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redeyerhaenyra · 18 days

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Divine Hammer

Summary: You bring up something new to Simon. He's more enthusiastic than you expected.

Warnings: What else but smut, HEAVY UK slang usage (me and si come from the same area of England our slang is v similar) Simon slaps reader once, fem reader, oral(f), fingering in BOTH holes, pussy juice as lube, anal duh, simons fat cock, sprinkling of a size kink, mean Simon, kitchen sex mmm, no beta we die like soap (sorry), lmk if I missed anything!

Notes: Listen the taboo of anal just gets me going alright , also this has been in my drafts since JAN 9TH help

Wc: 2.5k

Simon's stare was unnerving. Well, it was always unnerving, to a degree. But he found ways to utilise it. Deadpan humour, emphasising points of conversation, scaring away would-be hookups from you in the pub. But here, it was unnerving in a whole other way.

It felt… intrusive.

Simon stared at you like he could see through your clothes, your body, into your mind to expose your deepest darkest fantasies. You squirmed under his penetrating gaze, tugging at the hem of your jumper.

After a little while of silence, you shook your head, scoffing at yourself;

“-No, nevermind um.. I'm.. s-sorry that was weird-” “Didn’ say tha’ ”

You gulped, gaze nervously fixed to the floor. Simon was still. Staring. At you. Never before had you felt so exposed, too embarrassed and, if you were honest, a little scared to look at your boyfriend face-on.

“Was just wonderin’ since when my bird was such a slag.”

His baritone words rolled down your spine, sending sparks of a deep, taboo satisfaction through you. You whimpered, and hid your face in your hands.

“Don’ act like a prude love, we both heard what you wanted just now.” “I shouldn't have said anythinnnggg-”

Conceptually, anal had… a certain taboo charm to it. From your perspective at least. Sure, it wasn't technically the “right” hole… it wouldn't feel the same, but the idea had always fascinated you.. intruded your shadowed thoughts at night with your fingers rubbing your clit and edging nervously to an opening further on than your cunt.

So, gently, you'd broached the topic one time you were both in the kitchen together- thinking, in hindsight foolishly, that it'd be something he'd instantly dismiss, or at least… talk about later. In the bedroom. Not in the middle of the kitchen… but now here you stood, in the hole you'd dug for yourself;

“On the contrary, I'm relieved you've finally admitted it to yourself.” His footsteps were heavy against the floorboards as he approached you. Confused, you peeked out of the gaps between your fingers to look at him;

“W-what?” “Don't be fuckin’ coy w'me love.” Simon towered over you, cadging you next to the kitchen side.

“Always suspected there was some depraved shit up here, yeah?” He poked your temple with his index finger, “Turns out my intuitions were correct then?”

“T-thats not-” “Oh yes it is sweet’art.” Simon's eyes grew more intense by the second, even more than before- you struggled to even picture them in your mind for fear of his retribution.

“Ay- fuckin’ look at me when I'm talking to ya.”

He could have been a lot harsher with the small smack he delivered to your cheek, but that knowledge did nothing to dull the pain, and your eyes watered a little at the sensation. He grabbed your cheeks between his fingers, squishing them till you pouted and shaking your head lightly, as if to keep hold of your attention.

As if you could look anywhere else…

Forced to return his ferocious gaze, you crumbled, knees bucking like a fawn under you- Simon grabbed you and roughly hauled you back up, manhandling you to bend over the kitchen counter. You allowed him to, biting your lip in an attempt to muffle your unintentional sounds of appreciation.

It earned you a harsh smack to your rear, and Simon's big paw of a hand tugging your hair. He leaned over you, “ ‘M not ‘avin any of tha’ yeah? You're not gonna be hidin’ how much of a slut you are from me anymore sweet'art.”

The juxtaposition of his words and the way he sweetly kissed your temple after he said them was almost comical. The grip on your hair disappeared, replaced with firm and consistent pulling at your clothes until you shuffled out of them- Simon wasted no time running his warm hands up and down your body, rumbling out various admirations of your physical form.

He slunk down your body, nipping and pressing hot, open mouthed kisses down your back, and then to each of your cheeks, all the way down to your pussy. Earlier on, when you'd ridden yourself of your panties, Simon had laughed at how wet they were. “Already?” He'd asked, “Y'that turned on already? Whore. Like a bitch in heat f'me, ey?”

He had no further comments to mock you with, not now at least. He was busy approving of the view of your wet cunt in front of him- out of the corner of your eye you spied him nodding to himself as if he were appraising fine art.

You huffed, a little impatient, petulant you wiggled your bum at him- only all you got from him was another spank.

“Be patient.” He said curtly.

You whined, but otherwise did as you were told, meekly resigned to your fate as Simon's personal eye candy.

“Why ya’ into it then?” You made a noise of confusion, Simon huffed.

“This.”

One of hands had moved to idly grope and squish your bottom while he'd been down there, and now his thumb creeped ever so slowly over to press on your rim. You keened- suddenly understanding what he meant.

“Well?” His thumb pressed in deeper, you gasped- “I-i don't know!” “Hmmm…”

You could tell from his tone he didn't quite believe you. He kissed your cheek again.

“I'm sure I'll find out.”

With that said, his thumb remained almost gently rubbing at your hole, his free hand moving to pull his balaclava up over his nose- wasting no time in burying himself in your cunt. He sighed contentedly at the taste, smell, feel of you, lazily lapping at your cunny with his broad tongue. His thumb still rubbing you in slow circles, almost.. in a comforting manner.

There was no one more intimidating than Simon- at least out of all the people you've ever met, and yet here he was, eating your pussy like it was a home cooked, three-course meal. You looked over your shoulder, and bit your lip; The visual of big bad Simon Riley on his knees for you, make you shiver and clench.

Simon seemed to be secretly a telepath however, as the way he suddenly roughly pinched your clit between his index finger and thumb- tugging on it cruelly, came off as a punishment. You whined loudly, panting into the counter, drooling a little. Vaguely, you could hear Simon humming thoughtfully to himself. He released his hold on your poor clit, though quickly replaced it by rubbing small, soothing circles on it instead.

It quite quickly becomes a lot more intense, Simon grunting in approval as he plunges his thick tongue into your cunt. Your breathing is staggered, coming out in short, little huffs- you reach behind you to tug at Simon's head, shoving him closer. Again, he groans in appreciation, eagerly nuzzling between your thighs closer, the rhythm of his tongue and fingers rubbing at your clit increased a hundredfold;

Like lighting, your orgasm crashed through you, the noises that left your pussy- wet, squelching, the drip of your juices against the floor, should surely have had you feeling at least some shame, but no. You were too twitchy, too fucked stupid on Simon's tongue to care.

With much reluctantance, Simon hauled himself off of your puffy pussy. He'd gladly stay nestled between your kegs for the rest of him life, at least from further away, he could admire his work.

At this point, you thought perhaps he'd finally get to the meat of what you'd suggested.. Simon wasn't finished yet though- two of his deliciously thick fingers were swiftly shoved into your sopping pussy.

You cried out at the sudden penetration, shivering and trembling.

“What? ..silly cow.” Simon told you gruffly, somewhat annoyed that you'd dare disturb his probing at your cunt with your exclamation of surprise. You whined at his degradation, but were still coherent enough to recognise the underlying affection in his tone. Huffing, you leaned forward to lay your torso fully on the cold, sideboard. The cool temperature of the marble was sharp and sudden, but soon soft and gentle to your hot body, palliative to your hard, puffed up nipples.

He lazily pumped his fingers inside you for a few moments, before curling his fingers forward, dragging against that spongey spot deep within you, and eased his fingers out of you.

You were left huffing and panting like an animal into the counter- Simon had cupped his two fingers- the ones that was just inside of you- just under your clit.. then abruptly he slid them upwards, slowly, pressing down hard.

You squeaked, struggling not to quiver too hard. Simon's fingers kept creeping up and up and up, gliding firmly over your cunny, finally halting at your rim. The hot, wet sensation of Simon rubbing your own slick into your hole as lube had you trembling.

“How's tha?” You heard Simon mumble from behind you, his accent had gotten a little thicker. It always got thicker when he was “in the zone”.

“Oh.. uh..” Seemingly irked by your lack of response, your boyfriend slapped your clit harshly with the back of his hand.

“G-good!! It's good! Good!!” You choked, and whined again when you heard Simon chuckle lowly at you. He tapped his fingers twice on your hole- you nodded shyly at him;

Simon hummed, cautiously easing one of his broad fingers covered in your slick into your ass. The noise of utter debauched pleasure you let escape your throat was nothing compared to Simon's groan-

“Oh fuck that's tight..”

God it was, you felt how hard your greedy hole swallowed up his thick finger. You huffed and puffed- vainly attempting to breath consitently, but your body was too sensitive, muscles pulled too rigid inside you to keep your thoughts on one thing alone.

Simon was your rock, somewhere in the thousands of feelings inside you, was a certainty that he was holding back. Taking it slow, just for you.

You felt the hazey cloud of sex overwhelm you, rendering you more or less unable to speak, only babble incoherently into the counter, your pretty eyes filled with tears as Simon took his sweet, sweet time opening you up.

By comparison to how rough the pads of his digits were, they were remarkably soft with you, even as Simon squeezed one more of his fingers in you. You coughed and hiccups at the fullness of it.

“Tha's it.. good girl.. cmon.. open up luv.. there we go..”

You head him whisper, and you moaned impatiently. You wanted to politely express your readiness for his dick, but all the you were able to whine out was “C-cock-!”

Simon laughed, which was always a nice, comforting rumble. “I know sweet'art, gotta get you a little looser f'me first yeah?”

Even as you keened and begged, Simon would not budge. Occasionally, if he was feeling particularly mean in that moment, he'd flick your poor clit harshly, you'd squeal and twitch. This continued for a while, and by the time he deemed you “ready” you might have passed out, the electric fizzles of pleasure that sizzled between your legs kept you awake.

Simon could tell you were tired, he was gentle with the way he slipped his hand under you tummy to push your bum in the air, and tender with how he cradled your hip. Your clit was kindly soothed with slow, small circles rubbed in by his middle finger.

You sobbed into the side- “cock…” you babbled, sniffing and feeling sorry for yourself. You felt a kiss to the base of your neck;

“Mmmm.. I know baby, I know, m' so mean aren't I?”

Vaguely, you heard yourself murmuring in agreement. The metallic sound of Simon's belt loosening and then his zipper coming down had warm excitement flutter over your body.

You felt the heat of his dick before it even touched you, whimpering when it finally did. Simon rubbed his thick cock up and down the apex of your thighs, right up to hole and then back down to your clit. When you would whine at him, he'd hum right back.

God, he was so much bigger than you. He leant over you and covered your entire body with his bulk. You felt him throb at your rim. A kiss was levied at your neck- “Y’ready?” He asked, voice low, and you babbled back something that sounded like impatience. Simon chuckled and kissed your neck again, bracing one strong arm against the counter next to you.

All of a sudden he was inside you, not all the way but he was inside you and that's all you could think about. You gasped, inadvertently holding your breath and then once more remembering to breathe. Simon had stayed silent throughout this.. you reached backwards for him with one hand;

“Si?” “Y-yeah, yeah m’here, g’ve us a minute love-”

His voice came out ragged and shaky, and from the sounds of it he was doing the same forgetting-to-breath thing you were.

You both needed occasionally little breaks from him sliding his cock inside you this time, either of you would cum too quickly. But soon, all of him was pressed snugly inside you. You drooled on the counter and Simon's head had dropped to rest on your back, taking slow, steady breaths, grounding himself.

The both of you stayed like this for a while. It was almost peaceful. Soft. Till Simon decided he was fine to move and dragged his dick alllllllll the way back out and then in again in one thrust. It left you choked for breath, Simon too, he was more vocal this time than any other time you'd fucked.

Neither of you lasted long, specially not after your boyfriend had clasped his big paw of a hand under your leg, and lifted it up onto the counter next to you, an entirely new and more intimate angle. You were cumming before you even realised Simon had crept his hand down to pinch your clit. He was so mean about it too- that same hand then came up to shove to of his fingers into your mouth, creating a spit-slicked mess. And when he came it was an event:

He threw his head back and moaned more desperately than you'd ever heard from him before. The rhythmic squelch that narrated your encounter kept going even after he'd cum, if anything it was louder now. His and your cum dripping down out of you and puddling on the floor beneath you. Still, meekly, Simon kept thrusting into you, as if the orgasm was too good to end. Though finally it did, Simon's weight all but collapsing ontop of you.

You stayed like that for a while, still connected. Basking in your respective afterglows. Simon kissed your neck again and you croaked out a satisfied noise;

“Fun..” The man behind you laughed, “Yeah fun was it? Just fun eh? Just fun~?” Cruelly he reached under you to tickle your sides- you squealed; “More than f-fun!!” and that seemed to sate him, releasing you.

“Yeah, s’what I thought…..” He drummed his fingers on the counter..

“Bath?” “bath….”

#simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #ghost cod #codmw2 smut #cod mw2

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slytherinslut0 · 6 months

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MATHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Thirty--info:-You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

Tags: 18+, SMUT, PIV, Oral Sex (f rec), Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex, Praise Kink, Degradation, Morning Sex, Love-Making, ANGST! FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF.

Find the rest of the chapters HERE.

In the depths of the night, your dreams unfurled a complex tapestry of fears and uncertainties. The lucid scenes played out like a haunting ballet, shadows weaving intricate patterns on the canvas of your subconscious.

In the dream, Dumbledore's venerable voice resonated with a gravity that bespoke both wisdom and disappointment.

"You must confront your challenges…your fears, young witch," he intoned, his eyes reflecting not just understanding but a palpable disappointment, a profound sorrow in his gaze as the conversation switched, growing more grave. "I regret to inform you that there are no positions available for you. Not after your unprofessional behaviour.”

Flashes of disappointment intensified, drowning your lungs in its depth, Dumbledore's scrutiny cutting through the facades you had worked so hard to carefully construct for all those bloody months. Before you could process it, the dream seamlessly transitioned to a poignant future, your long-anticipated graduation day, where joy was now eclipsed by an unspoken sorrow.

Mattheo, a figure of proud accomplishment tainted by the weight of disappointment, stood before you. In this dream, your fingers intertwined for a final embrace, the unspoken acknowledgment of paths diverging echoing with heartbreak. The whispered goodbye carried the burden of reality, the truth of life pulling you apart, and a palpable pain radiated from Mattheo, his eyes mirroring the depth of his hurt.

And despite all of these emotions, in the dream, you struggled to admit the true extent of your pain. The reluctance to acknowledge the wounds, the fear that this love might crumble under the weight of your mistakes, lingered in the subtext. The dream became a harrowing journey through the corridors of vulnerability, where the echoes of disappointment and heartbreak were met with an internal struggle to confront and heal.

You found yourself standing at a crossroads, torn between the desire to fully embrace your love for this man, and the paralyzing fear of the inevitable heartbreak that loomed on the horizon, a shadow you knew was yet to follow.

As you jolted awake, the tendrils of the dream still lingering, you found yourself face to face with a peacefully sleeping Mattheo. The room unfolded around you with hushed tranquility--the black lake just beyond the window mirrored the early morning light, its rippling reflections casting intricate soft shadows across Mattheo's peaceful face. The dim lighting in the room whispered of the approaching dawn, a delicate glow that hinted at the promise of a new day.

His arms were securely wrapped around you, one hugging your waist, the other under your head--creating a cocoon of protective solace. His long lashes rested gently against his cheeks, and a cascade of messy curls adorned his forehead, adding a touch of vulnerability to his slumbering form.

Feeling the sting of your dream still lingering, you wiggled in his embrace, snuggling in closer to him.

The air held a serene stillness, interrupted only by the rhythmic cadence of Mattheo's breathing. The juxtaposition of the dream's emotional turbulence and the peaceful reality of the waking world blurred briefly as you took in the details--the soft hues of the room, the play of shadows on Mattheo's features, and the subtle acknowledgment of the early morning hour--all of them calming your anxiety within seconds.

Mattheo's lids fluttered open softly at your movements, his eyes dazed as he blinked away the remnants of sleep. His chocolate pools, catching the morning light, held a timeless warmth as they met yours. A gentle hum escaped his lips, and he inhaled a sharp breath as he instinctively pulled you closer.

"What's the matter, Raven?" Mattheo murmured, his lids fluttering back closed in a languid motion.

The deep rasp of his voice, raw with the remnants of sleep, sparked a warmth within you, like a comforting ember glowing softly. His words, spoken with a blend of curiosity and a touch of husky vulnerability, lingered in the quiet morning air, igniting tingles on your skin.

One of his hands, calloused and tender, glided lower to rest on your hip, the connection between you deepening as your legs became entangled in the quiet intimacy of the morning.

"Sorry for waking you," you whispered, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck. His hand, seemingly on a mindless journey, slithered around to rest gently on your lower back now. "It was just a bad dream."

"Who hurt you?" Mattheo mumbled in a groggy, raspy tone, his lids still resting closed. A completely serious expression adorned his face as he added, "give me a name and I'll strip the skin from their bones."

"Someone's definitely not a morning person," you quipped, a groggy chuckle seeping into his neck. A comforting warmth enveloped you as you teased, "Waking up ready for a battle, huh?"

He shifted, molding himself against you, and it was in that moment that you became aware of him, entirely--the firm press of his desire throbbing against your torso.

"Mm...I've certainly woken up with a fight in mind," Mattheo groggily purred, a trace of arrogance lingering in his tone. "But maybe not the one you're thinking about."

"Shit..." your thighs quivered, seeking friction, and with a sleepy smirk, you added, "no fight necessary, Matty...I was disarmed the second I heard that sexy morning voice of yours."

Mattheo's hand slipped lower, finding your ass and giving it a playful squeeze, his grip growing firmer with each passing moment. A husky groan escaped him as he throbbed against you, plush lips pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

"Not like you to surrender so easily," he teased, a shiver of anticipation dancing along your spine as he demanded, "tell me about the dream first."

You shifted, your hand tracing a deliberate path along the strong contours of his arm. With a tender yet purposeful motion, your fingers wove into his hair, entangling themselves in his tousled curls. His lashes responded like delicate butterflies, fluttering in rhythm with the shallow bursts of his chest as you tugged gently.

"It was nothing," your voice, a soft murmur, attempted to dismiss the weight of the dream. Coaxingly, your lips pressed kisses against his neck, their warmth acting as a soothing balm against his skin. "Just a stupid thing."

Your gentle murmur aimed to dissolve the tension, encouraging him to release the probing question that lingered in the tranquil, dawn-lit room, but of course, your efforts would prove futile.

"Clearly, it wasn't nothing." Mattheo's nails dug into the skin of your backside, his grip tightening with a fervor that bespoke an intense need. His body turned relentless, an urgency in his touch as if he needed you more than the very air he breathed. "If you don't tell me in five seconds, I'll deny you orgasms until you're in fucking tears, understand?"

Torn between a desire not to sound vulnerable and a plea for mercy, you instinctively tightened your grip on his hair. Your body flooded with warmth as you burrowed your head further against his neck, hiding your face from his view.

"It was about the future...about us," your voice was low, nearly inaudible. There was a long, silent pause before you spoke again. "I just...what do you want out of life after grad, Matty?"

In a sudden, swift movement, he flipped you onto your back. His strong fingers wrapped around both your wrists, holding them captive as he climbed over you. The weight of his body pressed against yours overwhelmed you with a clamouring lust, an undeniable force that spoke of desire and possession.

"What do I want?" he whispered, his dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that left little room for evasion. "Hm..."

Seemingly lost in thought, Mattheo leaned in, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against your cheek, a trail of warmth that heightened the tension between your bodies. His grip on your wrists tightened, a subtle yet commanding restraint as the proof of his desire pressed against your pelvis, fuelling flames that danced between your naked bodies.

"You know what I want, Raven?" As Mattheo mumbled against your neck, his curls gently tickling your cheek, your heart leapt with each syllable, your lids fluttering shut as you drowned beneath his warmth. "I want you to stop worrying so fucking much..."

Mattheo released your wrists, one hand finding purchase next to your head as the other threaded through your hair, softly soothing your scalp. Heat blossomed, blazing between your bodies as skin skimmed skin, and you writhed, wrapping your arms around him.

"I want you to stop doubting us....doubting me..." he mouthed wet, warm kisses at your throat. "But what I want...most of all...is just to be with you."

"But," you blushed, thighs buzzing with need. "What if we can't?"

Nipping your ear, he moved lower, hand leaving your hair to skate over your side, painting pleasure with his calloused palm as he went. He suckled at your clavicle, tracing a line to your sternum with his tongue--you whimpered.

"Then we'll find a way." He murmured, his breath washing warm over your skin. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Gripping your backside, he burned kisses between your breasts, briefly acknowledging them with a nuzzle before continuing--his mouth was tender and deliberate, as if you were parchment, as if you would tear under his touch. Amidst the caresses, a realization echoed within you--this man, once seemingly distant, had transformed before your eyes. The disbelief lingered, weaving through your internal thoughts as you grappled with the profound shift. His unwavering commitment, the assurance that he wasn't going anywhere, left you in uncharted emotional territory.

The conflicting currents of vulnerability and safety created a storm within. You still found yourself marvelling at how this man who was hardly a mere acquaintance at the beginning of the year, had now become a source of comfort, a haven within the unpredictable sea of emotions. It was a sensation wholly unfamiliar, yet undeniably welcomed--a delicate dance between disbelief and the profound realization that, in Mattheo's embrace, you had found a sanctuary, a place to be unapologetically yourself.

Tears brimmed, bliss buzzing. "Mattheo..."

Abruptly, he pulled back, his hand shifting from your backside and darting up to grip your jaw, his touch commanding yet tender. He met your eyes with an intensity that held a hint of vulnerability, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek.

"Do you understand me?" he asked, his voice a low, raspy murmur. His grip sought assurance, and he implored, "tell me you understand."

Your heart thundered. "It's just...we've said goodbye so many times before-"

Mattheo cut you off with a fervent shake of his head, his thumb continuing its gentle caress on your cheek.

"No more goodbyes, Raven," he declared, his voice resolute yet carrying a touch of tenderness. "We're not playing that game anymore--you think I could ever do this again? You think I could ever find another as maddeningly perfect as you are?..."

he paused, searching your eyes for a moment, before he finally whispered; "You have me...you're safe."

Your heart melted, and with that, he dipped low, his lips capturing yours in an instant. Out of pure joy, you sighed, surrendering to the warmth of the kiss, your eyelids fluttering closed, fingers delving deep into his hair.

A soft grunt escaped him, the kiss deepening, and he shifted his hand to cradle your head, pulling you closer. A contented whine escaped you, ecstasy radiating in your chest. In his embrace, you let go of tension, allowing the remnants of fear to disintegrate. You found solace in the trust that he would keep you safe, that you two would undoubtedly find a way to make things work.

"Nothing can change that," he mumbled against your lips, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks before he broke away again, kissing a steady path back down your neck. "I need you to get that through this beautiful, stubborn little head of yours."

A soft, breathy chuckle escaped you, your fingers slipping from his hair to gently trace mindless patterns on his back.

"Alright, alright," you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. "I'll work on getting that through my 'beautiful, stubborn little head’...but only if you promise to keep reminding me."

Mattheo's lips continued their journey, a purposeful exploration down your chest. Each kiss marked a steady descent, and as he ventured lower, the subtle tensing of his muscles hinted at the strength restrained beneath his touch. His messy curls framed his face like an untamed halo, and he pressed further with a playful smirk, an amused huff escaping him against your skin.

"Reminding you is the minimum," he replied, his voice carrying a promise wrapped in a husky tone. "I'll fucking drill it into your bones, princess--you're mine, I'm yours. Say it."

Your breath caught at the intensity in his words, and a shiver ran down your spine. Meeting his eyes, a mix of desire and vulnerability, you whispered, "I'm yours, Mattheo. And you're mine."

With a gentle hum, he trailed kisses over the curve of your belly, descending to the intimate swell between your thighs. Settling between your legs, his lips tenderly caressed your thighs, eliciting delightful squirms as waves of pleasure surged through your nerves.

"That's right, baby..." he cooed, kissing inward toward the crease of your thigh. "You will always be my first, last, and only love."

With a deliberate touch, he pressed his lips to your pussy, tentative at first, grazing once, twice, before lavishing it with a deep, voracious kiss. Your cry echoed in the room as his strong tongue slid through your slit, exploring your tender folds, a soft groan resonating in his chest. Mattheo maintained eye contact, locking his gaze with yours while he lavished your sex with his mouth. Blinking, you struggled to clear the foggy haze of nearly-untamed emotions that threatened to spill out, his words echoing in your mind like a tempest.

Your fingers curled in his hair. "Oh, fuck..."

You gasped for air, feeling the oxygen drain from the room. Tightening your grip on his head, your hips involuntarily twitched beneath him, the intensity of the moment leaving you breathless. Dizziness washed over you--the heady blend of infatuation and the surging pleasure left you gasping, bucking in the throes of desire. Cravings surged within, a hunger for more, a yearning for him that still caught you by surprise, even after all of this time.

"What else worries you," he murmured into your cunt, his warm breath turning the blood in your veins to pure magma. "What else are you afraid of."

A muted cry escaped your lips, and you swallowed against a tightening throat--Mattheo's kisses delicately navigated your slit, as though tending to the intangible wounds forged in the ebb and flow of your complex, on-and-off sexual intimacy over the past few months. Surprisingly, words flowed with ease, a spontaneous revelation of your soul, unshackled by the torrent of bliss coursing through your senses.

"I...I'm afraid..." you gasped, your eyes squeezing shut, your breath hitching as his murmurs sent shudders through your limbs. "Afraid of losing myself in this, in you," another gasp escaped, "and of not being able to find my way back."

Mattheo purred in praise, urging you to keep going, delving his tongue in between your folds, his tongue wet and strong as it slipped through your slit. There was a deliberate avoidance of your clit--which twitched and stiffened in ways it would only do for him--his mouth marking you in memory as he kissed you not only in desire, but in apology. In servitude.

"And the fear of...of needing you more than I should," you admitted through gasps, your vulnerability laid bare. "Of loving you so much that...that I might lose sight of my own path."

Licking lines through you, Mattheo purred again when he reached the top of your cunt, circling your clit with lavish, lingering kisses. You groaned, fingers coiling around his curls, your hips bucking, begging for him, for his release. But he was torturous--drawing his tongue between your slit until his nose grazed your clit, sparking pleasure, a moan catching deep in your throat. Humming with satisfaction, he rolled around it, and air fled you in wanton breaths while you tried in vain to grind onto his face, fighting his hold on you.

"And...ah," you stammered through gasps, your admission laden with a heavy truth, tears brimming in your eyes, promoting you to squeeze them shut. "Most of all...I'm...I'm afraid of losing you."

Finally, finally--he rewarded your patience and flicked your clit with his tongue, swirling it in saliva before taking it between his plush lips. You sobbed, tears spilling free, body thrashed with waves of ecstasy, and Mattheo moaned into you, his mouth hot and soft and working your clit as it throbbed and ached against him.

Laving at you, he sucked, hands stroking up your sides until he reached your breasts, palming at them, thumbs brushing your nipples. Your back arched in bliss, and you jerked his head into you--in response, he battered your nub with his tongue, suckling you faster, chasing your wriggling frame as you gyrated in rhythm, your chin dropping to your chest, body plunged in pleasure.

"Let go for me," Mattheo murmured, his hold on your hips tightening, his shoulders tensing. "I promise I'll catch you."

He drove his face into your cunt, sucking your clit past his teeth, beating it faster, groaning, bathing in your slick. You whined, twitched, moaned, and euphoria exploded over your skin--within seconds, you were erupting, cumming hard onto his tongue, clit pulsing in his lips, walls spasming at his chin. Mattheo sucked in a breath through his nose, swallowing your orgasm, laving you into oversensitivity as he sucked until you twitched in discomfort. When he finally released you; you collapsed, spent, sweat sticking to the sheets, still shivering with tears.

"Such a good girl for me..." Mattheo massaged your thighs, strong, warm grip kneading your buzzing skin--the tenderness in his gaze flushed you with heat, and you began to tremble. "Shh..."

You swallowed, lungs still finding their rhythm. Mattheo's hands moved with a gentle reassurance, caressing up your thighs and over your hips in a rhythmic dance. Simultaneously, his mouth began a wet trail of soft kisses, ascending with each delicate touch up your stomach.

"Your vulnerability is a fucking honour, my pretty girl," his warm breath interweaving with the intimate cadence of his movements. "Don't keep any of that inside, anymore...you can trust me with your fears...your worries..." the comforting strokes continued, a tactile promise as he whispered, "I'm more than willing to take the weight off your shoulders."

His lips found your skin in a tender embrace, and he hummed against your tingling flesh as he added, "I'm with you...I'll help you find your way, just as you helped me find mine..."

Your chest heaved with a mixture of pleasure and vulnerability. As Mattheo's words echoed in the air, you managed to rasp out, "I trust you," each syllable tinged with the raw honesty of your emotions. "I fucking love you."

His touch, both commanding and comforting, sent shivers through your trembling form, and the weight of your fears began to lift, replaced by the reassuring warmth of his presence. Mattheo's gaze held a depth of emotion as he absorbed your words. His hands, still moving with a gentle reassurance, tightened ever so slightly on your skin.

And then, he shifted, collapsing down on the sheets and slipping up beside you, guiding you to turn onto your side, facing away from him, his arms wrapping around your waist, his mouth teasingly ghosting against your ear.

In a husky whisper, he murmured, "I love you too, Raven, but you already knew that...didn't you?"

He was all-encompassing, warm and solid and strong, enfolding you in something you almost believed was invincibility.

You hummed, lids fluttering softly. "Of course I did, Matty.."

"That's right, baby," Mattheo tucked his knees behind yours, shifting your ass so it rested against his hips--like this, you felt his cock flatted between you, throbbing as you tweaked your position. "My beautiful little angel...all I want from life is to wake up like this every fucking morning...with you...wet and needy for me..."

As you whined, squirming against him, Mattheo leaned in, brushing his lips against the skin behind your ear. He trailed kisses and nibbles down your neck, making you dizzy with pleasure, his hands moving to cup your breasts, rubbing his thumbs against your already hard nipples. You let out a soft moan, eyes rolling as you arched your back into his touch.

"You're fucking perfect." The low thunder of his voice melted in your ears, and he murmured your name. "You want me to fuck that pretty pussy, hm?"

Your throat was tight, and instantly, you nodded. "Yes, Matty...please..."

"Mm." He hummed. "That's my good girl."

You shifted your head to the side until Mattheo's lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss, one of his hands moving to guide his throbbing length toward your core, groaning into your mouth as he entered you with an unhurried, deliberate thrust of his hips. The sensation of him filling you slowly, inch by tantalizing inch, elicited a chorus of whimpering and moaning, each one bringing forth a new wave of exquisite pleasure. As the kiss deepened and he skillfully rolled his hips, your body responded instinctively, arching into him, welcoming his intimate touch.

One arm held you securely against his chest, and the other shifted to your hair, the grip of his hand against your head both comforting and soothing, tracing calming strokes along your scalp. A fusion of bodies unfolded, your essence intertwining with his. The synchronized rhythm of your racing hearts echoed the now-openly spoken connection coursing through your veins.

Mattheo broke the kiss, pressing his forehead into yours. "You are the only one for me." He was seated inside of you, offering soft, gentle thrusts. "I knew it the second you saw the darkest parts of me...the fucking hell in my eyes and didn't even blink...when you told me it mirrored your own."

You whimpered, head spinning in a whirlwind of emotion, and he kissed your nose. "You've always been the woman whose words hang in my mind..." another kiss to your jaw. " ...the woman whose face I see before I sleep..." he confessed, snuffing a moan in his throat. " ...the woman who plagues me every moment I'm awake..."

Every single syllable from Mattheo's lips left you in utter disbelief, grappling with the unfathomable reality that had transpired within your life. Once entirely convinced that love was an unattainable concept, a realm you adamantly avoided, you now stood fully-drenched in the depth of a connection with a partner who defied every single living expectation. Mattheo Riddle, a man who should have been everything you steered clear of, turned out to be precisely what your heart craved--a revelation that shook the foundations of your entire understanding.

In the whirlwind of emotions, you found yourself astounded by the depth of this unexpected bond. He saw facets of your being that had remained veiled to others, unraveling layers of your soul with an understanding that transcended imagination. It was then that you realized, some hearts just understood each other, even in silence.

"You're relentless," his lips hovered mere millimetres from your ear as he intensified his pace, his fingers finding your clit. "You're maddeningly fucking beautiful." A forceful jolt from his hips, and you shattered, the pleasure overwhelming. "And you're the most insatiable, fierce little creature I've ever come across. You stirred me up without effort.”

Your voice was a whimper. "Mattheo..."

His embrace tightened around you, anchoring you as he thrust deeply, filling you completely. "Fuck-you're my good fucking slut...all fucking mine..." he groaned your name, sucking at your shoulder, tongue leaving hot lines on your neck. "This tight little cunt only stretches for me...those pretty lips only moan my fucking name..." his fingers whirled your clit. "I'll be dead before I allow that to change."

"Gods-" you choked, eyes squeezed shut, wetness damping your cheeks as you clutched onto his arm, revelling in every single inch that he was giving you, the pleasure from his fingers intoxicating your conscious. "Matt-fuck-oh...."

"Fuck--" a feral kiss bruised your lips, his cock splitting you with deep thrusts. "Such a good fucking slut...my good little cockslut, hm?"

"Yes-" you gasped, his fingers moving quicker. "Yes-yes!"

"That's it..." He muttered your name against your mouth. "Cum for me...let me feel how much you love this cock..." "

"Fuck-" one more breath, one more gasp, blink, moan, and you were there. "Fuck! Mattheo! Oh, Gods..."

Euphoria swept through you like a tempest, unraveling the seams of your sanity, and you shattered, convulsing with the overwhelming intensity of your climax. Your walls spasmed around his dick, milking him hard, and Mattheo held you, groaning and grunting into your mouth as he held off his peak for as long as he could, until it was too much and he surrendered--his lips working over yours as he came deep inside your heat, hips hitting your ass with every rush of rapture.

After what felt like minutes, he stalled, the aftershocks of bliss rippling through your bodies at once while you remained there catching breath, still connected.

Languid and sated, the two of you paused in a state of post-ecstasy bliss, your senses heightened in a way that defied fatigue. Mattheo, positioned behind you, had seemingly recuperated--his withdrawal from your cunt accompanied by a slow, deep guttural groan that reverberated through the aftermath. A sigh of relief escaped him, and you grinned, nestling against the contours of his body, not ready to leave the solace of his warmth.

The press of his lips against your temple held a silent reassurance, a whispered promise of care and comfort in the aftermath of shared passion.

Finally finding your voice, you could hardly articulate your thoughts, but one question lingered on the forefront, slipping past your teeth. "Where the fuck have you been, all this time..."

Mattheo hummed, placing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, nestling his face into your neck. "On my way here, Raven."

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giuliettagaltieri · 2 months

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Footsteps in the Snow

Pairing: Dad!Coriolanus Snow x Mom!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Heir

Warning: parenthood

Word Count: 3133

7 of 7

When one has everything, the only foe left to face seems to be nothing else but time.

Coriolanus watched his son Aurelius Hyperion, or Harper grow. The little boy seemed to become more and more like him with every passing day. And Coriolanus is conflicted about how he feels about that fact as it seems his son grows farther and farther away from him.

You often reassure him that it is simply a part of growing up, that children will have to learn how to become independent. It was easy for you to say. You did not have the same crisis as him.

Harper would seek your company and still cuddles close to you despite him being seven years older since you have given birth to him.

It wounds Coriolanus deeply when he catches Harper laughing with you but his back straightens and the glee in his face fades to indifference when he is nearby. Coriolanus found it difficult to bond with a child so similar to him.

Without you, he fears Harper would have long left the manor.

“Harper, is there something you would like to tell your father?” You ask over breakfast, your voice light and cheery, a juxtaposition to the frigid atmosphere.

Coriolanus sets the newspaper down to give his son his undivided attention. It was something you taught him. To make Harper feel seen and heard. And he is thankful that you initiated an interaction between them. They felt nothing more than strangers living under the same roof.

The little boy glances at his father before he sets his fork down and wipes his lips with the napkin. Coriolanus waits patiently as the boy sips his water and clears his throat. He is stalling but Coriolanus will not let him get away from this.

“Yes?” He asks when Harper chooses to fix his cravat instead of talking.

You smile at your son when he looks at you for support. ‘Go on.’ You mouth at him.

Harper straightens his back and meets his father’s gaze with his unwavering ones.

“I was the top of my class, father.” He says proudly. “I also just learned a new piece on the violin.”

Coriolanus smiles genuinely, proud of his little boy.

“That is good.”

Harper looks at his father with his eyes mirroring the same happiness and for just a moment they stare at each other. Coriolanus watches how his joy seeps out again.

Coriolanus receives a kick to his shin and he looks at you with accusation but you are too busy buttering your bread.

“I would love to hear you play.” He tries to add but Harper only nods. “What piece was it?”

Harper sighs and Coriolanus purses his lips. “Paganini’s 24th Caprice.”

You sip your tea, quietly enjoying the wonderstruck expression in your husband’s face before he recovers quickly.

“And what does Grandma’am have to say about that?” Coriolanus asks gently, a soft smile on his lips, one that Harper returns.

“She doesn’t know.” Harper said mischievously. Grandma’am would have pulled his ear had she known.

“Let us keep it that way.” Coriolanus nods as he picks his newspaper again. “But will you play for me when you find time?”

Harper glances at you before nodding.

“Harper is coming to work with us today.” You tell Coriolanus who looks at you with mild interest, to ensure that Harper does not take it negatively but he was in truth asking you what you are planning. Again.

“It has been quite a long time since his last visit.” You say after pushing a fruit parfait in your son’s direction.

“Indeed, it has.” Coriolanus agrees as he picks up where he left off in the newspaper.

Your son knew that something might be wrong when you were smiling too much the moment all three of you entered his father’s office. Coriolanus was fixing the documents in his desks when you sat on the plush sofa, your heavy belly more prominent. You would have gone to your own office usually.

Harper sits on the other sofa across you, watching how his little sister sent kicks through your belly, making the fabric shift ever so slightly.

“Oh, dear me!” You suddenly gasp and both boys look at you with concern. “Vipsania Sickle’s afternoon tea, it’s tomorrow.”

Coriolanus raises a brow. “She hosts afternoon tea all the time, my love. There is no need to trouble yourself.”

“But I do not have a dress.” You argue as you attempt to stand with great difficulty. “And she claims this afternoon tea will best the recent one the Flickermans hosted, and mind you, that was pretty eccentric.”

Harper stands abruptly when you get off the couch.

“Oh, no, Honey.” You smile at your sweet boy, your hand brushing his golden head to keep it neater. “I will have to go alone. I would not want to burden you with scanning for dresses the entire day.”

He looks desperately at you, turns his back to his father and mouths pleas but you only smile cheekily and kiss his nose.

“I will see you later. Have a great day with your father.” You pat his cheek lightly. Coriolanus comes to kiss you, although a frown is in his brows.

“Be careful, I already sent for the chauffeur.” He tells you and you nod.

Coriolanus and Harper stand side by side to watch you leave and when the door shuts, they remain standing there staring at the door. Eventually they glance at each other but Harper quickly evades his eyes and circles back to the sofa where you previously sat, missing you already.

“I promise I will not be a bother.” He tells his father who has his arms crossed in his chest, looking at the boy who grabbed a high-end real estate magazine.

“Thinking of buying a property?” Coriolanus asks as he returns to his desk.

Harper lowers the magazine to peek at his father who is now working at his desk. “When I get old enough.” He taps his shoes together. “I’ll invite mother to come live there too.”

Coriolanus looks up from the document he is working with. “What about me?”

Not expecting such a question, Harper was a bit hesitant and he stared up at the ceiling before answering his father. “You can come too”

They minded their own business after that.

Coriolanus welcomed the silence as he got through his job without disturbances.

It was lunch time when the silence was broken.

A service trolley is being wheeled in and Harper perks up at the scent.

He gets up to greet the person who pushes the trolley and the old man dressed in a crisp suit smiles at the young boy warmly. The man takes his leave after telling them what was under the cloches.

Coriolanus sits with Harper in the lounge as they share the hearty lunch.

“Did you get a lot of work done?” Harper asks politely.

You told your husband that your son is only starting to learn how to make small talks and that he should be encouraged when he attempts to start one.

“I did.” Coriolanus nods. “Almost done for the day.”

Harper looks at his father in astonishment.

“But it is only lunch?”

Coriolanus nods. “I was surprised too. But then again, I stayed up late last night.”

“You did?” Harper raises a brow. “Mother slept alone last night?”

The fork stills in Coriolanus’ plate and he purses his lips. “Your mother understands.” He clears his throat. “And this does not happen often.”

Harper continues his lunch, not liking the subject anymore.

“How are your fencing lessons?” Coriolanus tries to open another topic.

“I excel at it.”

“That is good.”

“Yes.”

This was much harder than Coriolanus anticipated.

He needed a topic, something that would pique his son’s interest. Something to banish the suffocating formal atmosphere. They are father and son, for heaven’s sake. They are acting more like business partners, even the men Coriolanus meets do not act so awkward around him.

“When I was younger, there was this shop I often go to.” Coriolanus says as he wipes his mouth with the napkin. “They had the best gelato.”

Harper sets his glass of water down to listen to his father.

“The gelato that our chefs make does not even compare.” He continues, making his voice light and playful.

Coriolanus laughs at the skeptical look on his son.

“Our chefs make the best desserts,” Harper argues.

Harper watches as Coriolanus heads to the closet and pulls out a couple of white polo shirts. They were identical, only differing in size.

“I use these for golfing but I figured they would work fine.”

“Work fine for what?” Harper walks over to his father.

Coriolanus hands him the clothing with a determined smile as he places a hat atop his head. “We’re going out.”

Sneaking out of the mansion undetected was close to an impossibility if it were anybody else but Coriolanus was glad that the staff pretended to have seen nothing. Harper excitedly walked close to Coriolanus as they strolled around the Capitol. He only got to see things from the car window and everything looks so different when he treads the sidewalks.

Harper was astonished how people were simply walking past him, not even sparing him a glance.

“They don’t recognize us.” He whispered giddily to his father who glanced at him with a grin.

Coriolanus placed a hand on Harper’s back as they entered the small shop. It was not like the ones that Harper usually sees. It was incredibly small, but its business was doing fairly well. Harper saw another boy waiting for his cone, and he was almost bouncing on his heels.

Harper frowns, is this all it takes for that kid to be happy? Even that sailboat he got from the Plinths did not make him smile that widely.

“You’re next in line.” Coriolanus gently pushes him forward.

A wrinkly grandma is by the counter, she was wearing a pink dress, and her ears adorned by large golden hoops. “What flavor would you want, young man?”

Harper turns to his dad, not knowing what to get. He was just used to food being served to him, he never had to make an order before. Coriolanus points at the options just beside the cash register and Harper bends his head back to see from under his hat.

There’s chocolate and vanilla. Lemon and hazelnut.

“I will have the caramel, please.” Harper says politely and the old lady nods before turning to Coriolanus.

“And a pistachio.” Coriolanus says as he pretends to look at his wallet to avoid looking at the woman. He was incredibly popular, he would not want to risk people recognizing him.

When Harper receives the crisp golden cone that had two enormous scoops of caramel gelato, he cannot contain his excitement and takes a bite. Coriolanus snickers when Harper’s lips tighten as his blonde brows raise while his eyes are closed.

“You okay?”

Harper blinks rapidly as he clutches his head.

“I am fine…uhm okay. I’m okay.” He glances at the sweet old lady, wondering if his formal tone gave anything away but she appears to not have heard it. “Thank you. It is delicious.”

Coriolanus pays and he steps out of the shop with Harper focused on his cone, determined to keep up with the melting scoops. Coriolanus decided to take him to the park he donated and they took a slower pace as they walked through the pathways with enormous trees lining it.

“You’re right. This is better.” Harper tells his father. “I wonder if I can get them to sell their recipe.”

Coriolanus smiles discreetly, a victory.

Harper glances around the greenery, admiring the roses and the pigeons. One decided to follow him though. Harper looks at it from the corner of his eyes, trying not to make a sudden move that could agitate the bird.

It was persistent.

The boy quickens his steps and the pigeon hops and hops, using its wings to propel it forward. When it tries to peck his foot, Harper sprints to Coriolanus. “Dad!” He grabs hold of his father’s hand and clings close.

Coriolanus halts his step and as Harper warily stares at the pigeon who flew away in fright, Coriolanus had his eyes on his little boy, who just called him ‘Dad’.

To Harper’s surprise, Coriolanus scoops him up just like how he did when he was still a toddler. They both look at each other, a million words spoken in one eye contact.

With stomachs satiated, they walk the halls of the Presidential mansion hand in hand.

“Why do we not live here?” Harper asks curiously. “Most Presidents live here.”

Coriolanus rubs his chin. “I prefer to keep my family and work separate.”

Harper nods but he pulls Coriolanus when he sees a gigantic oil painting of someone he knew.

Coriolanus stands next to him to gaze up at the painting.

“Crassus Xanthos Snow. Your grandfather.” Coriolanus tells him.

“I know. We studied his biography at school.” Harper says as his soft small hand tightens its hold around his father’s much larger hand. “Everybody thought it was unfair as he was my grandfather but it’s not like I knew him personally.”

Coriolanus looks at the tall painting, meeting his father’s gaze as the cold unmoving eyes stare down at him.

“I didn’t know him very well either.” He tells Harper. “I was very young when he died.”

Harper shifts uncomfortably, not knowing what to say. He settles with a gentle pat to his father’s hand. Coriolanus smiles at his boy, appreciating the attempt to console him.

“You know, even after his passing, I still felt him lingering. His legacy was very great and it is difficult to live under his shadow.” His smile became sad.

“I might know how that feels, dad.” Harper slips his hand from his. “I mean…Father.”

Coriolanus looks away from the painting to look at Harper. “What do you mean?”

The kid sighs as he glances at him. “You’re so perfect. You make the best decisions. Everybody respects you. You are the great leader of Panem, you and mother.”

Where were you when he needed you?

“I wasn’t always like this.” Coriolanus tells him. “I used to make mistakes, great mistakes. People did not respect me, they respected my name.”

Harper shrugs. “Which makes it harder for me because even after all that, Snow landed on top. If I fail, even after everything I have, I will be a disgrace.”

“You will not be a disgrace.” Coriolanus grins. “You dominate every class they put you in. You learned Paganini’s piece and not everybody can say that.”

Scoffing, Harper scuffs his shoe against the carpet. “But I did not mentor nor did I become a scholar under Dr. Gaul.”

“I can help you.” Coriolanus assures him by placing a hand on his shoulder, one that Harper slaps away.

“I hate nepotism.”

This forces an amused laugh from Coriolanus. “You don’t need it. You are only seven and you already know words such as ‘nepotism’.” Harper frowns at his father. “What I am trying to say is, I can teach you. My father was not there for me so I have no references as to how fatherhood should be but I am willing to guide you.”

“Like a mentor?” Harper raises a brow.

“If you want, yes.” Coriolanus pulls his hat off to ruffle his hair, Harper scrunches his nose as his hair falls to his face. “And you can keep on calling me ‘Dad’.”

Harper grimaces. “Only in private.”

Coriolanus laughs. “Alright, I’ll take it.”

When you arrived later that day, Harper was fast asleep on the couch, the coat Coriolanus wore prior that day was draped over your boy to keep him warm.

“Ah, there she is.” Coriolanus grins as you walk in with shopping bags in your arms.

You carefully set them down as you waddle to the sofa. Coriolanus follows after you and proceeds to take your shoes off. You sigh in contentment as he massages your tired feet.

“And how was it?” You ask as you place a bowl of dried fruits on top of your round belly. “Did you get to bond?”

“We did.” Coriolanus nods. “We snuck out.”

“You what?” You nearly pull your foot but he tightens his hold on your toe. “Corio, that’s dangerous.”

Coriolanus smirks at you. “The most dangerous thing that happened was a pigeon chasing after him.”

You stifle a laugh. Oh, you would have wanted to see that. Strolling around the Capitol like a normal family and free from prying eyes sounds really nice. A pout forms on your lips.

“I’m jealous now.”

Your husband caresses your calf and leans over to place a kiss on your belly.

“Perhaps when our little princess is born, we can go on more vacations.”

Nodding, you pop a dried strawberry to your mouth as you watch the smile stay on your husband’s face. His face is glowing, eyes no longer holding a storm inside it.

“Corio, are you happy?”

His fingers still their movement as he raises a brow at you.

“When you asked me to marry you, you said a life with me might be a shot to happiness.” You continue and he gently lifts your feet off to come sit closer to you.

“Y/N, I have made many decisions in my life and marrying you still remains to be the best one.” He places a kiss on your nose and your eyes flutter shut, tickling your plump cheeks with your eyelashes. “You gave me love and two wonderful children.”

You both glance at Harper as he places a warm hand on your belly.

“Everything I am today is because of you.”

“No, Corio. You cannot give me all the credit-”

He shakes his head. “Everything I am today is because of you.”

You feel a sting in your eyes and your eyesight gets blurry from the onslaught of tears.

“All I did was scheme.” You laugh through your tears which he kisses away.

“And look where those schemes brought us.” He sits tall and looks at his office. “You brought us on top.”

Happiness was something Coriolanus thought to have been fleeting and sacrificed when in search for glory. But it was not. It was the culmination of everything that a person can achieve.

Money, Power, Glory.

They are something he sought for when he was young and naïve, but all three boils down to happiness.

And he was glad you stood by him. You made him feel things he thought he had no right to.

Coriolanus is happy. And he is loved.

And he will stain the world red to protect this life you created with him.

Quest for Happiness

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #young coriolanus snow #hunt for glory #quest for happiness

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hatosaur · 4 months

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it's pretty implied that ellie never came out to joel in the proper sense. she lets him assume that she's into men, gives him the false satisfaction of "seeing" her "crush" on jesse, does not correct him. she's fairly confident in being gay in public for others to see and having others close to her know; so why not correct him? why dodge the topic?

was it out of fear? could it be that she never broached the topic despite being close to him in the early years because of the possibility of his reaction being negative? that she was afraid that out of all things that could force them apart (further apart after they split), him reacting badly to her being gay would be the worst?

what about at the dance? would she have been as wound up as she was if the moment hadn't been an encounter with a vicious homophobe? maybe she would've still snapped without this context, but why is she immediately on the defensive against joel after he sticks up for her?

what about the porch scene? why did she refute his question of dina being her girlfriend so insecurely, looking away, nervously and quietly stumbling over words? why isn't she mean about it? why doesn't she get defensive at the question? why did she lash out again when he expressed acceptance?

i think these scenes revolving around her queerness indicate it as such; that ellie never told joel for fear of a response, that she lets him think what he wants because that's the easiest way for it to be. then, when she's ready to face off against a homophobe, because that's the way things are, that's what she can expect, and joel defends her, she lashes out.

it's such a clear juxtaposition of support and hatred between joel and seth, and being faced with joel's acceptance is too much, makes her turn to the anger she'd been holding onto and reinforce what she thinks is true -- that she doesn't need him. and in the fallout, as her regret dawns on her, so too does the realization; he was protecting her, like always, without hesitation, over this thing she was always afraid he wouldn't accept her for.

in the porch scene, joel chooses his words wisely, and asks if dina is her girlfriend -- not "so you're gay?" or "why did you never tell me?" or "how long has this been a thing?" -- with such a casuality that it seems to throw her off. it's like ellie can hardly get the words out. she refutes the idea, fumbles for each following part of her response, is tense. she wasn't prepared for the question.

and when he finally asserts his support for her, in as explicit terms as he can, you can see ellie become emotional, touched for a moment but overcome, before she launches into the defensive again, exactly like at the dance scene -- meeting his kindness with hostility as a way to cope with her emotions.

and then, in response to her basically saying her life doesn't matter, he affirms that it does.

so he's now affirmed two things that ellie has doubted: that he accepts her being a lesbian, and that her life matters. a conflation of the two, in ellie's mind, may have come after; and after that, her olive branch.

and yeah, him affirming these things for her is fully in the context of his overwhelming parental love for her and her complex feelings about being the cure, but within a queer subtext, it means more. it's such a familiar thing to slink around loved ones and hide being gay/queer for fear of any type of response, and lying by omission in conversation just to keep that state of peace, of normalcy. ellie, with all her brutishness and bravery, falls into it like anyone else, because even while mad at him, she valued that response from him.

a lot of people seem to think that the approach to ellie's queerness is nonchalant, that it's just some unrelated thing about her, but i think that it holds more weight in the narrative that what is explicitly spelled out. it's subtle but it was a deliberate choice to place her queerness at the center of the confrontation. i think that's why ellie's relationship with dina took center stage in the story, and why so much time is devoted to just them -- because her being queer matters to her character, but in a way that perhaps only a queer person can see, analyze, and appreciate (without being blatant enough to anger certain other fans).

#i've been re-evaluating my long-conflicting feelings on the concept of coming out #tlou #the last of us #tlou2 #the last of us part 2 #this isn't an internet breaking take #i'm sure someone has said this before #but i'm just...thinking.#the meta of us #talkies #ellie williams #joel miller

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bunicate · 8 months

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⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ LOLLIPOP CANDY BAD BOY !

pairing ꒱ྀི al haitham x fem reader — warnings ꒱ dub-con. exhibitionism. cum. creampie ﾉ breeding mention. some dirty talk . oral — fem receiving ﾉ repost ﾉ 18+

tucked away in the farthest corner, nothing could be heard except for hushed whispers and soft gasps.

“not here,” you whine, prickled with budding fear as your eyes cautiously scan your surroundings. unlike you, the scribe before you remained poised.

even now, in the wake of committing something so obscene, al haitham sported a passive expression along with an aura that subdued anyone who got too close.

you find yourself tongue-tied by this juxtaposition. his steady cadence when he commands to see your ‘little cunt’ couldn’t have made you more lightheaded. the contrast is what keeps you on your tiptoes—such vulgarity uttered in a striking blankness that leaves you to fill out the rest.

there was no way you could’ve assumed that this possessive demand of an ‘inspection’ would be another attribute of his personality. al haitham’s rationale is one of his most defining traits, and you couldn’t understand why your boyfriend of such prestige would spend his afternoon peeling back layers of frill and lace in between bookshelves.

he dedicates a lot of time to fulfilling his own needs, and you suppose that’s why he’s fixated on your pussy despite your hiccuping protest.

“no, no, no. h-haithy. . what if someone sees and we get in trouble ?”

bustling scholars were on every floor, nearly in every corner, but the library was massive. the odds of someone coming by your section were unlikely, but still not impossible, and it did nothing to settle you.

his hands attach themselves to your waist before trailing them down over your ass. “don’t get worked up.”

you want to scream at him for how unconvincing he sounds, not even trying to ease your worries. he towers over you, examining the panic etched on your face. he doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to — his narrowed eyes speak for him.

squirming, you huff, “y’can’t. . just look down there, okay? it's still drippy. . . and sticky.”

your orbs gloss over, and your sugared-coated sniffles are loud enough for the scribe to hear, but he pays your wails no mind. instead, he chooses to crouch down until he’s eye level with your hips.

al haitham raises your dress by the hem until it’s more than just your legs visible.

“put it in your mouth."

he pulls it an inch above your belly button, and just as he instructed, you part your lips to tuck the dress in your mouth to keep it from obstructing his view.

you turn your head away from him in embarrassment. the chatter, the rustling of papers, and laughter echoing not so far in the distance. the more you take in your surroundings, the more anxious you become. the gravity of being potentially seen becomes more imminent. you bite down harder on the dress, trying to keep your tears from spilling over.

al haitham’s gloved and nimble fingers play with the band of your panties. the shape of your lower lips pressed closely against the material, formed a damp spot that he was pleased to see. as he licked his lips, fingers pulled at the fabric, forcing them down.

when your underwear falls to your ankles, like a gentleman, he offers you his hand to help you step out of the soiled cotton before shoving it in his pocket. he then pats your knee.

“up.”

it takes a couple of seconds before you hesitantly raise your leg, but the scribe wasn’t having any of your timidity. al haitham cups behind your thigh and forces the limb much higher— so much that your silken lips slightly separate from the stretch. he soaks up the sight, staring in complete awe at the crystalline threads that ebb across your cunt.

his thumb caresses the smoothness of your skin, and his face closes the distance between your plump and moist flesh.

your clit and outer lips are glossed with your fluids. his cockhead beads white and pushes up against his underwear the longer he stares. too many memories circle his mind—the countless times he’s pounded your pussy until you were pulling away.

al haitham’s skillful finger rests on your nub, forcing you to bite back a dragged-out mewl. he then carefully strums across your folds, and lazily separates them.

“h-haithy,” you warble.

what you’ve been shying away from was finally occurring.the tips of his fingers settle on your thick and puffy lips to pull them apart. your clit, peeking out from under the hood, is a fleshy pink—taut and shiny with slick.

“still swollen from how I fucked it earlier.” a slight smile dawns on his expression.

“remember that? remember how I sowed my seed inside of you, how you asked—no, begged me to breed you ?”

tears were freely falling, not from the shame, but from his recount of today's earlier event and how it still managed to make you even wetter.

“you begged me to make you my wife if I recall. just so you can have my cock whenever you want.” his mouth brazes your skin.

“if you want me to grant your wish, the least you do is let me see the mess you’ve made.”

you croon instinctively, watching him inspect you further. your hole is agape, and your insides are painted white from the cum he stuffed you with just hours ago. the prolonged exposure of your stretched center forces a dollop of his seed to seep out onto the tile floor with a plat.

“would you look at that."

he soothes you by rubbing your perched thigh, kissing the inside of it. just as you begin to brace yourself, his lips twist and pucker on your clit.

the sudden wave of pleasure blindsides you, and you accidentally let a loud moan escape. anxiety sticks at you, but not enough to subside the feeling of your boyfriend mouthing your cunt.

he doesn’t dare close his eyes. with his nose flushed against your mound, he drinks up your ruined expression while his tongue runs laps over your clit. his eyes dare you— provoke you, pining for your release.

drool soaks your dress, your legs cramp, and your hands grip his hair to keep your rough humping of his mouth under control. you lose yourself to the thickness of his tongue that laps at the salt of his cum mingled with your honeyed arousal, a distinctive and satisfying flavor.

“c-can’t cum here, ’haitham” you muffle out, scared that your dress wouldn’t be enough to mute your outcry.

“you can’t ?”

he doesn’t remove his mouth from your heat, choosing to speak with his lips still nursing on your clit in between breaths, neglecting your hole.

“why not? don’t you want to be my wife ?”

yesyesyesyes. iwannabeyoureverything.

“you do, don’t you ? cum for me then, let me taste everything your pussy has to offer me.”

you’re drenched and sweaty, and your boyfriend doesn’t relent. forcing your eyes shut, you focus on that coil springing inside and the mouth that continues to devour your gooey cunt.

the build-up to your orgasm is maddening. you bite down hard and put your hand over your mouth as an added measure.

no one can hear you, you have to make sure of it.

the other hand pulls harder at his hair and presses him closer.

“cummin’!” you choke out. your body freezes up and shakes from the collision. his mouth doesn’t slow or fasten; it goes the same pace, savoring the saccharine sweetness of your release. he quietly groans around you so much that goosebumps erupt all over your body.

you almost forget to breathe.

it takes a few more minutes of more tender and thoughtful sucks against your cunt foral haitham reluctantly pulls away, his mouth stained with stringy fluids. the spasm of your walls pushes out the remaining cum inside like a leaky faucet. your sopping clit was sucked raw, and the apex of your thighs are damp with spit and cum.

al haitham smirks to himself, nodding in approval as he admires his work.

your future husband surely would be the death of you.

#૮꒰ ๑´ତ `๑ ꒱ྀིა #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x female reader #alhaitham x reader smut #al haitam x reader #al haitham x reader smut #al haitham x you #genshin impact smut

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ervotica · 5 months

Note

Breathlplay with poly!rafebarry 🥹🥹

warnings; breathplay, choking, manhandling, brief mention of daddy kink, smut, p in v, 18+ ONLY

a/n; i'm so so inlove w rafebarry x spoilt princess reader (I fear they will become my new thing) n this made my heart (and pussy) happy to write! hope you enjoy lovely nonnie & thank u for the request! I apologise for the crappy writing :(

The hand clasped around your throat is a cruel one, an almost bruising grip around the delicate flesh of your windpipe. Rafe's cock drags against your gummy walls, squelching wetly as his hips rut and your hole drools against the trimmed pubic hair above his pelvis. Barry's fingers never loosen around your previously marked throat, blooming in dark spots where the boys have touched you with tongues and teeth.

You wheeze, limp fingers coming up in a half assed attempt to claw Barry away but he only sneers, stopping you short on your mission as he loops both of your hands in one of his larger ones and grouses meanly.

“'m not stopping, so fuckin' quit it.”

The rhythm in which Rafe's fucking into you is a great juxtaposition to Barry's lazy, languid movements; he's enraptured, utterly entranced as he tightens his fingers experimentally to watch your eyes roll; you fall lax against his chest and Rafe locks your flailing leg against the side of his pelvis, scoffing as you blink up at Barry with wide eyes until he takes pity and drags a messy kiss across the curve of your jaw.

"Daddy's girl," he gripes, pinching at the exposed flesh of your inner thigh as Barry's thumb coasts the hollow of your throat, pressing into the dimple beneath your chin until you're panting, nails pushing into the skin of his forearm in a desperate plea for a break.

"Ah- shit. Do that again," Rafe gasps, almost doubling over where he has himself perched back on his heels to watch your cunt part as he bullies his way into your guts. "She gets so tight when you choke her."

He rolls his eyes when you choke and sputter, curling in on yourself, muscles seizing and vision starting to tunnel. You're thumping at Barry's leg with as much force as you can muster, frustrated tears tickling at your waterline as he lets up but ignores your petulant whines, pushing his nose into the column of your throat to sink his teeth into the balmy flesh.

"Hey! That hurts," you warble wetly, but preen nonetheless when he soothes the bite with the pillowy flesh of his lips.

"Brat," Barry twines when you let your head roll onto his lap where you're situated between his thick thighs.

"Can barely keep your eyes open, kid," Rafe drawls, his body folding downward at the hips to smear a wet kiss across the crown of your skull. "Few more minutes 'nd then Barry 'll let you suck his cock, alright, princess?"

"Mmph," comes your garbled response, aching limbs stretching to wrap yourself around Rafe until he's got a lazy hand pressed to the base of your spine and you're lifted upright into his lap, arms thrown haphazardly over his broad shoulders. His cock nudges its way deeper in this new position, mushroom head nestled snugly against your cervix in a way that has you clinging white-knuckled to the taller boy's frame.

You let your head drop and tuck beneath Rafe's chin before you feel a tug and a sharp pull, the harsh motion dragging a soft whine from the base of your throat as Barry digs his chin into the juncture of your neck. Rafe mouths at the exposed skin, planting his feet to piston his hips up into you.

"Tell me how good it feels," he croons. "Tell me how fucked stupid the kook princess is."

He fucks up harder in to the sticky warmth of your pussy when Barry curls his fingers round your column once again and you droop and go soft like putty; Barry is forced to hold the weight of your torso, teeth bared in a grin when Rafe flips your pliable body, settling you neatly with your face in the dark haired boy's lap as he spreads your tired limbs to spear you deeper onto his dick.

"'s good," you slur, all words fucked out of your brain.

"I know, princess," Barry coos. "You just lay still and let country club do the work, yeah?"

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boredzillenial · 5 months

Text

Double-Edged Desire

Blue’s noticed how good you’ve been and wants to reward you.

Themes: DEAD DOVE - DNE, Blue is his own warning, dub-con (power imbalance), f!reader, fingering, oral, biting, threat

Wordcount: 1.3k

The Lennox House is too loud, too dingy, and above all is the constant stench of fear. You can’t tell whether it’s mostly you or the other girls but fear permeates the very walls. You do your best to get the stench off your skin the first couple days of your stay. Showers were short and often cold, but the frigid water helped to keep you grounded. You could feel eyes on you but could never pinpoint where.

After your first week is when you noticed him, Blue. He was breaking up a fight between a couple of the more rowdy girls. The way he commanded the room, grabbed them by their collars and pulled them apart as if it took nothing. You knew you shouldn’t have watched so long, but you couldn’t stop. Not even when his gaze met yours and he gave you a cocky grin.

His dark gaze lingers on your skin like a heavy blanket as you adjusted to life here. In the days after your first caught glance you tried to move so someone, something could be between his gaze and you. You were already overstimulated from the moment you arrived and now? You’ve got his undivided attention…

Today it’s too much. You pad softly to your room, enjoying the quietness as you lay down and settle the covers over your head. Here in your own little world with the distant sounds muffled by the blankets you can almost picture yourself elsewhere, until a gentle voice and the click of your door’s lock interrupts the stillness.

“Hello, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.” Blue’s tone sent a shiver up your spine. “Can you come out?” His voice is so near you jolt upright, covers still up to your neck. “Attagirl that’s better.”

There’s that scent again and this time it’s definitely coming from you. “I read over your file, such a shame.” He tuts as he slowly pulls the blanket from your grip. “But I think I already like you. You’ve stayed out of trouble, you do as your told…” his smile is reassuring, but his eyes? Their intensity tells you all you need to know.

“I’m trying to be good, please I don’t want any trouble.” you’re soft plea is met with widening grin.

“Oh no no no, there’s no trouble. I’m here to reward you.” You shrink back against the wall to no avail as he leans forward. “I just need you to lie back sweet thing.” The juxtaposition of his cooing words and rough tug at your pants sends your mind spinning. Shame bubbles up at your exposed lower half. Your feeble attempt to close your legs is met with strong hands on your thighs.

“What are you-“ his finger on your lips cuts your protest short.

“None of that, open.” His voice is still low but there’s an edge of warning. You obey, opening your mouth ever so slightly. His breath catches as his finger slips past your parted lips and across your tongue. “Oh good girl, such a good girl.” He coos, “suck on it.”

The groan you pull from his throat as you suck shoots straight to your core, “Oh just like that.” He dips his head down, pressing his lips against your mound as you continue. “Fuck - what a sweet little cunt.”

The first swipe of his tongue up your slit sends you bucking forward. “Shh.” He hisses as he slips another finger past your lips.

Heat rises in your body as you obey, sucking down both his fingers in a steady pace. His other hand wraps around your leg to keep you open, at the mercy of his mouth. Fingers dig into your thigh and his face flushes as he works. His dark gaze flickers up to you, something in your expression makes him smile against your core.

He squints for a moment and focuses on your face as his tongue adjusts. Flat and firm against your clit earns him a soft groan, flicking the tip of his tongue against it elicits a sharp inhale.

He hums as he furrows his brow in thought, then you felt him chuckle. Something dark and low then, he gently sucks on your bundle of nerves sending you quivering. “There it is.” He growls, pulling his fingers from your mouth to get a hold on your other leg.

He adjusts to lock your legs open with his grip, looks up to you with a wink and sucks again.

“P-please!” You gasp, grabbing at the sheets beside you. You weren’t even quite sure what you were begging for at this point. For him to stop? For him to not stop? You bit your lip to try and muffle the noises that’re trying to escape your throat.

“Shhh it’s okay,” he coos, coming up to press his forehead against yours. “Just enjoy it.” He whispers against your lips before pressing a soft kiss against them. It was so gentle, so sweet that you start to melt into it.

He pulls away, shimmying back down to your exposed core. He looks up to you through thick lashes as he sinks a finger into your soaking heat. You suck in a breath, gripping the sheets till your knuckles turn white. “One more,” he encourages as another finger sinks deep into you. You arch against the sensation, breath coming unevenly. “So good, so fucking tight.” He purrs as his kisses your sensitive bud.

Blue began pumping his fingers slow and steady, curving them every time they sink deep. You felt your channel tighten and the swelling of pleasure low in your belly. “B-Blue I,” you voice rang out between ragged breathes. “Blue ple-AAHH!” He cut your sentence short by once again sucking on your oversensitive clit.

Your hand flew up to clamp over your mouth, to stop the startling noises that jumped out of you. This lasted only a moment when Blue turned and bit hard into the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. You gasp and twist but his arms keep you firmly in place.

“Don’t you dare cover your mouth, do you hear me?” He growled.

You nod, tears welling up as you plead “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Blue I didn’t mean to -“ he kisses and licks softly where he bit.

“It’s alright, don’t let it happen again. I want to hear every sound. Every groan and scream from that perfect mouth.” He stopped, pinning you with his gaze. “And if you do it again I’ll fuck your throat raw.” He punctuated his threat with a kiss on your swollen clit.

“O-okay.” You sniffle, wiping tears from your eyes. He held your gaze for a beat longer before returning to what felt like him sucking the soul from your body. Every nerve feels alight as his fingers work and curve, his lips locked over your overworked nub. Your noises ringing out in your room till you were sure the whole of the Lennox House knew Blue has claimed you.

Sweat beads across your forehead and your breathing comes in pants as you reach your peak. With a choked cry your legs lock and squeeze around Blue’s head. He continues till you felt as if you were about to squeeze his head clean off his body. “Shhh shhh,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers free from your fluttering core and sucking them clean. “Relax, just breath. You did so well.” He smiles.

His praise feels, unnerving to say the least as you come down from your high. You wince at the pulsing in your thigh and look down to see the angry red circle Blue left with his teeth. He tuts as he runs a thumb over the mark, causing you to flinch again. His eyes meet yours “This’ll be a good reminder, for you to keep listening.” He presses his thumb into the tender spot.

“Okay!” You yelp, “Okay I’m sorry, I’ll keep being good.”

He smirks, moving the thumb that’s pressing into your thigh to press against your clit. “Yes, you will…”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Blue Jones Masterlist

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @ominoose @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie

#blue jones #suckerpunch #blue jones x f!reader #blue jones x you #blue jones x reader #blue jones fanfiction #blue sucker punch #blue x reader #blue jones smut

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lovesickry · 5 months

Text

- i know it’s over

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ lando norris x reader/daniel ricciardo x reader

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ synopsis: you hadn't meant to crawl your way back into his life, but you had. lando had happened to you slowly, throughout the seasons, daniel had left fast and clear. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ contains: 18+, toxicity, emotional cheating, explicit language, ANGST, sad reader, sad lando, just major angst, tears. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⎯ a/n: this is kinda portraying the inner workings of my psyche, badly edited.

you paced the dining room, suddenly a cage, finding it harder and harder to breath. it was over now, you were sure, he had promised you. how could you-, you stopped the feelings of anything but rage, fearing he would enter the door any moment and find you in tears, you would not let him have the satisfaction. you paced and paced and paced until finally the realisation came that, not only did he realise he was late, but he didn't care. he probably broke the promise unapologetically, maliciously. that's what made you hit the floor, clutching your heart, now shattered in your chest. that unwanted feeling, all too familiar, being kicked aside by someone so dear. you crawled up next to the couch like a dog and waited to be kicked awake. the floor was colder than you remembered when you finally stretched your limbs out in the morning sun, thinking about everything that had happened in your mind last night, but soon interrupted by the dryness of your mouth as you scrambled to your feet. the cool, still water is not enough to fill the hole dug last night. the latch clicks and you turn around, the door opens, hesitantly. he looks.... put together, calm, collected but he had faint dark bags underneath his eyes. there was nothing to say in your state. already knowing what you had come to terms with last night. it didn't matter how much you loved him, this was it, you were sure. you just looked at him, there wasn't any energy for shouting or anger. he knows this, seeing the way your shoulders droop in the dress that you definitely didn't mean to wear to bed last night, and the champagne sitting empty on the table, surrounded by 2 glasses, one untouched. there was nothing holding you together anymore as you make a beeline for the door, passing him.

“oh come on? y/n?”

his tone of voice jerks you and your taken slightly aback, a juxtaposition to the silence that engulfed you for so long. your chin wobbles slightly, the sleepless nights without him, the worrying. there's nothing to say that articulates how you feel, it is too much, there is too much between you 2. you choke out the words you think make the most sense.

"I can't"

he sees your eyes. he knows, he wished he didn't, but he feels it as much as you do, the pulling apart between you. "its just because of all the drama with my departure, next season ill see you so much more when im a reserve driver and the season is almost over we have all-"

"no" you cut him off, suddenly breathless. you'd heard it all before.

"please y/n" he says, looking at you. a final act of desperation, clawing onto any semblance of love that mat still hang between you two.

"I can't"

"y/n" the silence that fell afterwards was one that followed you for the next year, a haunting silence, one only filled by his voice, that you no longer heard. that's how it ended with you, silent. a wild blaze, slowly muffled, a rain storm, flowing back to the sea.

lando begrudgingly leaves you in hospitality, a grin as big as the sun on his face as you shoo him away, you tell him a lie as to why you shouldn't be in the garage, you're giddy as you watch him walk away. lando brushes past Daniel on the way, oblivious to the contact in his state of giddiness.

“what are you smiling about norris?” he asks, only just snapping out of it enough to hear the next words out of his mouth. “new girl?” he questions “maybe….” hes smirking now. “oh maybe?” Daniel says, a chevalier grin covering his face now. “she’s so fuckin’ cool” “heh i bet” if only daniel knew that it was you he was talking about.

the romance with Lando had begun mostly spontaneous, with you residing in Monaco for a short time as you got over whatever the fuck happened between you and Daniel, feeling torn in a place once enjoyed by the two of you, lando made it seem bearable. it changed nothing to say that you truly didn't mean to love him like you ended up doing. lando was still one of Daniels closest friends and he would still loathe you all the same.

it started out as a summer romance, kisses on the beach, salt water spraying both your faces, tan lines, but then it continued through the seasons. in the windy London weather, the rain, the fog. the cosier mornings and the even cosier nights, it became all too easy to settle into routine with him. lando seemed to have something that Daniel never had- Time. even when you were not with him, he would call, an annoying amount of times, he would text, he would send you photos, ask you what you were doing, he'd send you flowers from wherever he was racing. he had time for you and he made it clear that it was both yours and his: time together.

you’re swaying, his jacket engulfing you while the breeze hits the side of your face. “are you really doing this” “fuck it” he say, looking directly at you. he’d been drinking but it didn’t change anything, you’d known it for a while, the love. it was all you ever needed, you could feed off of it forever, drink it forever, sleep in it. you both sauntered into the tattoo parlour midly intoxicated and danny approaches the counter explaining the scenario. they’re reluctant but upon recognising him, they're pretty easy going. daniel gestures for you to follow him over to the chair as he pulls up the sleeve of his shirt gesturing. “what do you think, you’re initials right…..” he waves his finger around and points to a spot of skin right below his cherub tattoo.“here!” “get it cause you’re an angel?” he’s smirking at you and he thinks he’s so funny, you love him so much you could choke on it. you watch as he gets his tattoo, not flinching one bit, talking the whole time, smiling, flirting, making too many innuendos to just how much he loves you. he models your initials on him for you as he stands up to admire them and he can't stop smiling, more so than normal. you were so happy.

its Austria where he finally notices you, talking to Oscar off in the corner, not hiding but not making yourself rather known. he stops dead in his tracks before remembering where he was and swiftly moving off, you saw him, of course you did. he just hadn't thought you had, which was the nicest way to keep it. the weekend came and went and you gladly didn't see any more of him, restricting yourself even more to the McLaren garage and Lando's driver room. daniel's anger did not cease however and it was only a matter of time before he would reach out to you or lando and undoubtedly want excuses, answers, explanations, apologies. anything you were willing to give him he would take and you were scared that if Lando wasn't there you'd give it to him. the text came the next week, of course it did.

from: maybe: Daniel Ricciardo (1 new message)

what was that in austria? don't tell me you're with norris or piastri, bit young don't you think?

the fucking nerve, you sense the bitterness and anger in his tone and you want to scream at him or scream at something, you bring the phone into lando, asking his opinion but mostly just wanting to get the phone away from you, lest you respond with something villainous.

"baby, what?" he spots the look on your face and knows.

you turn your phone around and he reads the message, his face once warm now flatter, more stoic. he groans, putting his hand to his face and pulling down, exasperated. it was just something you knew was coming.

"lando i dont-" you start to get wound up, stressed, worried, looking at the look on landos face, unreadable he hasn't spoken in a while, is he mad? does he hate you? god. he fills the silence gratefully.

"what a fucking idiot" he says, quite frankly, lips turning up.

your eyes meet his and he starts typing. he turns the phone around for you to approve the message before he hits send.

"leave her alone mate"

you replace the the 'her' with 'me', worried that lando or whoever Daniel thinks might have written that message in your place is a bit ballsy.

to: maybe: Daniel Ricciardo

leave me alone Daniel.

clear as day, impossible to be misinterpretated. lando kisses your temple and you hit send. you take a deep breath and he sets your phone aside pulling you into him just like that, if only for a bit.

lando takes you to dinner and he holds your hand under the table the whole time. lando looked a little too good for a Tuesday night and you talked about the next race and about your boo. you talked about you're parents and your siblings and the food the restaurant served and childhood recipes and his recent streaming habits. it was easy, everything was always easy.

the next race however was not, on high alert for Danny Daniel you kept strictly to the McLaren section, rarely exploring unless you were leaving or arriving. you walk past the red bull garage quietly and covered by crowds of people as your cap shrouds your face and you exhale a breath you didn't even know you were holding when you finally see the familiar papaya. But this was Silverstone and Lando was much too popular to not be seen outside the comforts of the McLaren garage and with him insisting you to accompany him its not long before you are spotted by him, clad in redbull gear looking like the first day you met him, all freckled and bright eyes, though his eyes much harder than that day, set straight on you, unmoving. you look down at your feet and Lando reaches for you hand, you take it and look back up again only to see him turn back around and walk away.

the thing was of course you felt bad , all of this was horrible to him you were sure, but neither of you could help it. and even though you'd like to think you forgave him, Daniel hurt you so bad that maybe this is a semblance of repayment, even if you didn't mean it as such.

He never does respond to your text or try and reach out again, it's a strange feeling, getting exactly what you want, to be "left alone" but did you really want that. christ, it was all so confusing. nevertheless, you never came in contact with him again and it was quite a conscious action, from both parties.

when the season ended it was web of communications between drivers and girlfriends alike that if Daniel wouldn't be attending an after party you and lando would attend, when it was communicated that you would be attending Daniel wouldn't and so on.

-winter break 2023

the season was over. you'd just spent a week in France, skiing with Lando, max and pietra. reality altered by the smooth, fresh snow and your perpetually freezing nose. your book was coming along nicely, each night you'd sneak away to write and each night you actually would. you'd never been much of a skier but pietra was surprisingly a wonderful teacher and you were semi-pro in no time. Lando posted a photo of you and him that day and you nearly thought about telling him not to, you didn't. anyways it was a multi post and it wasn't like you were announcing your relationship, if anything you were barely in the photo. so for the uproar to be as big as it was on something as small as a photo of friends skiing and one extra unrecognisable head was insane.

landonorris: snow days ⛄️

maxfewtrell: That the pic you choose for me, yeah calm. user1: who's that in slide 2 lol anonymouslandofan: lando who's the girl, are you cheating on me? user4: wait is that not legit Danny Ric's ex in slide 2? f1anonymous: SOMEONE CALL DANIEL RICCIARDO RIGHT NOW. oscarpiastri: bit cold mate? -> landonorris: just a bit liked by oscarpiastri, y/n.l/n, maxfewtrell and 1364 others

it was nothing, barely a glimpse, not even an inch of skin showing and somehow, there was still people who had things to say and along with that came Daniel... again.

you'd returned from France and you were lying spread on the bed, responding to emails while Lando was streaming. you were playing music on the tv in his room to try and block out the obnoxiously obscene things Lando was saying. it wasnt working, but you couldnt admit that you were laughing. though, just as you're about to turn over your phone and get some food for the afternoon or simply get out of this room your phone lights up with an unfamiliar contact and immediately begins buzzing on the surface of the bed. you click on the number, wondering purely if it is just a scam or somebody you'd forgot to name and your stomach drops at the look of his name in your phone again. you answer it, hesitantly, almost discreetly, feeling as though if Lando walked in you'd have this horrible dreaded look on your face, liked youd been caught with a dead mouse. you wait for him to speak first, but all you hear is breathing, the same breathing that soothed you to sleep, that calmed you down. christ. he was your drug, you were gripping your phone like a vice, too scared to hang up, too scared to speak. you were hopeless. you hear footsteps hitting the floor outside Landos bedroom and you rush to hang up. Lando walks in and gives you a kiss on the cheek before collapsing on the bed. the call probably lasted no longer than 14 seconds, but you already wished to hear it again. Lando's breathing stills and you look at him, wondering why on earth you would ever need more than this, why your body is so adamant on Daniel. you shut you eyes tightly, willing the thoughts of him to go away as you move closer to Landos warm body next to you on the bed. you must've nodded off because your eyes open and you're met with Landos skin, warm, soft surrounding you. he must've adjusted the sleeping position because there was a cover over both of you now. you hadn't even noticed your exhaustion, not until the mattress sunk so sweetly around you and Landos arm was draped so softly around you, it feels wrong to move so you shut your eyes once more, figuring deep down you perhaps deserve the sleep, you know that he does. the spot next to you is cold when you wake up again, the windows shut though dark and you guess its later than you'd imagine, you can hear the boxing of lando out in the kitchen, rather loudly on the phone with max and you smile to yourself. you can interrupt him a little later, for now you just wanted some quiet, you retrieve your phone from the soft carpeted floor and begin to think about who you need to call, but opening your phone app is a whole mixture of emotions as you remember what happened before you slept so blissfuly, but what's new is he's left you a message, he being Daniel. god you wish you had the control to ignore it, delete it, block him. you know you should, he should, you both should, none of this is healthy, but you click on it and raise it to your ear, waiting for it to begin playing. theres silence and your tempted to hang up before he says anything but then theres faint noisea, you turn over slightly and shove the phone under your ear. your eyes spring open when you recognise the fractured breathing, the exhales, the noises. hes- oh christ. but you can't bring yourself to stop it. you hear some shuffling and the noises get louder, you can hear him clearer now, the groaning, the breathlessness. it makes you hot in the face and you can picture him now, spread on his bed, tan chest, rising and falling with the phone atop. body impossibly warm, cock impossibly ha-. you snap out of it, stopping the message immediately, it shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have taken that long. yet you can't ignore the dampness in your panties as you type one simple message.

to: Daniel Ricciardo

stop.

after hitting send you take what is an attempt at a deep breath and go outside to see lando. lando's back is to you, as he potters behind the counter, making something for dinner. you walk up behind him as he leans to turn on the stove and you wrap his arms around his waist, leaning the side of your face into his back. he hums softly and you relax into his hold, your bodies moulding together. he hums with movement as he closes off his call with max and then turns around, firstly grabbing your hands and picking them up, turning around and then placing them back down. he sways you softly before placing you softly next to him and stirring whatever he seems to be making.

“how was your stream”

“i think i should stay off the internet”

you laugh at him, slightly confused but he just opens his phone, and turns it around to you and no doubt. the first thing underneath lando norris on instagram is a video of his stream from this afternoon. he hands it to you and you press play, landos extravagant, lewd moans fill the kitchen and you can’t help it. you both laugh so much you need to grip the bench to keep yourself standing up.

“you’re a child”

“it was ginge i swear” he puts his hands up, tears in his eyes. hands over his ribs.

“sure, sure” you say, as you pat his phone back into his chest, smile painting your face and you walk over to get bowls for the pasta he’s cooking. it’s forgotten, daniel’s call, his voice, his breath, what he would’ve looked like. it’s definitely far at the back of your brain as you sit down to eat. after you eat, you both brush your teeth and it all feels oddly domestic, you hadn't moved in, but you were staying with him in london so you practically were.the next 3 weeks flew by, a mixture of outings and witnessing quadrant videos and time spent with lando. thoughts of daniel had for the most part left entirely. though you left lando to spend christmas at home, with your family but its a good detox. one which involves no boys or sex or confusion or tears. strictly family drama and you thought youd never see the day you'd admit you liked it. tradition was nice, in a world which you thought was highly and horrificily unpredictable, tradition was a nice way for atleast you to hold on to some semblance of continuity within the mind field that was your head. you facetime lando on boxing day and he seems more down than usuyal, you dont want to pry because you ask him and he says its fine but you know something is up. he texts you later about how he was reacting to thee racing calender for next year, you take a look and gasp, he should be fucking angry.

the McLaren HQ is more extravagant as you imagined as you wait in the car for what lando detailed as a "second" looking at the larger than life building, already imagining the interior. he rushes back and is quick to hope in the car, driivng off mentioning a "dinner" with "some drivers", youre hesitant you always are, you give him a certain look, he knows.

"i think danny's gonna be there" he says

"then no lando i cant go"

"oh come on, he needs to grow up"

he has a good point, but hes not really going to be able to grow up if youre around him all the time.

"yeah i know lan, but still. i just shouldnt."

"he'll be fine, with the way he treated you, he should be the one overly conscious of his attendance."

you scoff at that because its true, but you shake your head because you’re seriously not ready to see him either. he mentions how it’s 2 weeks away so you can prepare but that doesn’t help when the start of the season rolls around and you’re preparing for this dinner like it is a funeral. you don’t know how many time you’ve asked lando if you really had to come, and if daniel was really going to be there, but before you know it you’re in the car, buildings blurring between you as you race to be on time for dinner. you’re holding his hand rather tightly and you’re just hoping you can fucking make it through tonight, you don’t want the drama and you’re sure lando doesn’t either.

the restaurant is much too nice and the only thing saving your grace is the dim lighting that seems to suddenly disguise your half assed makeup that would seem trashy in a place that looks out of a movie. you take your seat next to lando and notice daniel at the other end of the table. you locks eyes shortly and you are too quick to avert them on to anything else. you’re looking at lando while he talks to carlos, engaging occasionally with rebecca and alexandra who likes to be quiet but is very sweet. the dinner is good, he doesn’t try and speak to you and for the most part stays down his part of the table.

you’re on your fourth drink when the dessert comes and daniels looking better than he did at the beginning of the night. his hair is slightly longer than you remember and his beard is shorter, hes wearing more bracelets than he normally does but no rings. you wished you didn't notice these things, you look anywhere else, the lights above suddenly scorching. you notice some absneces from the table and take the chance to dip outside, away from the suddenly beaming light, your longing stares and the inattentive lando placed next to you. low and behold there is an increasing group of people just standing outside the restaurant, who you join very briefly to get some fresh air. when you return to your seat lando is nowhere to be seen and you see the light in daniels eye suddenly flcik right back on as he makes his way towards you. you avoid him the best you can, as unobvious as you can, but you feel his hand reach around your wrist, theyre notably warm, familar and much too comforting.

"can we just talk" its all said in one breath and you're looking sraight at him, and then around the room because the last thing you want to do is suddenly become the talking point of this dinner, that had nothing to do with you.

he notices the trapped look in your eyes and releases you, it was not a tight hold at all, but it was one which whispered don't go anywhere.

"no" you say, short and sweet. all out in one go, all done.

lando by some kind of magic spell is back and you make a beeline for where he is standing. after the night is over you tell lando what happened and he's amused that daniel would ever do that at literal team dinner of all places. you laugh about it and slowly as the weeks go on, daniel and the phone call and his voice and his hands and his smile, slowly leave the corner of your mind.

-bahrain GP 2024

"oh and who is that crofty? OH thats Ricciardo and hes...... spun round and hes into the barrier. OH and hes out. Daniel Ricciardo is out on the first grand prix of the season on what? only lap 15 of 57. thats gotta be a hard pill to swallow"

you watch all this unfold safely from the McLaren garage and you cant help but feel immense sympathy for Daniel, you were there for the absolute decimation of his confidence with McLaren and it was just like you were seeing it again, except on the big screen, instead of live. it’s almost instinctual the way your legs pick you up from your position and want to go to him.

why was that? was it perhaps the satisfaction that through this, he finally understood how you felt that night? why did you still want to comfort him? still want him to want you to comfort you?

you watch silently from a far corner of the alphatauri garage as he’s debriefed about damage to the front wing and possible brake issues. his eyes are shot and he’s shaking mildly, probably from shock. he nods a lot and the team gives him a few pats on the back before he excuses himself.

“hi” you say. thats all you had to say frankly.

his initial reaction is shock, after opening his door he expected a member of FIA, an engineer, a mechanic - definitely not you. you lower your head as you walk through the door and he moves his arm out of the way to let you through. that same familiar silence falls over you but in this moment you cant tell how you feel, you used to be angry, you are angry, but now. fuck you just want to hug him, to kiss him, to feel his hands on yours, his familiar heat.

lando no, lando christ. how could you stand here and have him in that car, probably thinking of you in the garage, watching him, he'd got you tickets, you'd stayed with him, you'd loved him, he'd loved you. he'd never forgive you, you'd never forgive yourself, panic rushes through you and you mumble a quiet no, before heading to the door.

"i love you" he says, filling the silence. your eyes growing wide as your hand just misses the door handle. you turn around slowly, met with the sight of him; chin wobbly and eyes soft, hair grazing his forehead.

"i still fuckin' love you" he repeats, moving closer.

you're left mouth agape. so much to feel. he loves you?

you swallow before beginning.

"no you dont daniel dont do that" voice barely holding steady, lip wobbling. all your memories suddenly laid out.

"danny" he says, reminding you of the nickname you used to use so fondly

"daniel" you repeat.

he steps even closer and you can already feel the heat, his fireproofs are on full display as his race suit hangs low on his hips and you want to reach out and touch any part of him. his breath hits your skin and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"im so sorry"

"im so fucking sorry"

your eyes are still shut, trying to breath calming, diffuse the situation that was entirely your fault. but you can feel his desperation as your hand rises to touch his forearm. it is not skin but its near enough and he looks at you like youve just saved him when you touched him, his eyes moving to you as your hand settles on his forearm while you count your breaths.

the truth is, you're not sure if you could ever forgive him. not sure if any amount of sorry's will make up for the fact that he left your life much too abruptly and left all his sharp edges behind.

" i just wanted to come check on you, crash looked pretty bad" its painful, not saying what you want, but instead what you should.

his face resets and drops and maybe it clicks that you cannot forgive him. that it you were something destined to fail, to fall, to smother itself slowly and painfully, demanding oxygen but receiving sand.

but it is too late the stitches you have spent so many days nursing have broken and your blood is gushing out.

"looked worse than it was" he says, defeated, faking smiles.

"you okay?" responding much too fast.

"think so, just shaken 's all" he says, eyes begging now, for anything from you. for a touch, a graze.

"thats good" you say, looking at him one last time before deciding if anything you must do this.

your hands move to his shoulder and at first he just looks at it, placed messily next to his head, but then he understands when the other hand goes to his lower back. tears fill your eyes as his hands come to surround you and you're sure it is all over. your heart once residing in your chest is now miles away. he is just how you remebered him and you dont want your tears to get on his shoulder but they do. his breathing syncs with yours and after a while it feels natural to let go. he wipes his face as you wipe yours and you look at eachother for the last time for a while.

"i love you" he says

"i know" you say with a tight lipped smile, before opening his door and making your way back to the McLaren garage.

#daniel ricciardo #lando norris #f1 fic #f1 #daniel ricciardo fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #daniel ricciardo angst #lando norris fic #lando norris angst #f1 angst #daniel ricciardo smut

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amuseoffyre · 6 months

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@triflesandparsnips made a rather spiffy observation on my post about Ed and face-touching:

It may be worthwhile, considering how much face/mouth violence Ed is sensitive to -- and when we see or hear about it -- to do a review of how much of that face sensitivity is also associated with food and eating.

And hooboy, I ended up down a rabbithole thinking about Ed and food and it got so long, it earned itself its own little post.

These are all the food/eating related moments that tie in directly to Ed having strong emotional responses. I didn't limit it to just the face-touching because there's a lot of emotional mess going on as well.

When Stede wakes him for brekkie in 1x04, he recoils immediately as he wakes, until he realises who's beside him (especially pertinent since Ed wakes in 2x03 and asks if anything was done to him while he was unconscious - he even anticipates harm while sleeping).

in 1x05, when he's being taught the intricacies of dining and the French captain slaps on his big red trauma button while he's sitting at a dining table and already feeling out of his depth with all the tablewear.

Cut to the flashback in 1x05 which has him and his mum talking quietly in one part of the room, but his father is there, slumped and drunk on the family dining table, setting the domestic sphere as a place of constant present threat.

Later in 1x05, when he's alone at the party, he's freaking out over not knowing how to deal with this kind of fancy-folk dining and then someone touches his face - double-whammy of the emotional stuff and the physical.

1x06 gives us the main flashback to his childhood and his father's violent reaction to 'slop' and 1x07 has stressed, out-of-his-comfort-zone hangry Ed, trying desperately to keep up the Blackbeard appearance ("Blackbeard can't be seen treasure hunting!") and again, something touches his body/head unexpectedly and he lashes out defensively.

There is so much going on in the brekkie scene that I can't even get into it here. Ed trying to code-switch between the way he interacts with Stede and Jack respectively, but most significantly, when Jack talks over him and ignores him trying to change the subject about violence he's done in the past, Ed shrinks down in the chair, doing the small-and-quiet thing he does when he's unhappy (one day I will yell about Ed taking refuge surrounding himself with gold/yellow things - blankets, chairs, robes, pillowforts. His version of the battle jacket).

1x10 has several moments. First is the marmalade - there's something child-like about the blanket fort and eating sweet sticky things with his fingers, taking comfort in food and hiding.

The second is something that is viscerally explained in S2 - when he forcefeeds Izzy his own toe. The contrast of the brutality and the very paternal "now don't forget to chew" like an adult talking to a child gave me chills the first time I watched it.

The last thing in 1x10 isn't necessarily food, but hooooboy there is something in the way he sets himself up at what was Stede's brekkie table, putting on the worst of personas possible, that is very much reminding me of his dad at the table in a bare, empty home, lit by a single candle, in that first flashback.

And now, into S2, and our man starts things in a totally healthy and normal way - eating the cake with his weapon. And, more importantly, "did everybody get cake?" Again, we have the juxtaposition of implicitly care-taking language against the surrounding violence and brutality.

The gravy basket tells us so much as well - he wakes up to the horror of being vulnerable, trapped by his own body and force-fed by someone who we learn had a habit of forcefeeding live crabs to people and who had threatened to flay Ed's skin off and feed it to him. He's rightfully afraid that anything Hornigold feeds him might be poisoned.

Once again, we have the parental energy of "open up for the cargo ship" tangled up with the fear of threat and violence and horror - poisoning, flaying and force-feeding.

Ed's fear has the two utterly bound up together, inescapably so. His father shaped his childhood and Hornigold stepped into that role when Ed became an outlaw.

But even in this messy and horrifying confrontation with his own psyche and layered up with the horrors he's lived through as a boy, some part of Ed still desperately wants the comfort and security of food and home, especially when the food his subconscious is gathering for him are the ingredients for Māori boil-up, something his mother would very likely have made for them.

It speaks measures that the three things he wants to live for include good food and warmth and orgasms. No fame. No glory. No reputation. Just to be loved and safe and warm and fed.

Jump forward to 2x04 and dinner with Bonny and Read. Ed is unsurprised by the degree of violence happening throughout, but does hesitate when poison comes into the equation - "I got the present you left for me in my glass" - Ed immediately sets down his glass, staring at it warily. Again, calling back to the Gravy Basket and his fear that anything given to him might be poisoned.

He's already on edge and off-balance - "not sure what's real and what's the basket" and there may or may not be poison and knives and the person he trusted may or may not betray him again and he's already spinning out when Anne - who had already declared her intention to provoke Ed and Mary - cheerfully lands the bombshell of why Stede left him.

No small wonder he storms out of the room, but it does lead to them having a much-needed conversation and he and Stede are on a much steadier footing after.

And then, of course, we have the breakfast of 2x07. This one is especially significant because Ed makes the brekkie then disposes of his leathers. He's actively trying to step from one mode of life to another, from the Blackbeard-and-Piracy into the domestic, softer life he's been quietly craving his entire life.

Only, as he says himself, "I don't think I've ever made regular breakfast for anyone before". He's trying, but it's something new and unfamiliar to him and it's "my way of saying thank you".

And lastly, we have the scene with the fisherman and his son where Ed has shoe-horned himself into what he thinks is the solution to all his problems and also includes a father-son dynamic, because our man can't do anything without his daddy issues rearing their ugly head.

Once again, Ed is out of his depth, but at the opposite end of the scale from the party ship. This is a place he thinks he should fit but he doesn't. This is the domesticity he craved, but without understanding or appreciating the real work that is needed to get there.

And once again, over a meal, he has an angry father expressing violence. "Control your pop-pop!" he tells the boy who is around the same age as he was when he killed his father. But he doesn't fight back, he doesn't strike out at Pop-pop, and the son steps between them and pulls his dad back several times.

And it's this father-figure's words that ring in Ed's ears when he realises Stede may be in danger. "If you were ever good at anything, do that". And if there's one thing Ed Teach is good at, it's fighting for the people he loves.

In conclusion our Mr. Teach wants a safe and comfortable home-life, with food and warmth (and orgasms), but he has no real experience of what that is really like or how to get it. His entire life has been a succession of threats and danger and men who would do harm to people in their charge, especially when they were unarmed, defenceless and vulnerable.

He doesn't know how to be safe yet, because he's never experienced it. All he's known until this point is a life of violence and danger and while he tried to move away from that, the violence and danger was still there - as Stede put it, there's no escaping it in their line of work.

But now, at the end of S2, for the first time in his life, he is actually able to say "No, I need to be away from piracy" because his whole journey through both seasons has been him trying and trying to step away from the life that has him by the throat.

And now, he's finally been able to do it and he's not alone. He has someone he's safe with and who is willing to do the work with him to help him figure things out. And give him good food, warmth and, of course, orgasms.

#ofmd #ofmd meta #ofmd thinkie thoughts #blackbeard #ed teach #long post

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betterthanbatman1 · 7 months

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There’s something so beautiful yet so chilling about this.

We’re so used to seeing Bruce lash out at Jason. It’s always the same thing between the two:

Bruce goes to stop Jason.

Jason throws a punch saying “he deserved to die”.

Bruce retaliates and beats Jason up saying “you don’t get to decide that. You’re no better than the criminals. Get out of my city.”

Jason says something along the lines of “This isn’t only your city. You had Alfred and money to support you growing up but some people (me) had nothing”

Jason ends up leaving feeling like a worthless piece of shit & continues to hate Batman (& associates), as Bruce continues his mission.

What we never get is them talking to each other. Yes they exchange words, but they never talk. It’s always punch first, talk later. (Rhato #25 my beloathed)

In this panel, Bruce kneels down to be eye to eye with Jason (so much different than when he normally talks down to him). He removes his mask to show Jason that this is Bruce and what he’s doing is focusing on Jason and not on the mission.

He explains what he’s doing and reassures Jason of that: “This isn’t punishment, Jason. I love you”.

Now on the other hand, this is really fucked up. Because Jason is so used to hearing about how he’s screwed up big time and how he’s gone off the rails. What he doesn’t expect is for Bruce to say ‘I love you’ twice, whilst Jason is so vulnerable.

Bruce could beat Jason up and he could send him to Arkham or Blackgate. But he chooses to give Jason a new life in a different city where he won’t have to face the harsh consequences of his actions. What Bruce is showing here is love. At least that’s how Jason should see it. Because his dad isn’t fighting him and isn’t locking him up for murdering people. “I love you Jason but you’re a murderer”.

Now obviously Bruce is not a loving father here since he literally poisoned his son. I just thought it was really interesting to see the juxtaposition between ‘Bruce acting/speaking so kind and endearingly to his clearly struggling son’, with the ‘harshness of his actions towards his son (drugging Jason with fear toxin)’. As well as comparing that to the Bruce we’re so used to seeing face off with Jason.

You see this panel and you feel for both of them. It looks heartwarming to see the way Bruce is talking to Jason. But then when you know what Bruce has done, you feel anger, hate, or simply just knowing this is wrong. There’s so much manipulation from Bruce, that this whole story arc just leaves you feeling conflicted.

I just think that this was quite well done from both the writing and the artwork

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arminsfavoritepookie · 10 months

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ROCKSTAR EREN HCS (pt.3)

- Fluff and Angst

( shout out to that one anon )

Rockstar Eren is a towering figure on the stage, commanding attention and awe from audiences across the globe. With a gruff voice that growls with intensity and a rough exterior that seems to shield him from the world around him, he's the quintessential rock icon, a larger-than-life persona that embodies everything that's rebellious and daring about the music industry.

Yet for those lucky enough to know him intimately, there's so much more to Eren than meets the eye. Beneath the brooding exterior lies a heart that's overflowing with romantic sentimentality, a man who's never shy about expressing his love for those he cares about. His devotion to you is evident in the matching initials necklaces that the two of you wear around your necks, a pair of perfectly crafted trinkets that showcase the bond you share with each other.

It's a testament to Eren's sweet and sensitive side, the kind of love that can make even the toughest rockers weak in the knees. It's not just the necklaces that are a symbol of his affection, though. When you're getting ready to head out on the town, he'll peer over your shoulder and help you pick out the perfect outfit and accessories.

His fingers brush softly against your skin as you play with his hair, lost in thought as he contemplates which earrings or bracelet would best complement your look. It's a ritual that's become a tradition between the two of you, a way to bond and connect in a world that can often feel overwhelming and hectic.

Of course, there are moments when the constant sweetness and attention can be a bit overwhelming. It's a strange juxtaposition to go from being the lover of a tough, rebellious rockstar to a partner who's always doting and tender. But just when you start to feel smothered, Eren surprises you with yet another heartwarming gesture that makes your heart skip a beat.

Maybe it's a love letter, scrawled in his scratchy handwriting and hidden inside the pages of your favorite novel. Or perhaps it's a rare vinyl record that he spent months searching for, a copy of an album that you listened to endlessly when you were growing up. Whatever it is, it always comes with a sincerity and tenderness that's hard to resist. Eren has a way of making you feel cherished and appreciated, of reminding you that even the toughest rockers have a soft spot for the people they love.

Rockstar Eren tattoos always catch your attention. His chest and back were a canvas adorned with intricate artwork, each symbol holding a secret meaning only between you. Sometimes his fingers traced the inked patterns and you couldn't help but marvel at the depth and complexity of his self-expression.

Tonight, however, his focus was on one particular tattoo. With a mischievous smile, he leaned in close and whispered in his deep, seductive voice, "Wanna see my latest addition, pretty?" Your curiosity piqued, you nodded eagerly, anticipation building within you.

Slowly, sensually, he peeled off his shirt, revealing a tapestry of art that had become a part of him. And there, above his heart, nestled amongst a bed of roses, was your name, forever etched into his flesh. The red ink glistened, still fresh and raw, contrasting with the weathered and faded colors of his older tattoos.

Your fingers trembled as they yearned to touch the ink, to trace the curves of each letter that symbolized your place in his heart. With a tenderness that spoke volumes, you ran your fingers lightly across his lower stomach, reveling in the shivers that danced across his skin. Time seemed to stand still in that moment as you gazed into his intense eyes, your heart pounding with a mix of love, fear, and vulnerability

Your lips formed a hesitant whisper, betraying the inner turmoil of your racing thoughts. "Are you sure... Are you sure you want to have your name inked onto your body like this?" A hint of apprehension quivered in your voice, but it was met with a soft, reassuring smile that played upon his lips. The sincerity that radiated from his eyes mirrored his unwavering conviction.

"You own my body," he murmured, his words dripping with tenderness.

"Every single inch."

His eyes never left yours as he spoke, his gaze a fierce declaration of the love and devotion he held for you. The way his brow raised slightly only accentuated the depth of his commitment. "And I wouldn't have it any other way," he continued, his voice filled with a tenderness that sent shivers down your heart.

"I want your name to be forever etched onto my skin. I want you to be a part of me in a way that can never be taken away."

Rockstar Eren, with his tousled brown locks and weathered leather jacket, was the embodiment of rebellious charm. His green eyes, adorned with smoky eyeliner, glimmered with mischief as his lips curved into a mischievous smile. And it wasn't just his piercing gaze that captivated you; it was the plethora of piercings that adorned his body.

His perfectly sculpted eyebrow, ears, and nose were all littered with silver and steel, but it was one particular piercing that bewitched you—the tantalizing glint of his tongue piercing in the moonlight was irresistibly alluring. Every time you locked lips with Eren, the coolness of the metal against your own ignited a shiver between your thighs.

The taste of rebellion and recklessness mingled on your tongues, as the slight roughness of his piercing pressed against your tongue. A trail of of saliva would connect your lips, a tangible reminder of the kiss shared between you. Reluctantly, you pulled away, but the pull of his touch left you craving more.

The way his plush lips grazed your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin, intensified the connection you shared. It was as if his piercing had an effect on every nerve ending, causing a symphony of tingles and goosebumps.

You couldn't tear your eyes away from the small piece of metal nestled within his mouth. Mesmerized, you watched it glisten and glimmer whenever he spoke, hypnotized by the play of light against its polished surface. You fought valiantly to hide your infatuation, your insatiable hunger for the metallic charm that adorned his tongue. You resisted the temptation to openly stare, but it was a battle you were gradually losing. The magnetism of his piercing was simply too powerful to resist.

Then, one fateful night, Eren caught you in the act of admiring him, his gaze locking with yours. The intensity in his eyes matched only by the wicked smirk that played upon his lips. His voice, a seductive rasp, sent delightful shivers down your spine as he questioned, "What are you staring at?" Your mind faltered for a moment, the feeling of embarrassment rippled through your brain as you desperately grasped for an explanation. "Oh, nothing," you stammered, struggling to come up with a believable excuse. "Just...thinking, I guess."

Eren's smirk grew wider, the gleam in his eyes betraying his understanding of your hidden thoughts. He stepped closer, the smell of leather and a faint hint of musk engulfing you. His voice dropped to a tantalizing whisper, laden with suggestive undertones. "Sure, sure," he teased, his words brushing against your ear like a caress.

"But if you keep looking at me like that, I'll give you something else to think about, yeah?"

Rockstar Eren couldn't get enough of taking pictures of you, the camera just couldn't stop clicking away. The digital storage in his camera was brimming with photos of you in every setting. Whether you were sleeping soundly on the tour bus with drool dribbling down your chin, indulging in luxurious meals at swanky restaurants.

Even when you clumsily strummed his guitar, a laughable attempt at imitating his musical abilities- he always had his camera handy, capturing every precious moment with you. With a sly grin, Eren would often say "Gotta keep these memories with you forever," while he snapped a shot of the two of you creating makeshift stages in the cozy loft you shared, passionately belting out songs with imaginary crowds cheering you on.

He just couldn't help himself, every move you made seemed to inspire him to freeze the moment in time. Every laugh, every tear, every twinkle in your eyes - Eren's camera caught it all.

It was obvious that Eren was head-over-heels in love with you. Whenever he gazed into your eyes, he saw an ocean of love and admiration. He was captivated by your charm, your wit and your passion for life. Being a rockstar, he had his fair share of groupies throwing themselves at him, but they were no match for the way you had stolen his heart.

Rockstar Eren lounged at the edge of his luxurious bed, his toned chest accentuated by the snug white wife-beater that hugged his chest, showcasing the sculpted abs and arms that made you swoon. The casual shorts he wore revealed the well-defined legs that he had earned from his years of stage performance.

You begged him let you smoke with him and you noticed a moment of hesitation that briefly flashed in his eyes. However, the prospect of witnessing you in an altered state was enough to break through any of his lingering doubts, and he readily agreed to indulge in your invitation.

With a sly grin, he motioned for you to join him on the bed. As you climbed onto his lap, straddling him, he leaned back against the plush headboard. You couldn't help but notice the warm breath that he exhaled, infused with a hint of anticipation that caused your heart to skip a beat. The room transformed into a haven of sensuality, as the thick smoke of the blunt weaved its way around you, blurring the edges of your perceptions.

His voice was deep and gravely, laced with seductive tones, as he leaned forward, his lips a breath away from your ear. "Are you certain about this, baby?" he questioned, his fingers caressing your hip, tracing intricate patterns that left a trail of goosebumps on your skin. His gaze locked onto yours, searching for any signs of doubt.

A mischievous giggle bubbled up inside you as you squirmed on his lap, his grip on you instinctively tightening as you brushed against his growing arousal. "Please, Ren," you pleaded, your eyes alight with a daring twinkle. "I want to do this with you."

Without hesitation, he reached for the table beside the bed, retrieving a perfectly rolled blunt and a sleek lighter. His hands were confident, deftly flicking the lighter and bringing the blunt to life with a cherry-red ember. The scent of sweet, sticky herb permeated the air as he took a deep inhale before passing it to you. As you accepted the blunt, his gaze remained fixed on you, studying your every reaction with intensity.

With a steady hand, you brought the joint to your lips, following his instructions carefully. You felt a surge of excitement rush through your veins as you inhaled slowly, feeling the thick smoke swirling into your lungs and weaving its way through your body.

As you exhaled, your eyes locked onto his, noticing the faint blush that had appeared on his cheeks. Eren's free hand found its way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. The need that radiated from his touch was clear. He shifted your position, and in a smooth motion so you were facing him, his intent clear.

"You did so good, pretty," he whispered, a wicked smirk curling at the corners of his lips as they pressed firmly against yours. His breath mingled with yours, and the taste of his tongue flooded your senses. "Again?" he murmured against your chest mouth, his voice low and filled with desperation.

In a seamless motion, he effortlessly took the joint from your fingers, the ember burning vibrantly in the dimly lit room. With a hint of reverence, he tilted his head slightly and blew into your parted lips, releasing a cloud of cherry-flavored smoke that enveloped you both. The room seemed to spin as you inhaled deeply, the intoxicating fumes invading every inch of your being.

Leaning back ever so slightly, he allowed you to exhale, watching as the smoke escaped your parted lips. With an almost hypnotic rhythm, the smoky tendrils swirled around his mouth, intermingling with his own before he breathed it back into you It was an intimate exchange, the shared breath dancing within the warm confines of his mouth, drawing you further into a hazy frenzy.

Caught up in the electrifying intensity, you couldn't help but nibble on his lower lip, eliciting a slight whimper from him. The taste of his blood mingled with the heady mixture of smoke , adding a hint of primal excitement to the air. "You're a dirty girl..teasing me like this" he growled, a mix of pleasure and frustration lacing his voice.

“You like torturing me?”

Rockstar Eren sat on a plush chair, his eyes filled with mischief as he watched you meticulously applying his eyeliner. With intense concentration, you delicately traced a line along his eyelids, determined to achieve the perfect symmetry. But Eren couldn't help but chuckle softly, his amusement evident in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Do you need some assistance?" he whispered, his warm breath caressing your arm as he leaned closer to plant a tender kiss on your skin. Irritated by his distraction, you playfully tapped the side of his head and muttered, "Stop moving, you're distracting me."

Undeterred, Eren's hold on your hips tightened, his large hands offering comfort against your bare skin. He adored watching you in this state of intense focus, relishing in your unwavering determination to complete the task at hand. After what felt like an eternity, you stepped back with a satisfied huff, believing that you had triumphantly mastered the art of applying eyeliner.

As Eren gazed into the mirror, however, your triumph quickly turned to exasperation. The lines you painstakingly drew resembled more of a chaotic wave than the sleek and sharp look you had aimed for. A smudged streak added to your frustration, and you turned to Eren, a scowl forming on your face.

"Why are you laughing?" you snapped, crossing your arms in a huff. "It's not like you could do any better." Eren's laughter resonated through the room, blending harmoniously with the soft rock music playing in the background. He took a step closer, his arms encircling your waist, as he planted a soft kiss on your pouting lips.

"You really are cute," he said, his voice laced with amusement, "I may not be an expert at applying eyeliner, but the sight of you concentrating and doing a horrible job is simply adorable." A mischievous grin crept onto his face, and his green eyes twinkled with unabashed adoration. "Besides, perfection is overrated. I love the way you do it, even if it's a little crooked."

His words dissolved your annoyance, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Eren possessed an uncanny ability to transform any situation into a moment of tenderness and affection. Leaning in, you pressed a gentle kiss against his lips, your hands getting lost in the unruly mess of his hair. "Well, you're lucky I love you," you teased, the warmth of his embrace soothing your earlier frustration.

"But remember, the next time you need eyeliner, you're on your own." Eren chuckled, his arms enveloping you tighter. "Fair enough," he agreed, his voice filled with playful acceptance.

"But you'll always be my favorite artist, even if your canvas is a bit unconventional."

“Fuck off, Jeager”

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intyalote · 1 year

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the thing about doctor/river is that the blatant romance is a defense mechanism. it’s playacting it’s how they sketch out the boundaries of their relationship because they can never be sure of how the scales of intimacy are balanced - they love each other, sure, but they are so rarely in a place where they both know enough about each other for mutual trust. so you get these really interesting juxtapositions like how eleven is in full flirty mode for impossible astronaut/day of the moon to the point where it feels like they’re about to make out every time they’re in the same frame but at the same time he dismisses her with “trust you? seriously?” and is shocked when she actually kisses him goodbye. in let’s kill hitler they flirt like hell when she is literally trying to murder him but not at all when they save each others’ lives. in the wedding of river song kovarian complains about them being lovey-dovey in front of her but right after that the doctor attempts to reset the timeline and river has to drag him kicking and screaming into respecting her enough to tell her the truth. in angels take manhattan we get both “just you wait till my husband gets home” (flaunting their relationship to grayle) and “never let him see the damage” (she doesn’t trust him to love her as a flawed, mortal person). they’re out of sync all the time, so sincerity is off the table except when it’s a necessary shortcut to trust that doesn’t exist yet - river whispering his name to him in the library when he doesn’t know her yet, their literal wedding being a tool the doctor uses to convince her to let him “die.”

the thing about “hide the damage” in particular is that river was responding to the doctor’s own fear of seeing the damage. she lied to him because she was trying to give him what he wanted, even if he couldn’t admit it. and it applies both to the broken wrist and to their relationship in general. every time he looks at her all he can see is the pain of her death, and she can see that he’s holding back even if she doesn’t exactly know why. this was always going to be a barrier to true intimacy between them unless they could be linear for long enough to know and see each other as they are, not as they’re going to be or as they were.

that’s why husbands of river song is such a perfect resolution for them. the only way river would ever be honest enough to let him see her insecurities is if she didn’t know who he was, so it had to be twelve and not eleven. and it specifically had to be twelve fresh from losing his memories of clara, so that he’d stop running away from confronting her death and just give them those 24 years together on darillium to really get to know each other, to see the ugliness and the imperfections and stay together anyway. it makes perfect sense that after that they could reach the level of love and trust river has for “her doctor” in the library, in a way that just isn’t possible with a relationship built on whirlwind dates done out of order and nothing else.

#there's a scene where ten is thinking about how every time he meets river the memory of her death hurts more #so he decides to avoid her because he thinks somehow if he can change their future she won't die for him #(of course she didn't only die for him but he's too arrogant to see that)#and i think though eleven kind of gives up on avoiding her #he still flinches away from loving her because he knows it'll hurt (name of the doctor my beloved <3)#river song #doctor who #dw meta #dw rewatch #dw #my meta #oh the ten thing is in the day of the doctor novelization. forgot to mention that lmao.#highly recommend reading it #adds a lot of depth that wasn’t there in the episode #meta #mine

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homelanderbutbig · 4 months

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What Heaven Feels Like (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1158 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You share some morning cuddles. Inspired by this ask.

It took quite a bit of convincing to get to this point with Homelander. Although he would chain himself together with you if it was possible, he was not shy to express his concerns about you moving into his penthouse. He was terrified about sleeping in the same bed with you, as he had never spent the night with anyone before. Even when he was in a relationship with Maeve, she always made it perfectly clear to him that she would be sleeping in her own apartment.

Because of his size and strength, it petrified him to think he might injure you during the night. His heightened senses make him a light sleeper, waking up at the slightest noise, but he still found himself unable to permit even the smallest of chances that he might roll over into you without noticing before it's too late.

And yet, despite his fears, Homelander still found himself yearning for that connection with you. The normalcy that couples get to engage in, waking up to the sight of your loved one, is something he has never been able to experience. And you're the only one he'd ever want to share such an intimate moment with.

Luckily, with some delicate discussion, you two were able to come to an agreement over your sleeping arrangements. Because his bed is practically two king sizes in length and width, it leaves you plenty of room to sleep together but with a barrier of a couple feet in between your bodies.

You aren't sure how you managed, but somehow you've woken up before Homelander. Maybe it's because he's used to the blaring sunlight creeping through his penthouse windows as dawn approaches, but you can't fight against the brightness flooding your senses. However, your displeasure at having to wake up so early doesn't last long, when you get look at Homelander sound asleep.

It's an incredible juxtaposition to how everybody else sees him. He is the world's most powerful supe, standing eight feet tall with an inhumanly formidable physique to match his intimidating height. Everyone around him cowers in fear of his mental instability, which was forced onto him from a childhood he never asked for. All of the burdens he carries in secret, constantly weighing heavily in the back of his mind as he navigates his pain alone.

And then, there's what you are observing in front of you. There is no creases on Homelander's forehead, no tension in his jaw, no twitching of his eyes, no furrowing of his brows from stress. His face is so perfectly content, so innocent. It really reminds you of the little boy he hides inside, shielding him from the evils of the outside world. But you can always tell when his inner child is looking back at you through his eyes, when he allows himself to be vulnerable with you. How tender his expression becomes when he trusts you, to let you take his pain away. When he lets himself be loved.

You regret not bringing your phone with you before you went to bed. There's nothing more that you want right now than to take a photo of how peaceful he looks in this moment.

Carefully, you reach over to hold onto his big hand that is outstretched near you, gently massaging it with the hopes of coaxing Homelander out of his slumber. As expected, he stirs immediately from feeling your touch, letting out a soft breath. His eyes slowly flutter open as he wakes, and quickly focus on you.

You can see him cycle through his emotions as he attempts to process what is happening right now. At first he is confused seeing you in bed with him, then he remembers what you both agreed to last night, then he is scared that he might have hurt you, and then he is relieved at learning you are fine from a quick scan with his X-ray vision. And finally, a restful smile spreads across his face when he lets himself unwind, taking in the sight of you.

He didn't kill you in his sleep. You made it, you survived.

"Morning, big guy," you hum, giving his index and middle finger a firm squeeze. Just those two fingers alone are the same width as your own hand, fitting snugly into your palm.

"Morning," he croons in return, his voice a bit more deep and gravelly than usual as he starts to fully wake up. His grin grows wider until his fangs are on display, sparkling at your greeting.

Homelander nudges his body closer to you, burying his face into your chest. His massive arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in as tightly as he can without breaking you in half.

This is the first time you've ever been held by him where you've not felt the familiar cushioned texture of his suit. The Compound V coursing through his veins has left his skin essentially impenetrable, free of any scars or unsightly faults. It feels like you are being cuddled by a living marble statue, with his smooth skin polished to perfection.

You swaddle his large head in your arms as he takes in a deep breath through his nose, getting himself immersed in your scent. You've never understood this fascination he has with how you smell, but then again you don't have superpowers or his elevated senses. Whatever it is about you, it is intoxicating to him. He can never seem to get enough.

"Have I ever told you how cute you are?" you question lightheartedly, smiling while you swirl your fingers through his not-yet-styled hair.

"I'm not cute," he huffs, angling his head to look up at you. "I'm the Homelander. I'm the strongest man in the world." He's doing his best to be stern, but his eyes betray him, shining brightly from his genuine happiness.

"You can be both you know," you retort, chuckling at his response. You start lightly scratching his scalp, getting a prompt reaction from him as he nuzzles himself back into your chest.

"Hmmm…" he mewls under his breath, closing his eyes while he melts completely into your body. "Maybe… just for you."

"Don't worry, I'll keep your secret safe," you playfully promise, giving him a kiss on his head as you continue running your nails through his hair.

Every stroke of your exquisite fingers softens him further, until he feels himself dissolve into a puddle. This must be what heaven feels like. The rest of the world doesn't matter to him anymore. He can't believe he was so worried about sharing his bed, and depriving himself of these mornings with you.

Homelander ends up being quite late for his morning meeting, struggling to eventually break free from your blissful snuggle session. But as painful as it was to get out of bed, he takes solace in knowing he gets to do it all over again with you, every morning from now on.

#the boys #the boys tv #homelander #homelander x reader #g/t #size difference #my writing #that 'big guy' is for you sehtoast 🫶

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