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trafltr · 1 year

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ooh baby, ooh baby, i’m in love | eren jaeger.

the note 𐦍 i’ve recently been thinking about a successful, older (early to mid thirties), soft spoken eren who lives to spoil the woman of his dreams—so i’m gonna share this with y’all too. i’m actually just projecting our relationship. not proud of the ending but wtv. part two here. inspired by west coast, lana del rey.

contains 𐦍 nsfw, fem!reader, stupidly rich!eren, established relationship, vaginal sex, mating press, cervix kisses, use of pet names (princess, baby, my wife, the usual yk), unprotected sex, breeding, squirting, softie eren, mild body worship, size kink, hand on stomach while fucking mhm, i love you’s exchanged, praise kink, eren talks to your pussy while he’s in it, i’m thinking black reader but it’s all subjective babes: if you like it, read it!!

truth be told, eren jaeger doesn’t believe he has much to live for.

he’s kept his circle small for all of these ongoing years; with the occasional extension of acquaintances from work dinners, or christmas parties—though, he preferred to slip away from such events when eyes weren’t so…watchful. he likes to think his social battery has drained over the course of his life. looking back at his angstful teenage years, fourteen year old most likely wouldn’t recognize the person he is today.

his once intense nature that resembled an overbearing presence of loud determination turned calm—steadfast and slow to visible anger (with the exception of a passive aggressive comment here and there from simple annoyance). the short hair that once barely covered his nape now fell to his broad shoulders, however, he preferred to keep it up—maintaining appearances while keeping it convenient. the smaller five foot six body grew to an intimidating lean six foot four instead.

however, those things were quite trivial; he knew such changes happened with growth and eventual maturity.

but for a significant chunk of his life, eren was never the greatest with women. he was oblivious—blind to the wandering eyes full of admiration from girls in his classes and workplace—and nose deep in his books. he wouldn’t rest until he was on top of his grades; which he had no problem with. His emphasis on success failed him when it came to the dating scene; to say the least he was shy—and married to his work as well.

but on top of all this, eren was a patient man, and good things always comes to those who wait.

and when a dangerously beautiful woman comes wandering into his life on the street outside of an office dinner he gracefully slipped away from, asking him for an extra five dollars to help pay for her cab home from a no-show date—a woman that has him battling the slew of warning alarms sounding away in his usually zen mind and redefining what he thought was himself—he knows that he’s waited long enough.

simply put, he’s a man of his craft; dedicated to two things. his work, and his wife.

His wife—the phrase has his brain melting into pure grey matter that spills out his body in the form of love. To even think he has the opportunity to refer to you as such is priceless in itself. eren didn’t believe he could love—let alone love this hard. you ask him to run, he’ll say how far; jump—how high?

you’ve changed him—ever since he offered to drop you off in his sleek black mercedes benz parked somewhere by the valet and you giggled in response, saying ‘i’m not usually so trusting of strangers’ will the slightest glint of curiosity in your bright eyes.

and somewhere in between the months, his ten hour workdays turned to six, important software development meetings got pushed back for convenience, the accumulating days of paid time off started being used, for once, his assistant could do their job, and his new focus was you.

diamonds and pearls, nails and hair, dinners on boats and vacations on beaches, shopping sprees on his black card and all of his devotion towards you—only you.

eren…he’s a worshipper—it doesn’t take much for him to get on his knees for you. he’s not ashamed, if anything, he’s proud. he likes to say that anything that’s his, is yours; so who are you to deny what he gives you?

that’s another thing he oh so loves about you—you readily take everything he can offer. you let him take care of you, and he wouldn’t want it any other way; you’re his wife after all.

his wife, his wife.

“my wife…” eren mumbles to himself as he buries his face into the crook of your perfumed neck. the pronounced scent makes his head spin, you can’t fathom how in love with you this man is. as his large hands engulf your own, he’s met with the texture of your wedding ring that cost him over twenty grand, the one you cried over when you saw it in his hands offering it to you—but eren doesn’t think it does his adoration for you enough justice.

he prefers to show you.

while there’s no doubt that material items and dream homes are things you like to receive—there’s nothing better than the way he has you now, one leg resting atop his shoulder and the other barely slung around his waist as he steadily ruts his hips into your own.

oh, how could you be so beautiful? splayed out on the bed like a wicked man’s deepest desires and dreams; the one he secretly lusts for from across the room with no hopes to introduce himself because you’re just so out of his league. your hair is messily draped over the silk pillows, all remnants of your lipgloss/lipstick gone from your parted lips and instead smudged on his own, the gold necklace with his diamond initial was falling into the dip in your neck, and you were gazing at him with need. pure, heartfelt need.

your body arches towards him, manicured hands trailing towards your own chest to play with your nipples that hardened from the low temperature of the room. “i need you eren, make me feel you—i want it.” your voice is smooth, accompanied with a small whine that reminds him just how spoiled you are, and how it’s all his fault.

but he couldn’t care less—you deserve it for wandering into his life to make you his own.

“i know princess, i know.” he knows damn well you need him, he knows, he knows—he’s repeating it as he peppers a kiss to your jewelled ankle before pressing down on the back of your thigh to steady himself.

eren fucks like he loves—endlessly and hard.

maybe that’s why the way he bullies your pussy while bottoming out has you grasping at the threads of the sheets and chanting his name like a hymn followed by prayer. he lets your cunt feel every bit of him, the ridges—veins, down to the last inch. he’s terrifyingly big, another thing you love about him.

his dick feels like it’s mushing your insides, curving up against your spongy walls that oh so desperately tighten around him. every thrust is harder than his last, and the way the trimmed hair resting above his base brushes against your clit provides all the extra stimulation that has your head rolling to the side. your uncontrolled moans turn to sobs when you feel his tip tickle your cervix—and boy does it make him a rejuvenated man.

“look at me.” his words barely register as syllables in your clouded mind—you keep your head turned, eyes focused shut as your body shakes upwards from the fervour of his unrelenting tempo. there’s a lot of things eren can have, and you not watching the way his slick covered dick slips in and out of your weeping pussy isn’t one of them. “you have to look at me pretty girl.” his tone is soft but firm, thick fingers taking your chin in his hands and turning you towards him once again.

“see how well you’re taking me? all of it.” he gives you a million dollar smile, hinting for you to watch where the two of you connect. “your pretty cunt just wants it so bad, right?”

“oh, eren…” it’s always a sudden surprise how soiled his mouth can get at times like this. heeding his request, you watch his cock disappear in your folds—and you sight of it has you fluttering around him like a whore.

“you were made for me, weren’t you? prettiest sight i’ve ever seen.” you’ve heard his praises a multitude of times, having him ramble on about fucking you so much your walls moulded to fit him like a tight glove, only that now, he’s saying it to your pussy instead.

“only you ‘ren, was made just for you.” you babble out, feverishly bucking your hips up to meet his ruts.

when your eyes finally rip away from below and back up to his face, the look he wears has your cunt melting like putty. with furrowed brows, a dip in his forehead and a bitten lip, he watches your body move with each fuck. even in such a sinful position, you were just so divine.

almost subconsciously, his ringed hand moves from your hip and over to your torso, gliding over your pierced belly and stopped at your lower stomach, “I’m right here baby.” gently, he applies pressure to the spot, making your eyes blow open as you moan in response. the feeling gives you butterflies—ones that go straight to your clit and stimulate the nerves in your shaky legs.

“cummin—eren i’m cumming!” you’re rambling, scrambling to push his hand away from your belly, but it’s all too late, and eren knows that well. how could he not? your body is a temple, he’s explored every inch of it, and the sudden vice grip your walls have you him and periodic throb of your cunt is all too telling. your orgasm is drawn out, legs spazzing around your entranced husband, “mm, oh-fuck! yesyesyes eren, don’t stop!”

oh, aren’t you just perfect. his eyes soften when he watches how your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, only to capture it in a languid and sloppy kiss, teeth grazing your plump lips and sucking on them like a sweet. you whine he pulls himself away from your body completely, instead he takes the time to tack his thumb to your puffy clit, rubbing feint circles and the occasional attempted heart on the bud. he always does this, coaxing out the last of your orgasm with nimble fingers that you dream about

“you gonna let me take good care of you?” he asks softly between hushed breaths while grabbing hold of both your legs and hoisting them over his shoulders. helplessly, all you can do is nod; you’re in a trance at the very sight of him. his defined torso is illuminated by the back light of one of the many lamps in your bedroom, his hair is slipping from its captive elastic band, the grip of his hands on your ankles sends searing hot pulses straight to your sensitive clit.

he gives himself a few good pumps, sliding his length between your folds. your wetness aids him in bottoming out once again, but your sensitivity has you squirming in his hold. “gotta stay put baby.” he marvels, talking you into submission, “that’s my girl.”

his praises are followed by the shift of his hands down to the back of your thighs, they gently rub the plush skin before pushing them down to meet your chest. while there are some circumstances where looking down at you sparks something within him, eren likes to be eye to eye with you when he’s balls deep—turns him on even more being in such close proximity with such a captivating woman.

you squeal from the uncomfortable burn in your hamstring from being folded in half with the additional feeling of eren’s body weight on your own. you swear that you can feel your heart palpitating in your ears as you feverishly clench around him. “it’s too much! can’t take it, can’t take it!”

“of course you can, you know you can, your pussy takes everything i give it.” eren speaks between juts, pressing your knees to your shoulder blades as he pistons into you without any regard for decency. his thrust feel like a hammer, knocking your body into the memory foam mattress you begged him to buy.

stars cloud your eyes as he wraps himself tighter around you, head in the side of your neck as he peppers kisses across your skin. your pants and gasps are loud, amplifying the sounds of slapping skin and balls hitting the fat of your ass. his favourite part is when you dig your nails into his back, leaving cresent shaped imprints and jagged lines across it like a painter with a canvas; scars of your love.

deep groans fill your ear, soft and sweet; all eren can ramble about is you—how good you feel, how quick you can make him unravel like a ball of string, how lucky he is to have you in his life—the list goes on.

“i love you—fuck, i love you so much baby, you treat me so well.” with his declaration of love, his pace seems to increase, fucking you dumb and leaving you to heave for whatever air is left to breathe.

“i love you too, so much.” your eyes scramble around in your haywire brain, overloaded by the repeated feeling of the jackhammering going on in your walls and the non-stop cervix kisses he gives you. “it’s all yours, eren; you deserve it, you deserve this pussy. you married this, have it.”

eren jaeger doesn’t believe he’s deserving of much; has he earned things? yes. but you…laying beneath him, telling him he deserves you? it makes him never want to leave—not that he would dream of doing so in the first place.

he does deserve it—your words make his brain malfunction. he deserves it. fuck, you might just be the death of him.

you’re crying for him, grasping at any part of his body possible to get him closer to you than physically possible. your tighten around his base once more, and your hand flies down to messily prod at your clit in an attempt to play with it.

meanwhile, eren’s unrelenting pace falters; that man knows he’s going to cum soon, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it with you. so he pleads with you to give him one more—telling you that you’ve got another one bundled up in there for him. to say it’s true is unknown, but your body listens to eren, and miraculously whatever he believes will happen comes to fruition.

but your body is delicate—everyone knows delicate things break under pressure. with the unrelenting strain and stretch his dick gives your walls, the tight feeling in your core, and aching numbness in your legs, your buildup feels much more violent—ready to release all built up tension given to you by your husband.

“eren—keep on going like this and i’m gonna make a mess!” you fuss around, hand reaching to gently push his torso away in fear you may soil the freshly made sheets.

“that’s the goal.” he states as a matter of factly, brows furrowing as a suppressed groan bubbles up from his chest at the thought: pretty little face going stupid and clawing at anything within reach as you writhe and cum all over his torso and lower body. you can’t make him budge now that he’s a determined man.

his strokes grow sloppy but powerful, curved cock repeatedly ramming into your spongy spot that force your plush walls to grip around him, “you’re eating me up here, love.” he mumbles, moaning into your mouth in the disguise of a messy kiss.

the last roll that tips you over the rocky edge is a shaky one, the last one he could give before emptying himself into you. it’s thick and hot and you feel it fill you as you twitch underneath him and cover his abdomen with your juices. wordlessly, his hands reach for yours as he stills; soft lips peppering the lining of skin on your cheek.

eren jaeger knows that change is inevitable—it comes with time. but eren jaeger also knows one thing will stay the same; his love and adoration for the pretty girl laying below him.

#eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #eren smut #eren jaeger smut #aot smut #aot x reader #snk x reader #snk smut #eren yeager x reader

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cherry-leclerc · 9 months

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fucked-up little thrill ☆ cl16

genre: pwp but also porn with plot (the best of both worlds!), humor, she truly is a maneater in disguiseee

word count: 8.3K

There’s a difference between warning and danger - you happen to be both. Though, Charles only sees the green light, go. Well, we can all imagine how this will already go.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+...oral (m and f receiving), fingering, handjob, penetrative sex, riding, slight cry, unprotected sex

inspired by this and this !

“She’ll mess with your head, man. You’re going to wish she had never looked your way.”

“I told my mom about her. Crap, I bought her an engagement ring after a few days of knowing her.”

“Four words: Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“Do you know how fucked in the head you have to be in order to willingly go after her? Fucking pathetic. Sure, I did the same, but hear me out-”

Despite the warnings, he didn’t pay them any attention. He thought he was going crazy for sure when he saw two guys on their knees, begging: Run, just do it. And whatever you do, don’t look back.

Charles wasn’t even listening.

The nights were beginning to get warmer, yet there was still a slight breeze. Spring was rolling in. What an innocent season to meet the wildest card Charles has ever dealt.

“...then she laughed so hard that, Jesus Mary and Joseph, my heart went bananas! Y’know what I did next? I asked her, ‘You want a slice?’ I meant the tiramisu, guys! She thought I was talking about myself! T’was the most embarrassing thing. Made me look like a bloody narcissist.” Lando whined as he leaned onto the table to hide his face.

George snorts. “Ah don’t worry mate, I would gladly take a slice.” Lando groans, further rubbing his forehead onto the table. So much so, that it began to squeak.

“Alright, calm down before you shed your skin off. It wasn’t that bad.” Alex voices, as he pops a curly fry into his mouth.

“Easy for you to say! You basically have the person you’re going to get married to! You’re safe.” The Brit pouts. He then lifts his head up and wipes away a single tear. Everyone explodes into laughter.

“Muppet, c’mon we were kidding! Weren’t we just fooling around, Charles?” Carlos wiggles his eyebrows at the Monegasque. Charles rolled his eyes playfully.

“Yes, of course we were joking,” he starts. Lando looks up, seemingly feeling better as everyone began to agree. We were just playing around!

“Then again, how did you even fall for a girl like that?” Charles finishes his sentence.

“Argh. You don’t get itttt,” Lando wails in defeat. “When you meet a girl like that, you don’t question it. You just thank God for sending her your way and then BAM! She just walks out of your life.”

Hm - Charles thinks to himself as he takes a sip of Martini - naive, naive little Lando.

Charles met you that same night he was out for dinner with the boys. He was waiting for his car from the valet; shooting Joris a quick text.

"Sorry," he overhears a soft voice, but still didn’t pay much attention.

"Sorry? You’re sorry? We both know goddamn well that you’re sorry about nothing. Nada. Zeeerrrooo," a man's voice angrily shouts back, voice slurring.

Charles turns and sees a man running his hands through his blonde hair, walking back and forth in despair. Then, his eyes move to find you.

Standing tall in the tightest, shortest, black dress he's ever seen. So, the little black dress truly does exist. Glowy skin shining through from the lights decorating the outside of the restaurant. Your legs appear miles long, feet paired with your nicest set of heels, Joli Queen Glitter. Red fucking bottoms. Christian Louboutin at its finest. Rich jewelry sits on your wrists, fingers, and neck.

Even with all that in the way, all he notices is just how drop-dead gorgeous you are. Suddenly, his fingers get clammy. What the hell? His jaw was clenched. Literally, why? His pants were growing tight because oh God he was already har- Alright, now that’s just crazy, Charles. Get it together.

“Yes. Whether you believe me or not, I’m sorry. Maybe you just shouldn’t have set high expectations,” you spoke, looking down.

“Are you being fucking serious right now? You’re smiling? You think this is funny! Oh God, what the fuck is wrong with you, you crazyyyy bitch!” The man continues, sharply pointing his finger at you accusingly. He genuinely looks like he’s about to start crying for his mommy.

“Okay mate, I think that’s enough. Why don’t I call you a cab?” Charles speaks up from where he’s standing. You and the mysterious guy turn to look at him.

You shoot a smile as the man's eye starts twitching.

“Oh great! Great, great, great,” the man chants. “What an idiotic thing to believe that you hadn't gotten rid of me already! How could I not see it coming?” He drops to his knees and starts rocking back and forth. “On my dead hamster's birthday!” Levi, Charles later finds out, cries out to the sky. “Couldn’t this have happened any other day?” Charles cringes. “Call me that shitty ass cab, dude.”

So, you stand close by as Charles helps plop Levi inside with the help of the cab driver. They buckle him up and off they go.

Not before Levi pokes his out the window. “I swear I’m not being bitter when I tell you to fucking save yourself!”

Both of you are left there standing quietly. You pout your red lips as you pull out your phone to call a cab for yourself.

“Need a lift?”

Glancing around silently, you sneak a look at Charles. Handsome, you ponder, just a tiny bit. Outrageous lie. You quickly scold yourself for being so untruthful. This man was the most beautiful kind you’ve seen in your entire life.

“Take it that was your boyfriend back there?” He taps his fingers against the wheel.

“Mmm. Hardly. No, he isn’t - wasn’t - my boyfriend by any means. Some guys just instantly assume stuff over any girl that pays them any ounce of attention.” You lazily trace shapes onto your thigh. You tug your dress down a bit, licking your lips. “Thanks for helping me out back there. It was really sweet.”

He notices the way you never look up from your lap as you’re speaking. It’s kind of endearing, just how soft you can be. “Don’t mention it…it was…no problem.”

He walks you from his car to your house. It's small, pastel yellow with a mailbox that reads; No more love letters. Seriously. “Cute,” he comments. You blush.

“Oh, that. Sorry, I live with my two best friends and they wrote that as a joke,” you ramble as you click your heel shyly. “They said it would help out with my, and I quote, ‘secret admirers.’” You let out a tired laugh as you finally build up the courage to look at the man standing right in front of you.

“To be honest, that makes sense.” He tilts his head a bit, analyzing your eyes. “Beautiful girls should receive beautiful letters.”

Tongue tied, you stare back with a pleased smile.

“This is so unlike me, but would you like to go out some time?”

Easiest question ever asked.

A few nights later, he finally decides it would be a good day to take you out to dinner. Testing went well and the car was finally on the right track. He took this as a good omen.

“How long have you lived in Italy now?” you quiz, as you bring your Shirley Temple closer to your lips.

“Oh, um, for quite a while now. I mean it’s really only for work. I go home any chance I get.”

“Sweet. Where are you from?”

“Monaco.”

Your eyes grow wide with excitement. “Really! Monaco is so beautiful!” Your childlike squeal makes him smile brightly.

“Have you ever been?” You sadly shake your head, hair bouncing back and forth. Soft floral fills the air.

“Nope, but I wish to one day. I just know I’ll love it so much…” You trail off. “It’s just that growing up my favorite movie was Monte Carlo. Would beg my mom to play it any chance I could.” Maroon coats your cheekbones. He furrows his dark brows in confusion.

“Monte Carlo? You know, starring Selena Gomez?” His soft features pinch together. “...Leighton Meester? Katie Cassidy?” You desperatelyspit your words, trying to assist. He continues shaking his head. Never heard of it.

Your mood grows sulky as you pout. Leaning back, you finally take a sip of your drink. Oh, well now I really want something stronger than this.

“I would love to watch it some time though!” Charles tries as his voice cracks. He winces.

“Sure!” Though, you're not looking at him anymore. Your eyes are trained behind him. He’s about to turn around and ask if you’re fine, when you finally speak up. “I think I’ll go to the bar for another drink. Be right back!” He huffs.

You weren’t back for almost too long. Finally, deciding to go look for you, he stands and takes long strides all around the dark restaurant. When he finds you he sees you’re not alone.

A man in an all black suit seems to be your new company. You giggle as he appears to slide some type of business card to you. Just as you're about to grab it Charles strolls over to you both.

“Is your drink finally ready?” he asks as he wraps a protective arm around your waist. You flinch. You hadn’t even seen him walk over.

“Charles!” you shriek, as you crumble the piece of paper into the palm of your hard, hurriedly. You pray that he hadn’t noticed, but he had. Something inside of him told him not to ask. “I was actually on my way back. Did you need anything? A drink?” you ask, furrowing your brows attentively.

“No, thank you, amour,” Charles warmly replies, looking into your glossy eyes. You truly were the best thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“My apologies for getting in the way.” The man extends his hand out to Charles. “Aiden Quinn, pleasure to meet you.”

Charles may be upset that Aiden ruined his date, but he wasn’t keen on being rude, so begrudgingly, he shook his hand. “Charles Leclerc.” See, normally Charles isn’t the type to throw his name out like that expectantly, but he felt as if he had a point to make. He did, though. I was here first.

The man grins ear to ear, nodding. “Yes, that’s where I know you from. I knew you looked familiar. Formula 1 driver, right? Ferrari?” He points with a knowing smile.

“Scuderia’s number one driver, yes.” His grip around your waist stays secure. Meanwhile, your eyes are open to their fullest. Surprisingly, you had no idea.

“Certainly. I’m one of the team's ambassadors, actually,” Aiden challenges. Charles clenches his jaw. “When you have million dollar businesses all around the world, you try to find a place to help. Ferrari really needs it at the moment.” You’re equally as shocked with Aiden as you are with Charles.

��Well then, I’ll make sure to dedicate my next podium to you I suppose." You shift uncomfortably. This reminds him you’re there. With him. Ha! Take that, Quinn! “Anyhow, I would love to chit chat with fellow fans, but I must say we have to get going.” He holds your hand firmly as he leads you out.

“Goodbye, Aiden!” you beam as you depart ways.

“Formula 1 driver now, is it?” you curiously ask as you look over where he has one hand over the steering wheel and running the other calmly through his hair.

“Thought you knew.”

“I had no clue! Zip!” you shriek as fling your arms through the air. He laughs as he pulls into an abandoned parking lot.

“In the mood for something sweet?”

“Grazie mille,” the Monegasque says as he's handed cones of freshly made gelato. Smiling, he makes his way back to you. Hands you per requested raspberry, as he keeps his lemon one.

“Molto gentile.” You inspect and nod your head in approval. Just hearing your tongue curl in Italian has him swooning. You take a lick and release a soft moan. “So sweet. Best I’ve ever had,” you declare as you continue enjoying your treat innocently.

Charles gulps, trying to cool down. “I told you it was the best.” He shoots a wink over to Luca, the owner, for keeping the shop open for a few more minutes.

“You scared me a bit back there.”

“Pfft. With that Aiden guy…I’m sorry about that–”

“God no. Honestly, I completely forgot about that,” you mutter. “I meant with that whole, ‘In the mood for something sweet?’. Thought you were like the rest.”

The 25 year old keeps quiet for a minute. He gathers his thoughts before settling with, “I promise I’m not.”

“Keeping my fingers crossed you aren’t.” You look around with twinkling eyes. “You know, a date I once had asked me-”

You want a slice?

No.

“It shocked me how straight forward he was being. It wasn’t even our second date! I barely even knew the guy.” You frown at the memory. “Then he blamed it on the tiramisu.”

I meant the tiramisu, guys!

God no.

“Never saw him again,” you finish as you finally focus back on him. A pale Charles is all you find.

“Woah, are you okay?”

“Yes! I’m so good! You look lovely! Did I mention it already cause if I didn’t then call me the worst date ever!” He begins nervously laughing. His gelato dripping all over his arm.

“I think you did.” You smile as you hand him a few napkins. He returns the gesture, thanking you. “And don’t worry about it, leave that spot for Lando. Now he might take the crown.”

Charles let out a groan.

Charles went back and forth deciding whether he should reach out to you. He liked you. A lot. Nonetheless, he was hesitating because he just couldn’t do something like that to Lando. The Brit was as bummed out as one could get. So, it's settled. Bye bye baby.

“Of course. Tonight at 8,” your voice confirms on the other side of the line. Charles celebrates with a quick dance.

“See you then.”

He decides today that he wants to switch things up. Do something that would make him stand out from anyone that came before him.

“Monaco?” Leaning on the hood of Charles' car, you feel you have to be dreaming. He nods his head lively.

“I could show you around, y’know be your personal tour guide.”

“You should have warned me! I don’t have anything ready!” you yelp as you hold your hands over your heart, frantically. He would be more worried if it weren’t for you smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“We still have time. Come on, I’ll help you pack.”

When you make it to Monaco you’re greeted by a young guy wearing glasses, driving a Ferrari Pista. Charles and him fit in a quick embrace before they turn their attention back to you.

“Ah yes, this is Joris. He’s one of my closest friends,” Charles states as you warmly reach for a handshake.

Reciprocating, Joris says, “Very nice to meet you.” You smile, returning the greeting. “Must say, you are just as beautiful as Cha had mentioned, if not more.” You blush as Charles clears his throat awkwardly.

“D'accord, mec. Pas besoin de le dire au monde entier,” Charles mutters. “Thank you for picking us up.” Joris nods, carrying your luggages. You share a quick goodbye before he finally makes his way to another car. “That’s also one of my very good friends, Marta.” You smile and wave as they drive off.

Monaco definitely met your expectations. Everything just captivated your attention so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if you started to drool.

“Holy shit. Your home is absolutely stunning!” you gasp. He wheels your bags in as he exhales.

“Merci. Make yourself at home.”

Thankfully, the flight was quick so you both have plenty of energy to go out for a late night snack. He takes you to his; Favorite place in the world! You’ll see.

A little stand sits in the corner of the street.

“Lou makes one of the best crepes. Trust me, I’ve been a loyal customer since my school days.”

A little old lady is attending to customers, but stops as soon as she spots Charles. “Charlie! Chérie, je ne savais pas que tu étais de retour!” She makes her way around to hug him.

“Des projets de dernière minute, mais j'ai juste envie de manger une de tes incroyables crêpes,” he replies, as they pull away.

“And who is this pretty girl?” she questions as she looks at you, standing there patiently.

“Oop, hello. I’m a friend of Charles.” Lou smiles teasingly.

“Charlie, tu es là pour me dire que tu vas te marier?” Lou suddenly looks over the moon.

“Non!” he quickly shouts, so suddenly, you and Lou both jump a bit. Tight lipped, he apologizes.

“Like she said, we’re just friends."

The next morning after breakfast he recommends you bring something you can swim with. Skipping your way to his room, which he is kindly sacrificing for you, you roam through your luggage until you find a baby blue bikini.

“You don’t get sea sick by any means, right?” He looks over at you with scrunched brows underneath a pair of glossy black Ray Bans. You shake your head.

“Great.”

You make your way to a tiny boat before he helps you settle in. You grab his hand softly as you step into it. A single touch of electricity seems to link your fingertips. It catches you both so off guard that he lets go of you so swiftly, you don’t even notice as you plunge into the water.

You let out a quick yelp before you go underwater and his hands fly to his head in embarrassment. You resurface with wet hair covering your face.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” he apologizes before extending his arm out for you to grab. Pushing your hair out of your face, you giggle.

“It’s okay, I got it.”

Once you independently get on the boat, he unties the rope off the deck and takes a seat himself to drive you both to the unknown destination.

“Pretty please, can I know now where we’re going?” you squeal with puppy eyes.

Lord help me, he thinks before replying. “We’re going to a little island I love. Îles de Lérins.” You look ahead, nodding patiently. “It’s beautiful, you’ll see.”

When you arrive it’s easy to understand that there doesn’t seem to be that many people. You basically have the place to yourselves.

He helps you off, not dropping you this time. There’s a small trail you both begin to take. It’s something peaceful, the moment you’re in. You almost wish to fit it into a snow globe.

“My parents would always bring my brothers and I here all the time during summer when we were younger,” Charles confesses.

“You have brothers?”

He turns to look at you, then continues ahead. “Yes. Two.” He kicks a rock out of his way, but something you didn’t know was just how clumsy this man child could be.

“Ouch!” you groan in pain as your hand flies up to your nose.

“Jesus! What’s wrong with me today? Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” He runs to you all panicky now.

You take it back. Break the goddamn snow globe.

You try tilting your head back to ease the blood pouring out your nose before he gently grips your face to gain your attention. You scrunch your eyes, sun suddenly blinding you. Quickly, he takes off his glasses and places them over your eyes. As you open them you notice he’s shirtless. He places his shirt on your nose to clean you up. You flinch a bit.

Instantly, you’re thankful for the sunglasses because wondering eyes were all you could give him. His lean muscles were just begging to be praised.

You shake your head before taking the Puma shirt from him. “Thanks,” you mutter as you focus on a nearby tree. “Starting to think you might hate me or something.”

“Of course not... I could never hate you!” His voice cracks in nervousness. You snicker.

After a bit more wiping, you are as good as new. You both decide to take a dip while the water feels good. You strip from your Levi shorts and t-shirt. Dipping a toe to test the temperature, you shoot him two thumbs up.

The ocean feels so fresh and silky against your skin. You can’t seem to remember the last time you’ve enjoyed someone’s company like this, even if they almost ruled you to the ends of Earth. Two fingers press against your neck. You spring one eye open and you see Charles biting down on his thumb. He relaxes.

“Sorry, I thought you crossed the line to the afterlife.”

You tread water to stretch your legs out. “I’m fine.”

He takes this time to note things he hadn’t paid attention to before. Like how your lashes pin against your skin since they’re wet. Or how a tiny bit of freckles are sprinkled on your nose. He curses himself for not having seen it any sooner. Pretty was an understatement. You were extraordinary.

A few hours later you guys are back at his house sharing a pizza. Pepperoni, you both loved a classic.

“There’s no bruise,” he points out almost proudly. You shoot a playful scowl. He walks over to the T.V. and clicks the remote. “Monte Carlo?”

He loved it, the way you said he would. He especially enjoyed watching how much you loved it.

“This movie was too ahead of its time,” you confirm as you dig your feet under the blanket you had curled into.

“Well at least Grace and Theo got their happily ever after,” he pronounces. You shoot an impressed look. “What? I was listening.” You crawl up next to him and pat his cheek. His dimples pop out from how hard he’s smiling.

He can’t help it the moment he reaches to cradle your face to press your lips together. He can’t help but let a moan slip out when you finally kiss him back.

Finally, he picks you up to adjust you on his lap, which you comfortably settle into. You feel him underneath you so clearly you can’t help but move your hips. He feels so good.

The heated moment continues as he wraps his hands around the curve of your ass. You pull away as your lips move down to his neck. He almost gasps the moment you lick down his throat. It doesn’t help that you’ve been keeping your hips in motion.

He almost passes out the moment your lips move to his ear and ask, no, beg; Let me taste you, please. How could he ever deny such offer?

Making your way down to your knees, he adjusts himself on the couch. He thinks to himself that if he were standing he would’ve made a fool out of himself because just the sight of you in front of him has him choking on his own breath. You just look so pretty.

You tug his shorts down, along with his boxers, and bite down on your lip as you grab his cock, softly. He has to stop himself from jerking into your hand. Precum sprouting from his tip. You can’t wait as you take kitten licks. Fuck, he whimpers. The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your thighs together.

Wrapping your lips around him, your hands reach to balance yourself against his thighs. You moan at the feeling of having him inside your mouth, drooling all over his lap.

This itself, is too much for Charles and thinks he’ll barely even be able to survive as his head turns against the couch' pillow with closed lids. You start bobbing your head and one hand flings down to jerk off what you can’t reach. He groans at the feeling.

You start off slow but suddenly start picking up your pace. He opens his eyes, dazed, to catch a glimpse of you on your knees and this sight is something he won’t be able to forget even if he tried. With glassy eyes, you look up at him. You make a show of releasing your lips from his cock as you lap your tongue along it. Before going back at it, you twirl your tongue a couple of times around his tip before giving it a quick suck, then deep throat him.

He grits his teeth as if to help deal with any of this but when you start toying with yourself he lets out the loudest whine he’s ever produced. You look up smiling, grazing your teeth lightly along him and he hisses at the feeling. Proudly, you fit him back into your mouth.

“God, your mouth feels so fucking good,” he manages to get out before you solely start jerking him off.

“What about my hands?” you seductively tease. The sounds coming from both your hands and his cock should be considered a sin itself. He groans as he looks back to make eye contact with you.

“Your hands too, baby.”

He knows he’s close the moment you twist your wrist perfectly. So so good. You know he’s close when he begins to twitch underneath your fingertips.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” he chants as you continue your dirty movements. He makes sure to look at you, focused, eyes drawn to his cock.

“Cum for me, Charles,” you coo as he finally bucks his hips into your hands and hot cum shoots all over your face. You wickedly smile as your lips reach his cock to continue swallowing the rest that is being released. He grabs you face to pull you off him and hauls you once again onto his lap. He’s about to kiss you before you pull away and point at the mess on your face.

You wipe two fingers along your face and bring them to your mouth to clean them off. A pop is released when you let go. He shudders.

This is the moment, Charles realizes, he’s so screwed.

When you make it back to Italy you realize that all you’ll have are a few fleeting moments together. With Charles going back to racing and you continuing your online classes, you’re both bound to be booked.

Though, Charles just isn’t ready to let you go. And a fucked up man will make fucked up choices when due.

So, he strings you along with him to the Miami GP. He realizes there’s a strong chance you might bump shoulders with Lando, but to be completely honest, he was past caring. He was completely smitten with you.

You wear your white summer dress as you are sprawled on his hotel bed. You’re a mess.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whimper as Charles fingers slip in and out of you. He’s feverishly kissing down the side of your thighs, bites left in between. You groan in slight pain as you tug on his soft hair. This man has brought out the moon and stars, for you.

“C’mon baby, look at me,” he whispers as he paints you with hickeys in between your legs. Somewhere no one else will ever be able to catch a glimpse of. You nod your head as you look down to find him gripping your dress over your thighs, eating you out like a starved man. You shut your eyes as you release a few soft pants, the heels of your feet press deeper against his Ferrari polo.

“Open you’re eyes.”

You shake your head. You wish you could look at him, you really wanted to, but it’s just too much take in. You wanted to make this last.

But Charles was greedy. He wanted to taste you. He stops everything all at once. You let out a cry. Fuck him.

You bring your arms around his neck, loosely, as he kisses your shoulder. “Why’d you stop?”

“You weren’t looking at me.”

With all your strength you open your glittered eyelids.

“That’s a good girl,” he coos as he picks you up and sits you at the edge of the bed. You look down at him confused as he gets on his knees in front of you.

“If you can’t look at me, then you’re going to have to look at yourself,” he directs as he begins to push your dress back up your waist. You lean against your elbows as you realize what other than Charles is in front of you.

A shiny glass mirror.

With a slightly open mouth you’re about to protest before Charles picks up right where he left off. He spits on your clit before rubbing it. You bite down on your bottom lip so hard, you draw blood.

“Don’t tell me I have to get you to moan now?” Charles stares at you with furrowed brows. You shake your head no before he kisses your knee. “Good.”

He makes sure you look straight at your reflection before he curls his fingers inside of you. You mewl at the touch. Your legs beg to bring him closer.

He lets out a light chuckle before repeating his motion. With sleepy eyes, you stare at the way your legs rest against his shoulders. You had painted your nails bloody mary a few nights before, in support of him and his team. Your face all fucked up singly by Charles’ long fingers and delicate touch, red lipstick all over your mouth from how heavy your make out with Charles had been.

To him, you looked like an angel.

You squeal as he presses his nose against your pussy. You grind against his face. He pulls away and you whine, looking at him desperately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay,” he reassures you as he moves up to kiss your cheek and then your pouty lips.

“Cha, please,” you beg hopelessly. He grins as he pushes your hair out of your face and runs his thumb across your lips trying to clean you up a bit.

You take a chance and wrap your lips around his finger, and you begin to suck. Expertly, you swirl your tongue. Eyes look back at him, almost challenging. He lets out a strained groan.

With all the willpower he has left, he removes his finger from your mouth. Nicely wet, he presses it back where you needed him the most.

“Thank you, baby, you shouldn’t have.” You cry out at the sudden size of his thumb now being inside of you. He switches out his thumb for his middle and ring finger. You throw your head back. All the back and forth almost has you blacking out a few times. Charles gives you a quick peck, fingers building speed, as he pulls your dress down a bit to release your plump tits.

Now he’s at a loss for words. Quickly, he regains his composure and starts sucking on your left nipple, legs squeezing around his waist as a reflex. One hand flies to the back of his head as one makes its way to cup his cheek adoringly.

He moans against you, sucking hard before moving his attention to your right nipple. The way you’re wailing against him has him painfully hard against his jeans.

“Yes, God yes right there, Charlie,” you let out as you grind against his hand. He detaches his lips from your chest as he smiles up at you.

“I’m right here, baby. Cum for me, yeah?” You let out the most pornographic moan as you finish around his hand. Tears make their way down your cheeks. Cleans his fingers, he shuts his eyes satisfied, before he towers over your body, pressing kisses all over.

You giggle. “That tickles." The 25 year old’s heart doubles in size at the sound of your fucked out voice.

“Why don’t we get you cleaned up before the race?”

The race results weren't the best Charles has had, that’s for sure. Head hung, he makes his way to his motorhome. There he finds you on the tiny little bed, curled up, watching the rest of the ongoing interviews. As soon as you notice him you jump up to your feet and walk to him.

It's almost as if you knew how down he was feeling when you wrap your arms around his waist and pressing your face against his chest. He instantly feels better as his arms swaddle over your shoulders, chin atop your pretty hair.

“You did good,” you mumble. You press a faint kiss on his suit before looking up.

“I fucked up. I got P7.”

You frown at him before holding his face between your soft palms. “P7 is good, what do you mean?” He just shakes his head. “You’ve never heard of seven being a lucky number?”

He scoffs, but not at you, never you. More at himself. “Lucky?”

You pull away and sit back on his bed. “Oh yeah, seven bring all the luck in the world!” you squeal, as you plop on the bed. He laughs lightly as he lies beside you.

“Guess I’ll just take your word for it.” He hums with his eyes closed.

You turn on your side as you try to memorize his face. Like the small mole that sits on the left side of his face that makes him even more handsome, if anyone asks for your opinion. You scold yourself for not having noticed it before. As if to fix things, you name it one of your favorite things about him.

“You should. Things will get better, you’ll see.”

For once, he really believes it.

You both are walking out of the Ferrari home when you're suddenly stopped by someone calling Charles’ name.

“Hey, Charles! Great race man!” A familiar voice rings through the air before you both have a chance to turn around. Both you and Charles, unknowingly of one another, want to make a run for it.

“Thanks, Lando,” Charles replies as he prays he might not notice you. But a girl as beautiful as you can’t go forgotten.

“Holy shit it’s you!” Lando wails as he instantly recognizes you from dinner a few months ago. You cringe. What the chances?

“Hi,” you squeak as you hide behind Charles a bit. You had no idea Lando was a Formula 1 driver too. You ought to do your research better next time.

“Mate! This is the chick I was telling you about over dinner last time!” Lando says, eyes almost popping out of his face from the shock he’s in.

“You don’t sayyyy.” Charles tries to hide it, though inside he’s freaking out as if he’s broken every FIA rule in the book.

“Hey, I want to say sorry for that night, I should have been more clear,” Lando begins to spill his apologies, as all you can do is silently stand there, accepting them all.

“Of course. Long forgotten,” you comfort the Brit. He’s actually a pretty sweet guy.

“Charles, I’ll wait for you outside, alright?” you utter as he nods. Once you walk out, he turns to Lando frantically.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that was the same girl you were upset about!” he tells him. Liar. “You must be mad at me and I get it-”

“Nope.”

Charles stares back, caught off guard by Lando’s response.

“You’re not?”

Lando rolls his eyes. “I’m not. I just hope you realize what she’s capable of.” He leans in closer to Charles’ ear and Charles leans in too, expectantly. “I’ve heard stories, man…”

Charles immediately pulls away. “Okay, we’re done here. Bye mate!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

But Charles knew you better. He saw the way you looked at him. The way you felt. You were different. Fuck your following reputation.

“Ready?”

When you got back from Miami, something had shifted. He couldn’t quite name the moment it had, but he was sure of it. He didn’t care though. He would put up with just about anything as long as that meant having you around.

“And then he told me to test the car again, said it was fixed. Fixed my ass!” Charles tells you over FaceTime. You were sitting in your bedroom, painting nonsense on a canvas. You wore some old overalls with loose space buns. Strands of hair would hit the paint from how messy it was.

“No way,” you say, not looking up. Charles smiles fondly.

“You look lovely by the way.” Though, you don’t seem to catch his affirmation for you. Your eyes are focused on something out of frame, in front of you. A quick smirk appears on your face but slips so fast that he almost begins to think he’s imagined it.

“Thank you, Charles,” you reply with a much bigger smile now. “Hey, how about I meet you at your house at 9? I’ll cook you a nice meal, promise.”

Like always, he knows he shouldn’t ask and also knows he can’t say no to you.

“I’ll be waiting.”

That night when you step into his house he notices things he wishes weren’t there. Like how your hair was a tad bit messy or how there were light bruises on your neck. He knows those didn’t come from him. He’d always been mindful to mark you in places no one else could admire, just him. Something bugs him knowing someone has seen them already.

“I’m so sorry I’m late." You rush in with bags from the nearby market, the one just around the corner from his flat.

“No worries. So, what will we be cooking, my little chef?”

That night you seem so infatuated by him, he truly thinks this all was his imagination. Maybe the wind blew your hair on your way here; he should have offered to pick you up. Maybe he forgot he had also marked your neck; he’ll make sure to be more careful next time.

He wraps his arms around your waist as you cut pieces of basil. Giggling, you turn around to peck his lips. Craving more from you, he lifts you up onto the kitchen island. He stands in between your legs as you stare up at him, ever a vixen.

As you lock lips, he picks you up, you yelp all giddy. He makes his way over to his bedroom, your lips lingering on his neck, he almost drops you from how good it feels.

“Careful, don’t need another wack in the face,” you mumble from his neck, light spirited. He rolls his eyes at your comment, but yeah, he should probably focus.

Finally reaching his room, he kicks the door open so hard, it flies and instantly makes a hole through the wall. You gasp as he groans.

“Fuck it, it’s fine,” he murmurs as he takes you to his bed where he drops you. You giggle as your hair covers your face, he makes his way to hover over you and brush it away.

“You know I would do anything for you?” he asks, tenderness lacing his voice.

You stare back at him with bright and eager eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

He smiles as he leans down to kiss you and you instantly melt into the mattress beneath you. He kisses you so fast, so hot, that it has you feeling lightheaded. I’ve been kissed before but never, ever, like this, you think as he slips his tongue as a quick trick. You moan with pleasure. He smiles into the kiss.

He picks his head up to get a good look at the angel the universe had ever so nicely sent his way. He caresses you gingerly. “Are you sure, chérie?”

You nod up and down eagerly, ready for more he’s willing to give. You are so desperate you would gladly take anything as long as it's from him. A flash of sadness strikes your face before it’s replaced with a warm smile.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he comforts you as he begins to take a step back. You quickly hold onto his veiny arm.

“I want to,” you confirm. You bring him back to you as you kiss him for the millionth time that night. Even that would never be enough.

His hands make their way to slip your dress off. Once you're left in your matching lingerie, you push him on his back and straddle him.

“Holy shit,” he nervously laughs as you started to unbutton his linen shirt. He pulls his arm out as you sloppily brush your lips down his smooth chest, fingers tracing his firm abs. Then, as you’re about to pull his pants down, he grabs your hands firmly. You glance at him, confusion written all over your face.

“Ladies first,” he teases. You roll your eyes, but still slip out a quick, okay, before settling under him once again. He kisses down your neck gently as you hum out, finding peace with his lips hovering your body. Every new kiss he places on your soft skin makes you feel thousands of butterflies. You’d never experienced something like this before, you’ve never felt so flawless.

Clumsy fingers roam your back as he unclips your bra then strips you from your panties. Seeing you completely bare has his dumbstruck. This is something he could easily get used to.

His hands make their way to squeeze your tits, your head digs deeper into the mattress as you release a soft whimpers. Charles grows harder by the second, already getting rid of the rest of his clothes as quickly as he can.

He tugs you closer to him by your legs. A laugh rolls past your lips. Resting both arms by either side of your head, he pushes into you. Synchronously, you both let out a moan. You dig your nails into his shoulder as he grips onto the sheets.

You feel so tight around him that it takes all of him not to lose control. You throw your arm over your face, face scrunched.

Putting his feelings aside, Charles leans down and plants a kiss on your arm. “C’mon baby, not again. Look at me.”

“I can’t…,” you cry out weakly, “...too big.”

“You just have to adjust,” he reassures you as he begins to move in and out of you. Your arms fly up to his neck and you grab on tight, as if he’s keeping you ashore. You moan loudly.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers as he thrusts deep inside of you. Your velvety walls feel like home to him and he never wants to leave.

You squirm when his cock hits your sweet spot. You yell into the nothingness and your grip on his hair tightens so much, he groans at the sensation. His hips pick up speed, and suddenly, he’s kissing you again. You whine into his lips, needy for more. Harder.

As if he could read your mind, that's exactly what he does. Your lips form a silent O as you stare at him with eyebrows drawn together. He just feel so fucking good.

“Fuck baby,” he groans, voice deep. You shiver at the sound. “God, you feel so good, you’re doing so good,” he praises you as he now looks into your eyes. You wail in response, too fucked up to form any kind of sentence.

“I love you so much,” he announces so suddenly, you almost push him away. He keeps moving rapidly as he makes out with you eagerly.

As you kiss him back you realize something scary; you love Charles Leclerc. You think you’ve loved him for a while now, but having never been in love, you didn’t seem to notice the feeling. But you do now.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his lips. When he pulls away you notice you’ve never seen him smile so big. You like being the reason behind it.

He immediately pounds into you harder, not holding back anymore and you’re both a mess. You moan so loud, you’re almost embarrassed but Charles seems to love it.

“If you love me,” he pants, “then tell me his name.”

He continues normally, but you swear you feel your heart stop. There’s no way.

“What are you talking about?” you manage to spit out, but the way he’s handling your body has you seeing stars.

“Please,” a desperate look flashes across his face, “just tell me his name.” His watch covered hand makes its way to your clit and he pushes his finger against it. God, his fingers are so-

“There’s no one.” Liar. “There’s just you.”

With that, you flip him over so now you’re on top of him. Hastily, you start to ride him, making sure to move your hips just the way he likes it. His head falls back against the bed frame as his fingers dig into your hips. You bite your swollen lips in slight pain, but also, just by looking at his current state.

Cheeks slightly pink with sweaty hair covering his face. Long disheveled hair that you pressed him not to trim quite yet. What a sight for sore eyes.

“Please,” he chokes out, “just tell me his name and I swear I’ll never bring it up again.” He opens his eyes to look up at you. His voice hitches when he sees you hopping on his dick, tits bouncing up and down. You throw your head back and circle your hips much harder.

“Fuck.” Charles gasps as he reaches up to attach his lips to your chest. He licks before softly biting down against your bud. You exhale sharply. He then lays back and holds onto your hips harder before helping you move on top of him. Wrapped around him, the motion between both of you picks up so fast you start shaking your head no.

“Yes, amour, say it. Please just tell me before I lose my fucking mind,” he grunts as he stares down at your juices as they make the filthiest sound against his own.

“I swear Charles, I promise, that I have never loved anyone the way I do you,” you confess as you sink your nails against his chest, red marks instantly mapping themselves down.

“Beautiful fucking liar.” Charles smirks as he moves his fingers against your clit rapidly. With that, your walls clench around him as you cum so hard around him he can’t help but follow. You moan loudly as you fall against his chest as he groans lowly.

Trying to even your breathing, you grab onto his hand. Instantly, he brings it up against his lips. Just the touch of his makes you want to ride him until you can’t no more.

You meant what you said that night. Though you both should have known better. Being naive can’t always last forever.

“Then she left a note saying it’s best we just remain friends,” Charles reveals a few nights later over dinner. Everyone shares glances of empathy to the distraught Monegasque. Even Lando.

“It’s alright man, you’ll be over her before you know it,” Lando states as he shares a knowing smile. Charles bites down on his tongue knowing all this pent of anger wasn’t towards Lando. Not even for you.

He would like to say that he learned his lesson and that he should have listened to everyone, all the warning signs that glowed above his head. But he knows damn well he would do it all over again if given the chance. He would say, do anything, to change your mind. To make you stay, but people like you never settled.

Moping, Charles changes the topic as he begins asking how everyone’s break was. He didn’t really care, but he tried to pretend.

Out of breath, Oscar rushes over to the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he says as he sits down in between Lando and Charles.

“No worries, mate, Charles was just filling us in on his expired love life,” Daniel fills in, nonchalantly. Charles immediately shoots a dry frown. Daniel shares an apologetic shrug.

“Oh. That sucks man,” the young Australian replies as he gulps down some water. “Speaking of love lives, you guys won’t believe it! I just met the prettiest girl of my entire life just now outside of the restaurant!”

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine

2K notes · View notes

vroomvroomcircuit · 2 months

Text

You pulling in made me wish your Dad pulled out

(A/N): Thank you to @foreveralbon for workshopping this fic with me with this prompt. I don't know what to do if you weren't my muse.

Summary: Charles pissed off his neighbor with his parking. Her answers are notes taped to his car window. How can evolve more out of that?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x female!reader

Wordcount: 1.6k

🏎Masterlist🏎 ________________________

(Y/N) knows that she isn’t the most professional car parker. She should never start a career as a valet for sure. After all, she needed a second attempt on her own practical test to attain her drivers license.

But there is this one neighbor of hers. She doesn’t know what he looks like, what his name is or where he even lives. But (Y/N) knows one thing for sure: He is a shit parker.

Like, he is the worst person at parking that has ever walked the world. If he could, he probably would park his oh so expensive car onto other cars. But she tries to not let that get too close to her. After all, we just talk about parking spaces and it’s not worth getting her blood pressure up over it.

But (Y/N) found her tipping point.

Her whole morning has been a shit show. Her alarm went off, but she accidentally turned it off instead of giving herself another five minutes of sleep. Five minutes turned into 45. That meant the young woman had to rush through her usual morning routine and she is 90 % sure that she put at least one clothing item on the wrong way.

But it’s ok, she is still on time. She just needs to get out of the car par-

This is where (Y/N) last thread of patience with that neighbor snaps in two like a potato chip, crisp and unclean. This person parked the front half of his car in a way that completely blocks (Y/N)’s rear end from exiting the car in a way that does not hinder the sidewalk.

It takes a solid seven minutes to get out of her spot, trying not to scratch hers or another car. Arriving a few minutes late at work because of that and receiving a reprimand from her boss is really the young woman’s last straw. On her lunch break she does some snooping on the internet and comes across a really fine find. It’s worth the price and shipping cost to her.

Actually, she can’t wait for the week it is supposed to take to arrive at her doorstep.

But the time between that particular day and the day of arrival do fly by when you use it getting madder and madder at the dickhead that is unable to park like a normal person.

The next occurrence doesn’t take long after (Y/N)’s package finally arrives. She wanted to park her vehicle in her usual spot when Mr. Ferrari already took his and her own too. How can one person be such an asshole?

(Y/N) takes one of the business card sized cuts out of her glove box and puts it in the slit of the black car’s window. Satisfied with her work she steps back into her vehicle and looks for a different spot, ending up walking several minutes back to her apartment building, having to look somewhere farther away.

Charles can see from a distance that there is a card at his car’s windowshield. Which makes him suspicious. Surely no one thinks that he wants to sell his car for cheap, so it can’t be one of those car handler’s business cards. Maybe it’s a new ruse of thieves, trying to get him to stand long enough at his car to read it and be able to steal his car. Or they are kidnappers. Anyways, he makes quick work of putting the card into his pocket and drives off at a neck breaking speed.

When he arrives at his destination, the Monegasque pulls the piece of paper out and reads it. “The way you pulled in makes me wish your dad pulled out”, he reads aloud, laughing a little to himself.

He has to admit that he might not be the best at parking. Who is he even kidding, he would win the world championship at being the worst car parker possible. But the thought of someone getting that angered over his non-existent skills.

It’s something that makes him happy throughout his entire day. Which is his main reason to try and look how much he can piss that particular neighbor off even more.

So Charles starts parking even worse. If he also starts on the habit of watching out of his window more often now, he would claim it is just a coincidence. But something in him wants to meet that neighbor.

That person that gets more and more creative with their insults. One time they called him an obstacle to evolution. The other day the business card said something along the lines of him belonging to the asshole club now.

Another, a handwritten, note asked him not to reproduce. The neighbor even left a condom for him. This made Charles laugh so loudly, that (Y/N) looked out her opened window.

She just finished one of the worst shifts she ever had since starting that job and all she wants is just a quiet evening to come down from the stress. Just the noise of the laugh is enough to set her off again.

Seeing her handsome neighbor from under her apartment pocketing the note and condom she left just minutes earlier isn’t what she expected. Watching him opening the car, sitting down and driving off is even less on her list.

It kind of destroys her world view, realizing that hot neighbor and asshole parker are the same person. In the last couple of weeks (Y/N) started to get some fun out of the mean comments she left at the black Ferrari’s window. This also could be her chance to finally make a move on him.

The young woman waits for the brunette to return with his car and stays seated on her couch for another couple minutes, for extra measure of course. After that, she leaves the apartment building with her prepared note and tapes it to the car’s rear window.

Charles on the other side stays glued to his window as soon as he enters his apartment. He finally wants to catch the person that gets angrier and angrier each time he parks in an outrageous way in the act.

Seeing the beautiful neighbor, who lives above him, sticking another note to his car makes his heart flutter in an unexpected way. For some time now he wanted to get to know her and if everything went according to his original plan, ask her out on a date. But maybe he can now use this to his advantage.

As soon as the beautiful neighbor is back in the building Charles waits an extra couple minutes before he once again makes his way to his car.

Running over his vehicle with a pep in his step, Charles is kind of excited about what insults or threats await him now. He has to admit, he actually parked pretty decently. Or as decent as he is able to. So the note has to be at least a little bit nicer than the previous ones.

“Hey neighbor. I thought instead of shitting on you and your parking skills even more, I want you to help and get better. I may not be a driving teacher, but helping you wouldn’t make your skills worse. Just text me with the times you are available at ;)” signed with (Y/N)’s name and number.

It’s kind of funny to explain to the press later how Charles met (Y/N) and became her boyfriend.

"Yeah, well I know that my driving has become sort of a, a meme,” he answers when asked a week after his announcement on instagram, “And my neighbor wasn’t too fond of it either. So she started to leave me these really funny, but also really aggressive notes at my car. One said something like I won the inconsiderate Parker Price. Which made me quite proud.” This entices a laugh out of the journalist. “Yeah, (Y/N) has a really good way with words, I fear. But in the end she offered me some parking lessons.” Charles smiles and thinks back to them.

He had texted (Y/N) immediately and they set up a date for the lesson two days away. But they still continued to text non stop and by the time they met up, it felt like they had been friends for years.

Which didn’t stop (Y/N) raging at Charles after his fifth failed attempt of parking his car according to her instructions. “I don’t believe you anymore. With the way you park you are not from Monaco but the deepest and wildest parts of Italy! Your Ferrari seems really fitting now!” This drew a laugh out of him until she graced him with the meanest look he didn’t expect her to be able to muster up.

“How about dinner as a thank you and apology?” He asked sheepishly, trying both to diffuse the situation and make his move. Why not shoot his shot right now?

Luckily the young woman agreed.

“In the end my parking skills weren’t enough to win her over, but my charm was what scored me a second date.”

And a third. A relationship. After some more funny parking jokes and him kneeling down on one knee with a ring and the promise to take lessons to keep their future family safe he even scored himself his unexpected forever.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #x reader #reader insert #charles leclerc x female!reader #x female!reader

587 notes · View notes

daisies-daydreams · 5 months

Note

I’m in desperate need of a desperate Miguel who worships the very ground his wife walks on 😔🙏 BRO IS HUGE AND I JUST KNOW. I JUST KNOW HE WOULD LOVE TO BE LIKE A CAT AND MAKE BISCUITS ON HIS CHUBBY WIFEY. And the ASSets are just sprinkles on the cake. So let’s just say chubby wifey puts on a whole cute outfit and her hair is cute and everything. They go on a date and Yk she gets stares and compliments..BUT MIGUELS POSSESSIVE ASS IS LIKE ‘keep looking..keep saying stuff..BUT THIS ASS IS MINE’ Yk. And then it ends with Miguel bending us over at a 90 degree angle and possible 180. How does he do it idk. Science.

Adore You (Miguel O’Hara x Plus-Size!Wife!Reader)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Plus-Size!Wife!Reader Category: Fluff/Smut (18+) Warnings: Jealous!Miguel, Swearing, Manhandling, Oral Sex (F!Receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Mating Press, Full Nelson, Unprotected P in V Sex (You know the drill), Rough Sex, Slight Exhibitionism, Creampies, I'm Not Fluent in Spanish Word Count: 5.5k+

A/N: Hi hi! Thank you very much for your request! I love husband!Miguel (that man has my whole heart I swear). I hope you enjoy! 💕

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

The valet’s cheeks flushed the second you stepped out of the car.

“G-Good evening ma’am,” the thin man stammered. You flashed him a friendly smile as you smoothed your hands over your dress, your breasts nearly spilling out from the tight-fitting clothing as you adjusted yourself. Your eyes sparkled as you looked up at the luxurious restaurant before you - a large marble building laced with ribbons of ivy. You smiled when your husband, Miguel, came beside you and gingerly laid a hand on your hip.

“Happy anniversary, cariño,” your beloved whispered with a bright grin [honey]. You beamed and turned around, your hands gliding over his muscular forearms. Miguel’s eyes softened as you raised yourself on your tiptoes and puckered your lips. He smiled and dipped his head down to capture your lips in a warm, tender embrace. His brows furrowed when the valet cleared his throat.

“Right,” your husband muttered as he handed the man his keys. The valet thanked him before climbing into the large, black sports car. You squeaked as Miguel’s hand glided from your hip to the globe of your ass.

“Mi amor,” you whispered loudly as your cheeks flushed [My love]. Your husband chuckled.

“What? I’m just escorting my lovely wife inside,” he mused with a wink.

“Mhm,” you hummed with raised brows. Miguel pecked your forehead as he kept his hand over your bum while leading you inside. You looked around in awe at the several marble pillars that lined the walls of the restaurant.

"O'Hara, party of two," your husband said to the hostess at the front desk. The blonde woman nodded before grabbing two thick menus.

"Please follow me!" she chirped. You smiled at your beloved as the two of you were escorted to the back patio. The sound of piano music combined with the casual chatter of the guests filled your ears as you stepped back outside. You gasped when you saw a table set by the balcony: a bottle of wine neatly placed on the side, a card resting on a plate, and rose petals sprinkled across the white table cloth.

"One of our servers will be out momentarily. Enjoy your evening!" the woman said as she clasped her hands together.

"Thank you," you grinned before she turned and walked back inside. Your heart warmed as Miguel took your smaller hand into his.

“Do you like it?” he asked before kissing each and every one of your knuckles. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you nodded.

“I love it. Muchas gracias, mi vida,” you sniffed [Thank you so much, my life]. Your husband smiled and cupped your cheek.

"De nada, mi amor," he whispered [You’re welcome]. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as Miguel stepped over and pulled out your chair.

"Mi señora," he hummed [My lady].

"Gracias, mi caballero," you giggled as you took your seat [Thank you, my gentleman]. Miguel kissed the top of your head just as your waiter strolled up to the table.

“Welcome to Le Jardin de Marbre! My name is Mark and I’ll be taking care of you this...fine evening,” the dark-haired man lilted as his eyes grazed over your form. You felt Miguel shift behind you before Mark's smile fell. He cleared his throat while your husband took his seat. “Would the two of you care for any other drinks besides your wine?” the waiter asked.

“Yes, I'll have a water, please,” you replied. Miguel simply nodded with a short grunt. Mark grinned before popping open the bottle of red wine. You gasped as the cork flew over your head and over the balcony.

“Ah, I’ll get it later,” the waiter laughed nervously. You giggled while Miguel’s furrowed his thick brows. Mark leaned close to you while he tilted the neck of the bottle over your sparkling glass.

“Might I say you look wonderful this evening, ma’am,” the bold man whispered. You flushed a little as you gazed back down at the menu.

“Th-Thank you,” you muttered. You blinked as you shifted your gaze between your glass and the bottle. “Um, that’s good,” you piped up. Mark looked down to see that he’s nearly filled your entire glass.

“Sorry about that,” he said with an apologetic smile. Miguel raised a brow as he poured his drink next. Mark's hands shook as your husband's frown slowly shifted into a deep scowl. The server placed the bottle down before stepping back.

“I’ll go get your waters,” Mark said before quickly turning on his heel. You took a small sip of your wine, the slightly sweet flavor washing over your taste buds as you turned your attention to the card in front of you.

“Would you like me to open it now?” you asked.

“I'll leave it up to you,” he smiled before taking a sip of his drink. Your heart skipped a beat as you carefully ripped the envelope open. You pulled the card out with a giddy smile as you straightened in your seat. You smiled as you opened it, a small postcard slipping out. You eyed it briefly before your attention was stolen by the words in front of you:

“Mi Cielo,

Words can’t describe how much love I have for you. Every day I’m thankful to have you as my wife-my beloved. You make my heart glow when I wake up next to you every morning, when I get home from work, when you hold me after I’ve had a long day. You are so precious, (Y/N), and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with someone as incredible as you.

Te amo mucho, mi vida. Feliz aniversario.

Sincerely,

Tu gran oso”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as your bottom lip trembled.

“Lo siento, mi amor. I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Miguel cooed as he brushed his thumb over your cheek [I’m sorry, my life]. You shook your head.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just so, so happy to have someone as amazing as you in my life,” you beamed. Miguel’s eyes softened as he slipped his hand into yours again.

“Gracias, bella,” he murmured [Thank you, beautiful]. “Did you see the little gift I left in there?” Miguel asked with a sparkle in his eye. You glanced down at your lap to see the postcard staring up at you. Your heart raced as you picked it up, admiring the picturesque image of Niagara Falls. You curiously flipped it over.

“Make sure to bring your raincoat ♥️”

You gasped and looked up.

“You mean…” your voice trailed off. Miguel smiled brightly and nodded.

“I was even able to book the same suite. It’s only for a long weekend, but I know those few days will be well spent with you, mi vida,” he cooed as he kissed your hand. You couldn’t stop yourself from getting up and wrapping your arms around your husband, your heart brimming with joy.

You’ll never forget that day he took you to Niagara Falls. It was a complete surprise when Miguel knelt down on the deck of your hotel room, the rumble of the falls filling your ears as he asked you to spend the rest of your life with him.

“Te amo mucho, gran oso,” you sniffed [I love you very much, big bear]. Miguel cupped your cheek before pressing another tender kiss to your lips.

“Te amo mucho, conejita,” Miguel beamed [I love you very much, little bunny]. You bit your lip as you pulled back and took your seat. Your heart pounded against your sternum as you pulled out the small box from your purse.

“My gift isn’t as big,” you said a little sheepishly. Miguel parted his lips as you handed the box to him.

“Oh, bebé. You know I’ll love any gift you give me,” he cooed [baby]. He leaned in closer. “Size doesn’t matter, right?” Miguel smirked. You rolled your eyes and laughed.

“Right…it’s how you use it,” you reply with a wry grin. Miguel shook his head as he chuckled.

“I love your quick wit, conejita,” your beloved hummed. You leaned forward on your elbows as you watched Miguel start to unwrap his gift. You bit your lip as he pulled the lid off with a quiet "pop". His eyes lit up when he saw a silver watch glisten beneath the dim candlelight. You squeezed your hands in your lap as he slipped it out of the box.

“Oh, hermosa,” Miguel breathed as he slid the watch against his wrist [beautiful]. You bit your lip a little harder as he admired it. “The very first gift you gave me,” he murmured softly. You nodded as you rubbed the back of your neck.

“I know you said that you’ve been meaning to get it fixed for a while, so I stopped by the jewelers last month,” you said. Miguel clasped the watch over his wrist, smiling as he observed the hands of the little clock tick by.

“Thank you so much, (Y/N),” Miguel smiled as he leaned forward. Your heart skipped a beat as you met him in the middle, your lips slowly caressing each other in a loving embrace. You sighed as he cupped your cheek, your heart fluttering as his warm lips sweetly brushed over yours. You pulled your head back when someone nearby cleared their throat.

“Your water, ma'am,” Mark said as he placed your glass onto the table. "Sir," he said to Miguel with a bit more flat tone. You slumped back in your chair before realizing you haven't even looked at the menu.

"We still need a few minutes," you said to your waiter.

"Of course," Mark said with a bright grin before excusing himself. You and Miguel relaxed as you opened your menus. You smiled at the way the candlelight flickered in Miguel’s soft, brown eyes.

Tonight couldn’t have been more perfect.

+++

You patted your napkin over your mouth before sinking into your seat with a satisfied smile.

“That was the best food I’ve had in a while,” you sighed happily. Your husband quirked one of his thick, dark brows.

“Even better than my cooking?” Miguel asked. Your eyes widened.

“Oh, um, well-“ your husband started to chuckle.

“Don’t worry, hermosa. I know my cooking’s terrible,” he snickered. You giggled.

“I mean, I was going to say something…” you lilted. Miguel placed a hand over his chest as if cradling a fresh wound.

“Ouch,” he replied.

“You said it, not me,” you shrugged before taking another sip of your wine. Miguel chuckled, his eyes half lidded as they raked over your form.

“I think this wine’s making us both a bit too bold,” Miguel smirked. Your cheeks warmed as he gently reached beneath the table and laid his hand on your knee. You bit your lip as a wave of heat swept through your core.

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” you replied with a low whisper. Just as Miguel tilted his head and leaned forward, Mark’s shadow loomed over the two of you.

“Your bill, sir,” he said as he set the paper down on the table. Your love made no effort to hide his annoyance as he took the receipt.

“Thanks,” your husband said. He pulled out his credit card after the server briskly walked away. Miguel sighed and rose from his seat. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered with quick peck to your cheek. You grinned and watched as he walked back into the restaurant.

+++

Miguel hummed as he strolled towards the restroom. It’s been so long since his heart has felt this full. Your smile, your laugh, the smooth, gentle touch of your lips against his all made him feel more complete. Miguel wore a bright grin as he pushed the restroom door wide open.

“Did you see the juicy ass on that chick sitting next to the balcony?” Mark loudly whispered. Miguel froze and lingered in the doorway when he saw two waiters at the urinals.

“Dude, I know. I’d love a piece of that cake…if you know what I mean,” the other server chortled. Miguel narrowed his eyes. Okay, there’s a lot of people out on the patio. Surely they weren’t-

“And that tight, black dress-fuck. Can’t imagine how those pretty tits would look while she’s-“

Both of them whipped their heads around when Miguel let the door slam behind him, a deadly glint flickering in his eyes as his jaw tightened.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” he said while straightening his shoulders. Mark frowned as his eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.

“O-Oh,” he simply replied as he awkwardly shuffled in place. Miguel tilted his head, his muscles bulging beneath his crisp suit.

“H-Hey man. We didn’t mean any harm,” the other waiter said as he hastily zipped up his pants. Miguel scoffed and narrowed his eyes.

“Well, I suggest you speak about my wife with much more respect-or any woman for that matter,” he spat. Their faces grew cherry red as Miguel tugged on his jacket. “Now, if you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I’m going to go home and make love to my beautiful wife,” Miguel said as he tugged on his jacket. He scowled as he turned on his heel and stomped back outside.

+++

You blinked as Miguel strolled up to the table. To say he looked enraged would’ve been an understatement: his nostrils were flared, shoulders tensed and face glowing a bright cherry red.

“Miguel, what’s wrong?” you asked as you placed a hand on his large arm. Your husband paused as he glanced towards the glass doors. His eyes became half-lidded as he took your hand into his before pulling you up. You squeaked as he reached down and cupped his other palm against the globe of your ass.

“M-Miguel,” you said in a loud whisper as you nervously glanced around. You could’ve sworn you saw him smirk as the waiter rushed up to your table. Mark’s hands trembled as he threw the credit card and receipt down.

“Thankyouhavealovelyevening!” he squeaked before running back into the building. You furrowed your brows before grabbing your things.

"I wonder what happened to him?" you wondered aloud as you slipped your cards into your purse. Your face glowed with heat as Miguel squeezed your supple ass with more force before guiding you across the patio.

“Miguel, people are looking,” you whispered as your eyes scanned the crowd.

“Let them look,” he replied with a low rumble as he opened the door for you. You tilted your head down as waiters, patrons, even the receptionist stared as your husband escorted you to the front of the building.

Miguel didn’t even need to say anything as the two of you made your way towards the valet stand, the man’s face beet red as you approached. He quickly snatched your keys and rushed to get your car, nearly tripping over the curb in the process. You glanced up at your beloved, his face twisted with even more fury than before. You bit your lip as you turned around and rested your hands on his chest.

“Miguel, bebé, please tell me what’s wrong,” you pleaded while rubbing your palms against his white button-up. Miguel’s shoulders remained stiff as you rubbed his chest, your bottom lip poking out every so slightly. "¿Por favor?" you asked [Please?]. He frowned and glanced away as the valet rolled up with your car and scrambled towards you.

“H-Have a good evening,” the man said, his face completely drained of all color. You gave the valet an apologetic smile before you slid into the black, polished car. The tension on the ride home was nearly unbearable. Miguel’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he kept his eyes on the road, his large hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned pale. The sound of soft jazz playing on the radio did little to ease the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

Did you do something wrong? Did he actually hate the gift you gave him? He put so much effort into booking the restaurant and the place the two of you stayed where he proposed to you…and what did you give him? A repaired watch.

You felt completely deflated by the time Miguel pulled up to your apartment complex.

“We’re home,” he said in a subdued voice. You nodded, your heart sinking into your stomach as you unbuckled your seatbelt. Your shoes clacked against the sidewalk as the two of you made your way to the front door.

“Evening, Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara,” the doorman Ben said.

"Evening, Ben," you said with a small smile. Your throat tightened when Miguel wrapped one of his bulky arms around you and pulled you to his side. You frowned as the two of you stepped inside, his grip unyielding as you walked into the elevator. You felt Miguel loosen his hold on you, allowing you some space to step back.

“Miguel, what-” you gasped when he pinned you against the wall and captured your mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss. Your breasts rubbed against your strapless bra as you felt him slide his tongue past your lips, his wet muscle tangling with yours as something hard poked at the inside of your thigh. You panted when he pulled back, his pupils blown and drinking in your curvaceous form.

“Y-You’re not mad at me?” you blinked. Your husband furrowed his dark brows.

“Mad? Why would I be mad at you, mi ángel?” Miguel purred as he rested his hands on your hips [my angel]. You gripped the lapels of his navy blue jacket as he began to grind his hard cock against your clothed pussy. You bit your lip as a pulse of arousal shot through your core.

“Te deseo, Mami,” your love groaned [I want you, Mommy]. You gasped as he rubbed his hard, throbbing cock against your crotch while he kneaded the supple flesh of your waist. “God, you have no idea how much I wanted to rip this dress off your body and fuck you right on that patio,” he rumbled and nipped at the shell of your ear. You shivered as Miguel trailed his lips over your pulse.

“Miguel,” you panted as he ground his hips against you, your clit throbbing against the fabric of your silky panties. Your husband pulled back as soon as the elevator dinged.

“Mi amor, por fa - te necesito,” he husked as he dipped his hand beneath your chin and tilted your head up [My love, please - I need you]. You felt your inhibitions quickly dissolve as a wave of heat pulsed through your core.

“Soy todo tuyo,” you whispered as you laid your hands over his chest [I’m yours]. You moaned as he bared his teeth against your neck and slid his hands over your plump ass. You squeaked and ducked your head into his broad shoulder when he slapped your rear, the slight sting sending ripples of arousal through your heat.

“I’m going to make sure you never forget this night,” Miguel growled as he kneaded your supple cheeks in his massive palms. Your heart raced as he picked you up by your waist and carried you into the penthouse. You dropped your purse on the tiled floor as you threaded your fingers through his dark, silky locks. Miguel groaned as your lips met in a passionate dance, your tongues gliding across one another with a soft squelch. You hungrily devoured each other’s mouths in a heated kiss as he kicked the bedroom door open. You squeaked at the sudden noise and tensed in his arms.

“Lo siento. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Miguel whispered, his plump lips dancing over yours [I’m sorry].

“It’s okay,” you murmured gently, your hands falling down to wrap around his thick neck. Your husband's eyes raked across your body as he laid you down on the plush, king-sized bed. You dug your nails into the back of his neck as he suckled over the nape of your neck, his deft fingers rolling the skirt of your dress over your hips. He sucked in a sharp breath when he laid eyes on your clothed sex.

“See what you do to me, bebé?” Miguel groaned before taking your hand and trailing it down his shirt. Your breath hitched when you felt the heavy, hard cock twitch against your palm. You bit your lip and mewled as your love nipped at your soft skin.

“Papi, fuck,” you gasped as he slid your thong to the side and rubbed at your slick, puffy folds with his digits. You husband rumbled as he spread your pussy lips apart with his thick fingers.

"Mm, tan mojada," Miguel groaned with a smirk [so wet].

"Please, Miguel," you swallowed thickly as you spread your legs as much as you could. Your husband licked his lips as he locked eyes with you.

"Don't worry, baby. Just need to make sure you're stretched out for my cock first," he rumbled. Your mouth opened in a silent moan when he suddenly sank two of his thick digits inside your tight, weeping hole.

“Oh my God!” you shivered and gripped the sheets as he curled his fingertips against your sensitive, spongey g-spot. Your gummy walls clenched around his two digits as Miguel chuckled. He parted his lips as he massaged your hip, his eyes lit with a deep, primal hunger.

“That’s it, bebé. Keep making those pretty noises for me,” Miguel grunted as relentlessly thrusted his fingers inside your plush cunt. Your eyes widened as he kissed down your chest and stomach before hovering his lips over your mound.

“S-Shit!” you moaned and arched your back as your husband dipped his head down and eagerly suckled on your bundle of nerves. Miguel grunted against your juicy slit, your arousal smearing over his broad chin as you ground your hips against his face. “M-Miguel, baby,” you groaned as your love flattened his warm tongue over your engorged bud.

“Tan bueno - sabe tan bien,” he growled against your wet folds before lapping at your clit [So good - tastes so good]. Tears of pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes as Miguel continued to fuck your tight pussy with his thick fingers.

“Bebé,” you choked as you felt his digits stretch you out while he swirled his tongue around your bundle of nerves. Your jaw went slack when he curled his fingers inside you again, letting the intoxicating pressure linger for much longer.

“Make a mess on my face, Mami,” your husband urged with a low growl. A high-pitched cry left your swollen lips as Miguel eagerly pumped his fingers in and out of your tight, slick hole, the tension in your lower belly growing tighter and tighter.

“S-Sí Papi - just like that,” you encouraged him as you fisted the crisp bedsheets. Miguel groaned as your arousal dripped down his chin and neck, his tongue painting bold, wet stripes from your stuffed hole and all the way up to your clit. Your eyes rolled back as he pumped his fingers even faster while puckering his lips around your bundle of nerves.

“M-Miguel!” you squealed when he suddenly pulled his fingers out, leaving your hole puckering and begging for more. A bolt of pleasure struck through you when he started to hastily unbuckle his belt.

“Lo siento, mi vida. I can’t wait anymore,” Miguel growled as he shoved his slacks and briefs down in one swift motion. Your cunt fluttered when you saw his thick, heavy cock spring free, a thick bead of precum adorning his flush tip. Your husband's eyes remained on your dripping cunt as he shoved his jacket and white button-up onto the floor. Your mouth watered as you stared at the mortal Adonis standing in front of you, his rippling muscles tensing as he pumped his girthy shaft.

You gasped as he quickly climbed on top of you and cupped his palms against the back of your knees. You squealed when Miguel pushed your legs towards your shoulders, your puffy tummy poking out as he nearly folded you in half.

“Ah!” you cried as he slammed his cock inside you in one fluid thrust. Your legs tensed in his grip as you tried to adjust to the sudden fullness inside you, his girth stretching your tight hole with a delicious burn.

“Eyes on me, conejita,” Miguel murmured, his hot breath falling over your face and neck. You glanced through the sheet of tears that blurred your vision, your body quaking with pleasure as you felt the head of his cock kiss your cervix.

“I want you to make as much noise as you'd like. Don't worry about the neighbors...for tonight, it's just the two of us. Okay, Mami?” Miguel rasped before nipping the shell of your ear. You whined as your walls ached for the sweet drag of his veiny cock. You nodded vigorously as you bit your lip, the heaviness of his cock deliciously weighing in your tight hole.

"Such a good little wife," Miguel grunted as he pulled his taut hips back. Your heart skipped a beat as Miguel rested his forehead against yours before he sheathed his cock down to the hilt.

“Fuck!" you choked as you felt the slight sting of his cock molding your walls to its shape.

“God, I love how your tight, perfect pussy grips me,” Miguel murmured as he rocked his hips back and forth. His breath hitched as your walls squeezed his veiny shaft. Your cheeks burned as he wrapped his lips around yours while he thrusted into you at a rapid, sloppy pace.

“M-Miguel!” you screamed and wrung your hands in the sheets as your lover pounded into your cunt, each drag of his cock deliciously stretching you out more and more. You squealed as Miguel squeezed the back of your knees, his balls slapping against your plump asscheeks. You shivered as he released a deep growl, his cock throbbing and twitching between your swollen, gummy walls.

“R-Right there Papi!” you yelled as the bulbous head of his cock perfectly grazed over your g-spot. You threw your head back as your husband leaned forward and wrapped his lips around yours while he desperately pounded into your raw cunt.

“So good, so good to me," he panted. You moaned as you felt your cunt already starting to clamp down on his shaft.

“M-Miguel, wait! I’m gonna-” you were cut off when he pressed his lips to your neck, his hips snapping against yours and making your thick asscheeks clap loudly.

“Cum for me, conejita,” he grunted. Your bottom lip trembled as the tight knot in your belly suddenly snapped.

“MIGUEL!” you screamed as your slick walls clenched around his girth. Miguel’s thrusts stuttered as your pussy squeezed his cock in a vice grip, your slick gushing past the stuffed seam of your raw, tight cunt.

“Mierda,” your husband breathed as you unraveled beneath him [Shit]. You babbled as your cunt pulsed; every contraction sending an overwhelming wave of bliss over your trembling form. You moaned as Miguel continued to thrust his cock inside your weeping cunt, your arousal sticking to the front of his thighs as he groaned above you. Hot tears rolled down your puffy cheeks when Miguel suddenly pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach.

“Miguel?” you breathed as your heart raced. Your squealed as your husband pulled you up and wrapped his arms beneath your knees.

“Unphase the blinds to level zero,” Miguel rumbled. Your eyes widened as he lifted you up and immediately sheathed you down on his stiff cock, your slick pussy swallowing his length whole.

“¡P-Papi!” you gasped as he carried you over to your wide bedroom windows, the holographic blinds slowly fading to reveal the neon glow of Nueva York. Your thighs shook in his bulky arms as he froze just inches from the window. Your heart raced as you gazed at the lewd reflection of yourself in the crystal glass, your hot breath fogging against the clear surface.

Your jaw went slack as Miguel started to thrust into your wet heat, your gushing cunt squelching with each snap of his hips.

“Look down there, mi amor. Look at all those men who will never be able to fuck you like I do,” he rasped as he bounced you on his shaft. Your eyes glazed over as you gazed down at the streets below. You’d be more embarrassed had you not just cum on your husband’s dick…but there was a tiny part of you that indulged in being claimed by your beloved. “They’ll never get to hear your pretty moans, feel your soft, perfect pussy grip their cocks,” Miguel growled as he nipped at your neck. You dug your nails into his forearm as he pounded into your cunt with no restraint, his breathing growing ragged and arms tensing beneath your legs.

“Say you’re mine, (Y/N),” he groaned before puckering his lips over your pulse. You moaned as shook in his hold as you tried to swim through the haze of your ecstasy.

“I-I’m yours, Papi!” you screamed. You gasped as Miguel raked his teeth over your hickey.

“Who do you belong to?!” he snarled. You sobbed as your cunt greedily sucked in his cock with.

“I belong to you, Miguel!” you moaned loudly. You mewled as your arousal leaked onto the floor.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” your husband groaned as he kissed your cheek before thrusting even faster.

“Mmmm-Miguel,” you slurred. You screamed silently as he sank his teeth into your shoulder, the slight sting mixing with the intoxicating pleasure that rippled through your core. Your throat tightened as his cock dragged along your soft walls, your slick dripping down the inside of your thighs and gliding over your jiggling asscheeks.

“Gonna cum for me again, hm?” Miguel husked before tracing the tip of his tongue across the fresh bite mark.

“S-Sí, Papi,” you whined. You felt him smirk against your shoulder as he kept you in front of the window, your heart racing at the thought of someone seeing the two of you in such an intimate position. You moaned as his thrusts began to falter, his hot breath falling over your exposed skin.

“M-Mig-!” you shouted as your vision was flooded with white.

“Yes, that’s it Mami. S-Soak this fat fucking cock with your sweet cum,” your husband rasped as you threw your head against his shoulder.

“Fuck,” you sobbed as a wave of pleasure rushed through your heat, your pussy squirting all over his massive, swollen cock. Miguel groaned as he squeezed your legs.

“So close,” he hissed through gritted teeth as his cock twitched inside your fluttering walls. You gripped your hands over his as your body jiggled with every powerful snap of his hips.

“Por fa Papi…fill me,” you whispered breathily. Miguel grunted against your neck as he slammed you down on his cock for the last time. Both of you moaned as he painted your slick walls white with thick, heavy ropes of his seed. You felt Miguel shiver behind you as his cock throbbed, his warm cum splashing against your swollen cervix.

“Yes,” Miguel growled deeply as he kept your back pressed to his chest. You swallowed thickly and shuddered as his cock began to soften inside you, thick beads of his cum swelling and dripping down the curve of your ass. The air was filled with your deep, heavy breaths, your bodies coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

“That was…wow,” you didn’t even have the mental capacity to describe what just happened. Miguel chuckled softly and nodded.

“Yeah,” he grinned and pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. You squealed as he gave your legs another gentle squeeze. “Activate blinds to ten,” Miguel called out. The windows soon fogged up with the holographic blinds again as he took a step back. Your eyelids began to grow heavy as he carried you to bed. You whimpered when your giant husband laid both of you down, his cock softening between your raw, oversensitive walls. You sighed as you felt his hands mindlessly wander across your body, his lips grazing your neck every so often.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Miguel murmured as his lips dancing over your pulse. You sighed.

“Actually, could we just stay here for a little bit?” you asked and slightly turned his face. The corners of your husband’s eyes crinkled as he gave you a gentle smile.

“Of course, mi amor,” he purred and pecked your lips. You returned his grin as he kept you against his chest, his large, bulky arms wrapped around you like a cozy cocoon. You kissed his bulging bicep before tracing your fingertips across the many dips and curves of his arm. Miguel sighed as he nuzzled his face against your neck, his warm breath tickling over your pulse.

“Te amo mucho, (Y/N),” your beloved whispered before gently kissing your cheek. You sighed as you relished in the way his lips lingered on your skin while you closed your eyes.

“Te amo mucho, Miguel,” you murmured softly.

----

Thank you for reading! 💖

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inky-duchess · 5 months

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Etiquette of the Edwardian Era and La Belle Époque: Ball

This is a new set of posts focusing on the period of time stretching from the late 19th century to the early 20th Century right up to the start of WWI. I'll be going through different aspects of life. This series can be linked to my Great House series as well as my Season post and Debutant post.

Let's throw a ball, my darling. It is the age of elegance and opera gloves. Etiquette during these events was as intregal as the music. So let's delve in and dance the night away.

Preparing to host a Ball

Balls in this period weren't just little get-together with a little music in the corner. These were large productions and required the entire household to pitch in. The ballroom would have to be cleaned, chandeliers would need polishing. Any large halls would need to be cleared of any furniture to accommodate a large crowd. If throwing a ball, you need to set aside more rooms than just the ballroom. You will need a room to store any cloaks, coats and hats (a valet and lady's maid would have charge of this), a room for refreshments and sometimes a room set up for any other entertainment such as cards. The dining room would also be needed for a supper (yes, suppers are expected). A ball requires the best of the best. Musicians would be hired, the kitchens will be slaving all day, butlers will be decanting the best wines and select the finest liquor, and rooms made up for anybody thinking of staying the night. The kitchens will have to prepare light snacks as well as the late supper, so everything must be cooked at exactly the right time and kept in optimum condition until needed. A red carpet would be laid from the front door right down to the pavement with an awning to keep the worst of the weather off. Invites should be sent out a few weeks prior and should attempt not to clash with any other event, you may compete who has the best ball but you should never force guests to snub another to go to your ball. Servants should be prepared for a long night, so they may dine earlier in the day to sustain them. Footmen would wait outside to open carriage doors and direct guests to the door. The butler would have to greet them, announce their arrival (not by order of rank but simply in the order they arrive) in the hall and then toward the coat rooms to relieve themselves of any coats or hats. These balls were very expensive affairs. Between food, drink, entertainment, their clothes, wages and getting their house up the snuff, a host could expect to fork out thousands if not more. Alva Vanderbilt's great costume ball cost her $6 million in today's valuation ($250,000 in her era).

The Hosts on the Night of the Ball

The hosts of the ball should be ready to recieve guests promptly. The lady of the house should be downstairs an least an hour before kickoff to check the work of the servants and provide last minute commands. The hosts would wait in the hall and greet guests. The butler will announce every guest while valets and lady's maids take charge of any coats. After guests have shed their coats, they would then greet the host, usually exchanging a few words and thanking them for the invitation before being escorted into the ballroom. The hosts would usually begin the ball themselves or if there was a guest of honour, they would allow them to open the ball. Dancing is only meant to begin with the invitation of the hosts. If there's music playing, it's not an invitation to dance. Hosts have a duty to ensure everyone is having a good time. They will be expected to dance and ensure people are partnered.

Guests

Guests are expected to arrive in a certain time frame. Balls usually begin quite late into the night, usually around 10pm. It would do no good to arrive too early and ride to arrive midway without a viable reason. There may have been a previous event, such as a theatre engagement or an opera so if you are coming from there and everybody eksevgas arrived on time and you show up late, you had best apologise. Guests must only attend if they have been invited by the hosts. You can't just rock up to a ball and expect to be admitted. If a guests wishes to have a friend who is a stranger attend the ball, they can request for the host to invite them. Guests will arrive by carriage or on foot if they live nearby. If arriving by carriage, one must allow for appropriate space between coaches and room for them to pull out. Also, it is a good idea to remind your driver when to collect you. Guests are always expected to greet the hosts as soon as they can, thank them for the invitation and be courteous at all times. Guests should not comment negatively on anything the hosts have provided such as the food or music, it's better to reserve opinion until another less public event. Guests are encouraged to mingle but strangers must be introduced by a mutual acquaintance or even the host. Wandering off through any section of the house not designated as part of the ball is prohibited as is sneaking off into the gardens. Also if one expects to stay for the night (say you live far away and have travelled to get there) you must have requested it of the host a few days at least before.

Dancing Etiquette

Dancing is one of those things in this era that isn't just a pastime but a ritual. Men asked women for the privilege of a dance, a waltz perhaps. Women would not ask a man. Women would have dance cards where gentlemen could request to partner them for certain dances. If a woman has turned down a gentleman for any reason but has no designated partner for the dance, she must sit that particular dance out. A lady should limit dances with the same partner lest it be a root of scandal: it is not considered terrible to dance two dances with the same partner but questionable if you were to dance with the same partner for multiple dances in a row. It is frowned upon for a lady to reject a dance partner when it is his honour after accepting him earlier. And also highly insulting for a man to spurn a dance partner he has sworn to dance with. It is usually customary for the man to ask whether his partner would like a refreshment, wherein he can escort her to find it. They may chat until the next dance whereupon he must excuse himself with a bow and relieve her of his company so she may dance with her next partner. When supper is announced, the last partner is ecoected to escort his lady into the dining room.

Timeline of a Ball

As stated above, Balls usually start around 10pm (but can be held earlier). Once all the guests have arrived and the hosts enter the ballroom, the dancing can go on. Around 1am there would be a light supper. Small refreshments such as canapés would be available throughout usually offered by footmen stationed around the house. Servants would stay up around the clock to unsure that everything runs smoothly, fetching drinks and later after the ball studying up. Balls would end about 3-4am, whereupon carriages would return to fetch guests and ferry them home. Guests staying would head upstairs. Anybody staying over would be treated to a breakfast in the morning.

Theme

Many balls were themed. Themed balls were usually announced months in advance to allow costumes to be made. A guest should not arrive without having paid attention to the theme as it not only can show poor time management but may be seen as an insult to the host. All guests were expected to adhere to theme where it be a "servant's ball" where they would dress as servants or even a Costume balls are all about extravagance but it's better to rein yourself in (we're side eyeing you, Kate Strong). The grandest costume ball of all time was of course Alva Vanderbilt's grand affair of March 26, 1883. Costume balls were very expensive affairs, with some guests spending up close to thousands of pounds/dollars on their looks. At one ball in 1893, the infamous Bradley-Martin affair, guests spent nearly $400,000 on their costumes - during a particularly bad financial crisis. The overall party cost $10 million.

Dressing for a Ball

Dressing as you know from the previous post is a large part of etiquette of this era. The right costume for the right event is paramount if one wants to make the right impression. Newspapers often wrote about who wore what so it was important to dress your best.

Men must wear a suit or tailcoat, always black. A ball is white tie so he must dress accordingly. He would arrive with a top hat which he would surrender to a valet. He would keep his gloves on when dancing.

Ladies are encouraged to wear a gown usually of a subtle colour with with a décolleté that leaves the upper arms snf shoulders bare. A woman's gown was important as it not only helped her stand out.

A sensible woman for goes her heels and wears pumps to dance as she will be on her feet all night.

Tiaras are beautiful but when dancing all night, it's perhaps best to pick the lightest or go for a simpler headpiece such as a feather or a broach. Wearing a heavy tiara all night while dancing will give you a migraine (it's painful).

Also it's better not to over accessorize. You don't want to be mid spin and all your pearls go scattering across the floor or catch a bracelet in your partners' jacket. Minimalism is best.

A woman may even chose to decorate her gown with fresh flowers.

How to Behave at a ball

Gloves are to be worn at all times when dancing. You only remove your handling food or playing cards. White gloves are preferred but light shades can be forgiven. Gloves for women are worn to the elbow, men's to the wrist.

No lady should arrive at a ball without an escort, either an older woman or a family member.

Men who come to the dance and are unwillingly to dance despite being able to should stay away (I'm not kidding, this is in several etiquette books)

Married couples are not expected to dance together but it is not barred.

A man should always be careful of his lady's train and that of any other. Do not stand on them.

Outward PDA is not permitted. A kiss on the hand or kiss on the cheek is permitted, as is a hand tucked into the crook of an arm but one must swing out of people.

Don't hurry onto the dancefloor (even if it is your song)

When a gentleman seats a lady at the table, he must offer her thanks for her favour.

If a lady does refuse to partner a gentleman but then dances that dance with another without prior agreement, the gentleman is expected to restrain himself from confronting her. He is permitted to never offer her a dance again if this happens.

No lady should ever be unaccompanied at any time. They should have a companion or an escort to make sure they are kept in the loop at all times.

If dancing a set, your choices must be made swiftly and wisely.

A gentleman is without saying barred from going into the women's coat room. That's a no no, stay out of there.

If a gentleman wishes to partner a woman he doesn't know, he must have a mutual friend to introduce themselves and if they don't have one, the host would be on hand to introduce them.

When attending a ball, it's better to avoid heavy topics of conversation. It's better to stick to neutral smalltalk. No party is enjoyable with people standing on soap boxes.

When dancing, good posture is not only favourable but stops the body from any undue movements.

Try not to join in when the dance is midway or almost over. Be prompt.

If your partner is missing, you should not replace them. You should sit the dance out.

The hostess is in charge of ensuring that her female guests are provided with a partner if they wish to dance and gave not been asked.

If a man accompanies a woman to the ball, he's expected to dance with her on her first and last dances of the evening.

If one invites a lady to a ball, a carriage must be provided to ferry her.

Popular dances of the era

Waltz: The Waltz is seen by many as a reserved dance nowadays but in this era it struck many as a questionable dance because of how close the couple must get. It is a simple dance, requiring 6 steps all with a "box step". It's an elegant and popular dance of the time. A gentleman or whoever is leading should place their hand on the waist of their partner and their partner should rest their hand upon their shoulder.

Cakewalk: The Cakewalk had it's beginnings with enslaved peoples on American plantations. It was a satire poking fun of white plantation owners, mimicking the way they behaved at their own balls. It was later adopted into white society who did not get the joke. It was a group dance where multiple couples set themselves in a square (men on the inside), stepping and strutting to the music. In some instances, a cake was awarded to the most impressive couple which gives the dance it's name (also because it was a piece of cake to perform). The Cakewalk is seen by many as the seed of many of the jazz dances that would dominate the 20s.

Polka: A Polish dance. It requires 3 swift steps followed by a hop. The music is at is 2/4. The couples circle about the dance floor.

Krakowiak: A Polish dance for multiple couples. The leading male dancer (from the first pair) leads the steps for all the couples, and on approach to the band must tap his geeks and sing an improvised verse to his partner, the rhythm the band must match. The couples break up to form a circle. The leading couple will remain before the band. The couples would then dance around the room during the rest of the tune.

Mazurka: This is a lively dance, with it's beginnings in Polish folk dance. Couples gather in circles. The dance requires music with a forceful accent on its second beat, in time at 3/4 or 3/8. This dance has no set figure, relying on the skills of the couple yo improvise. However there are over 50 different steps.

Redowa: A Czech dance. The dance begins with a closed position, their clasped hands pointing the direction they will dance. A leader (the first couple) will take a slight leap around his partner with their left foot tmfollowed by a gliding step with their right. This foot must be pointed, the left leg slightly bent and the back straight. The next set turns the leader about toward the front line again, their left leg is now forward and straight, the right now bent. The left leg is now meant to tuck beneath the right leg with is extended backwards. Another leap to the right leg finishes the pattern. The next couple, the follower, begins movement on the early beats where the leader makes moves on the second set of beats

Castlewalk: The leader moves forward while their partner goes backward. The partner is guided around the room, the leader's arm around their right side under whilst their lest hand rests on the leaders opposite shoulder. Their other arms are clasped, held aloft. The leader begins on their left foot, their partner on their right. They will move with gliding steps, stepping on each beat of the music. They will dance in a circle, moving about the room with other couples, their circle gradually growing smaller and smaller on three very quick turns.

Quadrille: The Quadrille is an older dance but still very popular in Gilded Age America. It is made up with a series of 4-6 contredanses (country dances). The Quadrille is a group dance, made up of sets. The standard Quadrille is five parts, the Viennese contains six. Each section is danced with a combinations of figures. A combination was a set of steps and movements. Examples would be the ladies chain (chaîne des dames) or the two hand turn (tour de deux mains).

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ghouljams · 14 days

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'Til Death (Remember Me in Your Will)

Rating: Mature (Minors Do Not Interact) Words: 3.7k Tags: David "Hesh" Walker/F!Reader, Sugar Daddy au, Dom/sub undertones, flirting Summary: You start dating Hesh as a way to supliment your income. It's not like you've never sugared before, you know how to play this game. It's just too bad Hesh seems to have his own ideas about what this relationship is. Next Chapter > ao3

You’ve always been smart. You don’t know if you’ve always been pretty, but you try not to be too harsh on your younger self. You also have bills to pay. You’re fortunate enough to be doing what you love, working a job you’re passionate about, and getting paid shit all for it. Luckily you’re not the one paying your bills. You have sugar daddies for that.

Like you said, pretty, and smart enough not to rely on one stream of cash. You have a couple men you sugar for, all old enough to make sure they know you’re not looking for love, and with enough experience to get you off at the end of the night. It’s a good situation, everyone gets what they want, and you don’t worry about your job paying you barely above minimum wage. When one man drops you, you hit up your favorite sites for another. Which is how you got here, staring at Hesh with a cup of coffee held tight between your hands and a hangover that throbs like a lobotomy.

What you don’t know is how he got in, but you’re more focused on his offer than anything else. Drop the other men you sugar for to be his exclusively, and he’ll double every dollar they pay you monthly. You’re not greedy by any stretch of the word, but your mouth waters at the proposal. That’s a lot of money he’s laying on the table.

“And what about sex?” You ask him. It’s been months of dating him, and Hesh still hasn’t touched you. In fact the smoldering tension between you has made all your other relationships feel cold. Forcing you to rely on your toys after sex these days when your other daddies fail to perform. That doesn’t mean you want to cut it off cold turkey. You can’t, not when he still makes you throb eagerly even with the hangover migraine. If he doesn’t want you, there’s no deal.

There’s something steely in Hesh’s eyes when he leans forward, his elbows settling on his knees. His smile is wicked, predatory, it makes goosebumps prickle over your skin. Your blood runs hot, and follows his eyes as they drop to stare between your legs.

“Baby,” He purrs, “I’ll fuck you over this table right now, all you gotta do is say yes to me.”

(six months ago)

You check your makeup in your compact mirror. Not your favorite, but you find the men you date appreciate the femininity of it. There’s something terribly alluring about swiping your pinky over the corners of your lips with a compact mirror in hand, and you don’t get that sort of sex-out-of-the-bag flavor with your phone camera. You really need all the cards you can get tonight too. You’ve got a date with a new man, a new sugar daddy. You don’t usually go for them when they’re this close in age to you, but he seemed nice, and paid in advance(no strings attached), so you’re taking the chance on him. He offered to pick you up, but… you’re not about to get trapped in a car with a man you don’t know. It’s better having a quick escape route if the date goes south.

You snap your compact shut and tuck it neatly back into your purse when you spot your date. He hands his keys to the restaurant’s valet, and offers you a smile. He’s wearing a suit, you expected as much with the caliber of restaurant he suggested, but it’s nice being dressed up for. You hold your hand out in greeting as his long strides carry him close. You’re pleasantly surprised when his fingers grip yours and raise your hand to his lips. He just grazes your knuckles, his eyes heavy on yours as he kisses your hand. They’re green, you note. Not just his eyes either, his suit too. It’s so dark you’d mistaken it as black, but it’s green, and it makes his eyes positively electric looking.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” He smiles, dropping his hold on your hand and slipping his around your back as you turn to walk into the restaurant.

“I just got here,” A white lie, you got here with ten minutes to spare, never early or late for the men you date. Your date hums, his thumb rubbing against the small of your back, right where the zipper of your dress ends. His hand splays wide, his pinky grazing the swell of your ass. It sends a little shiver through you, the touch quickly removed as your date gives his name to the host.

“Walker.” He voice, sure and even, louder than the intimate softness of his voice when he’d greeted you, makes something warm slither down your spine.

“David Walker,” you feel the name over your tongue, adding the last name to the one he’d had on his profile. You feel the way his attention slips back to you heavily, it may as well be another hand with the warmth that it draws over you.

“My friends call me Hesh,” He sounds proud, but not like he’s puffing out his chest. There’s no bragging to the nickname, just the simple exchange of information.

He settles his hand on your back again when the host leads you to your table. The firm pressure not pushing you, not hurrying you, but steadying you. You wonder if he doubts your ability to walk in the heels you picked, or if he’s simply the touchy sort. You suppose you’ll figure it out soon enough. He pulls your chair out like a gentleman, helps you scoot in to the table, and takes his seat across from you without a wasted movement. You’ve never met a man that seemed so immediately comfortable in his own skin.

You suppose that comes with the territory. The men that pay you, pay you for a reason. You’re arm candy, or a kink, or an easy lay that’s a step better than a prostitute for men too important to “date down”. You know all sorts of men, but Hesh… Hesh seems like he could find a partner easily. Maybe it’s a time issue. You’ve only dealt with some of those. The type of man that doesn’t have the time in his life for dating. You slot the possibility into your mental file for Hesh, and settle your elbows on the table, leaning against them with a smile.

“So,” You draw the word out, give him time to eye the way your breasts push together against the low cut of your dress, “how was your day?”

It’s a simple question, one that never feels out of place, but busy men will always talk about their work. Hesh’s eyes drag over you, flicking to meet yours from their brief rest on your chest. He smiles, taking the menu set in front of him to look over as he speaks.

“I’m in the military if that’s what you’re askin’.” You feel yourself falter a little, regaining your composure, your smile, when he glances up at you.

“You must be busy,” You try, keeping your tone interested but light. You dislike intelligent men, the ones that can see through you, see through your questions, it makes it harder to play the game when both sides know the rules. But a date is a date.

“Hard to date with deployment looming,” He admits, or perhaps supplies, helping you build your mental catalog for him. You nod, you can see that. It would certainly make it hard to keep someone around without an incentive, hence the use of a sugar baby. Ah, got it. You file him neatly into the correct box and reach for your water glass.

“I can imagine,” You raise a brow, taking a sip, busy men like talking. Busy men tell you about themselves, what they can do for you, what you should do for them, how busy they are and how little time they have for you, as if you’re meant to be grateful for every second they allow you.

Hesh waits. He sits patiently, watching you with interest as you swipe your thumb over the lipstick stain you’ve left on the rim of the glass. He’s quiet, observant. Unnerving. Busy men talk, and Hesh isn’t talking. He’s watching, taking you in like he has all the time in the world. He sets his menu down and laces his fingers together on the table. You wish you couldn’t feel the hesitance in your fingers as you take another sip of your water, delaying the inevitable.

“Do I make you nervous,” He asks after your third sip. There’s a keen evenness to his tone, low and deep enough to shiver goosebumps over your skin. You set your water down and plaster on a smile that feels as fake as you’re sure it must look.

“Of course not.”

“You done this before sweetheart?”

“Sugar?” You can feel Hesh’s hum, the warmth of it spreads through your chest, his eyes soft and his smile inquisitive. “Once or twice.” You lie.

“Once or twice,” He turns the words back to you. An interrogation technique you often employ during these sorts of things. It works though. You bite down the need to correct him, to tell him maybe it’s more than just once or twice.

“It’s hard to pay the bills with just my work.” You explain, though you’re not sure why. Something in your stomach flutters to explain yourself to this man, the desire shakes itself through your bones. He reaches for his own water glass, draws the moment out as you watch his Adam's apple bob with the motion of swallowing. You've done this a good dozen times, but no one has put you on your toes as quickly as Hesh has. You take the moment to give him a once over. There's a slight shadow over his jaw, we'll groomed stubble that feeds its way into close cropped brown hair. Young-ish, with an age to his eyes that makes you wonder what he's been through, what he's seen. He's just at what you would call “acceptably older” if you were actually dating him, but he still wears his youth in the gleam of his smile. He watches you like a hawk, and you in turn watch him like a rabbit.

“Non-profit, right?” Hesh confirms, and you nod, before quickly giving a verbal affirmative. Verbal answers are more confident, and you've done this too many times to be losing your confidence now. Hesh is outside of your normal routine, but a sugar daddy is a sugar daddy, and at the end of the day they all want one thing. A pretty thing on their arm. They don't care about what you do or who you are, as long as you go home with them at the end of the night. “Do you enjoy it?”

The question takes you off guard. Or, not the question itself, you've heard that a hundred times at least, it's the genuine interest disguised behind an impassive smile. You blink at him.

“I-” you don't give details about your work, they don't want details, you give the necessary ‘yes’ and move on to talking about him or playing footsie under the table, “I do it’s-”

Your waiter stops beside the table, and you feel Hesh's attention leave you like a weight falling off your chest. He speaks with conviction, orders wine for the both of you, and where you usually feel as though that sort of move is right out of a “how to show women you’re the boss 101” handbook, on him it feels natural. He’s used to commanding attention, to giving orders. No wasted breath, no wasted words. Hesh orders and you wonder if he’ll do the same for your meal.

“What did you say you did in the military?” You ask when the waiter leaves, and Hesh’s eyes feel all the heavier on you for your interest.

“We were talking about you,” He corrects. The way he sits and looks at you show a man that holds not just himself to high standards, but everyone else as well. The weight of his full attention is crushing now that you’ve felt it leave you, and yet it sparks something in you. A desire to please. A desire to live up to those expectations.

He’s here for you, you don’t want to disappoint him.

You’ve never had a conversation with a man who makes you feel so aware of yourself. You can feel the brush of fabric against your skin like a touch, and each breath you take seems to tease you as your dress pulls over your chest. And his eyes… He touches every inch of exposed skin he can with them, drawing warmth over you until you’re positively alight with want. You have to excuse yourself to the restroom. He stands with you, old school manners you’ve only seen in movies, and offers a hand to help you around the table. You think you feel the brush of his fingers over your hip, his touch burning through you even when you must have imagined it.

You fix your makeup in the bathroom mirror, attempt to clean up some of the mess you’re making in your panties. God. It’s been so long since you had a date that stoked the fire low in your stomach, a man that looked at you like something to be desired not just a sure thing. When’s the last time your date seemed so interested in you, asked questions to further your answers, brought up topics that related to something you’d mentioned and not just something he could brag about? When’s the last time you had a good date with a hot guy and weren’t worried about whether it would be worth your time?

God have you really not thought about the money this whole time? You’d been so swept up in the way Hesh spoke to you, the way he looked at you, that you couldn’t think of anything else. Even now you can’t help thinking of the way he’d purred, “Anythin’ you want,” when you’d asked what to order. The memory of his voice makes you press your thighs together. You want to know what he’d say to you without the filter of public decency. You want to know how he’d touch you behind closed doors.

He stands again when you make your way back to the table, waits for you to sit before taking his seat. You notice he’s barely touched his food since you left, only picking up his knife and fork when you do. You slot “slow eater” into your folder on him. It doesn’t matter you suppose, he sips his wine, always pours another swallow for you when you run low, and yet he seems to finish with you. His food is gone just a bite after yours is, and he leans against the table as the waiter whisks your plates away. Like he’s waiting for something.

It’s easy to slide your foot against his calf, easy to see the heat that burns in his eyes. You’re careful of your heel, but you’re well practiced in this game. He wants you, you know he wants you. That’s how these things work, pick a pretty girl off the site and take her home at the end. You get first right of refusal and some extra cash in your pocket, he gets to boast about the pretty thing he’s screwing.

“You hopin’ for something sweetheart?” Hesh catches your ankle under the table, firm fingers stopping you from trailing past his knee. His tone is casual, playful, his grip is not. “Gotta use your words like a big girl.”

“I’m hoping we can get the check,” You purr. Your dates usually rush for it, signal the waiter as quickly as they can to shuffle you into the back seat of their car, or the nearby hotel. You don’t think you’ve had a date ever end at dinner, the same way you’re sure you’ve never had a dinner last quite as long as this.

“We?” Hesh smiles, his thumb rubs your ankle, the friction making you shiver, “You offerin’ to split the bill little one?”

“Of course not Daddy,” the title falls from your lips with an invitation to touch further. You try not to stretch too obviously into his grip, feel the slip of your skirt as his fingers push up over your calf like a curtain drawing the evening to an end, “Just thought you might like to have dessert elsewhere.”

Hesh’s hand is warm and appreciative as it strokes your leg. You feel the drag of calluses, rough palms skating over your soft skin, and wonder how those thick fingers will feel once they’re inside you. Men like him… they like when you’re a little bold, they like knowing that you’re not too shy to avoid falling into bed on the first date. You’ve honed your edge against the predictability of the men you date, and you know you’re right by the way he catches the waiter’s eye and taps his fingers against the table.

You settle into the warm feeling of victory, and the knowledge that you’ve snagged another source of income. Not to mention the added benefit of sex. Hesh touches you with an idle sort of intimacy that makes heat throb between your legs, he touches you like it’s his right to, like he holds command over the how and when of it. You don’t think he’s the sort of man people often say ‘no’ to.

He drags his fingers over your shin, settling your foot against his knee as he takes his hand from under the table to take the check. It’s a bit of a stretch, the burn in your hamstring of keeping yourself looking presentably seated while still abiding by his placement is a wonderful precursor for the night ahead. You keep your eyes on him as he pays with barely a glance at the bill as he hands the waiter his card. The whisper of wealth. No, you don’t think people say ‘no’ to Hesh often. If ever.

Hesh slips his card back into his wallet as he stands, and moves around the table to offer you his hand. You don’t need it, but you like the way his fingers curl around yours, the firm grip he holds you with as you stand. You brush your hands over your skirt, letting the hem fall back into place. You don’t miss the way Hesh’s eyes follow the sway of your chest as you lean forward. Men are all alike, perfectly predictable.

You press close to his side, letting him feel the soft curves of your body as he leads you out of the restaurant. He hands the valet his ticket and you make a mental note to call one of your friends to come grab your car. Although you suppose you don’t have to spend the night, you can uber back here in an hour or so and grab it. The restaurant staff know you well enough they can let you park here for a bit.

“Are we going back to yours or finding a hotel?” You can’t say you aren’t interested in seeing where he lives, but a hotel is closer, and you’re ready to go.

“Neither,” Hesh hums, “you’re going home.”

He’s not- he’s not interested? Your confusion must read too clearly on your face because Hesh’s hand finds your waist and drags you close. You tip your head to avoid bumping your nose against him and he takes the motion as permission to kiss you. His lips searing yours as his hand squeezes the meat of your hip. You’re quick to wrap your arms around his shoulders, quick to press against the length of him, your chest to his, your hips to his. You can feel the thick twitch of his cock where you push yourself against it. (Fuck is that all him?) He’s like a furnace, radiating warm want that soaks into your skin. The night air feels freezing on your exposed skin

Hesh’s lips part, his breath a sigh as his head tips. The soft push of his lips against yours is exceedingly gentle for the hunger you can taste behind it. It shivers down your spine, aches in the creek of Hesh’s grip on your hips, a want that you can’t quantify. Your lips slide over his, his stubble tickling you a little as you part and kiss, part and kiss, again and again.

He presses, forces you to lean back, arching into him. You’re reliant on him to keep you standing, trusting your balance to a man you barely know. It makes your skin prickle, makes you want. You wiggle your hips, try to entice him to give you what you know he’s looking for, even slip your tongue in the part of his lips. His fingers tighten until you squeak with pain and pull away from the kiss.

He pulls you up, lets you go to take his keys from the valet. You can still feel his spit slicking your top lip, the tingle of his stubble against your bottom. You balk, the dark fabric of his suit does enough to hide the outline of his cock in the low light but you know what you felt. How can he just leave you like this?

“You’re serious.” You realize, and Hesh pauses with his hand on the top of his car.

“I am,” No wasted words. You hesitate, worry your lip between your teeth before you can stop yourself. Hesh waits you out, patient as a saint.

“But I thought-” You try to blink through your confusion, “I thought this went well.”

“It did,” Hesh smiles and it isn’t patronizing or pitying, but there’s something in it that doesn’t feel entirely friendly, “I’d like to get to know you better, that’s all sweetheart.”

You frown. The first genuine expression you’ve given him all night and it’s a furrowed brow. You fix your face before you lose the next date to your pouting. Hesh’s brows are heavy, his eyes lidding as he watches you. There is something dark and unreadable in the way he looks at you, something heady that makes you dumb. The chill rushes to you when he looks away, climbs into his car, and leaves.

#cod x reader #x reader #david walker #david hesh walker #david hesh walker x reader #hesh walker #hesh walker x reader #hesh cod #cod hesh #hesh x reader #sugar daddy!Hesh #f!reader

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luvneymar · 1 year

Note

princess treatment pt.3? with mbappé, richarlison, and erling haaland? :)

# PRINCESS TREATMENT 3! — footballers! (final!)

— SUMMARY: you show off the princess treatment you get from your footballers boyfriends! (part 1) (part 2)

CONTENT: fluff, footballers being simps, light jealousy, sensual themes, just cute stuff overall!

PARINGS: earling haaland x fem!reader, richarlison x fem!reader, oliver giroud x fem!reader

NOTE: someone asked for giroud content so I combined it with this lol! any examples of this do not represent of the body type, race or ethnicity of the reader! tysm for reading! 💕

RICHARLISON DE ANDRADE — dollar bills!

Recently you saw a trend on TikTok where girls would hold their hands out to their boyfriends, friends, brothers or literally anybody to see what they would do.

Richarlison was currently playing video games with his friends on FaceTime but fortunately you placed your camera in the room before he went in & you’ve been recording ever since.

You were holding your phone camera in your hand as discreetly as possible to not alert your boyfriend about the challenge your trying on him. “Baby? are you in here?” You peaked into his gaming room spotting him on his chair as he shouted at Neymar for something in among us.

Hearing your voice his head whipped around and he opened his arms signalling you to come over, you shuffled over giving him a hug as his head was pressed onto your stomach & hands were wrapped around your ass.

Once you both pulled away your challenge had begun as you stuck out your palm standing there with a bright smile, at first he hadn’t noticed anything as he turned back to the computer screen.

Until you were standing there for a good 30 seconds & he spun his head around to look at you quickly before looking back at the screen, he took his hand off the mouse taking your hand flipping it over to the backside of your hand & giving it a kiss.

He turned back to the screen until he realized you were still standing there; cheeky smile on your face palm still stuck out in-front of you, he chuckled as he dug through his pants pulling out his wallet.

“Richarlison? Are you still there?” Neymar called at alerting him that the new round had started.

“Yeah I’m here hold on.” He replied back as he fished through his wallet grabbing a huge stack of cashing & placing it in your hand along with his black card. “Happy?” He asked looking up at your face which was filled with surprise.

You hadn’t expected him to give you this much money let alone any at all as you assumed he’d just take your hand & place it on his private parts. You scoffed happily curling your fingers over the stack. “Definitely, but what will I even do with this much money?”

“Whatever you’d like baby, it’s all yours.” He answered turning his head back to the screen & unmuting himself on face-time. You gave him a quick kiss pulling his face towards you before walking away checking your phone to see if the footage was recorded.

You edited the video a little before posting it captioning it with: “HE’S SO SWEET 😭😭” Seconds later likes, comments & replies came flooding in about how Richarlison was the perfect boyfriend.

OLIVER GIROUD — first class!

“You’re so excited baby have you never flown out of the country?” Oliver chuckled watching you practically fly out of the valet car that was escorting you to the airport tarmac.

Ever since you complained about how you haven’t gone on a vacation in a while that very day Oliver booked your dream vacation paying for unnecessary expenses like tour guides & other things; as-long as it made you happy he thought.

“I have! I’ve never been to the Mal Dives though.” You answered pulling his arm to get him out of the car, you both didn’t need to worry about your luggage since Oliver paid for it to be flown before-hand.

“I’m coming babe hold on, you’re gonna rip my arm off.” Oliver laughed as he stepped out of the car turning his head to look at what you were staring at all starry eyed.

“Look, it’s a private jet. Just for the two of us.” You rambled on about the jet standing in-front of you both, you were used to Oliver spending a fortune on you whether it was cars, jewellery or even 1000 roses but a whole jet was much different.

“I know, do you like it?” He asked as he placed his hands in his pockets leaning back and forth between his heels and his toes. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t like this.” You laughed in disbelief.

“I’m glad you like it, c’mon baby let’s board the plane before they leave without us.” Oliver took your hand into his as he directed you towards the plane, you greeted the flight attendant who was waiting for you at the entrance as she guiding you both to your seats.

Once you both were settled in your chairs chatting happily about your upcoming adventures a flight attendant had came around with a cart filled with expensive looking drinks & desserts. “Champagne or Club Soda?” She asked with a smile.

“Champagne please, babe what about you?” You turned to look at your boyfriend who was staring at the window as he unconsciously caressed your knuckles with his thumb, you squeezed your hand bringing his attention back to you.

“Hmm? Oh, I’ll have whatever your having.” He leaned into kiss you on your cheek before turning to stare out the window again continuing to stroke your knuckles, you smiled turning back to the attendant,“2 Champagnes please.”

As the flight attended walked away Oliver noticed that you had a particularly slummed look on your face, you were just jumping around in joy so seeing you down worried him.“Are you okay?”

“Yep! Just thinking of what we’re gonna do when we get there.” You sent your signature “i’m fine” smile his way continuing you tap your feet against the empty seat right in-front of you as you looked back down to face your feet.

“You look worried though.” He let go of your hand using his freed hand to pull your face towards his forcing you to face him, seeing his eyes filled with concern made you sigh before continuing, “Yeah it’s just, how much was this trip?”

His face soften hearing what you we’re concerned about, you both had fight’s about money in the past & about how Oliver spent way to much money on pointless things,“Oh, don’t worry about that baby.”

“I have too, you can’t go broke because you wanna please me. I’ll be fine with whatever you provide.” You admitted in a quiet voice turning your head to face the window across from your aisle. “With my profession I’ll go broke the day you go bald.”

“What if I go Bald tomorrow?” You wanted to laugh at his joke but it was quite hard knowing you really could go bald tomorrow & Oliver could become broke, after all nobody knows what could happen.

“You wouldn’t, what I’m trying to say is. I spend this money to make you smile, whether it’s a large purchase or small it’s for you. In this case; a private jet just for my princess.”

Hearing your boyfriend be so adamant about you spending his money & not thinking of you as a sugar baby or a gold digger relieved you greatly. Yes, you both were dating but you weren’t a mind reader, for all you know he could be planning to kill you.

“Alright then, on that note; I could get used to this. Fast.” You pushed your insecure thoughts to the side as you settled into your seat properly reclining the seat, feeling in all the luxuries to the max. He chuckled at your childishness as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder pulling you in.

“Get used to it baby, you’re stuck with me, my jet & my money forever.”

ERLING HAALAND — giant teddybear!

“I told you not to eat so many sweets before went on the ride, no wonder you almost threw up.” Your boyfriend reminded you as he leaned over helping you walk throughout the winter carnival without collapsing.

Seeing that his good friend Jude had gone recently to the Winter Wonderland you decided it be good for the both of you to go as well, until it wasn’t. It was either Erling was too tall for some of the rides or you chickened out just looking at it.

But seeing as you were low-key being a party pooper for your boyfriend who you basically forced to come to the attraction you decided to go onto the wildest ride there was available; bad, bad idea.

Erling had bought you almost every single foot item you looked at for to long filling your stomach much faster than you’d like, by the 4th taco you ate you were ready to unbutton your pants & burst.

“It was fun wasn’t it though?” You groaned out patting the shoulder of your boyfriend signalling him to slow down as you felt as if you were going to barf, he slowed down waiting for you to gain your composure.

Seeing as you took a little longer than usual he bent down pulling your body on his back giving you a piggyback ride, you on the other hand smirked into his back tucking your legs around his waist. “All apart of my plan.” You muttered into his neck taking in his scent.

“Did you say something?” Erling asked as he begun to walk passing by multiple food-stalls that just the smell of the food made you sick, you wrapped your arms around his neck & placed your head in the crook of his collarbone.

“Nope! Nothing! Don’t worry about it baby.” You whispered into his ear closing your eyes in the process, as Erling walked past multiple stalls you closed your eyes feeling peaceful almost falling asleep till you jolted up after feeling as if you were falling.

As you opened your eyes you looked around seeing that the entrance was just a few miles away, something also caught your eye; a stand with gigantic teddy bears. “Baby?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, waiting for you to say what you needed.

“Can you win that for me before we leave?” You asked him patting his shoulder to get him to slow down so he didn’t walk right by the stand.“Win what?”

“The giant teddy bear.” You slid down his back and turned towards the stall pointing to the humongous teddy bears.

“You’re such a child, fine.” Erling walked towards the stand grabbing a few of the tennis balls on the desk as he backed away throwing them at the targets scoring on each one of them.

The man at the stall handed him a giant pink bear almost the size of you leaving Erling to walk back to you giant big bear in hand stupid grin on his face, you took the bear out of his hand giving it a big squeeze. “Thanks baby.”

“What should I name him?” You asked as you both continued to walked towards the exits hand in hand, hearing that Erling turned to you looking at you weirdly, “You name your teddy bears?”

“Of course! Since you won him for me I’ll name him, Erlie.” You smiled at him squeezing his hand, Erling chuckled at your ridiculous as he bent down to give you a kiss on your forehead.

“You’re too cute, but Erlie is a horrible nickname love. Makes him sound like an old man.”

#football imagines #football fanfic #football x reader #football #football fic #football masterlist #football drabble #football smut #football oneshot #football one shot #richarlison x reader #richarlison #erling haaland #haaland x reader #erling x reader #oliver giroud x reader #oliver giroud #erling haaland x reader

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sanguineterrain · 9 months

Note

hii i love your work and wanted to send a request in :)

can you do “you’re just going to leave me here?!” and “i’m gonna come back for you , do you hear me?” for jason and reader? 💛

maybe they’re on a date and there’s a robbery nearby or a villain crashes a gala they are attending? also maybe the reader knows he’s red hood? or it’s early in their relationship that he hasn’t told them yet? idk if that makes sense, but if you pick this up i can’t wait to see where you take it! 💛

OH IT'S EMOTIONAL ANGST TIME! hurt no comfort 😈 thanks for requesting nonnie 🥰

jason todd x gn!reader | tw: angst, reader feels hurt, lying to protect a superhero identity (is red hood a hero? he is to ME.) i may write a pt 2 to this if there's interest 😎

****

Jason checks his phone for the fourth time tonight. You haven't even received your entrees yet.

"Everything okay?" you ask lightly.

Jason looks up, eyes wide. "Oh. Yes. Sorry, baby. Sorry."

You nod, trying to smile. "It's okay."

He puts his phone in his pocket. You try to relax and focus on your date. This place is upscale, much pricier than you're used to, but Jason had insisted. He'd said he hadn't been doing his due diligence of being your boyfriend and should take you out on more "proper" dates. You'd told him that was silly, of course; you'd be content to go anywhere with him.

But he's been acutely distracted these past few weeks, and you're starting to form terrible explanations in your head for why that might be.

You try to ignore it. You just want to spend time with your boyfriend; it's been so long.

"Oh my God, guess what happened at work today," you say.

Jason leans in, smiling. "Tell me. Was it Peggy from Marketing again?"

"Yes!" You laugh, shaking your head. "She's such a pain. I was in my cubicle when—"

Jason's watch starts to blare, the beep shrill and insistent. He curses and quickly taps at the screen. You slump back in your chair.

"Shit," he says and looks up at you.

You suddenly feel exhausted.

"Baby, I'm so sorry," Jason begins, rising from his chair. "God, fuck—you have no idea how sorry I am. It's my family, they—something's happened with my brother. He needs my help, unfortunately."

"So you're just going to leave me here?" you ask, mouth dropping open in shock. "Jay, we planned tonight two weeks ago!"

He winces. "I know. Fuck, I know, sweetheart. I'm so, so sorry. I'm gonna come back for you, okay? It'll be an hour, tops. Look, order anything you want. I'll leave my card, it's on me—"

You shake your head and stand. "No, Jason. I'm—look, I know your family is important to you, but you've done this a lot this past month, and it's not just hurtful, but it's starting to feel a little intentional. I don't know if I'm some kind of placeholder or, or—"

"Hey, no, no. You're not a placeholder. Please don't say that," Jason begs, reaching for your hand.

You keep your hand out of reach, eyes beginning to heat up.

"I'm going home," you say. "I hope your brother's okay."

"Sweetheart, please, come on. I don't wanna fight."

"Me neither," you say tiredly. "So we won't. Good night, Jason."

His watch beeps again, this time with a phone call. You walk out. It's a nicer part of Gotham, so getting a cab here isn't a problem.

Jason catches up to you instantly. He looks terrified, and it breaks your heart, but you don't have the energy tonight.

"Can I–can I call you tonight?" he asks, voice cracking.

A cab pulls up to the curb. The valet opens the door for you. Jason takes a step forward.

"I'd rather you didn't," you say quietly. "I need some time to myself, Jay."

Jason takes a step back.

"I'm sorry," he says again, desperate.

You sigh. "I know you are."

You get into the car. The valet closes the door. Jason watches you through the window, tugging at his curls like he does when he's stressed.

That night, your bed feels cold. You toss and turn for hours, trying to shake the feeling of a phantom arm snaked around your waist.

Jason doesn't call, like you'd requested. You cry anyway.

#SORRY (<- is not sorry at all 😈)#its angst time yall #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fanfiction #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #inbox #blurb

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dysfunctionalmaki · 5 months

Text

Say My Name

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Chapter 03/?

Summary: You work all around at the local country club, to your advantage you flirted and used your beauty to get what you want, though with this certain woman your own way can't seem to work.

Warning: This work contains smut and foul language, minors DNI!!

A/N: This update came too long but with the holidays going on, I was occupied but I assure this work could be smooth sailing from now on.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

You were nervous, that's the simplest way you can describe what you're feeling, the table by the window was occupied by Wanda who was having her lunch alone, you were too sure that your eyes would always meet with hers whenever you'd look her way. Yelena even noticed the way you're fiddling with the pen you're holding, Bucky had to steal it away from you since he can't stand the constant clicking sound that came from the object. “Well, what the hell are you doing here? Go do your pretty girl things that you always do, Y/N.” Barnes teased and you can't help but roll your eyes.

“What? No! Y/N, you're not pulling that shit with a married woman.” Yelena retorted, trying to play with your conscience until she chuckled. “Just kidding, go do your thing, her husband's an ass.” she snorted which made you laugh nervously, looking around the room you looked eyes with the redhead once more. Slightly raising her hand to get your attention, you went to be at her service after all you’re still her waitress. “What time are you heading out?” She asked casually which made you widen your eyes a little but you looked at your watch. “In four hours… I'm sure you won't push around your salad for that long.” You say which made the older woman smile. “I have some errands to do but I think it'll be nice to tell Yelena that you won't be going home with her.” Wanda says as she took her designer handbag, taking out her purse so she could get her credit card to pay for her meal.

Doing your job, you went to take it and bring it over to the counter. You weren't sure why you're so nervous, you've done this before… you've hooked up with people way shadier than Wanda, in fact… she's probably the most normal one you're about to go after. When they're finished with her card, you went back to Wanda to return the item to her. She smiled as you returned and took back her card, placing it back in her purse before putting on her sunglasses that made her look even hotter considering how well it matched her outfit. “I’ll pick you up, make sure those two keep their mouths shut about us.” she softly says before getting up from her seat, clearly talking about Yelena and Bucky who were basically watching from their stations.

Placing a hand on your forearm, gently squeezing on it and letting go of you almost immediately, then you watched her walk out of the restaurant with such elegance and style, she didn't have to wear the most obvious designer clothing to scream out that she's loaded, the way she carries herself and her aura was enough to tell that she's that kind of person. Getting inside of her luxury car that the valet got for her, that kind of vehicle was enough to tell you that she is surely a powerful woman. Making your way back to your station, the two gave a certain look and you're immediately reminded of what Wanda told you to do. “So… I hope you two can shut your mouth about this.” You say then Bucky shrugged. “I can keep my mouth shut, I don't know about this one.” Barnes teased while using his thumb to point at Yelena who's waiting on the drink he's making. “Just be careful with what you're doing, you're playing with fire here, Y/N.” she warned you, shrugging with what your friend said, you just went on to do your job.

Hours went by and you were exhausted, you've told Yelena that Wanda’s most probably picking you up, and you think that the older woman was… well, ‘man’ of her words. Heading into the restroom so you could freshen up after your shift, finally you've let your hair down, spray on perfume that has worn off hours ago, and finally you clock out. Heading to walk outside the country club, you see the familiar car that has picked you up once. Making your way towards there, you hear someone call your name and it's coming from a car that just pulled up. “Y/N, how are you darling?” The familiar voice called to you which surprised you, Wanda was about to open the door for you from the inside but confused by what made you stop.

“Diana? Hi! How are you home so soon?” You greeted the other woman who just exited her car, Diana wrapped her arms around you the moment she got close to you, you went to look at Wanda’s car and you're sure as hell that she's watching all this happening. “The meeting went well, everything goes to my approval hence why I'm back here early, didn't tell you ‘cause I'm planning to surprise you… seems like I did.” she says as she batted an eye towards the redhead’s car. “Well, yeah- I'm actually surprised.” you say then you looked at Diana before gently pulling away from her arms. “Mhmm, are you coming with me or not?” she asked so casually. Meanwhile, Wanda can't really hear what you and this woman was talking about, though she could sense there's something between you and this stranger but she didn't want to pry much instead she just waited.

“I- I'm afraid I can't, I made a commitment and I really stick by my words… you know that.” you say which made Diana roll her eyes. “Sure, but you know where to find me and you'd have to promise that you're going to make it up to me.” She says which made you bite the inside of your cheek. “Of course, you know I always do.” You say and finally you bid your goodbyes to her, and Wanda unlocked the door for you… now, you awkwardly get inside her car. “She looks familiar.” Wanda commented the moment she finally drove off. “Oh, she's also a member of the club so you probably ran into her a couple of times if you went here back then.” you say while the redhead nod in response.

“So, I'm going to ask the same question that I asked you last night in our texts… You're aware that I am a married woman, right?” she asked then you simply answer with a yes. “You like trouble don't you? The way that woman held you? There's something there isn't it?” she softly chuckled then you took a moment to think what to answer. “Well, it's no secret that Diana and I do go out… completely casual and no strings attached.” you say causing Wanda to raise a brow. “I hope you're not expecting the same thing with me, Y/N.” the redhead softly spoke. “I don't like sharing at all.” she added with the most innocent smile that she could put on.

“But I think you and I both know what I want.” you say honestly and Maximoff looked at you for a moment. “Oh, you're getting straight to it?” she chuckled before biting her lower lip. “Well, this is how it usually is, right? The married woman goes for the girl she wants to experiment with and once it's done… it's done.” you say, causing the older woman to laugh softly. “Marrying a man is more like the experiment.” Wanda scoffed, she went to drive a little longer and finally you both arrived at some motel out of town, well, she probably chose this one so no one could recognize the both of you and especially her.

Getting out of the car, you went after her just tailing behind her, heading into the motel the older woman asked you to do most of the talking so you did, you chose a decent room for the both of you. While you two were in the elevator, you went to move a little closer to Wanda’s side. “It's Diana Prince… I think she works for Wayne's company.” Wanda says all of a sudden. “Yes, that's her. Do you know her?” She shook her head at your question then you nodded yours. “Well, it's probably just I've seen her whenever I have to do some errands when I do business meetings with their company.” she added. “And you're aware that I'm married to a man who's somehow related to Stark too, right?” you nodded your head once more.

The moment the elevator, Wanda went ahead first and you followed after her, though you had to go first eventually since you're the one holding the key card. The moment you two were inside, Wanda went to look around the room for a moment, while you placed your bag on the chair by the desk near the bed. “What do you mean you don't like to share?” you ask her and tracing back to what she said earlier. “If you want to get me and have me, I want you to have me and only me.” Wanda says and she turns to face you. “Come on, I'm sure you're aware how much of a pretty face you are.” she added which made you even more confused.

“You really want me to put it into simpler terms?” Wanda says with a sigh before composing herself, walking closer to you. “I want to be the only one kissing this lips of yours, be the only one who gets to mark you up… take you whenever I want and whenever I need.” the more the redhead talked about her whims for you, you can't help but feel your body warm up. Eventually, you felt her hand resting on your waist. “You're going to have an affair with a powerful woman, Y/N, are you sure you're ready to take the heat?” she asked as she pulled you closer to her, fingers slowly digging into your skin. “I- uh- You mean I have to drop every possible connection that I have?” That was the question you could ask, sure it does sound stupid but your mind stop working when this woman had you under her spell.

“Well, you're quite greedy if you want to keep me around and still have other people, don't you think?” she asked then finally your face was only a couple of inches apart from hers. “I mean… I know I'm a catch, sweetheart.” she confidently says. Unsure of what to say at this point, all you know is that the both of you were staring at each other's lips, you didn't know how it occurred and who made the move first all you know is that the both of you started kissing… It was needy, hot, and desperate. To your surprise, it was Wanda taking the control here, you were always the one in control… they always have the hots for you and not vice versa, but this woman certainly has her way for you.

Eventually, you found yourself going at Wanda’s flow, you could feel the warmth of her tongue against yours, her wet muscle just swirling against yours. You walked backwards, trying to get a feel whether you're near the bed or not and as the back of your leg hit it, you slowly sank to your knees and sat on the mattress. This time your hands were around the older woman's waist, you were trying to take control this time… your hand was hiking up the blouse that she was wearing, yet you were stopped when she held your wrist. “Who said that you could touch?” Wanda purred as she parted her lips from yours just so she could speak. “I've got to have you first before you get me, malysh…” she spoke in her thick sokovian accent that caused butterflies all over your stomach.

“I- uh- I'm yours…” you stuttered which made Wanda chuckle. “We both know you're not there yet, sweetheart.” she says and you know damn well that she's not wrong. “But, we'll get there.” she whispered against your lips, now she crashed her lips against yours once again. The redhead straddles your lap, her lips moving perfectly with yours, you never felt this desperate… desperate for someone's touch, lips, and warmth. “Give me a chance tonight…” you mumbled against her lips which made her smirk. “No, I want you to crave for me… to the point you'll have no choice but to submit yourself to me.” she answered.

For a couple of hours the both of you didn't do anything but make out, and you've never felt so frustrated, neither of you took your clothes off. Here you are facing the mirror by the sink at the mirror, and what's worse? You're alone, the older woman had to leave since she had to be home when her husband unexpectedly came home. Taking your phone from your bag, you went to call someone.

“Hey, I know it's late and you're probably tired but I was wondering… if you can pick me up?” you hear a soft laugh from the other end. “You didn't score? You're not in your game, darling?” Diana teased which made you chuckle. “I guess you can say that.” You went to tell her where the motel was, this woman actually drove this late so she could get to you, she asked what your room number is and not even an hour later she was knocking on your door. “Should have come with me.” she says before leaning instantly for a kiss and you made sure to give her that satisfaction.

Spending the rest of the night with Diana instead of Wanda whom you came here with, lavishing on Prince’s warmth and taste on the same bed where you made out with the redhead you had earlier. You really are playing with fire after all, it's either you burn brighter than the fire you caused or be burnt, and you know you're never one to back out from a challenge.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @reginassweetheart @lvinhs @alexawynters @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop

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samkerrworshipper · 5 months

Text

togetherness pt.3 | matilda’s x reader

lowkey have come to detest this series chase i started it in first person and i no longer write in that format butttt some of yall want it so i have to supply 🤷‍♀️

warnings/themes: self harm implications, talks of past sexual abuse, lots of trauma, comfort, just general sadness tbh

As we pulled up to our own hotel Sam and Steph were smiling like idiots, joking about something or another. I was lost in thought, thinking about everything that had just happened. My haze was cut short though as my door was opened for me and Sam stood on the outside, waiting for me to hop out. I unclicked my seatbelt hurriedly before climbing out of the car and ducking behind the car to grab my bag quickly. My coping mechanism was to grab my phone out of my pocket and to start to scroll through it as I waited on Sam and Steph to collect their own things. My phone was my social crutch, when I felt awkward it was what I leant to.

“Kiddo, let’s go?”

My head was pulled from my phone as I came to the realisation Sam and Steph had both collected their belongings and were walking towards the front of the hotel, Steph passing her car keys off to the valet. I scurried after the two older women, my behaviour was oddly skittish and I was sure the both of them were picking up on it.

We flashed our ID cards at the front desk before making our way into the team front room where we left our kit bags, just so there was no confusion of them in the rooms. We all individually stowed away our bags, collecting whatever essentials we needed from our bags before leaving them in their spots for the night. I grabbed my drink bottle, my airpods and my ugg boots from my bag before walking over to the food table, it was the table where they left all the snacks that were there to be taken at any time of the day. I picked up a packet of gummy bears instead of a granola bar, Leah wouldn’t have been happy with my switch but I wasn’t eating a granola bar so it was an improvement?

After grabbing the bag of gummy bears, filling up my water bottle and grabbing a bottle of gatorade I followed Steph and Sam towards the elevators, waiting patiently as they clicked the button for our floor. They conversed between the two of them as we went up in the elevator, just general stuff.

“So Y/n/n, we’ll go get Steph’s stuff and we’ll bring it into your room and we’ll move whatever of your stuff is there into my room, okay?”

I nodded at Sam, excepting that this was happening.

As the doors opened I found myself following behind them as they walked towards their room. I followed them into the room as Sam unlocked it with her keycard. The room was similar if not identical to Ellie’s and I’s. Two, matching queen beds, a joining ensuite and two reasonable sized wardrobes. Steph very quickly packed her stuff up, throwing it all into her bags before procuring Sam’s help to move it down the hall. I wordlessly unlocked the door to formerly Ellie and I’s room. When we walked in Ellie was already in there, sitting on her bed, cuddled up in a pile of blankets and sweatshirts. She looked like she’d been crying and I found a part of me feeling bad for her. She was a good person, a person who had been through a lot considering her age.

“Y/n, can we talk?”

I couldn’t find it in me, even with the guilt riding through my body to look at her eyes. I knew that they’d betray me, that I’d no longer be able to be mad at her or annoyed if I was forced to look into those eyes.

“Ellie, how about we try this tomorrow morning? Y/n/n's tired, she’s not feeling too well.”

Steph’s voice was pretty forceful but Ellie found room to rebut.

“I just want to talk to her for fucks sakes, I deserve that at least before my fucking roommate is uprooted.”

I jumped back at Ellie’s harsh tone, finding myself in Sam’s personal space bubble. She didn’t flinch back at my sudden intrusion, instead pushed one of her own arms to my side, steadying me slightly.

“Ellie Maddison, you have already caused yourself enough trouble for one night, I would stop now. I already told you, Y/n/n isn’t feeling up to it. We can try this in the morning, if she wants. We wouldn’t be uprooting her if it wasn’t for you two behaving like three year olds. You both need sleep, not more petty arguing that is going to get us nowhere. Y/n, grab your things, we can talk this all out in the morning, both Sam and I are too tired to put up with any more of it.”

I scurried to collect my bag, I’d never really unpacked so it wasn’t hard. I just grabbed my pillow, bag, phone charger and backpack before scrambling my way out of the room. Sam helped me to haul my big bag down the hallway and into her room.

As soon as we closed the door behind us I could feel a part of me break, the part that broke inside of me every night when I crawled under the covers of my hotel bed or I collapsed on the floor of the ensuite. The vulnerable part of my soul that had never been prepared for this, never prepared for fame or attention. I mean as a kid I’d shied away from it as much as I could, kid Y/n was an insecure, anxious mess who had no idea what she wanted, that part of me was still the same.

“Do you need help unpacking? Steph had housekeeping come in today and clean our sheets so the beds are all clean, I try to keep fairly organised and clean but just a disclaimer that there are some stories about me sleep-talking that I neither deny or confirm.”

“I think I should be fine to put it all away, thank you though.”

Sam smiled at me and nodded, it seemed like there was something else hanging off of the tip of her tongue that she was deciding whether or not to say.

“Okay then, I’m just going to have a quick shower, I do not apologise if I start to sing, it’s a canon event.”

I snorted and nodded Sam’s way as I watched her dip into the ensuite. I set myself the task of firstly, getting changed. I clawed off my layers of matilda gear and very quickly changed into a pair of Qantas pyjamas that we’d gotten on our flight to Sydney, they were fresh and unopened and everything about them seemed comfortable. After I was done getting changed I set myself the task of stowing my bag away on my side of the wardrobe, I didn’t do much more than that, I didn’t really want to unpack right now. So I did a very quick version of my skincare routine and then climbed into my bed. It was comfy, the same as my one in the other room except it just felt different. Once I’d properly situated myself in the pillows I grabbed out my phone and started to scroll on instagram.

It was safe to say that when I was in a bag head space I spiralled a lot.

So when I was in the dumps about a bad game I would often find myself reverting to the hate pages on the internet. The internet is a fucked up place. Some of the things that strangers are willing to put out in the world about a person they don’t know is fucked. It was still a bad habit of mine though to constantly look at those posts.

Leah was always confiscating my phone after bad games, after bad days. She knew me too well, knew how when I got wrapped up in my own head there was nothing to do besides just be there for me. I fiddled anxiously as I flicked through the countless news articles that had been posted. The Australian had a particular hatred for me, had since I was a rookie and since they’d found some photos of me doing drugs back when I was a teenager and published it on the front cover of the Saturday papers. I’d had a particular shared hatred back at them after that. They had a field day every time I had a bad game, I was pretty much the leading lady of page 6. Our game last Saturday had been no different, one wrong kick and I was washed up and cracking under the pressure. The slew of twitter pages and reddit links that I’d been sent after that had been enough to make anyone feel sick to their stomach.

That was why I think I’d gotten roomed with Ellie, she was probably the most hated in the media on the team besides me. I think Sam had thought maybe we’d bond over it but neither of us were vulnerable enough to talk to the other about it. So it had just stewed between the both of us and honestly probably made it worse than it should have been.

“I don’t think I have ever seen a person in such an intense staring competition with their phone.”

I squealed as Sam very stealthily grabbed my phone from my own hands. I immediately sprung up, trying to retrieve it from her hands, I hadn’t had the opportunity to lock it.

“What are you hiding?”

I saw Sam’s interest peak as I fought intensely to grab my phone back. She held it above her head and I might have been taller than her but I couldn’t for the life of me manage to retrieve it from her hands even as I attempted to use her body as a climbing frame. After a few jumps and attempts I gave up, collapsing back into my bed and covering my body and head with the sheets and duvet. The room stayed silent as Sam did the inevitable and looked through my phone screen.

“Y/n.”

Her voice was even and I felt her bodyweight sink down onto the spot at the bottom of my bed. I felt her arms work their way up to the top of the duvet and slowly try to pry them out of my own hands. She succeeded fairly quickly, smiling at me as my face was revealed to the light of our hotel suite.

“There’s that pretty face, no need to be ashamed honey. You ought to not read into what Roger writes, he hates anything to do with women's sports, especially women who are succeeding so heavily at such a young age. You shouldn’t let your mental image of yourself be contorted by words written by a person who doesn’t know you or care about you, don’t do that to yourself, you deserve better.”

I looked at Sam, in all of her glory, sitting above me, an old nike shirt that looked like it had been washed 600 times. Her hair was brushed smoothly back into her classic low pony. It made me cry. Not sobbing crying, just wet, fat tears dripping down my face as I thought about that article. I could probably quote most of the journalist's work, I’d read it over and over and over.

“Come on now, don’t cry, please. You’ve done enough crying for tonight, don’t make me tickle you.”

Sam’s eyebrow rose in challenge as she stared down at me, silently challenging me to keep going. When I did, her hands found their way to my sides and started to tickle me intensely. I immediately let out a choken laugh, trying to suppress my giggles and cries.

“S-Sam stop ittt. S’ not fair.”

She smirked at me as she continued her abuse of my sides.

“Stop crying then, c’mon, there are better things to do with your time then cry over bullshit. I know Williamson would have my head if she knew that I was letting her girl get down in the dumps over something that’s out of your control. I am telling you now, honestly, your whole career there is always going to be someone who is going to try and take you down, journalists, social media, other players. It’s wrong, but we are women in a field that is predominantly presumed to be male dominated, we aren’t appreciated, we’re underpaid and we are slaughtered in the press for anything. The more you feed into it the worse it’s going to get, and I understand that the other stuff isn’t going to just go away but it is going to eventually get better, I promise you that.”

“You promise?”

Sam rolled her eyes and extended her pinky towards me.

“I pinky promise.”

I rolled my eyes at the cliche but interlocked my own pinky finger in hers and shook it. Sam reached down to wipe the tears from my face and smiled at me, a little glint in her eye.

“Now, I think it’s about time we got you tucked in, it’s been a big day for you.”

“I’m not tired.”

Sam rolled her eyes at my immediate defiance and plonked herself down next to me on the bed, resting beside me against the headboard. She lazily placed one of her arms around my shoulder, there was something so simple but complex about the whole situation.

“Do I need to explain to you the importance of getting eight hours?”

“This feels like one of those captain moments where you try and mom me into doing something that’s not going to happen.”

Sam snorted at my reply, nodding her head concedingly.

“Is the defiance just a young people thing or do you just enjoy being a pain in the ass?”

“There’s no fun in it if I agree to everything you tell me to do.”

Sam’s eyes damn near rolled into the back of her head.

“Is it hard using defiance as a defence mechanism constantly?”

The question took me back a little bit, it hadn’t been what I was expecting. She’d turned a pretty mild conversation into something deep so quickly that it took me a few seconds to recover.

“I don’t use defiance as a defence mechanism.”

My voice wavered a little bit, just enough for doubt to seep in.

“Yes you do.”

Sam’s voice was so matter of a fact, like she knew me better than I knew myself.

“No, I don’t.”

“You push everyone out, you don’t listen to anyone who is trying to help you out, you do things that are harmful to yourself without caring, you play with injuries, you put yourself in harms way a little bit to often, you hide your emotions, I could keep listing off if I wanted to.”

I hated how right Sam was, how observant she was, it made me queasy.

“Okay, so I do some of those things, but that doesn’t make it a defence mechanism.”

“What does it make it then? A form of self harm? A form of punishment? I think you’ve punished yourself enough, when does it all become enough, when in the mind of Y/n do you atone for your sins? Because from where I’m looking at it you are leading yourself in the direction of a cliff's edge and you aren't going to stop until you are over that cliff.”

I gulped, unsure of what to say to my skipper, because I couldn’t lie to her, not for the life of me but I also wasn’t going to sit here and listen to her pretty much tell me that I was suicidal or something.

“You don’t know what I’ve done or who I’ve hurt to get here.”

“I know you're a good kid, with a good heart and if Williamson decided to take a shot with you then you have to be worth it. I know you carry baggage, a lot more than you’ll ever tell anyone, some things that you don’t even tell Leah. I have my inferences, I know things are rough with your family, always has been. I know you're hard on yourself, far too hard on yourself considering you are nineteen. I know that you never saw yourself here, never saw yourself as being capable of being here and now that you are you are having an identity crisis because you are secretly terrified that you are never going to be good enough to be here, even though you are. You’re hurting a lot, I know roughly what you're doing to self soothe, it’s not good and I’m worried about you, all of us are.”

I bit down on my lip, staring out at the wall in front of me, unsure of what to say to Sam, because she was right in so many ways but her words were also like a stab in my heart, because until someone is telling you about your behaviours I don’t think it subconsciously sinks in.

“Something to think about, I’m always here kid, if you ever need to talk, or need help, or just someone to keep you company then I’m here, whatever you need.”

“I didn’t ever plan on being a professional football player,” I snorted in between my words, realising I was actually about to go down this path with my captain, a woman who had pioneered womens sport in Australia, “This sounds stupid but all I ever wanted growing up was to own a cattle station, wanted to live the humble life out on the farm. I know that sounds so stupid, because it’s so simple. But I never planned for this, I never wanted this. My parents put me into football and gymnastics when I was six and I was good at them, really good and it was for fun so it was fine. Then it wasn’t for fun and I was playing in national teams and olympic qualifiers. Then I broke my back falling off of a beam and I was happy, I was glad, because it meant that I could do what I wanted. Then I was in the party scene and everything was good, until it wasn’t. Then my parents were shipping me off to the AIS and I didn’t have a say. Next thing I’m here and I’m doing this and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong. But a part of me never wanted this and I know that’s bad of me to say because there are thousands of girls who would die for my spot but it’s the truth.”

I took a deep breath as I finished up my spew of words, it was a lot, I wasn’t an oversharer, most of it was probably word vomit but there was something about Sam that just made me feel comfortable with being vulnerable, I didn’t know what it was.

“That’s not stupid, having dreams isn’t stupid and it’s okay for you to be upset that you didn’t get what you wanted. You have a gift Y/n, the way that you play on the field is truly exceptional and I am telling you now that if you want to be the best professional footballer, then you can. You could be one of the best players in the game, better than me or any other player on this team, I believe that whole-heartedly. You deserve that, if you want it. If you start to make healthier decisions for yourself, decisions that don’t harm you. When was the last time you ate a proper meal? The last time you took time out of your day to look after yourself? How long until it starts to seriously harm you? Do I need to tell you how dangerous it is for a professional athlete to not be looking after their body, you are important Y/n, and so is your health.”

I fiddled with a loose thread that was protruding from the doona below me. My captain's words were sinking in, deep, like a tattoo. Etching its way into my skin, painfully.

“I am fine, our doctors have had no issues with clearing me, I eat and I do look after myself.”

My justification was weak, it was in my voice and in my mannerism. My statement just wasn’t believable, as much as I was trying to push it.

“So you know how to pass a medical test? I’d expect you too considering you fooled Tony the whole time you were at the AIS that you weren’t using. I’ve heard the story, it just proves to me that you know how to get around testing.”

Fuck. Fuck. It wasn’t surprising Sam knew my history with drugs, I mean anyone who read the papers knew, it wasn’t private information. I was clean now, four years and proud of it. I’d had a bumpy road to recovery but I’d gotten there with time.

“I can look after myself.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“See, as soon as anyone tries to care for you, you close up.”

“I don’t close up. I just don’t respond to being interrogated.”

“You aren’t being interrogated.”

“Sure seems like it.”

“That’s a bit overdramatic, all I am trying to do is care for you, something you are adamant on avoiding.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, because I couldn’t deny Sam in what she was saying, I did push people out who tried to care for me. Long ago Leah had accepted there were some parts of me that I was never going to be able to talk to her about, that was why she’d forced me into seeing a therapist.

“I don’t need you to care for me.”

“The scars on your thighs say otherwise.”

I blinked for a few seconds, taking a deep gulp as the words that Sam had just said set in, had she actually gone there? Had she actually just said that.

“That was a low fucking blow.”

Sam was clearly taken aback by her own words, it had clearly just spilled out of her. Sam was no filter, so it had come to me as no surprise that she frequently blurted, just the fact she’d said that though hit me deep.

“I’m not wrong.”

I could feel tears stemming at the back of my eyes, at the realisation that I was about to have this conversation.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Does Leah know?”

“She’s had her queries, she doesn’t push it.”

“She doesn’t push the fact that you cut yourself?”

If her previous words hadn’t hit hard, those ones had, because those words, that assumption, that accusation was so confronting.

“It’s not like that.”

“Explain to me what it’s like then.”

I pushed Sam’s arm off of my shoulder, feeling like I need a more face to face conversation. I pushed myself off of the bed head, so I was sitting between Sam’s two legs, my legs crossed. It was vulnerable for me, just talking to someone about my feelings was vulnerable for me.

“When I was 15, when I gave up the drugs. I was in a lot of pain, I hated myself. It wasn’t easy, I mean I was trying pretty much everything I could to get injured. I got arrested for speeding underage twice, both times Tony had to bail me out. I was just a mess, so I started to hurt myself, to stop myself from seriously injuring myself. It was the only thing that I could do that would make me feel better, the only thing that I could turn to when shit got real. So it became my thing, then I turned pro and I stopped for a while, especially when Leah started to get on my case about it but then we got to training camp and it was all too much so I started again and I know it’s a bad habit and it’s serious but Sam, I wouldn’t be here right now without it.”

“Are you suicidal?”

It was a question I definitely wasn’t prepared for.

“I’ve had suicidal thoughts over the years, I’ve had my fair share of bad moments but no, I’m not suicidal. I don’t do it because I want to die, I do it because it gives me relief, from life, from football, from stress. For me it's an outlet, when life gets hard that’s how I deal with it. It's unhealthy but it’s what works for me and I know that it’s bad but it’s what works.”

Sam nodded at me, there was a certain softness to her words and features the more I spoke to her, the more barriers that I let go. Sam’s own hand found its way to my bicep, silently comforting me and telling me to stop rambling.

“I get it. You do what you have to do to survive, and there is nothing wrong with that. You do what you have to do to get through the day. You’re not broken. This isn’t something to be embarrassed about or guilty for. You are still a child Y/n, in so many ways. The world is hard sometimes, what we do is hard sometimes, we all have needs. You scavenge for anything that helps you to get through because you want to survive, you want to be ok. Then it works, so you continue to survive. Good for you, you figured out how to survive. You don’t need to spend everyday in survival mode anymore though, you have love in your life that prevents the constant need to survive.

The words burnt my soul and I could feel the tears brimming up again. I hated crying.

“You’re living your old life Y/n/n. But it’s done, it’s over. You get to have the good things that you never had, you can meditate, or go on holiday, you can read books, you can learn a new language, you can learn how to live in a way where you don’t have to hurt to handle all of the things that scare you. No shame, just growth, okay. You don’t have to hide in your ensuite at night by yourself, like you taught yourself to do to survive, am I clear?��

Sam’s eyes bored down into my soul, her words were so strong and definite.

“You’re going to call me, or Leah, or your therapist next time you feel like doing it, that’s an order. You are going to call one of us, call me, and I’ll talk to you, I’ll talk to you for however long it takes for you to understand that this,”

Sam’s hand fell down to my thigh, where we both knew the scars laid, underneath my sweats,

“Isn’t the solution, not anymore, we’re leaving it in the past. This isn’t your way to survive anymore, from now on you aren’t going to just survive, we are going to make you live, I promise you that. From here on out you are going to live, and enjoy living. I am going to try my hardest to keep to that promise, but you need to as well. Promise me you are going to try and do more than just survive, because this shit in the press, it sucks, but it’s going to go away and once it does you are going to be lost, you are going to struggle and that fight that you put in everyday to be here, it’s not going to be as present and when that happens, when all of the outside threats are denominated you are going to hit rock bottom, there’s one positive of hitting rock bottom though, there’s only one way up and when you realise that you have the potential to go upwards and you want to, life is going to get better.”

“Y’know I get why Polks and De Vanna recommended you for captain.”

My words were said with tears and snot running down my face, with the realisation that right now, I was being held accountable for my shit and it was a hard realisation. My captain's words had hit home for me with the realisation that there wasn’t room for me to behave like I previously had.

“I try my best, I expect you to do the same. This relationship, this situation, it doesn’t work if you aren’t prepared to put the work in, if you aren’t prepared to hit rock bottom and work upwards from there. When you do hit that bottom, I want you to call me, tell me you’ve had a bad day, or don’t, talk, or listen, whatever you need.”

I nodded at Sam.

“I am going to try.”

She smiled at me and nodded, all encouragement and comfort.

“Okay then, okay. Come here kid,”

Sam opened her arms for me and I collapsed into them, grateful for just the warmth and comfort of Sam’s arms. I understood why all of the girls gravitated to her, why they seeked her out so often. She understood, she didn’t judge, she listened and then she gave advice, good advice, meaningful advice. One of her hands went to my back, gently rubbing across the nooks and valleys along my back. The other hand reached to the nape of my neck, gently twisting and brushing out the hairs that laid at the beginning of my hairline. I lent into her touch, silently finding so much comfort in her actions.

“M’ sorry, sorry that I didn’t come to you earlier.”

“It’s okay kid, I understand, you were scared and you didn’t know who you could talk to about that. What’s important is you know now, you know that I am always here for when you need help and I expect you to come to me from now on, no more hiding and struggling in silence, okay?”

I nodded into Sam’s arms, just silently finding so much peace and solace in being held. I hadn’t been held in months, not since I’d been with Leah and the last few months with Leah had been hard to say the least. She’d done her ACL, and it wasn’t anybody's fault, I hadn’t been prepared for it though. Both Leah and I were going through rough patches and neither of us were prepared to look after another human being besides ourselves. There had been countless nights between the two of us spent crying and fighting with each other. It was rough, we’d worked through it though. It was hard though, and a part of me felt guilty for not being okay, and a part of me felt like Leah was going through so much worse than me and I could never burden her with my stupid problems.

“Now, I think it is definitely time that we get you tucked in and asleep, I won’t take any arguments, you look like you could sleep for days if you needed.”

I just nodded at Sam, any fight, any defiance that had been in my body was gone, I just didn’t have it in me. She was right, I was tired, I’d hardly slept the whole world cup. I was an insomniac, so that was to blame partially, partially I also just didn’t feel safe sleeping. Ellie was always on the phone with her girlfriend, when she wasn’t she was trying to talk to me or do yoga or something. She’d also been slaughtered in the press most of the tournament, it was messing with her, everyone could tell. Her techniques for combatting her anxiety about it though was annoying to say the least, being the younger one in the situation I didn’t have the confidence to tell her that her habits were fucking annoying to say the least.

I didn’t fight back as Sam gently laid me down on my bed, pulling the covers up over my body and very gently tucking me in.

“Have a good sleep, kid.”

She smiled at me and I smiled back.

“You too cap, thank you, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

Sam patted me on the head, giving me her signature smirk.

“It’s no trouble, now get some sleep yeah, I need you to be coherent for tomorrow.”

I nodded along with Sam’s statement, watching as she got up off of my bed and walked towards the light switch, turning it off before jumping into her own bed. She rustled around in her sheets for a few minutes before finding her spot, a few minutes after the rustling ended I heard her breath slow and even out, indicating that she’d fallen asleep.

The situation was not the same for me, it took me a few hours to fall asleep and once I did I only slept for two hours, it was fitful sleep, very light and not very good. I laid in bed for a while before deciding around 5 that I was going to go for a run. I got up as quietly as I could, throwing on a pair of shorts and a sports bra. Once I’d gotten dressed I picked out my pair of running sneakers before creeping my way out of the hotel room and trying my very hardest to keep my steps silent as I walked down the hallway and into the elevators that took me down to the lobby. Our hotel was about 200 metres from the beach, so I made the decision I would take my morning run along the beach.

It was still dark out as I made my way out onto the main road and started my jog down to the water's edge. The sun probably wouldn’t rise before I came home. I planned to do about ten km, the beach was around 4 or so long so If I ran up and then down I would probably do about that. As soon as I got down to the waters edge I started to run properly.

Running had been one of my releases since I was 12. Whenever I was angry I went for a run, when I ran everything stopped. It was just me and the music that I had running through my headphones. It felt the same as I set my pace along the sand, like all of the fucking mayhem from the past twenty four hours was just mellowing out, becoming background noise. If I could always be running I would. The only time I ever felt like I was myself was when I was running. The feeling of your heart pounding against your chest, the feeling of your breath hurting in your throat and the dryness in your throat. As I ran the sun slowly started to rise, slowly climbing along the horizon. I made it about three quarters of the way before I ran into someone, one of the last people I wanted to be seeing.

For a second I wasn’t quite sure who it was, they were the only other person on the beach, standing along the shoreline. As I sprinted my way back to my starting spot the body slowly started to become bigger and the fear in my gut slowly grew. I couldn’t make out much more than their body, with the lack of lighting present in the room. As I slowly approached though, more features slowly started to become more recognisable and I silently screamed internally as I realised who exactly was.

As I approached them I slowed my pace, down to a slow jog, almost a walk. I slowly approached them and internally froze as they turned to face me. Fuck.

“It’s a nice morning.”

Lucy’s face was stone serious, and her words didn’t reflect the general attitude that she seemed to hold.

“So you're enjoying the motherland, then, the sunrises are unbeatable.”

“I’d be enjoying it more if I hadn’t been pulled out of my bed at 5am this morning to come and find you because Kerr texted Leah saying you’d disappeared and she didn’t know where to.”

“I’m allowed to go on a run.”

“You didn’t leave a note, after having what I’ve perceived as a fairly rough twenty four hours.”

“I don’t need the lecture.”

“La Reina wouldn’t have a bar of this attitude.”

“Alexia isn’t here.”

“It could be arranged, if I deem you in need of some attitude adjustment.”

I braced myself in front of Lucy, she was a scary woman. When I’d started in the WSL I’d originally been selected by Barcelona, then after half a season I’d been traded to Arsenal. I’d liked it at Barca, if I hadn't been traded I probably would have still been there, Barca was good, when I’d gotten there I had been a basket case, it had been what I’d needed. I was 17 at the time, and had no idea what I’d wanted, Barca had taught me how to wake up every morning and do something with life.

Lucy opened her arms up to me and I let myself fall into them, letting the older woman embrace me. Her arms were strong and they hugged me to her tightly, comfortingly, in the way that a mother would embrace their child. That was what Barca had given me, a good relationship with people that were like substitutes for my mom.

“It’s good to see you, Luce.”

“It’s good to see you as well kid, although I would have preferred it to be under different circumstances.”

She released me from her arms and sat herself down on the sand, nodding at me to sit down next to her. I followed suit, so we were both sitting on the sand, looking out at the sunrise.

“You’ve been doing it again.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“I don’t want to tell Ale that you’re lying to me as well.”

I crossed my arms across my chest in frustration, grumbling at Lucy.

“She’s not even my captain anymore.”

“She’s still the woman who took you under her wing, she’s your blood, mija.”

I pursed my lips and looked out at the horizon, the sun was truly rising now, the bright pink and oranges mixing into a tie dye across the sky.

“How’d you know I was going to be down here.”

“Just a hunch, I know how much you like your runs.”

“I wasn’t running away or anything, I just needed to think.”

One of Lucy’s arms fell over my shoulders, it was heavy but so soft at the same time.

“I know mi amor, you should have told someone where you were going though, especially considering the events of the last few hours, you worried a lot of people.”

“Leah told you?”

“She told me she was worried about you, that you had a lot on your plate right now, more than a 19 year old should be handling.”

I pursed my lips again, Lucy’s words were so pensive, so calculated but present at the same time. It was bizarre.

“I, just, this world cup, it was supposed to be the defining moment in my career, when I proved to everyone that I was as good, if not better than everyone else they were comparing me too. But I haven’t been performing, the press hates me, I just can’t catch a break.”

“Sounds like you need a sabbatical.”

I snorted a little bit at Lucy’s words.

“I’m serious, you know, after this, you should take some weeks off. Leah needs it as well, go somewhere, wherever your heart feels like you need to be and just live, or learn to live. Turn your phone off, eat as much as you want, exercise as little or as much as you want, just let yourself be happy, without everyone else, without football, without social media and other people. Learn to love yourself.”

I’d been handed so much emotional advice over the last few hours, it was a lot to absorb, a lot to think about.

“I miss La Reina, I miss Barca.”

“I know mi amor, but you have to be here, you have to be in London. It’s what you are destined to be doing, Ale and us all miss you but you are doing such good things where you are.”

“Your taking me back to the hotel, aren’t you?”

Lucy nodded at me sadly and I took one final deep breath before lifting myself off the sand and dusting any remnants of it off of my clothing. I helped Lucy up and then we both started to walk towards the beach exit.

“I’ll be there to watch you tomorrow, Kei, Leah and I. Play for us yeah? Make us proud.”

The walk back to the hotel was rather sullen, both Lucy and I staying fairly silent, her guiding me to the doors with a hand secured on my lower back. When we got to the door I gave her a hug before parting ways and stepping into the lobby. The team room was a little bit more alive then it had been when I’d walked through earlier in the morning. Kat, Harper, Charli and Ky were all awake, having breakfast together, as well as a few of the other veterans. I made my way through the lobby as quickly as I could, I couldn’t be bothered with talking to anyone.

When I did get back to my room, I was very surprised to find Sam, Steph, Haley and Alanna waiting for me. I was the first person to speak, slipping off my shoes next to the door and breaking the tension.

“Isn’t it a bit early for a mothers group meeting?”

201 notes · View notes

superblysubpar · 1 year

Text

'Rari Go Fast, I Know You Like It

rich!steve harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Steve takes you for a ride after closing a big deal at dinner. | masterlist | Title/fic inspiration song always at the bottom (please for the love of God listen to this song it's so hot) - steve's music | 18+ Only, NSFW

WC 3.2k

Warnings: SMUT (a little flirting/teasing at a handjob/fingering - both under the table in a very public setting / roadhead while Steve is driving - reader performing, steve receiving / car sex - parked with no one around / PIV intercourse - creampie ) | dirty talk

A/N: sorry this is late and if there's any formatting issues! I'm in the car! 💛

So, it was a little fun playing pretend.

The chill of pearls against your heated skin, resting in the dip of your collarbones and worth an amount that isn’t even fathomable to you. A Chanel bag with Steve’s credit card hot from use nestled inside and a bottle of perfume in your backseat as the tires come to a halt in front of the valet. Expensive lace with straps and buckles - shiny, pretty things to tease your boyfriend with. Not to mention the color, cherry red, sour and sweet. Devilish beneath a respectable and pristine navy cocktail dress that hugs you in all the right ways.

Heels clicking against the pavement, as you’re helped out of your car by not a man in a maroon jacket, but Steve. Dress slacks that fit him perfectly, a blazer and button down shirt that’s all worth more than your car. His shirt unbuttoned to show a tasteful amount of chest hair that has your mouth watering. Shiny shoes and a leather belt, a watch on his left wrist that stops halfway up to his hair, seeming to remember not to mess it up at the last minute. The one remaining piece of your Steve - hair still too long, but the carmel locks styled and gelled to look a little more purposeful than his normal mess. His hand rests on your lower back as he kisses your cheek and whispers, “Thanks for this, angel.”

Your perfectly manicured fingers slip into his, squeezing your thighs together as the cool metal band of his class ring stings your skin. Sue you, so you're a little aroused by your boyfriend dressed up for the part too. His thick fingers take over yours as he tugs you toward the hotel entrance. Murmuring in his ear as you slip through the held open door and into your role, “Anything for you, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve’s lips twitch, moss and cinnamon glinting in his eyes as they dance over your face. Testing the line, his gaze dips for only a second to the neckline of your dress, curving over your breasts in a simple sweetheart neckline and he blows a breath out through his nose. Glancing over his shoulder before his hand lands on the line of almost distasteful. His pinky and ring fingers gently rubbing back and forth, falling deeper towards the curve of your ass as he scolds, “Behave, baby.”

“Steven!” A voice calls, interrupting you both with a tone that’s deep and booming.

Steve’s fingers scratch at your back, shoulders rolling as he straightens and mumbles, “Showtime.” Both of you turning with wide smiles, Steve extends his hand, “Jack! Bruce!”

It’s all firm handshakes and introductions of wives and slapping shoulders and you hate that it’s doing something to you. The wives complimenting your outfit, your makeup, the sharing of town gossip that they include you in - asking you questions and your opinions on latest trends. It makes a bittersweet taste linger on your tongue when you get a little trill of excitement running through you from it all.

Sitting next to Steve, legs tucked under the pristine white tablecloth. Table settings with more forks than you knew what to do with. His fingers buzz over the skin on the inside of your thigh as the waiter holds a bottle of red out for your approval. Steve's fingers squeezing and staying put when you nod and Bruce nods his approval. "Your wife has good taste, Steven!"

"Oh, I'm not…" you begin and he waves you off.

Bruce winks at Steve, "Harrington's just taking his time picking out the perfect ring, right?"

Steve smiles into his wine glass, nodding. Another squeeze of his hand as he roams a little higher. Your thighs close around his fingers and his smile grows a little around the sip.

Steve's hand doesn't leave its new home while the business discussion begins. Steve talks animatedly, hitting all of his points with a passion and confidence you've never seen in him. The men twice his age listening intently and you're incredibly aroused watching it all unfold before you.

It's a part, you know it is.

But is it? Steve eyes you cooly as your thighs press together in search for friction when he finishes the deal. Hands shook and promises of things signed come Monday morning. His thumb brushes your skin higher, his shoulders rolling back as he hits lace. Laura, Bruce's wife, asks you questions and you keep your attention on her, your hand trailing up Steve's thigh. You nod and reply, "Oh yes I'd love some cream-" palming Steve's quickly hardening cock as he chokes on his drink as you finish your sentence, "For my coffee."

Steve removes his hand from your thighs and pulls your hand up from his lap, kissing your palm and mischief glinting in his eyes as he rests your enclosed hands on the table. Laura talks your ear off about future get togethers, help with office parties and bridge clubs. Steve's thumb brushes your knuckles as you offer to send her your lemon bar recipe, lifting your fingers for another kiss when you turn bashful at her compliment of your new pearl necklace. The boys talk shop, plans for golf on Sunday and promises of scotch and whiskey tomorrow evening.

When you walk out hand and hand with Steve next to Bruce and Laura, you're beginning to forget your initial resistance to the evening. Why didn't you think you'd have fun? Were you playing a part?

Laura gives you a hug and Steve whistles as Bruce motions to the Ferrari parked in his VIP spot. Bruce looks between the pair of you and the car before a wolfish grin spreads across his face.

“Take her for a spin, son.” Bruce winks, dropping the key into Steve’s palm.

“Sir, I-” Steve’s argument is waved away and Bruce puts his hand on Steve’s shoulder, patting it roughly.

“Just a little taste - enjoy it! You're one of us now, need another Ferrari man. Jack and his Porsche.” Rolling his eyes as he starts to walk back into the hotel, arm wrapping around his wife who smiles widely at you. He calls over his shoulder, “Bring it back for breakfast! We’ll play tennis after, right honey?”

Laura beams up at her husband, squeezing the arm that sits around his waist. He nods to the pair of you, Laura waggles her fingers and they disappear inside again.

Steve lets out a surprised laugh, fingers covering his mouth as his eyes widen in their gaze at you. He’s whispering behind his hand, “Crazy, this is crazy…this is…”

Your eyes bounce between the car and Steve’s hand holding the key. A familiar ache in your stomach blooming from the thoughts swirling in your head and you step closer. You've been wanting him alone since you stepped out of your car and this was your opportunity to finally seduce Steve for a change.

Your lips ghost over his cheekbone, whispering in his ear and relishing in the shiver that runs through his body when the words leave your mouth, “Take me for a ride, Stevie?”

Steve's tongue juts out over his lip, pupils taking over any color in his eyes as he nods and practically races to open the door for you, "Yeah, yeah okay."

Steve closes your door after you slip in, running around the hood and pausing abruptly in front of the car. He licks his lips again, his chest heaving and he finally breaks - the hand that’s been aching to run through his hair finally doing so.

"Baby," he closes his eyes, blowing out a breath before opening them again. A mixture of a laugh and groan tinging his words, "Shit, I wish I had a camera. You look so sexy in this car."

Your body heats at his words, ducking your head down as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. Stifling your giggle, you nod your head backwards, motioning him with your fingers, "Come on, loverboy."

Steve's grin could melt the ice in the furthest reaches of the globe. He hops in the driver's seat excitedly, hands rubbing the black leather of the steering wheel with eager eyes. He adjusts the rearview mirror. And then, he puts his hand behind your head on the seat, turning to glance over his shoulder as he backs out of the luxury parking space.

Fuck, this is not gonna last long.

Steve looks like he's made for this car, sitting back comfortably in the tan leather seat. The radio playing Queen and his lips quirk up on one side, nudging the dial louder. Flashes of the city lights hit the pair of you as you drive further out of Indianapolis. Oranges and gold illuminating his face as the wind whips your hair. City noises of horns, people yelling, and the clanking of alleyways being used by closing restaurants fading away quickly into crickets, to a peace that’s not quite silent but almost. Watching him closely as the speedometer slowly climbs, Steve’s face is illuminated by the soft glow of the dash. His eyebrows raise as the meter hits 80, the car making not a single noise of protest like yours would as he shifts gears smoothly.

That’s when his lips twist into a smirk, his thigh flexes as he pushes the pedal harder, eyes dancing between the meter and the road. You can’t take it anymore, pressing the lock of your buckle and Steve’s eyes jump over to you at the noise.

“Baby, what are you-”

You’re leaning carefully over the console, fingers gripping his seat as you kiss just behind his ear, nose trailing down his neck as he moans, sentence breaking off. Your fingers trail up the inside of his pant leg, lips smiling against his skin as you feel him already hard.

“I-I can pull over and-”

You speak into his cheek, fingers on his belt now, “Keep driving.”

“Oh fucking hell.” He blows out his breath, a whine bubbling out of him as you drag the zipper down slowly.

Your thighs are coated, slick and sticky since he closed the deal earlier. Steve lifts his hips as you maneuver his length free of his boxers and slacks. His foot presses to the pedal harder, bucking his hips into your hand at the feeling of your touch.

Not giving him a single ounce of time to prepare further, your mouth slips over the swollen tip that's already leaking for you. One of his hands finds your hair, thigh under your palm flexing as he no doubt presses the pedal even harder as you dip lower.

It’s messy, not as precise as you’d like to be, tongue swirling and spit pooling. Steve’s fingers grip your hair a little meanly, a little too rough and when he yanks your roots when he hits the back of your throat you moan around your sucking.

“Fuck, shit baby, you’re,” he gulps for air, trying to find his words and keep his eyes on the road. Voice shaking, filled with shock and confidence in the same breaths, “You like sucking the bosses cock, huh?” Moaning in agreement that's loud enough for the radio to be drowned out as you nod around your bobbing.

Your new lingerie is ruined, you’re dizzy with Steve’s attitude, with the dinner, with the deals, with the fucking car. Tongue swirling around his tip, flicking the slit and collecting more precum and Steve jerks his hips up again. Your fingers grip his thighs, console digging into your knees and you can’t take it anymore, one hand reaching down and rubbing furiously at your swollen clit.

Steve practically sobs as his eyes dart over to your hips rolling against your hand. Choking on his words, “Oh my god, are you - christ babe,” as your nose hits the patch of dark hair at his base when you take him even deeper.

Pulling up his length slowly , lips swollen and wet as they drag against him. Your tongue traces the vein that runs along his shaft, your eyes glance up at him under fluttering lashes. Steve’s eyes are closed and your mouth leaves him with a sudden and lewd pop. Your head whips up to see you’re now going well over 100, moving into the gravel that starts the ditch on the side of the road.

“Steve!”

“Wha-Shit! Fuck!” His eyes open, glossy and dazed and he straightens, blinking rapidly. His hands find the wheel, responsibly at ten and two, correcting the car’s trail into the lane again.

Steve’s cheeks are red, chest heaving as his eyes dart left to right too quickly. He turns the wheel suddenly, the car spinning into a small clearing. Surrounded by trees and hidden from the road, he slams it into park and turns the lights off.

“I need you right now,” he grabs at your jaw greedily, hair and eyes crazy and you pull away from his grip. Relishing in the glint that flashes in his gaze at your defiance, at the groan that rumbles in his chest and you have to bite back your grin.

“Have a little patience Steve, I got all dressed up for you and you don’t even care? Maybe I had a really nice night for us planned back at the hotel…” you sigh, hand reaching up to unclip your hair.

Steve licks his lips, as your hands shake out your curls. He moans when you lean forward, lips kissing up his dick and hovering over the tip.

“Please, baby, I-”

Smiling against him, tongue flicking out and teasing him. Trying to contain your amusement in the whimper he makes at the motion as you kick off your heels and climb over the console. Your dress rucked up around your hips and Steve’s eyes drink you in, large hands roaming up your thighs.

Your own fingers pull at the hem of your dress, removing it over your head and your smile finally wins as Steve falls back against the seat heavily with a loud moan. His eyes are darker than the night sky above you as he tugs on your lace covered hips. Breath hot against your skin as he yanks you closer to him, kissing over the swell of your breasts and up your neck.

“You planned this?” He licks at your neck, your jaw, up to your ear. Sucking bruises and soothing them with his tongue too quickly for your liking. This is all going to be over too fast.

Your body arches against his, neck extending for him as you gasp, “Well, not the car exactly, but-”

Breaking off into a moan as he kisses down the column of your throat, a thick finger pushing the lace of the lingerie set to the side. Steve’s able to slide through you easily and now it’s his turn to smile against your skin.

He’s not the one who’s needy, you are.

“Honey, you’re fucking soaked.” A second digit spreads your folds, teasing and circling your clit and you have to bite down on your lip hard to suppress the pathetic sound that’s trying to escape you.

The pads of his fingers stop at your entrance and he smirks into your jaw, nose nudging your cheek as he speaks. Voice raspy and tinged with a desperation you’ve never heard before, “Got all worked up watching me make money, yeah? Wanna be a little spoiled, huh baby?”

When Steve pushes his fingers into you with no resistance, you know there’s no use in fighting it and you nod, your own fingers gripping at his shoulders. Your breath is coming too quickly, the heat pooling in your stomach coming too rapidly and you gasp out his name.

He smiles, lips hovering over yours as your hips roll against his hand. Steve watches you, almost casually, leaning back, thighs spreading wider. You wouldn’t be surprised if he put his other hand behind his head like he was relaxing by the pool. His fingers curl and find the spot you were aching for him to touch for hours, he doesn’t even blink as you clench around him. Steve’s tongue presses into his cheek, fighting a wider smile as he nods, “Yeah that’s it pretty girl, just take whatever you want. So spoiled,” his other hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer and his lips press to yours roughly, “So fucking spoiled.”

Pushing on his chest, you whine, “Steve, I need-”

His fingers slip from you and wrap around his length, coating himself in your slick before he’s yanking you lower on his lap.

“Yeah? Then take it.”

Pathetic, you’re pathetic, and you don’t understand how the roles reversed so quickly. How did a night of pretending, a plan to seduce Steve turn into you begging for him in a fucking Ferrari?

There’s no sting as you take him, it’s too wet, too ready for him, and your head is thrown back with a gasp of pleasure. Your eyes blink as he sucks on the top of one of your breasts, hands on your hips as he moves you up and down on him sharply. Tears for Fears plays and stars glimmer above you and you’re already about to cum. How was he always able to seduce you into these sinfully delicious scenarios even when you had a plan to do it to him?

Angry you didn’t win, again, you push his face into your chest harder, fingers tugging in the back of his hair. Steve’s breath hitches as you roll your hips, grinding down on him. He can feel you clenching around him, you can feel every ridge and curve. Steve kisses up your neck, begging your name as you bob on him faster, hands squeezing your hips. He’s gone.

You’re both playing dirty now. A filthy grind of your hips against his, hands yanking in hair, mouths breathing into each other’s and Steve leans the seat back suddenly. Gasping as you fly backwards, your weight falling against him fully, he groans. The new angle has your clit rubbing against him just right and you’re panting into his mouth.

The pressure builds in your gut almost in time with the music playing, swelling and crescendoing to a level you've never reached so quickly. You’re trying to win stil,l but it’s all over when Steve begs one simple word into your parted lips.

“Come.”

Your body spasms, it’s a demand and a plea and he nods as you whine and your bouncing picks up it’s pace as your orgasm rips through you. Steve is quick to follow you, painting your walls as he holds you down, hands pressing into your back as his hips buck up into you harshly before faltering.

A whole song seems to play before the other sounds of the world return to yours and Steve’s ears. Cars driving by not too far away, owls and various woodland creature’s calls when you make eye contact. Steve’s cheeks are flushed, neck bruised by you even though you don’t remember doing it and his hair is messier than it’s ever been. You’re sure you look even worse and suddenly the two of you are laughing.

You hide in his chest and he curls his arms around you. He lips brush along your temple and he squeezes you lightly. His laugh rumbles in his chest against yours as he whispers a little too cockily, “Told you you’d have fun tonight.”

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you thought, and I hope you consider reblogging my work to get it circulated to new readers - thanks for being here 💛

#steve harrington #rich!steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #steve harrington oneshot #stranger things fanfic #Spotify

713 notes · View notes

dotieeee · 2 months

Text

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 12

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, drugging, somnophilia, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 12 Warnings:

The blackest of mails, like vanta-blackmail lolol,

Replay Level 11

Ready? Level 12 Start:

The satisfied hum on the other line almost makes you throw the receiver into the wall.

“You win, okay? Let my uncle go.” You’re unable to hide the tremor in your voice as you concede. Coriolanus lets a pause pass before responding.

“Sugarplum, I’m happy you finally see things my way, but I think that’s a conversation best had in person.”

“I think it’s fine just this way, Coriolanus.”

“Now, don’t be stubborn,” he admonishes. “I will have my driver pick you up from your home in thirty minutes and bring you to me. We have much to talk about.”

Good grief. Obviously, you’d rather put in your safe space and not face him now – hell, not ever – but he’s been holding all the cards since yesterday and his tone isn’t giving you room to argue at all.

“Nellie. Thirty minutes.”

His almost-warning is followed at once by the dial tone. Having no choice, you use the remaining time preparing to head out. The warm bath you take takes a little bit of the tension off, but by the time you get inside your ride to Hell, it returns tenfold, and nothing you do save the fidgeting on the hem of your coat gives you a modicum of comfort. You arrive at the luxury apartment building where a valet opens the car door for you, and the doorman escorts you to the private elevator.

And just like that, you find yourself ringing the doorbell of Coriolanus Snow’s – now apparently your fiancé’s – penthouse.

A maid opens the door for you and motions to take your coat, before leading you to the living room. She then disappears, presumably to call for the master of the house, leaving you standing in the middle, fiddling with the hem of your dress and half-wondering whether you should make a run for it.

“Good morning, sugarplum.”

Ah, the said master of the house.

You look up to see Coriolanus grinning at you from ear to ear, wearing a thick designer crimson bathrobe with golden damask embroidery with matching house slippers. You freeze in place, which he takes advantage of; he places his arms around you and plants a single, lingering kiss on your lips.

Pulling away as he nudges your chin, he says, “You’ve made me very happy by just coming here. Have breakfast with me; the chef should be almost done.”

If you hadn’t been at a disadvantage, you’d have reacted incredulously at the nerve, as if he’s invited you here for mere casual chitchat.

“I thought you said we were going to talk,” you say.

“And we shall,” he replies. He puts an arm around your waist and, steering you into the dining room, he adds, “But first, you need to eat. When was the last time you ate anything, sugarplum?”

The smell of bacon coming from the kitchen invades your senses, and to your absolute mortification, that’s when your stomach chooses to betray you by grumbling audibly. Coriolanus laughs heartily, and for a moment you’re reminded of the days you spent with him as friends – and yet here you are now, ensnared and trapped by that friendship which you now know was just a front.

“I can’t have my future wife starving herself and risking her health,” he says with a smirk, pulling back a chair for you to the left of what you assume is his seat at the head of the dining table.

The table has been set lavishly with silver cutlery and fine chinaware, and in a few moments, you’re both served by the maid a steaming cup of tea, followed by a plate of eggs benedict with arugula salad on the side.

Breakfast breezes by quietly, with your eyes fixed on your plate as you chew mechanically while he steals glances at you in between bites. He urges you to finish off your plate, which you comply with just to get the entire thing over with. Once he’s satisfied, he motions for the maid to clear the table and gives her one final order as she curtsies.

“Clean up, and then you’re free to go home for the day, as is the chef. My betrothed and I will need the privacy.”

You wish he’d stop referring to you like that, but it’s not like you have a choice in the matter.

Coriolanus takes you back to the living room by hand and offers you the loveseat. He then takes his place beside you with a contented sigh as he turns to face you with his legs crossed and his back leaning against the backrest.

Well-fed in his bathrobe and slippers, he paints this relaxed, almost cheerful picture you could only hope to achieve. You scoot a little more away from him as much as the two-seater couch allows you to.

He takes your trembling left hand in his cold ones and kisses the back of it before placing it on his knee as he speaks.

“We have so much to do, so much to talk about, but first, let’s discuss the matter of our story.”

Ah, yes. He can’t really tell the public about ‘winning your heart’ by way of coercion, can he?

“I told Mr and Mrs Plinth that I have good news for them, so they invited us for afternoon tea and dinner.”

With his grip impossible for you to wrench away from, your hand remains on his knee, clenched at the prospect of revealing this devastating news this quickly.

“But, why now?” you ask. “Can’t we…I don’t know, wait? Isn’t this a little bit too sudden?”

He tilts a corner of his lips as he responds, “The twelfth Hunger Games is just two weeks away, and the Capitol will surely be happy to know that the two gamemakers responsible for its success are now tying the knot. I plan on announcing our engagement as soon as it finishes. There is no better timing than this, sugarplum.”

How typical of Coriolanus Snow to use the Games to further publicise this farce of an engagement and shift the limelight to himself. All that aside, however, you have only one focus which he hadn’t yet touched.

“And what of my uncle? Has he been released?” you insistently probe.

“That depends entirely on your cooperation today, sugarplum,” he says as he draws circles absently on your hand which he still clasps. “If you follow my instructions, if you stick to our story, word per word, I might be inclined to let him go home by tonight, just like nothing happened. If not…”

His grin grows colder and wider – an ominous sign that this isn’t going to end well for you and your uncle if he doesn’t get his way.

“Your uncle will stay detained, and by tomorrow I will give the order to have him exiled somewhere in the Districts. I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll let you take your pick, save District 3, of course.”

His other hand reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear before asking, “So, will you be good today, and do exactly as I say?”

Numbly, you nod once. He just tuts and tugs your hand to bring you closer.

“Use your words, sugarplum,” he whispers.

So, you swallow that lump in your throat, your voice shaking as you say, “Yes, Coryo.”

As an approving smirk grows on his face and victory dances in his chilling blue eyes, you get an overwhelming feeling that you’re going to have to get used to saying that more often.

“Good girl,” he praises.

He gets to his feet at once with a quiet order for you to stay put as he exits the living room. Before you could even know what for, he returns after but a few moments clutching something with his hand you can’t see. You watch, confused and increasingly dumbstruck, when he bends on one knee. With your faces now level, he peers into your eyes as he reveals what he’s holding in his hands:

A red-velvet jewellery box, the lid of which he flips to unveil a ring; at its head is the largest emerald-cut diamond you’ve ever laid eyes on, with its white-golden band accented with smaller round diamonds at its shoulder.

Clearly pleased at your reaction, he uses your momentary stupefaction to explain, “I could’ve done this more properly and in a better setting in the near future, but I suppose this will have to do.”

Coriolanus pries the ring off its case and very gently slips it on your left ring finger, where it stays there in its glimmering radiance, weighing down your hand and almost mocking you with its implied permanence. As if to seal your fate further, he captures your lips with his in a searing kiss that raises the hair on your arms and the back of your neck. His tongue pushes past your lips insistently to make you respond – instead, you turn your head away and break it off. You’re breathless, partly because of the kiss, but mostly because this is now happening – you’re going to have to get used to kisses like these and you’re really now engaged to Coriolanus Snow – and any chance of getting away from him is smaller than it has ever been and will likely vanish entirely as soon as the Games is over.

He lets out a sigh of displeasure the moment you break the kiss.

“Sugarplum, when I said, ‘do everything I say,’ this is part of it,” he chastens, but he lets out another exhale and shifts to his previous carefree mood. “But like I said, I’m feeling a little more lenient at present, so I will let that slide.”

He then smooches your exposed cheek instead before adding, “Disobey me again today, however…” he trails off with a suppressed chuckle – a warning not to fuck up again in his eyes – and briefly stroking your cheek before settling down once more on the seat beside you.

From there, he begins giving you his instructions – how to act and react, how to respond to anticipated questions, and most importantly, how to defer to him when it comes to matters you haven’t brushed over. He gives you room for questions and objections, but to these, his explanations are clipped – and since he won’t allow opposition, you try to keep your dissent at bay no matter how much his orders appal you. He doesn’t stop pressing you until your performance is every bit as perfect in his eyes. You don’t finish until about half-past twelve, when he asks if you’d prefer going out to eat for lunch with him or have it ordered in; both of which you refuse at first, but you opt for the latter the moment you see his eyebrows start to furrow.

Once the food arrives, he says something about getting ready to go out for an important Sunday errand before sauntering away. He leaves the apartment, but not without a kiss on your forehead. You let enough time to pass for him to have left the building entirely before you run to the door and shake the knob open, only to find that he’d locked it from the outside, and no matter what you do with the keypads on the inside, it would not budge.

No way out of this glorified cage, it seems.

You get the inkling that you’re going to have to get used to being locked in this apartment from the outside more often.

“Oh, my goodness, Nellie, my dear!”

You’re encased in a huge, warm embrace the moment a delighted Ma Plinth sees you cross the threshold of their Corso home. You return the hug gladly, almost melting into her arms.

“Ma, I’m so happy to see you,” you whisper in an almost pained voice. You needed that hug so badly, you realise.

Ma pulls away to cradle your face as if to get a better look at you. “Oh, it’s always a pleasure to have you,” she beams brightly before that smile turns into a small, worried frown. “How are you? Have you been eating and sleeping well, sweetheart? You’ve lost a little weight.”

“I have?” you mutter absently. Not that you really care what you look like right now; you’re just glad to be with a friendly presence for once in your Uncle Cas’s absence.

From behind you, however, Coriolanus places a cold hand on your shoulder, overwhelming the warmth Ma exudes.

“I’ve made it my personal mission to make sure she’s taking care of herself, Ma, but my sugarplum can be stubborn at times,” he says teasingly.

Ma lets out a lilting laugh before him in for an embrace. Once the maid has taken your coats, you follow the two into the lounge, paying their animated conversation very little mind as you go over in your head silently the things you’re supposed to say and the topics you’re supposed to avoid and defer to him. The three of you are eventually seated at a small round table by a tall window overlooking the Corso circle, where you’re served hot tea and an assortment of teacakes and pastries, which both Ma and Coriolanus urge you to eat as much as you’d like. Mr Plinth arrives shortly, so you and Coriolanus pay your respects by getting to your feet and greeting him. Plinth senior returns the gesture by shaking Coriolanus’s hand firmly and pulling him in for a brief one-armed hug and a clap on his back.

“Strapping young man, as always,” he comments with pride. Turning to you, you extend a hand to him as well, but he says, “None of that, my dear girl, we’re practically family!”

He gives you the same one-armed hug and smiles warmly at you, before motioning everyone to take their seat.

After he’s served some tea by the maid, thus begins the inquiry.

“So, Coriolanus, what is this news you bring? I can tell it’s something good,” Mr Plinth asks with a bright, expectant smile. Like he already knows what it is but he’s waiting for your companion to spill it. Ma wears the same look, sipping her tea but looking over her cup excitedly.

Coriolanus’s right laces with your left hand – the one bearing the token of imprisonment masquerading as an engagement ring – over the table where it’s clearly visible to the Plinth couple. You force yourself to smile at him like he had instructed, which he returns. He seems over the moon, a genuine display which you’re mildly surprised he’s still capable of, when he starts to explain.

“I suppose it could’ve waited until dinner, but I was too overjoyed at the news.” Pausing to lick his lips, his posture straightens as he continues, “Just the other night, Nellie made me the happiest man in the world by accepting my bid for her hand in marriage.”

Under duress, you inwardly add.

The gasp that Ma lets out is immediately drowned out by her husband’s loud ‘Ha!’ and if that doesn’t tell you he was expecting this bit of information, he says jovially, “I knew it, I kept telling everyone that you two children were bound to get there.”

Ma lets out a teary ‘oh’ while she clutches her chest, gushing over the way Coriolanus grips your hand and gently runs the pad of his thumb over your knuckles. She bursts into quiet sobs while Strabo pats her on the back and holds her hand.

“Oh, you kids!” she exclaims amidst tears of apparent joy. “I’m sorry, I’m just so happy you two have finally decided to settle down together. It’s just so obvious you’re meant for each other.”

Strabo pulls a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and hands it over to his wife, who proceeds to wipe her tears demurely, and says, “About time, too! Congratulations, both of you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Coriolanus replies.

“I’m just glad Nellie finally gave you a chance! I was starting to think your famous charm had finally found its match, my boy,” Strabo teases.

Coriolanus’s eyes twinkle when he catches yours and kisses the back of your hand to further drive this image of a couple head-over-heels in love with each other that he wants to portray. And just like he wanted, you give him a smile, which is getting increasingly harder to do while you battle with your inner self to keep you from breaking character.

For Uncle Cas, you remind yourself.

Your fiancé goes along with the jest. “I’m certainly lucky she did, sir. I would’ve otherwise resorted to other measures to make sure she ends up with me.”

This earns a laugh from the married couple across the table, making them miss the rather knowing glint that passes over Coriolanus’s eyes.

Jokes are half-meant, so they say.

When the joyous tone dies down a bit, Mr Plinth brings up a topic that Coriolanus had anticipated and trained you with.

“What of Acacius? Does he know? Your uncle should be here as well, should he not?”

Those blue eyes tell you what you don’t need to be reminded of: don’t fuck it up.

With your hands on your lap, you slowly say, “He’s aware, sir, but it’s...a little complicated.”

“How so?”

“My uncle didn’t approve, and we’re currently not on speaking terms,” you explain with rehearsed ease. Just like he told you to.

Back at his apartment, he had ordered you to stay away from your uncle, which he claims is to corroborate with the story of him not approving the match. To you, however, it’s likely just to keep you and your uncle from planning ways of escaping his clutches.

As if on cue, Coriolanus holds both your hands on your lap and squeezes, making it look like he’s trying to comfort you.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Ma whispers empathetically.

“Well, that is absurd,” Mr Plinth nods to himself with his brows stitched together. “Acacius should know better than to interfere with the decision of two consenting adults! Quite frankly, I’m disappointed in him, given his speech back...” he seems to catch himself, possibly to refrain from mentioning a certain meeting you weren’t privy to.

“But, never mind that,” he amends. “Perhaps I should have a word with him.”

It’s Coriolanus who speaks this time. “I appreciate the gesture sir, but Nellie and I have decided to give Mr Innis time and space to come around. If that’s what he needs to accept our decision, we’re happy to give it to him.” Then he adds with a soft smile directed at you, attempting to lighten the mood, “The last thing I want is to put pressure on my future in-law.”

Mr Plinth hums to himself and bobs his head in affirmation. “You have a wise head on you, my boy. I think that’s for the better.” Turning to you, he says, “I’m sure your uncle just needs time to think. After all, it’s understandable – to him, you’re his daughter, and he loves his little girl too much he can’t bear the thought of losing you, even if it’s to a man who clearly loves you.”

“Thank you, sir,” you say.

Ma mirrors her husband’s words and adds, “Nellie, once he sees how genuine the love is between you two, I’m positive he’ll give you his blessing.”

Coriolanus thanks both for their support and takes this time to veer into another matter he’s rehearsed you with.

“I’d like to also announce, Ma, sir, that I’ve taken it upon myself to let my Nellie stay in my apartment for the time being, given the circumstances; this is my way of giving you a heads-up.”

Another one of his mandates which just cements your initial idea that he wants to keep you under his watchful eye to prevent you from running away. It’s despicable, but like anything he does, it’s efficient and well-thought-of. The idea, however, is met by silence, followed by the couple exchanging unsure looks. You can only hope that their more traditional views would mean they’d be against Coriolanus’s rather bold move.

Ma, who seems hesitant, asks him carefully, “Why would there be a need for Nellie to move into your home, Coriolanus? This...this is a huge, uh, step, even for engaged couples.”

Once more, Coriolanus’s eyes find yours, and he gives you this look that you interpret pretty well: ‘Do it exactly as I said.’

So you swallow any reservations in you and explain the ‘mutual’ decision.

“After I told Uncle Cas the news that Coriolanus and I got engaged that night, we got into an argument. He said a few things that didn’t sit well with me, so, I decided to just pack my things. I ran away yesterday at dawn. I didn’t think I could live with my uncle anymore, not when he couldn’t see fit to respect my choice.”

Lies. All lies. And you’re getting to be quite the good liar, yourself. Then again, you’re learning from one of the best out of all of them.

“Oh my,” Ma says as she places her fingers over her lips in distress. “I’m sorry, my sweet girl…” She reaches over to you to clasp your hand momentarily before letting go.

This is Coriolanus’s turn to interject. “I caught up to her that morning trying to board a train to her aunt in District 3.”

Ma lets out a gasp of shock and Mr Plinth raises his eyebrows in alarm. To appease the couple, you add, “I admit it was a brash move, but I had nowhere else to go.”

“Nellie,” Ma says in a chastising tone. “The Districts? It’s not safe, even if you have family there. You could’ve gone to us instead.”

“I’m sorry, Ma – ”

“Nevertheless,” Coriolanus cuts off, as he once more reaches for your hand over the table. “We talked it out, and I made a choice to offer her my place. I am willing to take her in, as is my duty as her future husband. Besides, better that, than gambling her safety in the Districts. I’d be more at ease if I knew she’s safe and I can protect her should the need arise.”

The Plinth couple, visibly concerned with your predicament, exchange looks, as they contemplate their verdict.

Please say no. Please say no.

Finally, The Plinth senior lets out an audible exhale and gives Coriolanus a firm nod.

Rats.

“A wise decision, then,” Strabo says with a smile of approval. “You have my wife and I’s full support, Coriolanus. I’m proud of you for stepping up, young man.”

The young man in question sighs in relief – another point on his proverbial scoreboard – as your insides wilt inwardly. To you, this just means you’d never get to interact with your Uncle Cas anytime soon, given that he’s now been painted as the villain in this fictional love story.

“Well, then, let’s not let this joyous day be eclipsed by mere unfortunate events,” Strabo declares. “We should be celebrating. You two youngsters, most especially!”

Ma continues to sip her tea and says cheerfully as her hand finds her husband’s, “Indeed, this is a wonderful occasion. Can you believe it, dear? It seems only like yesterday since Coriolanus announced over dinner that he’d set his eyes on Nellie, and now here we are!”

As you sip your tea in silence, your fiancé chuckles heartily over a bite of a chocolate macaron. “I know, Ma. Time does fly by. But so you don’t feel left out, sugarplum, I told them about a year ago that I planned on marrying you.”

You smile at him like a trained pet, but knowing he planned this a year ago, probably even more, is nothing but jarring.

“And have you talked about when the wedding will be?” Strabo inquires.

His honorary son and his wife seem to pass each other knowing smiles, before Coriolanus responds, “Yes, sir. I originally intended for us to marry by January, but we’re now leaning towards the end of the year, perhaps by December, if all goes well.”

By the end of the year. You’re not even close to graduating college yet.

A lighthearted conversation ensues until five thirty, with everyone entirely oblivious to your inner turmoil. When Ma excuses herself from the table so she can supervise making dinner herself, you volunteer to help – Ma looks extremely pleased at this – just so you can get away from the stifling presence and keen scrutiny of your so-called groom-to-be.

“Come, Nellie dear, it’s time we had a chat, just the two of us girls,” she says with her eyes crinkling as she links both your arms. Gratefully, you allow yourself to be steered away into the kitchen where those piercing blue eyes can’t reach you and it’s only Ma’s reassuring presence that’s keeping you company.

There are maids already awaiting their orders when you enter, but Ma instructs them to retire early for the night so she can have the entire kitchen to herself. Once they exit, Ma instructs you to chop some onions.

“We’re having copadia* tonight,” Ma whispers excitedly as she begins toasting some peeled almonds on a skillet.

Curious about the dish, you ask, “Won’t that take three or more hours to finish, Ma?”

But she just winks at you and whispers mischievously, “I have my ways.”

You do as you’re told, quite looking forward to watching Ma perform her magic on the food she makes. You’re halfway through the onions, seeing to it that they’re sliced evenly, and while Ma begins crushing the toasted almonds in a marble mortar and pestle, she peers into your eyes with an anxious look.

“Nellie, tell me something: how are you in all of this?”

Maybe it’s the way she asked so gently, kind of like how you imagine your own mother would if she was alive, or maybe it’s because of the pressure building up inside you that you can no longer contain, and without your Uncle Cas, you’ve no one else to confide to – whatever it is forces a rush of bottled up emotions in the form of sobs you can barely control, making you pause your task completely. Familiar warmth envelops you, and you find yourself in Ma’s arms as she whispers into your ears.

“There, there, dear child, it’s quite alright,” she coos, rubbing your back to soothe you. “Your uncle will come around, you’ll see. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, too; I felt quite the same before my wedding, but Strabo’s a good man; as is Coriolanus. I know he’ll do anything and everything to make you happy. And I’m sure you’ll make the perfect wife for him, and a loving mother to your future children.”

The warmth you’re basking in vanishes completely with her last sentence, making you let go first. Ma cups your face to wipe your tears with her thumbs, her kind eyes glimmering with unshed tears at what she perceives as your dilemma.

No, you can’t possibly tell her the truth about the kind of man she just let into her home and her family – the knowledge alone would break her.

So, instead, you whisper your thanks, and she returns to her side on the kitchen island to continue pounding the almonds. Likewise, you pick up the knife and resume slicing the last onion.

“I’m sorry if this feels rather intrusive, Nellie dear, but I have to ask: are you pregnant?”

The knife in your hand misses your forefinger by about three millimetres.

“Oh, dear, careful, that was close – but my question stands, Nellie,” she says gently, pausing her task entirely. “You can tell me anything, sweetie, I hope you know that.”

Vehemently, you shake your head. “No, Ma, we haven’t…b-but, why do you ask?”

She looks over her shoulder, before leaning closer and saying with a softer voice, “I’m not supposed to tell you this, but we may have been planning your reception since several months ago – don’t worry, we can make changes to anything you don’t like – but I brought it up because I distinctly remember Coriolanus being fine with the wedding dating a year after, at most. So, I was merely curious about the rush; that’s all.”

If they had been planning this accursed wedding behind your back, what other plans are they making and setting in motion? The kitchen suddenly doesn’t seem so welcoming anymore, and even Ma’s presence is beginning to feel foreign, if not hostile, altogether.

“Nellie, you’re sure you and Coriolanus haven’t…? I mean, I understand young couples these days no longer wait until their wedding night, and as I gather, he and you have been spending so much time together alone, so it’s okay if you’ve...slept together and protection slipped both your minds.”

Your skin prickles at just the thought. “Oh, Ma, please don’t worry,” you say; you even try your best to put on a reassuring smile, which you hope doesn’t come out as looking constipated. “I swear we haven’t.”

I would know.

“Alright, then,” she relents, nodding to herself. “Coriolanus is every bit the gentleman he appears to be, it seems. Oh silly me! I must look like such a busybody to you, barging in on your privacy like this; I’m sorry, dear.”

“It’s okay, Ma, I know you’re only looking out for me.”

Thankfully, she makes no more mention of anything related to the concept of procreation, and the conversation moves on to her methods of improving the ancient recipe.

From there on, the rest of the evening with the Plinths becomes predictable. There’s good food, as usual, which you attempt to enjoy; then there’s the inevitable shift to discussions of your work in the upcoming Games; finally, more talk of wedding preparations, which, although completely foreign to you, you feign interest in. This cycle goes on until tea after dinner and you still engage, now mildly desensitised to it all, watching Mr and Mrs Plinth interact with their found family. Somewhere along the conversation, someone has turned on the television, which is tuned in on this wildlife documentary of a lovely bird’s nest, with the mother and the father bird tending to their hatchling. Almost transfixed while the chatter goes on around you, you watch the lovely bird family as the camera pans to this white snake which had burrowed underneath the nest. It had just donned on likeness of the little hatchling after swallowing it whole, and it seemed to bide its time with the intent of devouring the mother and father bird as well. You can’t fault them for their nurturing nature – no one can – but there isn’t much one can do to help fix the now-infested nest, either.

As the night grinds to a halt, you say your farewells to the Plinth couple and obediently allow yourself to be carted off back to the car which will take you to your new living space – it’s hardly deserving to be called a ‘home’ – and Coriolanus lets out a drawn-out, self-satisfied sigh. Cupping your face from the side, he plants lingering kisses on your temple and on your cheek before whispering his praise: “You did exceptionally well today, sugarplum.”

You simply purse your lips the entire car ride.

He accompanies you from the car all the way to his penthouse door. Punching his keycard in, he ushers you inside and leads you to the bedroom beside his.

“This is your room now,” he says. “I’ve taken the liberty of moving some of your things from your old apartment. If they missed packing some of your clothes, I can always buy you new ones.”

Then he adds that he’ll be with you shortly after running an errand. What errand, he doesn’t elaborate, and you barely get enough time to look around the bedroom when you hear the apartment door close. He’s locked you in again, and this time, you don’t need even to confirm for yourself.

Snow lands on top.

The phrase he’s come to accept as the truth rings over and over Coriolanus Snow’s head before his day has even begun.

It started this morning at seven when everything began to fall into place for him. When things became right again, when all his years of planning, fantasising, and scheming, had finally bore fruit.

Prunella Innis had at last become his.

Well, you were already his, to begin with, but it’s nice to have you essentially admit it out loud. Overall, Coriolanus is relieved to find his winning streak still ongoing – the Games, the Plinths, your uncle’s work, and now, you, but even he admits this isn’t over. There is so much more work to be done, so many things to prepare for – all of it to so he can lock in your future with him, secure the Snow bloodline and move on to further his political ambitions.

The image in his head is clear it almost looks like a memory: you, standing beside him, timelessly beautiful as you always are, your arm clinging to his, your other resting on the shoulder of a blond-haired child, his son; his perfect, beautiful family wholeheartedly supporting him right before a herd of Capitol residents as they celebrate his inauguration as the President of Panem…

Every day is a day closer to this goal, and there is no one else left who might get in his way.

“Mr. Innis.”

Almost no one else.

Coriolanus made a promise to you this morning – that if you went along with the story he wants to portray to the Plinths, he’d have your uncle released – a promise he almost regrets making, seeing Acacius Innis in his cell, leaning back on his chair with his feet on the table looking perfectly nonplussed, even bored, like he’s merely waiting for his turn at the doctor’s office.

The thing is, you had exceeded his expectations by a mile, so what kind of husband would he be if he isn’t true to his word?

Coriolanus closes the door behind him. No one else, save his future in-law, has to be privy to the words he has to say.

“Snow,” Acacius greets with a curl of his lips. The chains binding his hands rattle as he rights his posture. “How’s the digging through my stuff going?”

Coriolanus almost raises an eyebrow at this nonchalant display, but he knows better. He simply takes the vacant seat facing the presumed former rebel.

“I did not come here to interrogate you, Mr Innis,” he says. “I came here out of respect for the man who singlehandedly raised and cared for my future wife. I’d like to thank you for protecting her all these years.”

Acacius crosses his arms and just shrugs half-heartedly. “I was doing a pretty good job with it, too. At least, until very recently.”

Now this, Coriolanus is genuinely perplexed with. Acacius Innis has always been adamant about securing your future, and in that, they share a common goal. Why the older man can’t see his way is beyond him.

“You’re shielding her from what, exactly?” he asks, an incredulous tone bleeding in his voice. “Achieving her true potential? From living a good life?”

“From nasty little cunts like you, that’s what,” the Innis patriarch sneers. “You see, Snow, I’ve been trying to keep her away from your grubby fingers since I saw you set your eyes on her on the night of her twentieth birthday.”

Coriolanus can’t help but twist his lips in the same contemptuous smile. “You’ve done your part. You don’t have to worry. I’ll take over her protection from here on out. This time, only I get to turn away the other ‘nasty little cunts’, as you put it so eloquently.”

A mirthless chuckle erupts from Innis senior. “Oh, yeah, you’ll do a great fucking job, I’m deeply reassured. I guess I should be more worried now about the people you’ll poison along the way.”

So, he knows. Even in duress, he can’t help the sarcasm. Coriolanus wonders if you’ll argue with him like this in the course of your marriage. That aside, he shouldn’t be surprised; the Innis prick, after all, has managed well in meddling with his affairs as of late.

“You know. How?”

“Which one? Highbottom, or Braun? Last time I checked, I’m what you call a math teacher, so, it was just like putting two and two together.” Acacius leans forward as if to drive his point. “I saw right through you, Snow, and although Nellie was late to it, she figured you out. She was smart enough to see who you really are underneath that fancy garb.”

That’s true, Coriolanus admits. It’s a trait he deeply admires in you.

“She got that from you,” he concludes.

“Oh, she got more than that from me,” Acacius says proudly.

“Clearly. She’s got your sharp tongue and your penchant for rebellion.”

“Good.” Acacius Innis laces his fingers as if he’s addressing a mere student. “And I’m assuming you’ll purge it all out of her. Anything that makes her who she is – save her brains, of course, because she’s the only one around here who can do what I can – but everything else, you’ll stamp out of her, so you can fit her into your perfect little world and put her in your high shelf like your perfect little doll. I suppose, compared to what you did to that Plinth boy, it’s a hell of an upgrade, isn’t it?”

Ah, so he’s deduced that, as well. Perhaps even before you did, given his free access to all the Citadel laboratories.

“You led her to the Citadel that day. You knew she’d make that connection herself.”

“Like you said: Nellie has my intuition.”

“Why did you do it?”

Acacius raises a derisive eyebrow. “You see, Snow, you’re not as clever as you make yourself out to be, because if you were, you’d have figured that out yourself. I raised that child like my own, but I’d rather her be dead than see her in the arms of an evil psychopath such as you.”

This time, it’s Coriolanus’s turn to get under the Innis prick’s skin, and he knows just where to strike a blow. Leaning forward to rub it in his face, he says, “Well, if I’m not as clever, Mr. Innis, she wouldn’t be living in my house right now, dutifully waiting for me to come home.”

An image of you lying in his bed in his choice of lingerie invades his mind, but he shuts that part of himself down. Plenty of time to indulge in that later.

If your uncle is fazed, however, he doesn’t show any outward signs.

“That must feel nice, right?” the Innis senior asks. “Having someone who loves you await your return? That must be how Sejanus felt as well. That kid was always writing to her. I risked a lot to make sure their letters don’t get intercepted, well except for one, which I think you have.”

“Ah, the letters. Is that how they avoided detection? Your little band of rebels doing all the leg work? I hope it was worth sacrificing your immunity for.”

“You did your research, I’m impressed. Have you cracked their code, yet?”

Unfortunately, no matter how hard Coriolanus tried, the code has since evaded him. A little roadblock, sure, but an inconsequential one in his eyes.

“The meaning of those letters doesn’t matter now,” he says dismissively. “Nellie is mine, and I think it’s in your best interests to accept that. After all, I’d like our children to have their grandfather around.”

The Innis senior just nods thoughtfully at his jab. What might make this old man crack, Coriolanus has yet to discover.

“But I also think it’s in your best interests to know that every letter they exchanged ended in the same gist: that they’ll be with each other soon to make a difference in this world. Nellie loved that boy you betrayed and, in consequence, executed.”

And then the meddling, cunning Innis prick smiles – the kind of smile Coriolanus loathes to his core – one that his old self has been given a lot to remind him just how powerless he was then. “You may have her, marry her, have children with her, but you’ll never have her heart. Which begs the question: do you truly own something if you don’t own it in every sense of the word?”

If Coriolanus Snow could just wrap his hands around the fucking prick’s throat, he would. At this point, he has to remind himself to keep his composure; he’d rather drink an entire bottle of rat poison than admit the Innis prick has hit a rather sensitive nerve.

He made you a promise.

So, he simply returns the venomous smile as best as he could and says, “Our plan is to be wed in six months’ time.”

“You mean ‘your’ plan,” Acacius says under his breath.

Coriolanus decides to ignore that. “We have decided that, due to your disapproval of our relationship, Nellie will stay with me and have no contact with you until you publicly announce your blessing. We would appreciate it if you’d attend both the engagement, which we should be announcing soon, and the marriage to show support and solidarity between our families. We’ll let you know when they’ll be.”

“I hope you get good cake. You already know her favourite,” Acacius says casually.

Seeing no further need to acknowledge him, Coriolanus finally gets to his feet.

“This isn’t over, Snow.”

Nor does he see the need to respond to that either. He wordlessly exits the cell and motions the peacekeeper standing on guard to remove Innis senior’s handcuffs. He’s fulfilled his promise to you, but perhaps he can think of other ways he can get Acacius Innis as far away as possible from ruining what he’s worked so hard to build (save killing him because that would just break you).

All Coriolanus needs now is for him to make a single misstep.

You groan audibly as you wrench the doors to your closet open.

Having come out of the shower from the guestroom’s private bathroom, you proceeded to raid the adjacent walk-in closet for your pyjamas, but you didn’t find a single pair of them anywhere. Everything else the movers didn’t seem to miss.

So, when you hear Coriolanus arrive, you step out of the room clad in only a bathrobe barely reaching your knees, hoping he knows where they put your pyjamas.

“Those looked old, so I bought you new sleep clothes instead,” he replies as he enters the guestroom closet. He pulls back the last cabinet door, which you’ve already checked.

“There’s nothing there but – ”

You stop midsentence as he pulls out a silk, crimson nightgown trimmed with black lace at the hem.

“I can’t sleep in that,” you protest.

Shrugging, he just throws the nightgown on the bed with a playful smirk and says, “Either that or keep the bathrobe on.”

At least he exits your room completely and closes the door behind him to give you privacy. Grumbling to yourself, you put on the nightgown to find that it’s a few inches shorter than the bathrobe. How bad can it be, you wonder? You’re just going to bed, anyway.

Even with the nightgown and the bed covers proving to be comfortable, sleep evades you for the next few hours. All you can think of as you toss and turn in your bed is Uncle Cas. Has Coriolanus upheld his end of the bargain? Has he ordered your uncle’s release? Is your uncle back at home and resting?

You place an ear to your door to listen for signs that Coriolanus is still awake. It’s awfully quiet outside, so you risk stepping out of the bedroom and noiselessly amble around the apartment for a single platinum-blond hair of him, but he isn’t in any of the open rooms you peek into.

“This suits you much better than the bathrobe, sugarplum.”

You gasp as you turn around, finding yourself inches away from bumping into Coriolanus Snow himself. He has to bend a little to peer into your face given his massive height, so you almost cower at the way he leans into your space. He’s gotten so close you catch a whiff of his usual rose perfume along with notes of something else you’ve never smelled on him before.

“Coryo, have you been drinking?” you ask.

He flashes you a smirk as he replies, “A little. I had a tough conversation a while ago.”

You can’t help but tilt your head curiously at him. Who and what could’ve ruffled the feathers of the great Coriolanus Snow?

“What happened to my uncle? Where is he?”

“Why would you want to know that? What purpose would it serve you?”

You almost groan in annoyance at him needlessly beating around the bush. You just had the roughest day in your life, being engaged to him, and you’re not sure you can handle a tipsy version of him. “Coryo, just...stop jerking me around and tell me. Please.”

He just hums, walks into the living room and plops down on the loveseat he seems to favour. He pats the empty space beside him and says, “Come and sit with me.”

So, you do, while keeping as much of a distance between you as much as the sofa can give.

“What would you give me in return, sugarplum?”

“What?”

“Quid pro quo,” he says with an increasingly wider smirk. “I can keep the knowledge to myself, but if you’re willing to make this interesting…”

Coriolanus inches towards you as he draws closer. Those blue hazy eyes are fixed on your lips, and you shudder inwardly as his meaning dawns on you.

“Kiss me,” he gruffly whispers. “Or I could just go to bed…it’s an office day tomorrow, after all…”

But you have to know what has become of Uncle Cas, right? So, you swallow that lump in your throat, close your eyes and place your lips over his.

Surprisingly, he remains stationary and even allows you to break the quick kiss.

“Your first kiss was him,” he then blurts out. It comes out almost accusatory.

Oh no.

“How was it?”

“W-what – ?”

“How was it?” He grabs your arms, seemingly determined to get an answer. “Show me.”

“This has nothing to do with – ”

“I said show me.”

The way he growls that command of his and the manner in which he almost shakes your form shows you he isn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. Whatever point he’s trying to make, he isn’t letting go of it anytime soon, so once more, you kiss him, letting your lips linger a little more on his before letting go.

Exactly the way Sejanus did.

Coriolanus Snow just managed to tarnish a cherished memory of yours without even lifting a finger.

And yet, he just scoffs like it’s nothing. You try to wrench your arm away, but this time, he initiates the kiss – a longer, deeper kiss, pushy, almost, with his tongue demanding entrance to your mouth. When you keep your lips shut, he pulls away.

“Remember that fight we had?” he whispers into your lips. “You said I took everything from Sejanus. Not everything, then. Not yet. You were Sejanus’s love. His girl.” Then, as if to further make a mockery of your dead first love, he lets out a deep, throaty laugh, continuing, “I wish he was alive today if only to see his first and only love in my arms, kissing me as he did on the day he last saw you.”

Humouring him by sitting on the same couch was a mistake. You struggle against his hold, but he just pulls you closer.

“Let me go – ”

You lean further away from his face, but you don’t get too far away, not when his grip on your arms is still vicelike.

“Now, I get to do so much more than he ever did with you...”

In a single swoop, Coriolanus manages to pin you underneath his frame on the loveseat with your legs awkwardly hanging on the side, earning a yelp from you. Your heartbeat is pounding so loud in your ears as his warm breaths fan the side of your face – he’s taken your arms and pinned them above your head while he leans over your shaking form. Your attempts to budge are met with a displeased growl over your ear.

“Coryo, stop – ” you manage to breathe out, but you’re instantly cut off.

He’s just encased your lips with his, and his tongue roams your mouth hungrily – with every move of his lips, yours is forced to move as well. When he’s had enough, that mouth and its heated kisses travel to your jaw, finally allowing you to breathe.

But instead of an exhale, a choked sob escapes you.

Coriolanus pulls away reluctantly, adjusting his grip on your arms as he peers into your tear-filled eyes.

Finally, he states matter-of-factly, “You’re a virgin.”

Despite your distress at the vulnerable position you’re in, you retort, “That’s none of your business.”

“But it is. You’ll be my wife soon. I suppose I can tell you about my past to make it easier for you. There’s that one in the back alley, that was my first; you already know that. Then, a few after that...whores...”

His head dips into your neck, and he goes on to whisper over your exposed skin, “I want you to know that while I fucked them, all I could think of was you.”

Ignoring your frantic plea, Coriolanus angles your head and proceeds to lick, suckle, and bite all over the column of your neck to your collarbones. His bites become increasingly harsher, and from above you, you feel him grasp both your wrists in one hand, while his other travels downwards, roaming the side of your body and reaching the hem of your nightgown. That hand slowly caresses your thigh, lifting the gown in the process. As if that isn’t enough, he bucks his hips into yours, trapping you further underneath him and almost suffocating you in his warmth.

“Please, Coryo, stop…please…”

Your pained sobbing and begging seem to get to him. Coriolanus pulls away at last, getting one more look at you before he admits, “You’re right. We’ll have plenty of time after the wedding.” He pauses before adding as an afterthought, “Oh, your uncle has been released and all his confiscated belongings have been returned to him. I’ll see to it that your bag is returned to me, as well.”

You don’t get to see his face with your eyes full of unshed tears, so you only vaguely see him draw close and feel the chaste kiss he plants on your trembling lips before he gets off you and releases you completely.

As soon as he does, you scamper back into your room and push the lock on the doorknob. Still gasping for air in between crying, your eyes automatically land on a shelf in the room. You don’t why, but somehow you know it’d be there:

Your little bunny plush.

Somehow, the sobbing dies down as you make a grab for it, thanking whoever packed your stuff for somehow picking it up and adding it to the pile. You drag yourself and the bunny plush to the bed and burrow under the sheets. You hug Bunny as close as you can, squeezing it harder than you’ve ever held it.

Your uncle had been released from his cell in the Citadel, so that’s one problem crossed out, at the very least.

Just when you’re about to close your eyes, however, your fingers manage to grope at something solid – almost the side of your palm, thin and square – inside your bunny plush.

Enter Level 13

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!

*copadia - ancient Roman beef stew

Alrigt, more Snowball assholery xD there are so many things in this fic I'd like to make commentary on, but please comment whatchutink will happen next lol

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #Young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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