mason mount smut #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #mason mount fics #mason mount x you

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