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roosterforme · 1 year

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Do You Wish It Was Me? | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley returns from deployment and finds you engaged to Harvard, he knows he needs to get you back.

Warnings: Angst and fluff

Length: 2400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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Bradley had been thinking about you every day for six months. It had been a long deployment, even for him, and that's why he decided to hold off taking things to the next level with you. At least until he was home again.

But now that he was back in San Diego and had some time to spend with you, he wanted to make you more than a friend with benefits. A lot more.

He had tried texting you all day, and now as he was easing his Bronco into the parking lot at the Hard Deck, he was hoping you would be inside.

Bradley met you last summer. You had been working as a server at the restaurant next to the bar while you finished your graduate degree. You were bubbly, gorgeous, sexy and smart. It didn't take long until Bradley had ended up in bed with you. He spent night after night with your body connected to his, your hands wrapped in his hair while he made love to you.

He wanted to get back to that place, and more.

"Rooster!" Nat screamed when he strolled in. "You didn't tell me you were home!" He let his friend jump into his arms and hug him tight.

"Just got home today," he told her, as he drew the attention of the other aviators and everyone hanging out at the pool table. But he was distracted now, because you were there, next to the bar, nursing a beer. Your eyes were already on Bradley's when he found you in the crowd. But Harvard was standing next to you with his arm around you.

Bradley's blood ran cold as Lieutenant Brigham Lennox leaned toward you and kissed your cheek. Your gaze never wavered, rather it remained on Bradley, even as Harvard pushed your hair away from your neck.

"What the fuck?" Bradley muttered. He could hear his friends calling for him at the pool table, and Nat tried to lead him in that direction. "No, I just need a minute."

Nat let go of him and he made his way around the bar. Your eyes grew wider as he got closer to you, and when Harvard saw Bradley approaching, he reached out a hand and slapped Bradley on the back.

"Rooster! Welcome back, man." Bradley shook his hand, barely registering that Brigham was even touching him. He never could stand Harvard; he always drank until he was wasted, and tried to hook up with girls who Bradley would have thought were too drunk to know what they wanted.

"Harvard," Bradley grunted, still looking at you.

But Harvard must have noticed where Bradley was looking, because he smiled brightly and said. "I can't thank you enough for introducing her to me. Show him your ring, Sweetcheeks!"

Bradley felt like the rest of the bar and all of the patrons were slowly fading into nothingness. All that remained was him and you. And the diamond engagement ring on your finger.

"Hi, Bradley," you said timidly as his eyes darted between your finger and your eyes. You hadn't waited for him. Not only that, but you were engaged. To a complete asshole.

Bradley felt sick and confused and angry and horribly sad as you smiled softly at him. "Did he just call you Sweetcheeks?" was all Bradley managed to ask, and you took a step closer to him when Harvard wandered away to talk to someone else. "Honey?"

Your mouth dropped open. "Bradley. Should we go talk outside?"

He just nodded and followed you as you made your way through the crowd. He had been hoping to see you tonight, but not like this. He wanted you in his arms, against his skin, your voice lulling him to sleep.

"What happened?" Bradley asked once you and he were the only ones outside on the deck. "Harvard?" He was panicking.

You nodded your head a few times. "We've been dating. Only engaged for a week."

"Honey. I've been thinking about you every single day for six months." There was no way this was right. You should be holding him by now, listening to Bradley tell you all about the dates he was going to take you on.

He watched the expressions on your face rapidly change from confusion to anger to sadness.

"You've been thinking about me? You never said anything before you left, Bradley."

And you were right. He really hadn't. But Bradley thought you felt the same way about him. Or at least that your feelings were strong enough that you wouldn't be engaged to Harvard after six months.

"I'm really, really regretting that now, Honey." He ran his hands over his face and groaned.

"I think you need to stop calling me Honey," you whispered sadly, and Bradley watched you chew on your lip.

Bradley swallowed hard and nodded. He barely heard you say, "I'm sorry," as you went back inside. He followed you a little helplessly. He watched Harvard get so drunk that he was embarrassing himself. He watched you as your eyes often found his, and Bradley knew he needed you back.

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You had been keeping your distance, and Bradley hated it. He was thinking about how you had been his, even if just for a short time. You had shared your dreams with him late at night. He knew about your family and your likes and dislikes.

When Bradley ran into you on base when you came to drop off Harvard's lunch, you couldn't hide the look of longing from him.

"Honey," Bradley said quietly. "You don't have to be with him."

You shook your head slightly and said, "It's too late."

When your gaze dropped down to look at your ring, Bradley kept his eyes on yours. "He's not good enough for you."

Harvard was like a self-fulfilling prophecy, appearing with his arm draped across the shoulders of a new recruit called Glory, his mouth close to her ear. But he dropped her like a sack of potatoes when he saw you standing next to Bradley.

"Sweetcheeks! You bring me my lunch?" he asked, giving you a sloppy kiss and digging into the bag you handed to him. "Thanks. I'll see you later."

He just winked at Bradley and then followed Glory into the lunchroom.

"It's not too late," Bradley called out to your retreating form. The little raise of your hand as you walked away made him want to chase you down.

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It had been weeks since Bradley had seen you, but he had received an invitation to your engagement party. He wasn't intending to go. He didn't want to have to wish you well as your wedding drew closer. In fact, he was dreading the day he saw an invitation to the actual ceremony.

But he ended up at the Hard Deck, and he knew you were inside before he even walked through the door.

You looked gorgeous in a sundress and denim jacket, and he wished he had never gone away for those six months. He wished he had made you his.

"Bradley," you whispered softly to him as he walked toward the pool table.

He paused and smiled at you, even though it hurt him so much. "Hey, Honey."

Your lips parted, and Bradley was ready for you to scold him again. Ready to hear you tell him not to call you that. But you just said, "It's good to see you."

He nodded and headed to where Nat was waving a pool cue at him. "Me and you against Harvard and Glory."

"Sure," Bradley grunted, and he watched Harvard reach across Glory's chest to rack the balls. He shared a look with Nat who looked as annoyed as he felt.

"Ready?" Nat asked, and Bradley saw Harvard's eyes dip to Glory's body before he nodded.

"Your break, Phoenix," he said, standing so close to Glory, Bradley couldn't tell where his arm ended and hers began.

Every time Bradley looked toward the bar, you were already looking at him. He kind of wished you would look at your fiancé and notice how much of a scumbag he was. But how could you not know? You were smart. You were perfect.

When Bradley headed out for the night, leaving you to deal with sloppy, drunk Brigham, you let your fingers brush against his arm.

He came to a halt next to you, the noise and the crowd pushing him closer to you.

"We could be together...."

You just tucked your hand into your pocket and shook your head. So he left.

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Bradley wasn't planning on coming. The party had already started before he even left his house, but since he was pacing around and making himself feel sick, he decided to go.

Seeing you at your engagement party, happy and next to Harvard would help him put his feelings all to rest.

So Bradley drove to the restaurant where you used to work. He walked in and sat at a table with Nat.

"Didn't think you'd be here," his best friend said softly. "If you decide you need to leave, let me know and I'll go with you."

"Thanks, Nat," Bradley managed to say. "But I think this might help me in the long run."

When he saw you walk into the room hand in hand with Harvard, Bradley couldn't help but notice how sad you looked. Your eyes found him immediately, and wanted to wrap himself around you. Take you away from here.

"I can't," he muttered to Nat and went to the bar that was set up in the corner of the room. He took a deep breath and asked the bartender for a whiskey, neat. He could hear all of the happy conversations and see everyone socializing around him, but he shouldn't have come.

He downed his drink at the bar and was about to order another one when he heard you. "I'm going to step outside for some air, if you want to join me."

Bradley watched your retreating form as you slipped out through the French doors onto the balcony and out of sight. He set his empty glass on the bar and followed you. As much as he wished he could stop himself, he knew he couldn't.

"Honey," he murmured when he saw you leaning against the balcony railing, looking out at the water.

Bradley knew he looked like shit right now. He hadn't been sleeping, and he was miserable. But you were looking at him like he was lovely. Like he was yours.

"I'm sorry, Bradley," you whispered as you turned to look up at him. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea someone like you would want to be...serious with me."

He could feel his brow scrunch up. "What do you mean... someone like me?"

"Oh... you're just... so sweet and handsome. Smart. Kind. I thought you and I were just hooking up. You called us friends with benefits. I didn't know... But I thought about you, too. I thought about that last night before you left for deployment. You whispered something to me, when you were falling asleep. I thought maybe you were dreaming, or maybe I imagined it."

"Honey." His voice was straining. It was hard to breathe. "I wasn't dreaming, and you didn't imagine it."

Your eyes were on his, and your lips were parted, silently begging him to say it again. He'd never make you beg for anything. He'd never treat you the way Harvard does.

"I love you," he whispered, and your eyes fluttered closed. Your breathing became shallow, and a sound halfway between a laugh and a cry escaped your lips.

"Sweetcheeks! You coming? Time for speeches."

Harvard was beckoning from the doorway, and you were frantically scanning Bradley's face. He wanted to reach for you, but you let a neutral expression fall into place, and then you followed Harvard back inside.

Bradley took a few minutes to himself, looking out at the water. He'd made a huge mistake with you. He should have never called you a friend with benefits. He should have asked you to wait for him; it certainly seemed now like you would have.

He was afraid he was never going to get over you.

With one more deep breath, he walked back inside just as you stood up at your table with a microphone in hand, and he dropped back into his seat next to Nat.

"Thank you all for being here today," you said, but your voice sounded thin and tinny, so unlike you. "I just wanted to say that I can't wait...." You were turning to look at Harvard where he was sitting next to you with a big grin on his face. "I can't wait to marry.... Well, Brigham and I are just so.... We're excited."

Bradley's heart was racing. He couldn't stand listening to you talking about someone else. He needed to leave. He was searching for the best escape route, one where he wouldn't completely disrupt the evening.

But when you cleared your throat, your gaze settled on him, and you smiled softly. "I just need to say something," you said into the microphone with more conviction. You turned toward your fiance. "Brig, I can't marry you. I'm sorry." The microphone hit the table at the same second that Bradley launched out of his seat. He watched you take your ring off and hand it to Harvard who looked like he was in shock.

Then you were moving, weaving between tables and heading his way. You seemed a little hesitant now, your eyes wide as you looked at him. Bradley never wanted you to hesitate with him again.

"Honey," he called out, and suddenly your hand was grasping his as you pulled him outside with you.

Bradley ran with you down the steps and across the sand, your laughter lighting him up from the inside.

"Bradley!" you gasped, once you had reached the parking lot. You were in his arms now, your fingers in his hair as you kissed him and smiled against his lips. "I love you, too."

"Let's get out of here, Honey," he said, scooping you up and carrying you toward his Bronco. You were kissing along his jaw and whispering his name against his skin. "I have a lot of making up to do. Gonna make you mine."

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Thanks for reading! And thanks to all my friends who helped me along the way with this one! Hope you enjoyed it!

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seasonsbloom · 2 years

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dime store cowboy 2 . (hangman)

pairing ; cowboy!jake seresin x female!reader

synopsis ; jake teaches you about the cowboy hat rule. (part two of dime store cowboy, but can probably be read separately.)

wc ; 6.5k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language, alcohol abuse, explicit sexual content (semi-public sex, sex while under the influence, p in v, fingering, riding, dirty talk, lil tiny bit of degradation maybe?, almost getting caught)

note: YEEHAW PARDNERS………. i hate this so much, but hey i finished! that's the only positive about this goodbe.

sol. sunderlust. you already know what i’m gonna say thank you for being my bestie :(

It’s a small town, so news travels like wildfire - soon, all the kitchens are burning.

When you walked into work on Monday, three of your co-workers told you not to get too involved with Jake. On a trip to the local mom-and-pop shops for nails to hang your newest art print with, the older woman at the register frowned, called you by name even though you don’t remember ever introducing yourself to her, and said, Jake Seresin is bad news, honey. At a diner, a whole table of mid-twenties girls glared actual daggers at you.

With the way he’s looking at you right now, sort of like he’s ready to reach across the table and devour you whole, you think you kind of know what they mean.

“You’re like… a local legend,” you tell him, toying with the straw in your margarita. Jake ordered it for you before you even walked through the doors, and you don’t know how to feel about him remembering your drink order.

Jake raises an eyebrow. He’s wearing a pale blue button-down tonight that seems more formal than the flannel you met him in, but the hat and obnoxious belt remain the same.

“Am I?” he asks and sounds a little too pleased for your liking.

You nod. “I got advised not to show up tonight by….” You count them off on your fingers. “... four people. And that’s not counting any of the girls who I think are planning my murder as we speak.”

It punches a chuckle out of him, but something about the sound is almost sad.

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, waving it off. “I may have a bit of a reputation.”

“What sort of reputation?” you ask, watching as your straw paints swirls into the pink slush of your drink.

Looking at him is dangerous business, you’ve learned this much by now. It makes you do crazy things, shuts off whichever part of your brain is responsible for logic and common sense. So you avoid his eyes, even as you feel his gaze burn holes into the side of your face.

“A bad one,” he says.

It’s ridiculous, and judging by the fake deep voice he puts on, he knows it too. So you laugh, duck your head, and wonder if you even want to know the real answer.

From what you’ve gathered, Jake is a bit of a ladies man. (Your co-worker’s description had been somewhat less flattering. At least you don’t think town mattress is going to show up on his CV any time soon.) Usually, that fact alone would have been enough to have you running for the hills, but you can’t forget the night you met him - his hand on your thigh and the easy banter and feeling sexy, carefree, grown-up in a way not even doing your taxes can duplicate.

Still. The uncertainty remains.

“You think I should listen to them?” you ask. The leather of the booth clings to your sweaty thighs. It’s a hundred degrees in this stupid bar.

Jake hums and shrugs his shoulders. “What I want you to do and what you should do are two entirely separate things, sugar.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He’s drinking whiskey neat. When he picks the glass up to take a sip, amber liquid trembles like a lake in an earthquake.

“It’s your choice, sweetheart.”

That’s not exactly an answer, and it doesn’t escape your notice.

Jake sets his glass back down, braces his elbows on the table’s edge, and leans forward, leans into your space, a conspiratorial grin pulling up the corners of his mouth and says, “If you’re asking me, though… I think you’ve already made your choice.”

You’re not exactly sure what you’re talking about anymore, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of saying what.

“How so?” you ask.

“Well.” Jake makes a sweeping gesture that seems to encapsulate both your little outfit and meticulously styled hair as well as the bustle of the bar. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

You can’t argue with that. A new song comes on, and a group of girls near the bar yell in excitement. You watch them for a second.

“What made you come anyway?” He has his arms folded on the tabletop, clearly trying to pull you back from whatever train of thought you’ve boarded and sailed away on.

That’s a good question, and it’s one you’re not too sure how to answer. Because, truth be told, you almost didn’t. Without the liquid courage of three strawberry margaritas coursing through your bloodstream, without him so close you could barely think of anything but his stubble between your thighs, your nerves caught up with you. You’ve agonized over this, even twenty minutes ago, sitting in your car and staring at the twinkling neon of the bar, your heart beating an erratic pattern that echoed in your words like the same question repeated again and again: Should I?

You shrug. “Curiosity.”

He grins, his teeth gleaming between the pink of his lips. You wonder if he uses Crest white strips or if he gets them professionally bleached. They’re almost too white.

“Curiosity about what, exactly?”

You take a sip of your cocktail to bide your time, to collect your thoughts. Then you say, “I’ve never been on a date with a cowboy.”

Casually, Jake leans back in his chair, folding his arms in front of his chest. His expression is unreadable. “Oh, so is that what this is? A date?”

Your heart drops to the vicinity of your kneecaps. Could it really be that you’ve misjudged this situation so completely? Could it really be that you’re so inexperienced, so out of tune with the signs and signals of the chase, that you can’t even recognize when somebody’s flirting with you?

And you were so sure of it all. That he had felt the same pull as you did that night at the bar. That he’d wanted you almost as much as you had wanted him. That he’d called the number you’d scribbled hastily on a napkin soaked in beer (called, not texted, and you’d been so sure it was a spam call you almost hadn’t picked up) because he’d genuinely wanted to see you again to continue whatever your co-worker had interrupted.

Back home, your friends used to call you romantically challenged, but you didn’t think it was this bad.

“Oh,” you say, and your cheeks feel warm as you shift your weight in your seat, as you pull your shoulders up like you’re trying to disappear between the blades, “I’m sorry, I just….”

Jake is shaking his head before you can finish the sentence you had no idea where to end anyway. “I’m only messing with you, sugar,” he says, his laughter warm even as he teases you, and for a split second, his fingers graze over your knuckles on the tabletop. “I’m honored to be the first cowboy to take a pretty lady like you out.”

That line has no business making your heart race the way it does. Where his fingers touched yours, the skin tingles.

Because you don’t know what to say, you down the last of your cocktail.

For a while, the two of you chat about nothing and everything. Your new job, the adjustment to the countryside. His work on his parent’s ranch and his family. He names all of their seven dogs, and your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.

“Seven?” you repeat, a note of awe sneaking into your voice. “You guys have seven dogs?”

Jake laughs. “I take it you like dogs?”

“Like is like… the understatement of the century.”

“If you’re a good girl,” he says, looking at you over the rim of his glass, “maybe I’ll introduce them to you one day.”

That has your thighs clenching, your toes curling against the soles of your shoes. Jesus. He can’t just say things like that.

Jake orders you another cocktail from a waitress that does very little to conceal the glare she throws in your direction. When she comes back to deliver your drink and the beer that Jake has switched to, she leans so low both he and you get a good, thorough glance into her cleavage.

As she saunters away, hips swinging, you blink, caught between confusion and a tiny bit of annoyance, and Jake just snorts into the sweating neck of his beer bottle.

By then, the sugar and the alcohol are beginning to work their way into your bloodstream, and you feel just the right side of tipsy. Where your senses are dulled enough the bar fades away to a steady chatter of background noise, tuned out by the gleam of Jake’s smile and his eyes and his fingertips tapping rhythmically on the wood of the table. You feel loose and swaying and unsteady in a way that is funny, thrilling, instead of scary.

It’s strange to be so far from him, all the space of the booth stretching and elongating. Later, you’ll blame the liquid courage, but something (it’s definitely not jealous, nope, not at all) propels you to slide along the leather of the seat, feeling the sweat collecting in your kneecaps, heart in your throat, until you’re on his side, your legs just an inch or two from his.

Jake watches your migration with a faint smile on his face.

“Hi,” you say, blinking up at him.

“Hi,” he echoes back, his arm sliding over the backrest just above your shoulders. “You good?”

You nod. “I was getting lonely over there.”

As soon as the words are out, you cringe at yourself, mouth already opening around an apology, but Jake’s hand on your waist silences you. Wordlessly, he pulls you the last inch to him. And then you’re pressed to him, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and he’s like a massive bulk of heat and muscle and the pleasant, spicy scent of his aftershave. Your heart stutters, stumbles, trips.

“Well, we can’t have that,” Jake says, his voice rumbling in his chest. “Pretty girl like you all on her lonesome.”

It has you grinning involuntarily. His arm goes from your waist to drape across your shoulder instead, heavy against you, and you set a tentative, searching hand on his thigh. The denim of his jeans feels rough against your palm.

“Better like this?” he asks, and the words are quiet, soft, like they’re meant just for you.

You nod. “Much.”

From your perch against his chest, you watch as he takes a sip of his beer. The bottle comes away, mouth wet just like his lips. His tongue pokes out just a little as he chases the flavor, chases a drop, and it’s like an intrusive thought, something planted in your mind by someone else, something…

“Can I have a sip?” you blurt.

Jake raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for a beer girl.”

You’re not. That’s not what it’s about.

You shrug, his arm moving with your gesture, and say, aiming for nonchalance, “Maybe I could be.”

He chuckles but hands you the bottle without further protest. It’s ridiculous, but something about the thought that you’re putting your lips where his have been moments ago excites you, sets your heart racing. Maybe you’re childish. If you reached up now and kissed him, you’re almost entirely sure he’d kiss back, but the tiniest, smallest spark of fear flickers inside of you at the idea. What if he rejects you?

So instead, you bring the bottle to your lips, take a single, tiny sip, and then, because you can’t help yourself, because apparently, this has become a habit in his presence, you lick the rim.

Then you cringe. “Nah,” you say. “Still not a beer girl.”

Jake snorts, but his eyes stay fixed on your mouth for just a moment too long. “Can I try your margarita, then?”

You nod, lean forward out of the crescent of his arm for just a moment to pluck the glass you left abandoned across the table.

Jake takes a sip and, to your disappointment, does not copy your moves. There’s no licking off the sugar for him.

He grimaces. “Jeez,” he says, “this is like ninety-five percent sugar.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “That’s why I like it.”

“Well, sugar,” Jake says, his grin turning just a touch devious, “I bet you taste even sweeter.”

Now that has blood rushing into your cheeks, fingers tightening around his thigh. You can feel his hand tracing up and down your side in leisured patterns, the naked skin of your legs against the fabric of his jeans. Your foot in the dainty sandals just an inch shy of his boots.

It’s like you can’t stop touching each other. Like a circuit, the electricity only flows if all parts of the pattern are connected. Like you’re gravitating towards each other, hands always on the other, your neck, his knee, your hip, his biceps.

“You want to find out?” you ask, voice barely more than a whisper, and wonder where the hell that came from.

Jake’s mouth lifts into a grin at one corner. “You’d let me have a taste, sugar?”

I’d let you have anything you want. That’s what you want to say, but when you open your mouth, somebody else’s voice cuts over yours.

“Jake.”

It’s the waitress from earlier. She’s gotten rid of her apron and notepad and is smiling at Jake in a way that makes her intention crystal clear. This girl is definitely here on a mission.

“Hi,” Jake greets back. “We’re still good on drinks, thank you.”

She laughs, and the sound is almost musical. “That’s not why I’m here. My shift just ended.”

For the first time, you really take her in. She’s beautiful, tanned skin, full lips, long hair the color of butterscotch that seems to dance in the light breeze from a ceiling fan. If it hadn’t been for Jake’s arm around you, you would have tried to melt back into the cushions of the booth. Suddenly, you feel painfully inadequate.

But Jake just says, “Good for you.”

The girl casts a furtive glance at you, a furrow etching itself between her eyebrows as if she cannot understand what Jake is doing with someone like you.

Welcome to the club, you think and startle at how bitter that sounds. It’s not like you to pity yourself like this.

“You remember when you asked me out on that date?”

Jake takes a moment to think about that. When he speaks again, he somehow manages not to sound like an absolute douchebag, and you’ll take that as a testament to his immense charm. “Vaguely.”

The girl’s mouth twists like she’s just bit into a lemon. “How about it then?”

One of Jake’s eyebrows rises so high it almost touches his hairline. He says, “I’m a tad busy.”

You watch the whole exchange like somebody watching a tennis match. Sort of like you forgot you’re at all involved in this and not just an innocent bystander watching a girl’s romantic advances crash and burn. Then she sends a truly withering look at you, and you’re reminded that you’re smack dab in the middle of this thing.

“Alright,” she says, trying not to let the note of hurt in her voice show too much. Honestly, you feel sort of bad for her. “Give me a ring whenever.”

Jake hums, but he isn’t even looking at her. His eyes are fixed on your face, his thumb dragging in a long line from your hip down to the top of your thigh. A thoughtful expression crosses his face, and then he’s reaching for where he placed his hat on the tabletop earlier and planting it on your head again.

There’s a thrill to it all - a guy who could potentially have any girl in this town (pretty girls and funny girls and smart girls), but he’s looking only at you. His arm around you and his eyes on you, and his fingers on your leg. His hat on your hair.

You don’t even know if the waitress is still standing by the table or if she’s left. You don’t care.

“Did you drive here?” you ask.

Jake, preoccupied with adjusting the hat on you, glances down at your face and answers, “I did.”

Maybe you’re flattered by all the attention. Maybe it’s been too long since you last got laid. Maybe Jake is too pretty. Or maybe you’re just drunk.

But there’s a sudden bout of confidence, a wind in your sails, a voice at the back of your head whispering fuck it, and another answering yeah, we’re trying.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. What matters is this: You say, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

You expected Jake to be surprised. Instead, he just smiles, something like amusement crossing his face, and you’re not sure how to feel about that.

“Sure,” he says. “Wait by the door for me, yeah, sugar?”

You agree. As he goes to pay, you idle by the entrance, acting like you don’t feel any of the eyes on you. Without his touch on you, you feel almost forlorn. A little sheepishly, you take off the hat and hold it to your chest, turn it over and over to stare at that label inside.

“Property of J. Seresin,” you read out in a whisper, running a finger along the thin leather of the hat band.

“You really like that hat, don’t you?”

Jake’s voice startles you. He’s smiling, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d call the expression on his face affectionate.

“It’s that cowgirl fantasy,” you say and watch as he stuffs his wallet back into his pocket.

“Yeah, I got my own cowgirl fantasies,” Jake mutters, and you don’t know how to respond, so you act like you didn’t hear him. Something at your core has gone liquid.

He takes the hat from you and plants a warm palm at the small of your back, steering you confidently toward the door.

And this time, when you twist over your shoulder to throw a last glance at the bar, there’s something a little smug to your smile. So what if everybody sees you leave with Jake Seresin? Let them talk about this come Monday then, let them talk about it in the break rooms and the supermarkets and the diners. Let them set the whole town on fire.

You don’t really care, not when you’re the one Jake is ushering toward his truck with something like urgency in his step.

Jake parked his car towards the end of the lot, where the lights of the bar turn into shadows, where the music and the voices are drowned out almost entirely by the chirping of cicadas. The air smells of gasoline and green things, growing things you never really knew back in the city with all its traffic jams and construction work.

When you tilt your head back, you see the stars like glowing pins stuck in the velvet of the night.

“Earlier,” you tell him, slowing your steps as you get closer to the truck, “you asked what I was curious about.”

Jake hums in agreement. He’s rounded the car with you, clearly intent on opening the passenger door for you, but now he stops when you do. You’re still in sync.

“I think,” you say, and wonder how your voice sounds so firm when you feel like you’re floating off into the stratosphere, “I was wondering what it might be like.”

In the dim of the night, Jake’s eyes look almost black. “What what might be like, sugar?”

You bite your lower lip. “That ride I owe you.”

He’s on you within seconds.

One of his hands tangle in your hair, the other falls once more to that spot at the small of your back, pulling you towards you with enough that you go careening, that you crush into him. The alcohol still has you a little off balance, so you steady yourself with both palms flat on his chest, then make a sound against his lips when you feel the muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid beat of his heart.

It’s all so sudden that it takes you a moment to get used to it. I can’t believe this is happening, you think distantly as Jake opens his mouth against yours, as his tongue traces over the seam of your mouth. You react on instinct, letting him in, melting in his arms. It’s all hot and wet, and god, he’s warm. You know the backs of your thighs and knees are still damp with sweat, with the sweltering heat of the bar, and now, surrounded by the furnace of Jake’s body, not even the night breeze can do anything to cool you down.

Jake walks you backward until your back connects with the metal of his truck, and then he presses you against the door. The hand on your back wanders down, down, down, over the curve of your ass, and then he’s pinching the skin there, and you yelp.

The curve of his smile presses against your own mouth for a moment, and then he’s drawing back at the exact moment that he pulls your hips forward. He’s hard beneath the denim of his jeans, his cock an insistent pressure against your core.

“Oh,” you gasp.

Jake grins. “So do I get to be the first cowboy to fuck you, too?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hips instinctively bucking forward and into him. The sound of those words tumbling from his lips, his tone so easy, so unaffected, has something inside of you clenching.

“I…” You clear your throat and take a deep breath. “Yeah. First cowboy.”

His voice is husky when he says, “Good.”

Then he’s leaning back in, his tongue sliding into your mouth, his feet kicking your legs apart so he can slot himself between them. His thigh nudges against your clit just once, the contact almost has you keening, and then he’s angling it away, holding your hips back so you can’t rut against him.

Jake is a good kisser. He’s probably had enough practice, you think, and then immediately abandon that train of thought. There’s nothing good down that line. It’s not difficult anyway, not when he does something with his tongue, when his hand slides from your hair to the back of your neck and your brain melts into a puddle anyway, all coherent thoughts shriveling up with it.

When you lick into his mouth, you find traces of the whiskey he had earlier, of honey and oak and smoke. His stubble scrapes against your cheeks, your neck when he leaves a trail of open-mouthed, lingering kisses along the edge of your jaw. Part of you imagines him leaving a mark, imagines the rasp of that bear along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches.

The hand has wandered from your ass to the very top of your thighs, where your skin is so tender and sensitive that you bounce up onto your tip toes when he lets the pads of his fingers stroke a figure-eight pattern against you. His answering chuckle vibrates somewhere low in your throat, tickles in an exhale of warm air against your collarbone.

“Sensitive, sugar?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

And that’s just about the only answer you give because then he’s inching your panties to the side, and one finger dips between your lips, and you have no air left in your lungs to form words with.

“Jesus,” Jake rasps. “You’re fucking soaked, doll. Have you been like this the whole time?”

You make a soaked noise at the back of your throat. Truth be told, you may have been wet since you walked into this stupid bar. It’s not your fault you’ve been wound tighter than clockwork since that night you first met him, it’s not your fault he’s so unfairly hot, not your fault he kept looking at you like he was mentally undressing you, not your fault he…

His finger finds your clit, applies a steady kind of pressure, and you throw your head back and moan so loudly you’re glad the parking lot is abandoned.

He grins again. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Then he’s kissing you again, his finger rubbing circles against you. You can barely keep up with the movement of his tongue, can’t really do anything but open your mouth and take what he’s giving you. The metal of the car is cold against your back, your head.

“Hold this,” he mutters without breaking the kiss, bunching the fabric of your dress up around your stomach and shoving it into one of your hands.

You do as he says, giving him better access to you. His mouth trails from your lips to your jugular, where your pulse is jumping so quickly it’s making you dizzy, as he slides your panties down your legs, taps the side of your thigh to signal you to step out of them. You go one foot at a time, knees feeling like jelly, but Jake steadies you. Bending down to retrieve the underwear, he presses a kiss to your kneecap on his way and mutters, “Good girl.”

Then he’s back up, your panties a crumpled up piece of fabric in his hand, and he presses his face right into the lace. Inhales deeply.

You’re going to pass out.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “can’t wait till I get that taste, sugar. You really are just the sweetest thing, aren’t you?”

It’s not really a question, but you still think it warrants some kind of answer. Your brain won’t cooperate, though. It’s completely and utterly blank.

You think he’s going to chuck the panties into the truck or something, but instead, he shoves them into one of his pockets, a bit of the pink lace peeking over the denim, and you swear you get even wetter.

“Souvenir,” he says, winks at you, and then you’re grabbing him by the collar, pulling him in, in, in, shoving your mouth to his, and kissing him like you want to drown.

If Jake is at all surprised by your sudden initiative, he doesn’t let it on. He takes as well as you give (if not better), fingers digging into your bare ass, your thighs, one sliding through your wetness and then inside of you. You whimper against his mouth as he fucks that finger in steadily, as he thumbs at your clit. Cling to him with both arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

The sound of gravel crunching beneath feet reaches you as if through a fog. Thankfully, Jake is quicker on his feet than you are, pulling his fingers out of you, tugging your dress down to cover you, and angling his body to shield you from whoever is approaching their car.

You can’t believe this is happening to you.

“Seresin,” the man calls as he unlocks his car door. Most of your vision is blocked by Jake’s shoulder, but you see the silhouette of someone raising their hand in a wave.

Jake tips his hat in response, arms protective and reassuring around you. He greets, “Hal,” then stays just as he is until the sound of the engine has died away in the buzz of the cicadas and the faraway traffic of the highway.

“Shit,” he curses, but there’s a chuckle to his voice. “You alright, sweetheart?”

The thing is this: you actually are alright, apart from the very, very insistent thrum between your legs Jake is doing nothing to help with. In fact, you’re more than alright. It’s exciting in a way you can’t explain, to be right here in the open with him, to know he wants you so much he’s willing to do this where anybody could possibly see. To know you want him so much you don’t even care. But also to feel so incredibly safe with him, to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’ll take care of you no matter what…

This one, you definitely can’t blame on the alcohol.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Can we… can we get in your car, maybe?”

Jake nods immediately. “Sure thing, sugar.” He unlocks the car door and opens it for you. “You want me to drive you home? I can…”

But you don’t let him finish. For the second time that night, you pull him by the collar, shove him down into the passenger seat and then climb after, clambering into his lap with your knees pressing into the cushion by his hips. Behind you, you pull the door closed with a resounding thud.

Jake’s truck smells like the air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror, but you barely take note of that. He throws his hat in the general direction of the driver’s seat. His face is just inches from yours, his hands immediately settling on your ass, his eyes wide and blown, and his lip curling in a surprised, pleased smile.

“Sure you don’t wanna do this in a bed?” he asks, but his fingers are already shoving beneath the fabric of your dress again.

You shake your head, lower yourself down until you feel his cock against you, until you both exhale in shaky unison. “Owe you that ride,” you mutter and lean in to kiss him.

It’s torture after that. Jake kisses you like he’s trying to climb into your body, tugs at your hair until you feel each pull like sparks of electricity down to your clit. He pulls your dress down your shoulders, lets it pool around your stomach to get his mouth on your nipples even over the fabric of your bra, the lace soaked through with his spit and your skin aching. All the while, you grind against him, spread your wetness all over his denim as Jake ruts up into the movement, the friction almost unbearable. On every hitch of your hips forward, the obnoxious belt buckle nudges against your clit, and it almost undoes you - the cold of the metal against your heat enough to have your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your mouth opening around moans of Jake’s name.

Finally, he seems to crack, reaching around you to prop open the glove compartment and get out a condom. You watch as he finally unzips his jeans, gets out his cock, and hisses as he rolls the rubber down. Your heart is in your throat with the anticipation of it all.

And then you spot it.

In a split-second decision, propelled by something that must border on madness, you stretch across the middle console, reaching for the driver’s seat.

Jake frowns. “Where you going, sugar?”

“Just…” You strain until you can finally get your hands on the soft fabric, and then you’re sinking back down into his lap, your cunt rubbing over him, and a long, languid moan escaping you before you place his hat on your head.

Jake blinks at you for a moment, eyes glassy, mouth open, the fingers on your hips tightening.

“Jesus,” he whispers, “you gonna wear that, sweetheart?”

You can’t read his face, can’t read the expression, and the uncertainty slams into your chest like an iron-clad fist. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But Jake groans, says, “You gonna wear my hat as you ride my cock, sugar? That’s how you wanna play this thing?”

And shit. Okay, then.

“Yeah,” you breathe, plant both hands on his shoulders. “Can I?”

In answer, he surges forward to kiss you at the same time that he pulls you down on his cock. It’s a stretch, and it’s a slow slide down, but it feels so good, it makes you go a little crazy. You cling to him, let him kiss you, let him dig his fingers into the skin of your hips, pant into his mouth.

When he finally bottoms out, you can’t tell how long it’s been. Your legs are already shaking, your head spinning, your words failing.

Gently, Jake pinches your side. He’s undeniably beautiful, face painted in the neon lights of the far-off bar, shadows crowding behind him. His lips pink and swollen from the nip of your teeth. His eyes lidded and glazed. “Go on then, sugar. You owe me.”

You whimper and obey, move yourself up and down on him slowly at first. The slide of his cock in and out, the clench of your cunt around him each time, as if your body doesn’t want to relinquish its hold on you. His fingers on you as he finally slides your bra off. His lips on your collarbone, then on your breasts, his teeth grazing a nipple, his tongue soothing the sting… It’s almost too much, all of it.

The cubicle is filled with your sounds, the quiet gasps and the loud whines, with Jake’s moans muffled against your skin.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “god, you feel so fucking good, sugar.”

You just nod in answer, the hat almost slipping over your eyes again, and up the pace. You’re all but slamming yourself down on his cock now, the sounds obscene. It’s the wet squelch of your pussy every time he spears into you, the frantic slap of skin on skin as your thighs meet his, the noise of his mouth on your tits.

It goes on forever, something that spirals higher and higher and never reaches the pinnacle. The windows fog up. Your thighs ache. You chase a high that eludes you, time and again.

And all through it, Jake’s hands remain infuriatingly stagnant on your hips.

Finally, you give in and whine, “Jake….”

You can barely keep up the bouncing, your thighs trembling with the pent-up desire, the strain of the movement. In fact, you’re shaking all over, so far gone you can’t even control your own muscles anymore. Sweat drips in steady tracks down your back.

“Hmm?” The sight of him, his hair disheveled by your fingers as he trails a line of wet kisses from your clavicle down between the valley of your breasts, is almost too much.

“I can’t….” You slump against him, the fatigue catching up with you, pant into the place where his collarbone dips in.

“You tired, doll?”

Without lifting your head, you nod.

His laughter brushes over your hair on an exhale. If you had any strength left in you, you might feel insulted at the fact that he’s laughing at your plight. But the alcohol and the exhaustion and the night in total have finally caught up with you, and you can’t think of anything but your dizzying, deafening, debilitating need to cum.

“That’s too bad,” he says, “You promised me a ride, didn’t you?”

And, like… fuck him, honestly.

“I’m too tired,” you whine, and you’re not too ashamed to admit it. Haven’t you been doing all the work for long enough?

Jake clicks his tongue and pats along the length of your spine. In a voice like melting honey, he says, “You want to come, don’t you, doll?”

You nod, words drifting far away from you like letting go of a balloon.

“Well.” He presses a kiss to your temple that is too soft for the moment. “Then you better get back to work, hmm?”

That’s the breaking point for you.

“Jake,” you say, pushing yourself into an upright position with both palms balanced on his pecs and glare down at his stupid, evil grin, “if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll go back into that bar and find another cowboy to do it properly.”

You wouldn’t, of course. There isn’t anybody in there you trust the way you trust Jake, not a person you’d want even half as much as you want him.

But Jake doesn’t know that.

The shift is almost immediate.

His eyebrows furrow, his hands tighten on your hips. Something dark crosses his face.

“Don’t talk about other guys while wearing my hat,” he says.

You shrug, motioning to take off his hat. “I will if you can’t fuck me pr….”

Your words trail off into a squeak as Jake fucks his hips up, as his cock plunges into you with more force. Then he’s sitting up straight, wrapping one arm around your waist as he sets a quick, hard rhythm, as he plants a firm hand on the hat and pushes it back down.

“Don’t even say it,” he whispers into your neck as he licks at a drop of sweat, as he sinks his teeth gently into your skin. “You should know better than that, sugar.”

He’s fucking you for real now, hips pistoning in and out with abandon. Your breasts bounce with the force of it, your hands scrabbling for purchase among the curve of his shoulder, the leather of the headrest.

Into your ear, between pants, he’s pouring buckets of filth, saying, “They couldn’t fuck you like this anyway, sugar, and you know it. Nobody but me could give it to you like this, get that pretty pussy this wet, give you the ride of your life….”

Your mouth drops open, sounds pouring from you that could put most porn actresses to shame. When Jake’s fingers find your clit, you have to muffle a full-on scream into his neck.

“Jake,” you whimper, and it’s almost scary how big it is, looming just in the distance. So close now, you’re so goddamn close.

“Yeah,” he’s saying into your hair, planting his feet firmly on the ground and fucking up into your pussy, his cock plunging so deep you swear you feel him in your stomach, “fucking take it. You better not forget who’s fucking cock you’re taking, sugar, who’s hat you’re wearing, who….”

You don’t hear the rest of it. All you can think of is the weight of the hat on your head. All you can think of is that label on the inside of it.

Property of J. Seresin.

You cum with a strangled shout, with your cunt clamping down so hard on Jake’s cock he grunts, with a gush of wetness, with your back arching far enough the hat tips backward off your head, with your fingers and toes numb, with your head somewhere in the clouds, with your blood rushing in your ears, and your heart like a sledgehammer and your arms around his neck. And then you sob, gasp for breath, wriggle like a fish on land.

“That’s my girl,” Jake is saying into your ear when you regain enough presence of mind to tap back into your hearing. “Look so pretty when you come on my cock, Jesus, you’re so fucking tight, sugar, God….”

He pumps his hips a few more times before the rhythm stutters, before he groans and tenses and empties into the condom. His cock twitches inside of you, and you moan weakly, slumped against his chest as you are.

Jake’s arms wrap around you as he hauls you closer to press kisses down the slope of your shoulder.

“You good?” he asks softly.

You nod, eyes fluttering closed. God, you could fall asleep right here - completely sated, completely exhausted, completely full.

“Jake?” you whisper, and as your lips move against his skin, you taste the salt of sweat.

“Yeah, sugar?”

“Can I keep your hat?”

It’s so warm in the car, and he’s even warmer. Soon, you’re going to have to climb off him, going to have to pull your dress back on, let him take you home and step under the shower, wash off the remnants of this night, of this thing that will never happen again. Something you’ll keep locked in your heart forever, a warm, soft memory to melt you in the cold.

But just for now, you get to keep it. For another minute, for another moment.

Jake laughs, his shoulders shaking and your body moving with it.

“Since I’m keeping the panties,” he says, his voice almost tender. “Sure thing, sugar. It’s all yours.”

You press your smile into his chest, preen as he reaches around you to put the hat back on you, and then you think, Thank God for Carrie Underwood.

#hangman x reader #hangman fic #jake seresin x reader #hangman #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin #fic #writing #mine #top gun maverick #fic: dsc

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

Text

Supernatutral Yandere Harem x GN reader

Word count: 1k

Warning; swearing

/1/2/3/

“Honey, what are you doing?”

“Quiet, Sharon. It’s happening again.”

With time, you had reluctantly grown used to all the new members of your household. As a break for your dwelling sanity, the latest addition wasn’t as clingy as the others. Though they gave the occasion stare and more of your belongings had gone missing than ever before, the reaper kept to themselves for the most part. With their distance and the fact they save your life; you didn’t mind them as much. Plus they had a literal hold of your heart, but you tried not to think about that as much. As an added bonus, they didn’t try to take over your bed like Alasdair and Baron had; instead choosing the couch as their makeshift bed. This wasn’t much of a problem… until you happened to need a place to sit down or lost something.

“Shit… where are my keys.”

You mutter in frustration as you search your dresser for your house keys, opening one of its drawers to check there. After failing to wake up due to some mysterious force, you now had to rush to get ready for work. Said force was still half asleep in your bed, arms wrapped around your pillow and occupying the space that you once did.

“Baron, did you take my keys again?”

He shakes his head, burying his face further into the pillow. “No… but maybe that means you should just stay home today.”

“Not happening.” You hear him whine after you as you exit the room, heading towards the kitchen where the smell of toast and brewed coffee hit you in the face. Alasdair sat at the table, a plate across from him and a cup in his hand.

“Good morning, Y/n.”

“Have you seen my keys?”

“No, I haven’t. Coffee?”

You take the cup and a small sip with it, immediately handing it back to him. It was black, and you didn’t even have a coffee maker to begin with. He mouths the rim where your lips once where as you rush from the room and onto the next.

The grim reaper was lying on the couch as always, curried around a pillow with your shirt as its cover.

Most people would freak out seeing a being from beyond the veil laying on their couch as would anyone who saw an angel or demon in the room prior, but when they looked like a tired college student and you’ve already had two other celestials in your home; the only thing that mattered was not being late to work again.

“Hey. Wake up. I need to see if my keys are in the couch.”

They stir lightly, but their eyes remain shut.

“Maddox, come on I’m going to be late.”

That definitely catches their attention. They look up at you, slumber gone from their eyes.

“What did you just say?”

“Maddox. That’s what I’ve been calling you in my head for the past few weeks. Can you move?”

Maddox slowly rises, a bubbly feeling arisen in their chest. They had never had a name before, only listed before as a mere number. It was one of the reasons they failed to give you their title until now. Names were more of a mortal thing, but upon being given one their opinion changed drastically. Their face felt slightly warm. Maddox – it’s nice.

“What the fuck?”

Baron stands at the entrance to the living, a mix of heartbreak and anger in his eyes.

You fish out your keys from the cushions. “Found them.”

“You gave them a name?”

You place the set in your pocket. “Yea, what about it?”

“What about it? What about me? I’ve asked you to give me one since we first met.”

“I needed something to call them by, and I’m pretty ninety percent sure giving them a name wouldn’t tie me to them, unlike whatever demon laws that exist.”

“I need to go. See you later.” You leave, despite Baron’s protests. He then turns his aggression on the property target, who had been sitting quietly until then.

“What makes you so damn special?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of our connection?”

Baron's eyes narrow. “Are you trying to imply you’re Y/n’s favorite?”

“ I’m not implying anything, but.. I am in possession of their heart. If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t even be with them now. The sands of time are lonely, but we could have made due there.”

“I literally own their soul.”

“But they have yet to give you a command.. doesn’t that make the contract void?”

“Listen here motherfucker-"

“What is going on in here?” Alasdair enters from the kitchen, morning ruined by the overheard bickering.

“Y/n gave them a name and hasn’t given me one yet, when I’m clearly the favorite.”

Alasdair sighs. “That’s a stretch if I’ve ever heard one. Y/n cares about us all equally, which isn’t very much as it is. If anyone is their favorite it would be me. I’ve been with them their entire life.”

“I’m a better guardian than anyone. Noone has bothered them since I came around.”

“Weren’t you by their side when they got shot?”

Everything goes silent. Baron stared blankly at the angel. His chest heaves. His jaws unhinge, growls seething through clenched teeth.

“You son of a-"

Your neighbor sits on his front porch, watching everything unfold through a crack in your curtains. Nobody believed him when he said your house was full of monsters and whenever he tried to take pictures they came out warped. So now, he was stuck with being the only one with knowledge of your roommates, and the only one who shared in the loss of sanity.

You walk faster as you hear your windows rattling in their frames. Not your circus, not your monkeys – at least until you got home. You spot your neighbor in his chair by his steps. You wave slightly, he hurries inside.

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he-calls-me-kitten · 2 years

Note

I would pay real grimm for a part 2 to playdate where instead of ending where it did, it goes on to round two with simeon, mammon, beel, and solomon painting mc. Winner of those 4 gets to fuck mc infront of everyone else as a prize

I absolutely love where your head is at, honey. Alright coming right up.

PlayDate 2

"MC, it's not fair, you know." Beel pouted, holding the door of the bathroom open.

Solomon had already teleported inside while Simeon and Mammon were still racing. You clicked your tongue.

"I said, one of you. And since Solomon got here first, well-"

"He cheated! That's not even fair!" Mammon protested, panting.

"Exactly it wouldn't sit right with the rest of us." Simeon shook his head, disapproving.

"My, my, Simeon, you sure are eager for an angel." Solomon draped an arm on shoulder confidently. "And MC didn't specify how to get here. Only to get here the fastest."

"Oi! Get your hands off them!"

And more bickering ensued. Ugh, this is not how you pictured it.

"Boys, boys, BOYS! Stop that!"

They quietened down at your command. Too easy. You smirked and pulled out your DDD. "I have a better plan for all of you. But first let's call up all our friends shall we?"

"What why?!"

"You'll see."

It took hardly two minutes for the everyone to gather in the bedroom. You pointed them all to sit on the bed, facing the bathroom and you pushed the bathroom doors wide open.

"Because you all performed so well today, I decided to do a second round and decide the final winner. And I have the winner of the last rounds right here!"

Solomon, Simeon, Beel and Mammon appeared shirtless, with smirks, cocky grins and playful smiles etched on their faces.

"Please remain in your seats during all times and don't try to participate or Solomon and I will put a curse on you, okay?" You smiled and skipped of the bathtub.

"Help me undress first won't you, my loves? My clothes are all done for anyway. Oh and one of you needs to clean me up a little."

Solomon pulled off your shirt, while Mammon ripped away your pants, Simeon tied up your hair while Beel cleaned your arms and legs with a wet sponge.

There was a collective gasp at your naked body. You could almost feel their unblinking gaze burning your skin.

"There we go! A fresh canvas!" You cheered.

"You cleaned it faster with magic last time, didn't you?" Lucifer said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "This is highly inappropriate."

Asmo was drooling and mewling into a pillow. "AHHH! Why does Mammon get to be there!!? MC, darling, I can do so much better~"

"Should an angel really be doing such sinful things? If I remember correctly, I was the runner up in that round - so wouldn't it be better it was me instead of Simeon, MC?" Satan said, crossing his arms, pissed and needy.

"Indeed. Solomon, I think you should rest a little. You did so well already. Allow me take care of MC, instead." Barbatos smiled, his fists bunching up his robes.

Levi stared in a daze while his nose dripped a thin stream of blood. "MC..."

"Beelie, would you like to trade places? You haven't eaten in a while, maybe you should go have something?' Belphie tempted his twin.

"MC, if you don't mind, may I sit closer?" Diavolo said, getting up. You could see the bulge in his pants all the way from the other room. You laughed and nodded.

"You could also watch the timer Diavolo. Stop us after exactly two minutes okay?"

Diavolo nodded. Just from his gaze you could tell he was going to stop it much earlier.

"Alright. Everyone has their paints?"

"YES!"

"3, 2, 1...Go!"

"I'd like to have your mouth if you'll let me, MC?" Solomon asked like a gentleman. The moment you nodded, his fingers were thrust inside, playing with your tongue while bending down to bite your neck. You'd moan out loud already but he was keeping you quiet.

Simeon dipped his hands in his paint and painted your back intricately, leaving kisses after each creation. "I hope this feels good you, MC. You are so lovely..."

Mammon was attacking your chest, smothering it with hickeys and paint, fondling you aggressively everyhere his hands touched. His growls left soft vibartions on your skin. "Mine...mine...all mine..."

Beel seemed like he had forgotten about the game altogether. He had painted his hands but they rested firmly on your thighs, holding them apart, as he relentlessly licked your clit. He almost let out a moan of euphoria when you started gushing from his overstimulation.

Time's up!

It wasn't over. Diavolo did end it early, just like you thought.

"Who won?"

Simeon placed his final kiss on your cheek. "Well make sure, you really scrutinize the results. Cause it's a super important one."

"Oi Mammon, let go of MC's legs now!" Levi whined, getting up himself. "And when was it even decided?"

"MC announced it to us right before calling you." Beel said, leaning against your leg too.

"You make it sound exciting. Tell us won't you?" Barabtos's vein popped in his head, already knowing which direction this is going.

"Whoever wins..." Solomon lovingly cupped your face as he smirked at everyone else. "...gets to make love to MC. Right here. Right now. And you lot are allowed to watch."

A resounding cacophony of protests echoed in the bathroom halls. You really think the rest of them would sit by?

No. The losers wants a rematch.

#obey me smut #obey me ask #obey me solomon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obey me beelzebub #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me diavolo #obey me simeon #obey me Barbatos #obey me imagine #obey me

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iamnotoriginalphil · 1 year

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Hello, I love your writing and it really makes my day honestly.

And I was wondering if you could do an x reader with either Larissa Regina Mills or Lesso. I'm kinda indecisive lol

I was listening to "like real people do" by Hozier And was hoping you could do a story based off of/around it mainly the line

"Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips, We should just kiss like real people do."

Turns out, I'm indecisive too, so you can have all three based on that lyric. I hope you like it!

Larissa

You only came to the weathervane for one reason, and it wasn’t the excellent hot chocolate. You’d noticed the same woman coming in week after week, and after asking around you’d come to find out where she was from. Nevermore. The one place you had been warned against.

You didn’t care.

You’d pursued her with an intensity you’d never done anything else. Larissa Weems was a goddess walking amongst mortals and you were determined to make her yours. She was all you wanted in Jericho.

Only she didn’t seem to understand it at all. No matter how many times you slid into the booth across from her, lavishing smiles and compliments on her, she remained as icy as always. You kept trying to melt her, wanting her to see how serious you were taking it. She’d yet to scare you off, and you were sure she never would. The only way you’d stop was if she told you to, and she hadn’t yet. There was still hope.

It was on a wintery afternoon that you found her, sitting, sipping her coffee. You slid in across from her, not even bothering to order a drink of your own. She was all you wanted in the shop.

“I don’t know how you do it, but every time I see you you’re more beautiful each time,” you said, “someone so beautiful shouldn’t have to buy their own coffee. Let me buy you the next one.”

“I have no interest in being the butt of your joke,” she said, “so you can leave me alone now.”

“Joke?’ You shook your head, “you think I’m joking about my feelings?”

“I know the reputation Nevermore has in Jericho,” she replied.

“So?”

“So I know what this means,” she replied, “I know how people in town feel about outcasts.”

“I think if anyone is listening to the stereotypes around town it isn’t me,” you replied.

She stared at you for a moment. You waited, giving her time to digest your accusation. You figured you weren’t the one with the hang up, that she was bringing her own prejudices to your interactions. All you wanted was for her to look past your differences.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said, keeping her voice even.

“If you’re willing to ignore whatever it is the town says about outcasts and normies, then I am too. We’re just people, not whatever they think we are,” you said, “I’d like the chance to show you exactly how serious my feelings for you are.”

“And how do you propose you do that?” she asked.

“One kiss, just one,” you suggested, “if after that you’re still not feeling the spark, I’ll leave you alone.”

“One kiss? That’s it?” She raised an eyebrow at you before looking around the relatively crowded Weathervane.

“If you’re okay with that,” you replied, shrugging. You had nothing to hide.

“Go on then.” You could tell she thought she was calling your bluff.

You stood, sliding into the seat beside her. Her eyes widened but she didn’t move. You’d never been that close to her and it was a little overwhelming. She was so beautiful and you found the floral scent that seemed to cling to her skin intoxicating.

You placed your hand on her shoulder, shifting closer until your thigh pressed against hers. Her eyes darted down to it, then back to you.

“You’re still sure?” you asked, to wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“Of course,” she replied.

You drew closer slowly, giving her time to change her mind. When she didn’t try to push you away or escape from you, you smiled to yourself.

The first brush of lips was like heaven. You pressed closer, doing your best to show her the way you would worship her for the rest of eternity. She gasped into your mouth and you let your tongue slip in, hoping she could feel the spark you’d been feeling since the first conversation.

And then she was kissing you back. One of her hands landed on your thigh, the other threading through the hair at the nape of your neck. She surprised a moan out of you, pulling you closer. If you weren’t in such a public place you would be climbing into her lap, making her feel the electricity that was running over your skin.

“I suppose one date wouldn’t be be a terrible idea,” she murmured against your lips.

Ignoring the whispering around you, you kissed her again, long and slow, taking your time now you knew it wasn’t your only chance. You had plenty of time to kiss her again and again and again. The rest of your life if she’d let you. Which it seemed she might.

Regina

You could stare at her forever. That was the simple fact of the matter. Regina was a work of art, one that was constantly changing and growing, and always so beautiful. You had no idea how you’d gotten so lucky to know her.

You’d ended up getting caught up when Anna was transported to Storybrooke, doing your best to help her save her sister. And you’d chosen to stay when they were sent back to Arendelle. Because of Regina. Because you’d fallen in love amongst all the fighting. Because you had hope.

All of which is to say, you were now absolutely screwed.

Being normal, one of the few people in Storybrooke without magic or a fairytale of your own, led to you feeling as if you were fading into the background. After helping Anna and Elsa as best you could, you hadn’t been called in to help since. Which you understood, but it did mean you didn’t get to see Regina that much.

Except for when she came into Granny’s. You’d gotten a job there, finding it not much different from back home. You’d worked in a tavern back there, and giving people warm food and drink was second nature to you. Seeing her in the diner was the best part of your day.

“Coffee, please,” she requested, slumping over the counter.

“Coming right up,” you said, offering her your brightest smile. She was so beautiful in the afternoon sunlight streaming in. She was always beautiful. It made your heart hurt.

Putting the cup down in front of her, you hoped she would take a moment to look down at the heart you’d drawn for her. You turned back, going for coy. You’d been flirting with her since you’d arrived, and you thought she’d been flirting back. It felt like flirting. It made your heart stutter in your chest like flirting did.

When you glanced back over your shoulder she was looking down into her mug, a slight smile on her face. You pressed your lips together to keep from grinning.

“Alright, out,” Granny said, shooing you away, “your shift is done and I’m not willing to pay you overtime.”

“It’s already that time?” You looked up at the clock, “time flies when you’re serving pie I guess.”

You tugged your apron off, handing it over to Granny. She offered you a fond smile, patting your hand as you walked out from around the counter.

“It certainly flies when you’re flirting with your favourite customer,” she said, chuckling when your cheeks warmed. You stuck your tongue out at her, turning back to look at Regina. She was gone, the coffee left untouched, bell jingling over the door.

You froze before bolting out the door. Head whipping one way and the other, you frantically searched for her in the street. Hurrying away from you, heels clacking on the pavement, her familiar figure was easy enough to spot. You ran after her.

“Did I make your coffee wrong?” you asked as you caught up to her.

“No, it was perfect,” she said, not quite looking at you.

“You didn’t even touch it.” You shot her a teasing smile. She didn’t return it, “okay, well, I’m sorry for the bad coffee.”

“The coffee was fine,” she snapped. You swallowed past the lump growing in your throat.

“Alright, well, something is wrong and I’m going to guess it’s because of me so I’m still sorry because I never want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable or anything,” you said, hearing yourself ramble but not able to stop.

“It wasn’t you,” she said, stopping.

You turned back to her, watching as she brushed her hair off her face. She wasn’t looking at you, looking at a point just over your shoulder. Your heart clenched.

“What happened?” you asked.

“I think, perhaps, it would be a good idea if we stopped seeing each other,” she said.

“Why?” You felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over you.

“We are not meant to be together,” she said, “I’m sorry, but this has to stop now before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Anyone else?” She wasn’t making any sense.

“Anyone else other than me,” she said.

“You think this won’t hurt me?” you asked. No, demanded.

“It doesn’t matter.” She turned away from you.

You grabbed her arm, forcing her to face you. She snarled, trying to pull out of your grip but you held on tighter, stepping closer to her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Why do you think we aren’t meant to be together?” you asked, softening your voice, not wanting her to feel nervous or like you were attacking her.

“Just look at the fairytales in this realm,” she said, “we’re from completely different places.”

“Different places we can travel to,” you countered, “we’re not from different realms.”

“But we are from different stories,” she said.

“Do you think something that small is going to stop me from loving you?”

You said it a lot louder than you’d intended. Her mouth fell open and you saw her eyes flicking around, as if unable to look at you full in the face. You stepped closer to her, until you felt her body heat radiating towards you.

“Just forget how the fairytales go here. We make our own fairytale.”

She finally looked at you properly. She gave her head a small shake but there was something in her gaze that gave you hope. Something soft and yearning, like she was beginning to believe in you.

“We’ve been dancing around this for too long, so I need you to know I’m going to kiss you now,” you said.

She didn’t say anything which you took to mean she was okay with it. You let your lips brush against hers, soft, barely there, giving her time to push you away. She didn’t. Instead, she grasped the back of your neck, pulling you against her, kissing you hard. You sighed into her mouth, only half believing it was actually happening.

She nipped at your lower lip, tongue sweeping in, leaving you feeling thoroughly hot under the collar. All you could do was hold on, kissing her with all the unspoken feelings you’d been hiding from her.

Someone wolf-whistled further down the street. She broke away, staring over her shoulder at Hook, glaring at him. You ignored him, cupping her cheek and pulling her into another kiss. You weren’t about to stop now that you finally had her.

Lesso

Lesso watched from her tower window as your sword shone in the sunlight. You weren’t staying long, only teaching for a semester at both schools, one of the most renowned knights in their realm. Her lip curled, thinking about all the good you’d done, all the evil you’d vanquished.

You shook your hair out of your face, your smile wide. You were sparring with one of the students. You held your hand out, gesturing for them to come towards you. The prince ran at you and you laughed, properly laughed at him. His sword swung and you ducked, rolling out of the way. With a booted foot, you kicked him in the ass, sending him sprawling to the ground.

She turned away, but not before she saw your face turned up to the sky, your smile brighter than the sun.

It became part of her daily routine to watch you teach your class out in the sun. She hated it, the way she was drawn to her window, unable to stop watching you. Your reputation was well deserved and it made her blood boil.

She found herself lying in bed at night, your lessons playing through her mind. She could see the way you handled your sword, the way you moved, so graceful and so powerful. Your smile, the joy you took in the fights, was a sight that made her heart race but she couldn’t figure out why.

Then Dovey was standing at her doorway, smiling that so called charming smile, while you stood at her shoulder. She lent back in her throne like chair, watching you approach.

“I’ve heard you’ve yet to meet our resident knight,” Dovey said, “that’s rather rude given our students are enjoying the lessons so.”

“Yes, yes, I’m acting in a manner befitting evil,” she said.

“Hi, it’s lovely to meet you,” you said.

She finally looked at you properly, and you were so much more radiant than the distance had suggested. You were smiling, but not as brightly as you did in the ring, softer, more intimate. Your eyes were twinkling at her and you held out your hand to her.

She took your hand, surprised by how pleasant the callouses on your palm were against her skin. You were warm and when she looked back at your face, you were biting down on your bottom lip. She wasn’t expecting her breath to catch as she looked at you.

“You’re the reason for the dusty footprints on my students,” she said.

“Guilty as charged.” And the way you smiled made her wish she could ask to go toe to toe with you.

From there, she slowly began to creep closer and closer to your lessons, her interest only growing as she watched. You were surprisingly soft with your students, despite resoundingly beating them in every match. You weren’t afraid to adjust grips and stance, shouting encouragements into the ring. Although you did seem to love throwing them curve balls.

Her favourite was when you caught her eye just before vines began to sprout out of the ground, reaching for the ankles of your students. Her answering grin as one was dragged to ground lit your face up. Maybe you were more interesting than she first thought.

After one such lesson, the ground muddied from a wave of water that had drenched your students, she approached you. You were standing in the middle of the grounds, head tilted back to the sky, grin on your lips.

“I’m surprised Dovey keeps you around when you treat her students so abominably,” she said, trying for a conversational tone.

“She knows they could be attacked by anything,” you replied, “no such thing as a fair fight.”

The way you were looking at her wasn’t fair. It was like you were imagining pinning her down while also yearning to be underneath her. Like you were curious to see what would happen if you let her test out her magic on you. Like you wanted to do unspeakable things with her.

“Not when you’re fighting evil,” she replied.

“Is good always fair in a fight?” you asked, vaulting over the wooden fence, “I must have missed that lesson.”

The twinkle in your eye was the most enticing thing she’d ever seen.

“You’ve been watching my lessons,” you said.

Her heart stuttered but she tilted her chin up, looking down her nose at you. You swiped your hair out of your face again, looking up at her from under fluttering eyelashes. You looked so good, like a perfect little knight fighting for what was right.

“I bet you didn’t expect me to notice, but I did,” you continued, taking those steps towards her, “you’ve been watching me since I arrived.”

You stopped right in front of her, and there was so much mischief in your face it took her breath away.

“Luckily for you, I’ve been watching you too,” you whispered.

“In order to find my weaknesses?” she asked, lifting her eyes to meet yours.

“Because I think you’re the most enchanting creature in existence.”

She froze. You were looking at her, waiting, head tilted to the side. She wanted your eyes off her, didn’t want you to see the way she was struggling to compose herself. You were smiling. She wanted you to stop smiling. It was making her heart do funny things.

“You’re good,” she spat. Your lips pressed together but she could see the mirth on your face.

“And you’re evil,” you replied and she could hear the laughter in your voice.

“This is repulsive,” she said.

“If it’s so repulsive why have you been looking at me that way?” you asked.

“What way?” Her heart stopped.

“Like you’re imagining me naked.”

Her hand shot out, ready to grab you around the throat. You caught her around the wrist, tugging her forward. She wasn’t expecting it, falling against you. Your other arm came around her waist, holding her, and that familiar spark of anger spread through her veins.

“Let me go,” she demanded.

“Not until you admit you want me,” you said, “if it helps, I’ll admit that I want you.”

“You can’t. You’re good and I’m evil. It’s not natural,” she said.

“Forget that. Forget good and evil, and just do what you want.”

She took a moment, staring at you. Then she lunged forward, pulling you in. She kissed you hard, going for harsh, but then you were kissing her back so with so much enthusiasm it turned her breathless. So incredibly breathless.

No one good should be able to kiss that way. It was sinful.

When you drew back, your smile wide and lips kiss swollen, it was the only time she considered switching her allegiance, if only to keep kissing you. Maybe you were thinking of doing the same, switching sides, because you kissed her again before she could catch her breath. With each kiss it became easier to forget you were on opposing sides and it was wrong.

But maybe there was a thrill with it being wrong. She was evil after all.

#larissa weems x reader #regina mills x reader #lady lesso x reader #leonora lesso x reader #principal weems x reader #larissa weems imagine #principal weems imagine #regina mills imagine #lady lesso imagine #leonora lesso imagine

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vhagarlovebot · 1 year

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maybe a rotting sweet fluff w aemond where you’d venture the royal kitchen at the hour of the wolf, maybe late night baking turns to a food fight 😆🥰 honestly this gives me an idea for a smut and that is food play w aemond but we can do it for another day 😅 wouldnt mind if u mix it w this one tho lyyyy

aemond grabs your hand as you walk behind him, trying not to make any sound that could alert the guards. but you can’t help but laugh, it reminds you of your childhood.

“do you want to get caught?” aemond shushes you, turning around the corner that leads to your destination.

“it wouldn’t be the first time.” he roll his eye, tugging your hand to make you walk next to him.

“that was your fault.” you stick your tongue out at him which makes him chuckle, your heart beating faster.

you told aemond a couple of days ago about a cake you were served when you visited the family in dragonstone, it was so delicious you asked for the recipe, feeling very happy when they gave it to you. and aemond didn’t hesitate to join you when you expressed how much you wanted to bake it.

“don’t just stand there, pretty boy,” you say as you gather all the ingredients, handing him a cup and a little bag of honey. “you pour the honey while i work over there.”

aemond just smiles, his concentrated face making you smile too, and you move to the other side of the table. and as you try to follow the exact recipe, trying to avoid any mistake, you hear a soft moan. you don’t need to look at him to know he’s tasting the honey, just like when you were little and used to sneak out just like this. you don’t exactly have the best memories of your childhood, but moments like these remind you of the special ones you shared with him.

“i know you want to taste it,” suddenly he’s behind you, his breath on your neck. you turn around to face him, trapped between his body and the table. he has that smirk that makes you weak in the knees, imposible to say no to him.

you try to grab the spoon in his hand but aemond does not let you and, instead, he dips his finger in the honey. his eye doesn’t leave your face, your cheeks turning all hot with a light shade of pink.

“you can do it,” he encourages you and you try to hold onto something to gain some stability. you part your lips as you lean forward, maintaining eye contact the whole time. but aemond has other plans and before you can lick his finger, he’s running it down your neck.

aemond laughs, licking the remaining honey from his finger. and he doesn’t get the chance to get away from you because in no time you’re smearing his face with baking mix.

“i think i got something in my eye, it hurts.” he groans and your smile disappears. you grab a washcloth to clean his face and around his eye, feeling guilty.

“i should not have done tha–” you were so focused on his face that you failed to notice his hand full of honey going directly to your cheek, making you all sticky with the sweet and thick substance, your smile going back to your face as he looks at you with mischief.

“i just want to know if you are sweeter this way.” he shrugs, as if he’s talking about the weather while you’re fighting to breathe properly. “i must help you clean up the mess i made.” he sounds defeated but his expression shows the opposite. you wait for him to grab the washcloth still in your hand but he doesn’t move, and when you offer it to him he simply throws it across the kitchen. “no, my love, i meant with my mouth.”

#📮 ⌇ my works ˖⋆࿐#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #house of the dragon imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen scenarios #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd x reader

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dearbraus · 11 months

Text

☆ ͡ ݂ Woes

— Kazuha Kaedehara

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, gn reader, sfw, pre-established relationship, selfship coded, insecurities, reassurance, unedited.

⊹ Run time. 0.7k

Amidst the fleeting daylight a gentle breeze carried the light honeyed scent of cecilia’s to the top of Starsnatch Cliff. It ruffled the loose strands of your hair and nipped at your skin through the thin cotton of your shirt. In the early months of spring when the sun lingered in the evening sky just a bit longer, so did the crisp chill that kept the earth firm beneath your feet as you and Kazuha ascended the bluff. Though, as the moon crept closer and the evening deepened past the warm golden cast, you silently cursed Barbatos for letting his winds shoot straight through you.

At least, Kazuha was warm.

Like his ruby red eyes held embers between them rather than simply a set of inquisitive irises, vying for where his next adventure would take him. His smile too; it was warm and as radiant as the sun. You’d bear the weight of a thousand winters if it meant to once more be cradled by the eternal hearth that was Kazuha Kaedehara.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Kazuha muses, a small smile tugging his lips upwards, “You seem to be lost in them.”

His nimble fingers brush against your cheek. The pads are calloused and rough to the touch but when he smooths the palm of his hand along the expanse of your face, it's feather light. He tilts your face down so your eyes meet his. Kazuha’s eyes are riddled with sleep, his lids have sagged and they’re plagued with dark circles beneath them. Still, he trains them on your face.

Brushing a few stray strands away from his forehead you sigh, “You’d find nothing but thoughts of you, my love.”

“And when you’re scribbling in that notebook of yours, do I cross your mind then?”

Cupping your hand over top of his, you lean into his touch.

“You’re nosy,” you whisper, and he just laughs, “Would you like it if I asked you how many poems of yours I’ve inspired.”

Kazuha looks surprisingly smug from his perch on your lap, like you’ve somehow fallen right where he wanted you to, “It would be simpler if I told you which poems I’ve penned that were not about you.”

“That would still be a great many poems would that not?” You ask, your mouth threatening to dip into a frown, “Words seem to flow from you effortlessly, you always know what you want to say and exactly how you wish to say it.”

His lips curl into a small frown, brows knitting together, “Is something the matter?” Kazuha asks, “Something you’d like to share with me?”

“Sorry.”

You whisper it before even thinking. You’d spoken before thinking too, that icky green feeling spilling out and pouring onto him.

“Why are you sorry?”

His thumb smooths against your cheek and forces your head to remain tilted towards him.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, “I just … I don’t know.”

It wasn’t his fault, not really. The raging, fiery eyed monster that reared its head whenever you felt inadequate was no fault but your own. It felt too silly to verbalize, nonsensical to even attempt to share, and an unfair burden to rest upon his shoulders.

Sucking in deep breath, you muster up a smile for him, “It’s silly but sometimes my best doesn’t feel like enough,” you say, leaning into his hand, “And I wonder why I should even try when there’s always someone more talented out there, who writes with such speed it makes my head spin.”

“A person's art isn’t quantified by how quickly they can produce it or how much they make,” Kazuha says, sincerity lacing his words, “Art isn’t quantified by anything other than the artist's intent.”

“Kazuha…”

“You aren’t defined by your art,” he’s firm, Kazuha is never firm, he’s too much of a free spirit to allow himself be set in stone, “You aren’t defined by anything other than what’s in your heart.”

Leaning upwards, Kazuha presses his forehead against yours. His hair tickles your cheeks and his hot breath warms your chilled skin.

“To me you are perfect, and I love you more than words can express. And if you forget that, I’ll be more than happy to pen a few poems to remind you.”

#kazuha x reader #kazuha kaedehara x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #gi x reader #kazuha comfort

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eds6ngel · 8 months

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okay I might send a few ideas for I kissed the teacher spin-offs bc I feel like I have a lot haha, but you don’t have to do any of them! so first idea: what if steve gets hurt accidentally and has to go to the hospital, so reader has to pick up alena, and they give her a hard time at pickup and then when they get to the hospital, they won’t let her in bc she’s not related or his wife. then after this happens, steve starts to think a lot more seriously about asking reader to marry him (but he’s definitely been thinking about it before) but just some good old angst and fluff pls! love your writing so much!

of course i'm doing this one!! i've loved your requests so far :)) and thank you so much for the compliment angel ♡

warnings: dad!steve. mom!reader. fem!reader. 90s!au. food mentions. steve breaks his ankle. judgement over having kids outside marriage. judgement over alena calling reader 'mom.' mentions of hospitals. pet names. kissing. mentions of marriage. fluff. comfort. teensy bit of angst. also, alena becomes protective over her mom!! [3.2k].

full 'when i kissed the teacher' masterlist.

You were currently enjoying your lunch break, catching up with the other staff as you chowed down into your poorly-made sandwich that you threw together at 7am that morning.

“I’m telling you Amelie, that kid makes me ache—” However, your conversation is interrupted by one of the front desk staff lightly tapping at the door, poking her head from around the corner.

“Sorry to disturb you guys, but Y/N, your boyfriend is on the phone asking for you.”

You gently place your sandwich down in its tin-foil wrapper, putting your hand over your mouth as you quickly chew the rest of the remaining food. “Of course lovely, give me two seconds. Amelie, just watch that for me a second?” you ask, pointing to the half-eaten chicken salad sandwich on the table, with a small nod from her.

“Great, thank you,” you say, following the front desk lady to her office, the phone currently on hold as she ventured down the hallways of Ernie Pyle to find you. She presses a button, turning off hold and passing the phone over to you. You press the speaker to your ear, calling out, “Steve?”

“Hey, honey. Yeah, you finish at three, right?”

“Yeah, same time everyday. Why, is everything okay?” you ask.

“Um… not really. Look don’t be mad at me…” Not a great start to a sentence. “But, I kind of broke my ankle, and I’m currently sat in a hospital bed at Hawkins General.”

You gasp, “Oh my God babe, how did you manage that?”

“Well, I was stocking some shelves, and I had to use a ladder. Some woman wasn’t looking where she was going and collided with the ladder. I lost my balance and fell onto the tiles. Fucking hurt like hell.”

“Jesus,” you hiss, imagining the scenario and somehow sensing the pain in your own body, almost as if a form of empathy. “How are you feeling, baby? Is it still painful now?”

“It’s better, but still hurts. It’s sort of more of a throbbing pain now. But, babe… I do have a request.”

“Of course honey, anything you need,” you reply, the worry starting to settle as a pit in your stomach.

“Could you pick up Alena for me? Robin’s at work later today, so she can’t collect her.”

“Yeah, sure! I’ll get Leanna to keep tabs on parental pick-up. I may be a little late, but I should get there before 3:30.”

“Thank you babe. Thanks so much.”

“Of course, baby,” you smile to yourself, “You want Alena and I to come visit you after I collect her? I’m sure she’ll want to see you as much as I do.”

“I would love that. I think opening hours are until six, so you guys should have time.”

“Mhmm,” you hum down the line, “Got it. Right babe, I would love to talk to you for longer, but I have to free up the line for other people.” You giggle, “So, I’ll see you later on? I would say around 3:45-ish?”

“3:45. Great. See you later, honey. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you softly say, “Hope you feel better soon.”

You drop the receiver, the front desk lady (also known as Sarah) looking at you with a raised eyebrow, intrigued into what was so important that your boyfriend had to disturb you during work hours.

You shake your head, rubbing your hands over your face and sighing, “Idiot broke his ankle. Needs me to pick his daughter up from school.”

She chuckles along with you, arms crossed over her chest, “Men, huh?”

“Yeah, men,” you shake your head once more, before heading back down the longing halls to the staff room, thanking Leanna as you collapse on the chair, chomping into your sandwich.

“So… what did Mr. Lovebird so desperately want?” she asks with a wiggle of her eyebrows, a smirk plastered across her face.

You let out a deep breath. You were going to be telling this story all day.

You arrived at Hawkins Elementary at 3:25, pressing the button on your car keys and entering the gates to the third grade classroom.

Many students were being sent out to their parents, you patiently waiting your turn, Alena smiling and waving to you from her seat inside, to which you reply with a wiggle of your fingers.

However, after a short while, all of the parents had seemed to have collected their children, both you and Alena sharing a confused glance through the clear glass window as she remained in her seat. You were standing right there, why wouldn’t her teacher send her out?

You could see her having a conversation with her teacher, the woman rolling her eyes as she opens the door, sharply asking you, “What do you want?”

You kept your cool, no matter how hard you felt like snapping back at her, “Hi, I’m here to pick up Alena.”

“You’re not on the list,” she simply states.

“Um… actually, I recently got added as an emergency contact for Alena, so I assumed it was okay for me to collect her.”

“I don’t care. I was not informed.”

You scorn, knowing that you were legally allowed to collect Alena. This specific teacher worked here when you did, the obvious tone being a pre-judged stereotype of your reputation.

“Why can’t I go with mom?” Alena asks sweetly, an undertone of sadness laced in her voice as her teacher blocks her from you.

You can see her roll her eyes as she turns back to Alena sneering, “She’s not your mom. She’s not even your step-mom. She’s merely a woman in your life.”

That made you snap. There was no way you would let her talk to your daughter like that. “How dare you! She can decide whether she calls me mom or not. You have no idea of our personal life and have no right to dictate that for her. Now, if you won’t let me collect my daughter, her dad is at Hawkins General because he’s broken his ankle. So, how about you call there and ask for permission from him.”

She shakes her head, scoffing, “Fine. Mr. Landbury, keep an eye on Alena for a minute, I’m going to call her father.”

The teaching assistant present was not a face you seemed to recognise, no sense of familiarity flooding your body. And by the lack of shrewdness, he too was confused by the situation at hand.

As the teacher powers out of the room, presumingly heading to the front desk, he tilts his head to the side, pointing to you, “Why can’t you collect her?”

You sigh, “You weren’t here when I worked here, were you?”

“No, I started this year.”

You lean your arm against the doorframe, “Basically, I had a thing for Alena’s dad whilst he was here, and I got fired because of it. So, now nobody here likes me.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, “But, she called you mom. Seems like it’s going perfectly well.”

You smile, “Yeah, two years this July.”

“Well, congratulations,” he replies, you quickly thanking him as her teacher returns, a sense of displeasure displayed on her features. “He said it’s fine. She can go with you.”

“Yes!” Alena cheers, jumping up from her seat and running over to you, hugging tightly onto your shirt. You could practically feel the teacher‘s resentment towards you in your own veins. Yet, you plastered a sarcastic smile on your face, burying your feelings of irritation, “Thank you.”

She simply grunts in return, waving her hand down as she turns away from the two of you. You wrap Alena’s smaller hand in yours, her skipping back to your car. As she climbs into the car seat you had placed in the front before you began your journey, you close your driver’s side door.

“What did you say happened to daddy?” she asks you.

You turn on the ignition, pulling out of the school parking lot and onto the main road, “He broke his ankle sweetpea. He was climbing a ladder at work and fell down.”

“Ow,” she hisses, almost sensing his pain, just like you had a few hours prior, “Can we go and see him at the hospital?”

“We are on the same train of thought baby, as that’s where I was about to head.”

“Yay!” she cheers, arms held up high above her head in celebration, “Will he have a cast?”

“I think he will bubs.”

She gasps, “Does that mean I get to draw on it? Because Tommy had a cast the other week as he broke his arm, and I got to draw pretty flowers on it. He wasn’t very happy about it though.”

“Well, that’s not very good, is it?” you reply, “I’m sure daddy will let you draw as many pretty flowers on it as you want.”

“I hope so too! As Tommy was really annoyed by it…”

And for the rest of your car trip to Hawkins General, Alena re-counted her entire story of drawing on her friend Tommy’s cast. She was at the perfect age where her mouth would start running and never stop. Not that you minded of course, it was very endearing. But, she sure could make a boring topic into a four-hour-long detailed presentation.

Hand in hand, you and Alena stroll to the front desk of the hospital, politely asking, “Hi. I’m looking for Steve Harrington. He came in here today with a broken ankle.”

“Name?”

“Y/N L/N, little nugget here is Alena Harrington.”

“So, you aren’t his wife?” she asks in a monotone voice, chewing loudly on her gum.

“Um… No, I’m not. But, I’m his girlfriend.”

The woman sighs, taking her glasses off the bridge of her nose and leaning back in her chair, “You can’t go in unless you are a relation. The kid can go in, someone can take her, but you can’t.”

You blink rapidly, “But, I just told you, I’m his girlfriend. Sure, we’re not married yet, but that’s my love you’re talking about.”

“I can’t let you in,” she states again, staring you in the eyes, “The kid goes and you stay, or you both stay. End of discussion.”

“No,” you put your foot down, “Not end of discussion. I shouldn’t have to be bound in by the law to see the love of my life. He’s hurt, he’s injured. I want to see how he is doing and whether he is okay.”

“Miss, if you continue raising your voice at me, I will get my colleagues to escort you out, do you understand?”

You sigh, realising there’s no way to get through to this woman. You would normally say she’s just following the required rules for her job, but from her attitude, it seems as if she was agreeing with the nonsensical attitude that love is only proved by two rings and a piece of paper.

However, the sound of a small foot hitting the floor and a huff shocks you to your core, “Let mommy see daddy!”

“Kid,” the woman leans over the desk, “Your mom, or mother-like figure I would call her, can’t go with you as her and your dad aren’t married. I can happily ask someone to take you up to see him, but she can’t go with you.”

You let your eyes naturally roll to the back of your head. People in Indiana were so judgemental. If Alena wants to call you mom, they should accept that. It’s your life, and you should be able to live by your rules, not bound by the critics of the outside world of strangers.

“Let her go!” Alena screams, the woman standing up and replying, “Right, I’m escorting you two out. You are causing too much noise for our patients around here.”

Growling out in frustration, refraining yourself from pulling your own hair out, you lift Alena up into your arms, “Come on baby, let’s go and sit in the car.”

You may have not been allowed in the building, but the parking lot was still an option. And you would stay there until six o’clock if it meant you got the chance to see Steve.

Steve’s sitting uncomfortably in his hospital bed, the bedsheets scratching at his back, his neck a little too low down for his liking, and the cast wrapped around his foot and lower leg itching away at his skin. He keeps checking the watch on his right wrist, practically counting down the minutes until you arrived. However, once the clock strikes 4:30, he starts to become worried, wondering where the two of you had gone. There was only an hour and a half left of visiting time, he was positive you wouldn’t deliberately miss it.

A nurse wanders past his bed, him squeaking out an “Excuse me,” alerting her from where she was scribbling away at her clipboard. “My girlfriend and daughter were meant to come to visit me around half an hour ago. Is there any chance I could use the phone to see where they are?”

“Oh, Mr. Harrington,” she rolls her eyes, knowing exactly which members of the public he was referring to, “Your girlfriend and daughter had to be escorted out of our building forty-five minutes ago for verbally harassing our front desk staff.”

“I’m sorry, what? Why?” He knew that wasn’t like you. Sure, you had more progressive opinions than most in the conservative town of Hawkins, but you’d never dare verbally harass someone.

“She was arguing in quite a rude manner about how she deserves to come up here purely for the fact she loves you, despite our rules clearly stating we only allow visitors on a relation-only policy. Also, on top of that, your daughter further escalated the situation by yelling at our front desk staff. We will not tolerate that kind of abuse in our building, Mr. Harrington.”

“Well, it is a bullshit policy,” he mumbles to himself, taking a sip of his well-brewed coffee a kind lady brought to him around ten minutes ago, a lot nicer than the current nurse he was dealing with. However, the nurse heard his remark, not that he was entirely bothered by it.

“Excuse me! What did you just say, Mr. Harrington?”

“I said: it’s a bullshit policy,” he firmly states, “She’s my girlfriend, I love her. I shouldn’t have to marry her for you to let her see me. Some people’s spouses in here probably don’t even love their husband or wife, at least my girlfriend actually cares enough to come and see me. I know for a fact Mrs. Black over there has a husband and he hasn’t been here all day.” He takes a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he relishes in everything he just blurted out. Maybe he was a little too harsh, and it seemed like the nurse completely agreed, a lot more so than him.

She sharply replies, “Mr. Harrington, you should be grateful we are even letting you recover here. I will not have you verbally attacking other patients for your own personal superiority. It’s not my fault you had a child out of wedlock.”

That was the final straw for him. He would not stand a stranger insulting his daughter. Not in a million years. He immediately lifts himself up off of the bed, grabbing the crutches that had been balanced by the side, and beginning to trudge out of his secluded space. “Mr. Harrington, you sit back down!”

He turns back, looking the nurse dead in the eyes, “If you’re going to insult my family like that, I don’t want your help at this hospital.”

And with that, he was hobbling his way to the elevator, pushing the button to take him to the first floor.

As Steve exited the building, followed by the constant yells of hospital staff, he turned to the left, about to head over to the nearest phone booth when the sound of the word, “Daddy!” caught his attention. He looks over into the distance, Alena hanging out of the passenger side window and waving to him. He can see you pull her back down into her seat, the car suddenly moving towards him. His girls were still waiting for him.

You quickly unbuckled your seatbelt, jumping out of the car and aiding to your boyfriend, “Oh my God, what are you doing out here? I thought you were supposed to stay overnight?”

Steve hisses as he lifts himself into the backseat, you grabbing his crutches so you can place them by Alena’s feet in the front. “Well, a lovely nurse decided to input her take on Alena apparently being born out of wedlock and also accused you two of verbally harassing people. I know what you are like, and you would never do that in a million years. So, I left.”

You laugh to yourself, shocked to the way that the staff exaggerated your actions, “They refused to let me up there because I wasn’t your wife. What bullsh— trash! What trash! I shouldn’t need that to care for you, our love should be enough.”

“Thank you!” he exclaims, “That’s what I said to the nurse!”

You pass the crutches forward to Alena, the metal rods looking massive compared to her small body, “Baby, can you just put them on the floor underneath you, please?”

“Yes, mommy,” she replies sweetly, dropping them down below her. “Mom, they don’t fit properly.”

You look over, the crutches too long to fit in the small gap between the door and the center console, “Just leave them balanced like that honey, it’ll be okay.”

“Okay!”

After Steve reaches over to protect himself with the seatbelt, you cup his face, changing your tone to a more serious nature, “How are you doing, my love?”

He sighs, “My back hurts, but they said there’s no injuries there, just strain. The cast is extremely itchy, I’m not gonna lie, but it’s okay.” He puts his left hand over your right, stroking the back of it, “I’m okay. I promise.”

You smile, whispering out, “Okay,” before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. You part from him, placing one more tender kiss to his forehead before shutting the back door, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Before turning on the ignition, you reach back, grabbing his hand and softly saying, “I love you.”

Alena then copies you, whipping her head back and cheesing, “Love you, daddy!”

He smiles, trying not to let tears slip from his eyes, grabbing hold of Alena’s hand and bringing yours and hers together, placing a soft kiss directly in the middle of both, “I love you too, my beautiful girls.”

And it was in that moment, he was sure. The thought had been lingering at the back of his mind for a while. You had moved in with them a couple months ago, fitting into their daily routine. Being there to have breakfast with them in the mornings, being there to cook dinner together, being there to wish Alena goodnight and fall asleep in his arms. It all felt so… natural. As if you belonged as a permanent addition to their household, to their lives.

It wasn’t a question of thought anymore. It was a need. He needed to buy a ring. He needed to plan a proposal. Because he no longer wanted you as his girlfriend anymore, he wanted you as his wife.

i hope you enjoyed!! thank you so much for the requests! you've been an absolute darling. i'm not sure what to write about for your older!alena request, so i may not be able to write something for that. but, if you have other ideas, keeping sending them in! (and that goes for all you beautiful humans! send in your lovely requests!!) ♡

taglist: @livsters @bakugouswh0r3 @nix-rose @ihatepeanutss @cats00089 @suitelif3 @clincallyonline17 @crowssixof @starkeylover @eris-rose-86 @frostandflamesfanfic

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littlegodzilla · 2 years

Note

Hi I know that your requests are closed but I really had to get this request to you before my brain forgot about it 😭 pls feel free to ignore if you don't wanna write it 🤧

So like Negan has made Daryl his prisoner and the reader is Negan's wife . Also the reader is very sassy and has Negan in a chokehold and Negan basically does whatever she asks him to. So when the reader sees that Negan has bought Daryl as his prisoner she's lowkey attracted to him and suggests a threesome between them and then smut where Daryl fucks her so much better than Negan ever could 😩.

Hi Anon!!

I have to say that when I read your request I was like "threesome with Daryl and Negan? Fuck yeah!" But then thinking about I didn't image Daryl could be get hard with Negan there or being a prisoner so I stopped and thought about what could be better for the story and I was thinking about a dark Daryl full of rage and angry, accepts just to piss up Negan... I hope you don't mind if I gave to the reader my special touch.

I hope you'll like it!!

≈≈≈

The Prisoner.

Negan x Reader x Daryl.

Anon request.

Warnings: Smut.

Words: 2800

≈≈≈≈

"Auh..." You mutter settling back and closing your eyes again. "A...Auh! Auh! Negan!" You call out to him and smack him upside the head, he looks up from between your legs. "May I ask what's on your head? I told you to eat my pussy, but I didn't mean it literally." You grunt in annoyance and push the man away by sitting on the bed, crossing your arms.

"You've always liked it when I give you a little nibble."

"A little nibble, not you ripping my skin off, what's wrong with you?" you snap again and he averts his gaze.

"It's Rick Grimes and his group in Alexandria..." He confesses remaining seated on the bed, running a hand through his hair.

"What about them?" You say bored as this isn't the first time you've talked about it.

"Nothing, forget about it, let's go on with what we were..." He says wanting to get on top of you, but you stop him.

"No, no, I'm not in the mood anymore." You huff and get up from the bed, he looks at you in disbelief. "Don't you have one of then as a prisoner?"

"Yes, Daryl, Rick's watchdog, but they still dare to go against me, that kid, Carl, came in here and nearly killed me."

"Oh yeah, that kid has the same hair on his balls as he does on his head." You can't help but laugh at your own comment. "Daryl... uhm yeah, I've seen Dwight 'take care of him' sometime... he's pretty cute..." You bite your lip in thought and a shiver runs through you.

"What?" Negan asks as you look up at him with a mischievous grin.

"I want you to bring him to my room, I want to meet him."

"Have you lost your mind? He's a prisoner."

"You screwed up my night of sex, so this is going to be my compensation."

"Since when do you think you can make demands on me?" He faces you, angry, getting off the bed and walking towards you, but it doesn't scare you.

"Since you decided to make me your wife. You know I'm not like those little girls who are afraid of you. If you want my pussy, you'll have to earn it." You challenge him, Negan stares at you licking his lips.

"And what makes you think I won't go with one of those little girls you say?"

"Because if they gave you what I did, you wouldn't be here anymore." You smile victoriously when you see him frown. You've won.

"And what do you plan to do with him?"

"Fuck him." You say sincerely.

"No."

"Of course I do, and don't waste any more of my time. If you behave yourself, I'll let you watch." You smile and wait, you know Negan is volatile, he needs a moment to calm down and you shouldn't insist too much, you've learned to control your demands to the point that he accepts them.

"Fine." He barks getting out of bed, getting dressed. "You're a whore."

"You should have made a better choice, honey." You joke again but see a sly smile on his mouth before he walks out of the room, leaving you alone.

You sigh and put on a robe, you don't want to scare the man as soon as you enter the room, you go to the bathroom and prepare the bathtub, you might want to take advantage of him, but you're not going to let him touch you if he's full of filth. You also prepare something to eat and when Negan returns he pushes the other man into the room. Daryl stumbles and falls face first to the floor, your first reflex is to go to help him, but you stop at the last second, Negan is still there, you can't let your guard down.

"Well?" the man says impatiently.

"Not tonight, honey, leave us alone, when I want you to look, I'll tell you." Again Negan hesitates, but finally leaves, slamming the door violently. "One of these days I'll lose my head" You whisper and wait a little longer before walking over to the man still lying on the floor.

He's so weak he can't even move, as if to ask him to put you on all fours and make you moan until you're hoarse. You watch him closely, his hair matted, dirty, too long for your taste, his skin black from the dust and dirt in the cell, among other things you don't want to think about. You frown at all the scars on his back, you're sure Dwight couldn't have done all that to him, some of them look very old. Carefully you bend down and touch his shoulder slowly. Daryl tenses and in one sudden movement you're lying on the ground, the man on top of you, his hands around your neck, his fingers squeezing your skin tightly. He's really choking you.

You gasp and thrash your arms and his face several times, but he doesn't seem willing to loosen his grip.

"H...Hi...Hilltop!... "You say barely. "Jesus!" You say again and then the pressure disappears.

Daryl looks at you with wide eyes through the strands of hair, his hands release your neck as you begin to cough loudly, you feel him move cautiously to your side, but he doesn't move too far away, studying you carefully, watching your every move in case it's a trap to finish what he has started. Still coughing you sit on the floor rubbing your neck, you glance sideways at him and see him avert his gaze, your robe has opened a little exposing your body, you smile, but adjust your clothes and throat clears.

"No doubt my brother was right..." You say, but you gesture to him pointing to the door and then put a finger to your lips as a sign of silence. "Come with me, I've prepared a hot bath for you."

He doesn't trust you, however, he gets up following you to the bathroom, as you promised him there is a bathtub waiting for him, you make him get in and start rubbing his skin and hair letting all the dirt dissolve in the water. There with the noise and away from the door, you can talk freely.

"Jesus sent me a message warning me that Negan had attacked your group." You tell him as you rub his scalp. "He asked me to help you get out of here, that Rick needs you in Alexandria." You continue, telling him your plan.

"Why?"

"Jesus is my brother, I became Negan's wife to know his plans from the inside and sabotage them little by little, I'm not proud and I'm sorry for what you people have had to suffer, but it's complicated to get close to him." You confess and sigh heavily.

Two years ago you showed up at the door of the Sanctuary, pretending to be lost, scared to death, in need of food and a home, Negan believed your story and took you in as a Savior with the condition of becoming his wife, again honoring your role you accepted desperately, however you were not going to let him treat you like trash as he did with the rest, when you gained his trust you showed your feisty character, contradicting him, making him angry, attracting his attention and becoming one of his favorite girls. Sex was the hardest part at first, but eventually you realized that the man was attractive, despite his volatile and sadistic nature, and knew how to treat you in bed, so you took it as your reward for being in the lion's den.

"If he catches ya freein' me, he'll kill us both and there will be consequences for my people."

"That won't happen, I've been thinking of a plan so you can escape and he won't suspect me..."

"Sleep with me? Negan told me as we were on our way here."

"That's what I told him, yes." You laugh and rinse his hair. You help him out of the tub, hand him a towel to cover himself. "Do you think you'd get hard if he was in front?"

"Ya wanna him to be in front?"

"I want you to threaten me and he can't defend himself, you'll lead me to one of the exit doors and escape before anyone can follow you."

"Why do y'think he would defend ya, won't his men follow me?"

"Don't worry, Jesus will be waiting for you and he'll know how to get rid of them, trust me."

"And what about Negan?"

"He'll do what you ask of him, I'm his favorite, he won't let you hurt me." You assure him, Daryl seems hesitant, but finally nods his head. "Good, now eat some, I need you to get your strength back." You hand him what you have prepared for him and he eagerly devours it.

In the next few minutes that Daryl is eating you explain to him in more detail your plan, of course sex was only a possibility, you don't think you could ever touch Daryl in that sense, you don't know him, but in a stressful situation like the one he's in, you're sure sex is the last thing on his mind. When he finishes eating you smile and let him relax a little more in your room, he's going to have to go back to a rough and filthy cell, at least if he gets some sleep on a bed, his body will thank you.

"Well, I'd better call the guys to be taken back to your cell." You say and he gives you a sidelong glance. "Remember the whole plan?" You ask and he nods again.

You are about to get out of bed when you feel his hand on your knee. You look down to discover his fingers slowly creeping up your skin, hiding under the fabric of your robe, you look at him in surprise and see him staring at you. You want to stop him, tell him he doesn't need to do that, you can have fun the day Jesus responds to your message and carry out the plan, but not now... you lose the thread of your own thoughts when his fingers brush against your mons and find their way between your legs. You gasp, your gaze unfocused for a second as his fingertips touch your button and stop there. His eyes watch you, his fingers move very slowly over your clit and Daryl watches as your face transforms into a grimace of pleasure. It's been a while since he's touched a woman, but he still knows what he's doing.

You close your eyes when you feel Daryl's lips on your neck, his hands run over your body giving you goosebumps, you sigh and hear a growl near you, you open your eyes again discovering Negan sitting on his couch, watching you, biting his lip, moving his leg nervously. He wants to join in, he can't stand to see Daryl touching you and making you moan and him not being able to prove he does it better. But you have to admit that Daryl is a better lover than you expected, that day he proved to you that he could make you shudder and beg just by fucking you with his fingers and now he's doing exactly the same. You moan low as you spread your legs wider for Negan to get a good look at how Daryl's fingers sink inside you over and over again making a wet sound to accompany your moans.

"Oh fuck, I'm going to cum..." You say feeling the pleasure building in your stomach and your pulse quickens.

"Stop it, get her on all fours." Negan says getting up from the couch unbuttoning his pants urgently pulling out his cock, hard, head red and angry, spitting pre cum fluid.

You can't help but smile and get even more excited, Daryl grunts, not happy to see another man's cock, but he has to admit he likes your body and is enjoying you, so he does as Negan asks; he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, helps you turn around and you rest your hands and knees on the mattress, you look at Negan with a naughty smile and open your mouth, egging him on.

"Oh honey, I'm going to fuck that slutty throat of yours." He growls walking straight towards you, grabs you by the hair and shoves his cock inside your mouth. "That's it, suck it like you know how." He says giving you a tug on your hair.

You could refuse, leave him desperate and hating you, but you need him relaxed, your guard down, so you close your lips around his swollen cock and start sucking, pumping up and down, licking and sucking his tip with special interest, hearing him curse and grunt through his teeth, his fingers not loosening their grip on your hair. Daryl watches you for a few seconds, his cock needing attention too, your hips are slightly raised and your legs spread, letting him see your wet pussy ready for him. He bites his lip jerking his length a couple of times before positioning himself behind you. You moan against Negan's cock as you feel him slide his tip between your folds, touching your clit then pressing and pushing inside you slowly, his size dilating you as he goes deeper, you pause for a second, your mouth wide open for Negan, but you are unable to process the excitement that is coursing through you at that moment. Daryl stays still inside you, then slowly pulls out again, only his tip still in your pussy before he thrusts once more, hard, deep, drawing a moan from you that you yourself have never heard before. You need to pull Negan's cock out of your mouth to breathe, as Daryl holds you tighter around the waist and does the same again, your eyes roll as he finds the perfect rhythm, fast and deep. Negan pushes his cock against your lips again and you obey letting yourself be fucked by both men until you feel yourself losing consciousness.

Negan cums in your mouth, holding you by the back of the neck as he unloads completely, you swallow quickly and slap him several times on the legs to get him to release you. He loves to see you desperate, but he pulls away and you spit out his cum, however, Daryl doesn't give you time to process it, pushes you back against the mattress fucking your aching pussy with more intensity and you feel your orgasm rock you, you clench around his cock and you both moan, his seed spilling inside you with the last more erratic and uncontrolled onslaughts.

Your body falls onto the bed totally exhausted, breathing hard, feeling yourself shaking, your knees like jelly, your pussy pulsing as you feel the hunter's semen dripping out. Daryl is also trying to recover, Negan is no better, sitting on his couch. You have to stick with the plan, but all that has hit you all hard. You swallow still feeling some traces of Negan's semen in your mouth, you look sideways at Daryl and he nods slyly.

The plan works better than you expected, Daryl gets dressed as he holds you down, a knife against your neck, you tense, you tremble and look at Negan pleading for help, the man is angry, but he won't make a move that would put you at risk. Daryl pulls you to the door you guide him with small signals, no one is after you, Negan's men keep their distance so you don't get hurt.

"Go." You tell him by slyly pushing him away.

"Come with me." He asks you without letting go, but you shake your head.

"We'll meet again, Daryl, when the Sanctuary falls." You assure him and smile.

Daryl looks at you for a few seconds and kisses you with intensity surprising you, then you see him quickly leave and escape with Jesus who is waiting for him hidden on the other side of the fences of the abandoned factory.

The war ends, Negan is defeated by Alexandria and the communities that have allied with them, the soldiers who faithfully followed the man are cornered, given the choice whether they want to change or die, many try to escape, but very few manage to go far away.

Daryl lowers his gun and searches the battlefield with his eyes, he feels his chest quicken when he sees you, hugging your brother, Jesus, as he pampers you and whispers something against your ear as your embrace grows stronger. He walks towards you, not wanting to break the moment, but it's been several weeks since you last saw each other and Daryl feels a strange pressure in his chest.

He's not the only one, when you separate from Jesus and discover him next to you you can't help a nervous smile and your heart pumping hard. Jesus watches you and walks away leaving you alone. There is chaos, rage, death and despair all around you, but now you see and hear nothing but yourselves. You smile and move a little closer to him.

"Yer alive..."

"I told you we would meet again."

#my stuff #smut #ask me #anon request #norman reedus #normanreedus #daryl dixon #daryldixon #one shot #daryl x reader #daryl smut #ask anon smut #twd smut #negan twd #negan smut

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rorywritesjunk · 2 months

Text

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy isn't treated kindly by a member of the family still, gets insulted. Buggy gets his nails painted and makeup done tho, because the kids got ahold of him. A/N: Meet the Family plus one that isn’t really nice. Okay, there's only two more postings for this story and I will be done!

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.

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Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 17

Buggy reluctantly became the favorite of the youngest group of cousins and they insisted he play with them every chance he had. It was the last thing he wanted but you smiled and urged him to play with them so he caved at your request, which is how he ended up losing his hat to a five year old who insisted she was a scary pirate captain while a three year old was in his arms, refusing to be put down.

He now wondered if you wanted kids after he spent an entire day entertaining them because he was certain he didn't want them.

When you came to rescue Buggy in the late afternoon, you didn't find him. The five year old still had his hat, which you retrieved from her when one of them pointed in the direction of the house, saying the older cousins had him. You were surprised you didn't hear any commotion, surely he didn't go willingly, right?

You walked into the living room and paused, because there sat your fiance, scowling while one applied makeup to his face, one was doing his hair, two did his nails, and the rest were talking and squealing about the excitement of a wedding.

Oh, so word got around then about what your aunt wanted. Great.

“So, what's going on here?” You finally asked; Buggy jerked away to stare up at you, scowl gone, and you grinned when you saw him. Did he allow this or was he forced into it?

The bones on his forehead were a little crooked, but your cousin had drawn little blue diamond shapes around his eyes which… looked great, actually, you liked how they made his eyes pop. The red around his mouth was a little bold, but you didn't mind. The 14 year old cousin looked proud of her work.

“He's a pirate but he doesn't look scary enough.” She told you as Buggy remained seated. “Aunty Windy is a scarier pirate.”

“She hasn't been a pirate in a long time.” You told her as you made your way over to them. “I love his nails.”

“He wanted sparkly blue nails!” Another cousin chirped. “I asked and he said yes!”

“Really.” You chuckled as you knelt down beside Buggy. “You asked for blue sparkly nails, Buggy?”

“Maybe.” He grumbled as his face burned and he looked away from you. You took one of his hands and looked at it closer.

“It's a good color on you, honey.” You told him as you kissed the top of his hand. He turned redder while the cousins went “Awww!” collectively while you just smiled at him.

“Sunny?”

You looked up to see your Aunt Snow at the door. She was one of the aunt’s from your mother’s side and you frowned, wondering what she wanted. She didn’t look too thrilled as she delivered the message to you.

“You mom and Stormy want a word with you.”

You managed not to grimace. It wasn’t so much your mom wanting to speak to you as it was your aunt. It was two days since Stormy said the wedding should happen and you had been giving her the cold shoulder ever since, leaving the room when she entered, even walking away when she approached you. Granted, it wasn’t the most adult behavior, but you didn’t want to talk to her.

Buggy looked between you and your other aunt before getting up to join you. He took your hand in his and you smiled at him before leaving the room with your fiance following behind. Whatever word was to be had, you felt it fair that Buggy be there for it. You followed your Aunt Snow to the kitchen where your mom was in a staring contest with her sister. Both looked up when you came in and neither looked happy.

Windy was mad at her sister for being so insistent and Stormy was mad about the wedding.

“He does not need to be here for this.” Stormy snapped as she pointed to Buggy. “This is for women only.”

“Well, I am marrying him and I figure this has to do with our wedding, so I want him here.” You replied sharply as you felt Buggy tense up beside you. He had heard that tone of voice from you before and he was glad he wasn't on the receiving end of it. “Our wedding is just us two, my parents, and whoever Buggy wants. That’s it.”

“That is not fair.” Stormy hissed. “You are the first of the kids to get married, and it is only right we see it happen.”

“Why are you so adamant that you need to watch them get married?” Windy asked, trying to keep calm as she leaned back in her seat. “Buggy’s a good pirate, he’s going to be a good husband.”

“Pirates do not make good husbands!” Stormy shot back. “Have you forgotten what happened with Snow and her good for nothing pirate husband? How do we know this clown isn’t going to do the same thing! Knock up Sunny and leave her behind while he goes and plays pirate!”

“I would do no such thing!” Buggy snapped. “I love her!”

“Pirates only love treasure and the seas!” Your aunt snapped at him. “They don’t know how to love anyone but themselves! For all we know this is just a game to you until you meet someone better!”

“Hey, watch it.” Windy warned, glaring at her sister. “We’re here to talk about their wishes for their wedding.”

“There’s no one better than Sunny!” Buggy exclaimed as he took a step forward. You still held his hand which he had detached from his wrist. “She-She’s the only person I could ever love, got it?!”

“But does she even love you?! Or did you fill her head with nonsense about love and the sea like our sister went through?!” Stormy asked. “What did you promise her to make her fall in love with you when she could have any other man out there?! Especially a better looking man than you!”

Buggy let go of your hand and turned to leave. This was your family. He wouldn’t attack her, no, because he loved you so much. He didn’t want you to think less of him if he did anything to scare her. There was no convincing her anyways, so burned by someone else’s experience that she had to project onto Buggy like that. She was right, though, because he knew you could have anyone else but him, he thought that all the time, but you chose him. You loved him. But the insecurities came back like a punch in the gut. Why were you with him? He didn’t promise you really anything, just that he loved you and wanted to be with you.

He took off running for the ship once he was outside, leaving you behind with your mother and aunt. You had never seen your mother as angry as she was right then, glaring daggers at her sister while Stormy just huffed with her arms crossed.

“He’s pathetic.”

“Sunny, go after Buggy.” Windy told her as she started to get up. “I need to have a talk with my sister.”

You didn’t have to be told twice as you hurried after Buggy. You couldn’t believe what just happened, how hurt he must feel. You were angry for him, cursing your aunt and her words as you watched Buggy stop at the docks. He turned to look at you and you were surprised he wasn’t crying, but the crushed expression on his face had your eyes well up with tears.

“‘m sorry.” He mumbled as you threw your arms around him. His arms were around you, holding you tightly as he hid his face against your shoulder.

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything!” You cried as you hugged him. “I’m sorry she said those things, Buggy! I’m sorry she was so cruel to you!”

You hated how he just shrugged at what you said, that he seemed defeated by those words. You didn’t want him to take those words to heart. You pulled back from him just enough to look up at him, putting your hand to his cheek.

“I love you, and I’m sorry she said those things.”

“She's right, y’know. You deserve better.” He told you as he leaned into your touch and closed his eyes.

“I don't care what that bitch says.” You snapped; his eyes shot open in surprise. He was pretty certain he had never heard you swear before. “I'm marrying you, Buggy. You're the flashiest, most handsome pirate on the seas and I'm so lucky to be marrying you.”

“Really?”

“Yes! I don't know what else to say to prove it to you, Buggy, but you're the only one I want to be with!” You replied, frustration in your voice as you grabbed him by the shoulders. “Let's just get on the ship, say we're married, and be done with it. I don't care if someone makes it official!”

Buggy looked away, flushed as he scratched his cheek, mumbling, “I don't think I've heard you swear before.”

That knocked the wind out of your sails. You just stared at him, breathing heavily as you tried to calm down. “What?”

“You just called someone a bitch.” He grinned, looking quite impressed. “Didn't think you had it in you, babe. Kind of hot, y’know.”

“Buggy, really?”

“What? It was hot.”

You smacked him on the chest before he wrapped his arms back around you, pressing his lips to your temple. The lipstick mark left behind was a little much so he reached up to try and wipe it off.

“You gonna keep the makeup look?” You asked, voice muffled as you leaned into him. Buggy shrugged.

“It's flashy, y’know. I like it.” He replied as he kissed you again. “Plus it leaves marks on you when I kiss you. Kinda nice.”

You looked up at him, nose wrinkled as you pondered his words. “Really now. Maybe I should put some on later and leave marks on you, honey.”

He liked the sound of that a lot.

#buggy the clown #sunny x buggy #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown x you #buggy the clown x oc #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x oc #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown x oc #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy x you #opla buggy x oc

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lavendertales · 1 year

Text

Sweet lies: Chapter 7**

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

summary: getting that voice message from you is the last thing Frankie needs on his mind. As it turns out, it completely messes up his intentions.

word count: 4.1k

WARNINGS: cunnilingus, male masturbation, piv (safe).

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

Comments & reblogs are always appreciated 💕

gif: @javier-pena

series masterlist | AO3

A headache replaces your usual morning alarm. You wake up confused, a little sweaty too, one eye open, the other one shut. You check your surroundings: you’re in your bed, the clothes from last night thrown carelessly on the floor.

You rise halfway, daring to open the other eye, and the headache worsens somehow. You realize it’s Saturday, and you couldn’t be more grateful at this very moment. You get to lounge and nurse your hangover today, and that is all anyone could ask for right now.

The phone on your nightstand reveals that it’s 10:31 a.m. You think that you should at least nibble on something before taking something for the pestering headache. The only thing you can digest right now is some toast, so you practically crawl your way into the kitchen to make just that. Your phone rings incessantly, the sound earning a loud grunt from you. You grab it from your nightstand, pleasantly remarking it’s Rose. You couldn’t handle anyone else today.

“You’re alive, that’s a good sign,” you say.

“Alive might be an overstatement.”

“You’re the one who said we were gonna get drunk last night.”

“You agreed to it.”

“True. But you knew what you were in for. You know you’re lightweight compared to me.”

“Oh, please, you had two extra cocktails, big deal.”

“How are you doing?”

“Well, I’m under my blankets with a big cup of coffee and ready to pop pills like the world ends tomorrow. Which, based on my headache, it might.”

You chuckle, putting the phone on speaker and placing it on the table as you start buttering your toast.

“How are you doing?” Rose asks.

“Pretty much the same as you. Making some toast and ready to pop every headache pill in sight.”

“Ohh, some toast would be nice.”

“Come over and I’ll make you some.”

“But I’m all snuggled up!”

You laugh, triggering more of your headache.

“Oh hey, do you remember me talking on the phone last night?” you ask.

“Uh… I remember me talking on the phone. Oh, right, fucking work called.”

“It’s so weird, I feel like I’m the one who did the talking.”

You struggle to recall what you did specifically, but it all comes in patches, nothing short of blurriness.

“Oh hey, seems I called Frankie last night,” Rose says.

“You did? Why?”

“Honey, I don’t even know how the hell I managed to take my clothes off before getting into bed and yet I left the boots on. So unfortunately, I got no clue as to why I called Frankie.”

Something clicks in your head, and you gasp out loud. A clear picture forms in your mind, and you remain in shock.

“You didn’t call him,” you mutter. “I did.”

“What?”

“Oh God. Oh no, no, no.”

“Why did you—“

“I thought your phone was mine! I—I was drunk, I was scrolling and… I don’t know why I called him! This is why we never drunk dial!”

“I’m so sorry, I—I would’ve stopped you if I was there.”

“I know, I know. This… this isn’t on you. This is my fault. Just the call, not—“

“Not what?”

You falter, shutting your mouth just in time. You take a deep breath, trying to recall more specific things.

“What did you guys talk about?” Rose asks timidly.

“We didn’t talk. I… left him a voice message.”

“Saying…?”

“Saying… that he owes me an apology for the way he left. And… and that he should make things right.”

The second secret you are now keeping from Rose. It’s starting to bottle up, but you still don’t feel ready for that little shameful thing to come to surface. Best you deal with it quietly.

And what you need to do, as fast as you can, is sort things out with Frankie.

“Can you text me Frankie’s number?” you ask Rose. “I need to call him.”

She coos your name, softly yet sternly, and you huff.

“I do actually need to talk to him this time,” you say. “I’ve sobered up, and I am ready to face the consequences of my actions.”

“Fine. Just—be careful.”

“Why?”

“Because, honey, you’re about to have a big conversation with the man you’ve described as the love of your life, who so happens to be engaged. It’s dangerous territory. Not just for you. For anyone with feelings.”

You inhale, realizing the truth behind her kind words.

“It’ll be fine,” you reassure her and yourself simultaneously. “I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize his relationship with Andrea.”

“Good. Call me whenever it’s done.”

“I will. Now go eat something. Love you.”

“I will. Love you too.”

You wait a decent amount of time before your headache has subsided, going through all of last weekend’s events, as well as last night’s. You slowly start to remember every word you’d drunkenly told him, and you feel yourself falling apart. The more you stare at Frankie’s phone number, the larger the pit in your stomach is. There’s no liquid poison in your system now to give you courage, so you just gotta do it.

You exhale loudly, ready to call, then you hear the doorbell. You grunt, rushing to go to the door so you can dispose of whoever it is.

Then, as you answer the door, your heart stills.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, stunned.

Frankie stares you down, munching on his lower lip, clearly upset. “Asked Pope for your address. Figured we should talk face to face.”

“Sure. Come on in.”

The minute Frankie crosses the threshold into your apartment, there’s a knot in your throat, persistent and painful. You observe him from afar at first, watching him pace around the living room, hands on his hips. Who knows what’s in his head, how nervous he is. You know he got your message, and now you are waiting for the inevitable explosion.

“We said we’re just acquaintances,” Frankie grumbles, facing away. “That voice message was anything but that.”

“I was drunk! This is why we don’t let drunk people dial! And Rose should’ve been able to stop me, had she not taken a work call when we were binge drinking. Which now, as I’m saying it out loud, might’ve been a ruse so she could have sex phone with Santi.”

Frankie makes a grossed out face, and then it hits him.

“Rose and Pope?” he asks under his breath. “You mean, you two aren’t…?”

You scoff, growing more and more upset. “No, you moron! No, we’re just friends, we’re close friends like you and I were before you decided to just walk out on everything we had!”

“I didn’t walk out, okay? It’s more difficult than that.”

“Then help me understand! Tell me something useful, something that might explain to me why you destroyed our friendship, and why you broke my heart. Explain it to me, Francisco.”

He falters, his nostrils flaring in anger and disappointment. At himself, at his stupid actions, when all he should’ve done is talk to you, communicate.

Words cut deep though, they carve wounds that may only scar. Yet now, with this wound, it feels like you are both picking at the freshly created scab, rubbing it furiously and pouring alcohol over it.

“How could you say those things to me?” Frankie suddenly asks, and it’s picking at the scab even more.

There is so much anger building up inside you once you hear him say those words with such bold audacity that it makes you see red.

“How could I?” you retaliate. “You really wanna get into a ‘how could you’ game?”

“You know what? I really do. We’re having the conversation, now.”

“Okay, fine. How could you kiss me? Why?”

Face reddened with the shade of regret and shame, Frankie simply stares at you, his mind involuntarily replaying that damned kiss in his head, along with the night the two of you said your goodbyes and he practically begged you to stay.

“Why, Francisco?” you repeat.

“Why do you think?” he grunts, almost as if in pain.

“I can’t let myself think about that. It’s wrong.”

“I didn’t say it was right. But I did it because I wanted to. Deep down… I wanted to.”

There you have it. The most visceral, unexpected and wild response you could’ve ever gotten. It’s very flattering, and it shouldn’t be.

“How could you just end our friendship? How could you just walk away after everything we’ve shared?”

“You were leaving and we agreed we were great as friends.”

“But then you left me anyway, and that’s a load of crap! It’s what people tell each other to make themselves feel better about their stupid, cowardly choices! Guess what, nothing in my life was better after that! I’m not one of those girls whose world revolves around a guy, but losing one of my best friends was horrid. I left abroad and I was miserable for a good portion of my studies because I kept wondering what I did wrong, what could I possibly have done differently and I hated that. I hated how much you made me second-guess my own worth. I swore to myself that no one would ever do that to me again, and here I fucking am, going through it all over again. And because of you, again!”

Frankie stares at the floor, smiling to himself in frustration.

“It wasn’t you,” he mutters under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“It wasn’t you.”

You chuckle mockingly. “Great, here comes the ‘it wasn’t you, it was me’ speech.”

But Frankie’s anger merely simmers beneath the surface. There is more to it, boiling underneath, and has been for a while. None of it is about you, though. It’s about the unfair and cruel choices he’s made, and how he forced himself to be the better man and make the right decisions for everyone.

Only to mess up anyway.

“It was me, okay?” he grunts, inching towards you. “I met Andrea a few months after you left, we became friends and—“

Your chuckle turns into a manic laughter, paralyzed by your own disappointment.

“You cut me out of your life because you’ve made a new friend?” you say as acidly and mockingly as possible. “Really? Are you fucking kidding me right now? That is the lamest, stupidest, most hurtful—“

“I had to cut you out of my life because she’s not you!”

The way he’s shouting, it’s filled with pain and betrayal, betrayal from his own self. None of this is actually because of you. He could never be mad at you, he could never hate you, and he could never fully get your out of his head.

Or his heart.

“I had to do it,” he continues, eyes dark and apologetic. “And I had to do it because… you were following your dream, I couldn’t fucking stop you from doing that. You’ve always wanted to study abroad, it was your dream.”

He makes a disapproving noise, resuming his pacing around the living room.

“The night we met, when you told me you got into Cambridge… you’ve never looked so happy, so accomplished. And I was so proud of you, so damn happy for you, I swear I was. But that night…”

You hear his voice break in the slightest, and it aches you, for reasons you know damn well, and for the same reasons you’re struggling to keep it all bottled up inside, deep, deep down.

“What?” you ask, nearly pleading, and it aches Frankie just as much.

He inhales profoundly, reminiscing of that memory. “That night, when you told me you go in and that you were moving away… I was going to tell you that I loved you,” he confesses. “I asked you out so that I could tell you that. And then you broke the news and… I couldn’t stop you from following your dream. Even if all I wanted to do in that moment was to tell you that I loved you and that I wanted you to stay. It would’ve been selfish. I’ve actually wished you would’ve never gotten into that college, just so you could stay. It scared the crap out of me to acknowledge that I could be so careless and cruel that I wanted you to fail, just so that I could have you there with me, with all of us. And I know that what I’ve done instead isn’t any better and I am truly so, so sorry for hurting you, but… at least it offered you the space to be the best.”

You stare at him, utterly bewildered. You wanted the truth and now you’ve got it. You just didn’t think it would be this painful, this eye-opening. You hadn’t expected it to cut you so deep, and you certainly hadn’t expected it to make you question your very own morals.

“You… you really were coming over to tell me that?”

His voice is small and fearful as he replies, “Yes. I was.”

He’s standing so close to you now, it’s like his presence is invading all of your senses. It’s like you’re full with him, like he surrounds you in ways you would’ve never thought of as possible.

“Look, Andrea is not you, okay?” he resumes, staring at you with big, puppy eyes. “She could never be you, and… I couldn’t spend the rest of my relationship wondering if I made the right choice.”

“Did you?”

“We’re engaged. Or… we were.”

The moment the words roll down his tongue, in such a blunt and almost careless way, you can’t help but stare at him in shock.

“You were? What happened?”

You gulp, fearing that this isn’t about you. You hope and pray that it’s not about that hasty kiss you shared with Frankie, or the voice message, because you know you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you were the sole reason why his engagement fell apart.

“She’s having second thoughts,” Frankie replies. Fears, doubts, whatever the hell you wanna call them. So we agreed to take a break.”

“So what does that mean? Is the wedding off?”

“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know anything, I just—it’s hard to tell left from right when your perfume is… all over the place. When you’re just so… soft. And you’re here and… Andrea and I can’t ever agree on a single damn thing about our future together, if there’s any at the moment. And… we’re not together right now, and haven’t really been in weeks.”

His warm breath is all over your face, so you close your eyes in hopes that if you don’t see him so up close, you won’t surrender. You hope that if you close your eyes, somehow, you’d be able to keep him away, to not listen to the pestering little voice at the back of your mind and how it makes you burn, itch, crave and yearn all at once for something you can’t have.

Something you shouldn’t have.

It still feels wrong and forbidden, no matter what Frankie says. You can feel it in your bones, in your gut, and you can’t just let it slide, not even when one of his calloused hands grazes your cheek ever so tenderly that your whole body trembles. But perhaps the forbidden aspect is what makes everything so much more enticing, so appealing in so many ways that you would never consider otherwise.

You linger with your own motions, and it’s all a dangerously slippery slope from hereon after. His forehead is pressed against yours, your unsteady breaths in sync as they become the sole sound in the whole apartment. When you open your eyes, Frankie does too, and you find yourselves staring at each other in a pleading manner. All you can feel right now are his hands on your hips, touching only tentatively, but even that is sending you over the edges of sanity.

It gets a bit blurry after that. You feel his mouth on yours again, this time in a deeper, sloppier kiss that instantly turns you both into a couple of sinners.

What’s worse, you find yourself reciprocating without much hesitation. You don’t fight it as much, even though you probably should. Truthfully, it’s been a long time since you felt something even remotely close to the way your body feels right now, and a dark side of you doesn’t want this to end.

But nothing about the way Frankie expertly presses his body onto yours feels sinful. It almost feels… natural. Like you should’ve been doing this for a long time. Greediness consumes you both as you stumble onto your bedroom, clashing on the bed with Frankie atop of you. As his mouth starts to leave a wet trail down your jaw and neck, you spread your legs, thus allowing him space to grind in between. Each touch is electric, every passing second tormenting and ecstatic. Neither of you says anything; you both want to prolong this moment as much as you can, but you also want it done fast, rough and messy, get it over with.

You watch in a trance as Frankie’s strong arms pull down your pants and along with your underwear. The sight is making you feel drunker than you were last night, like you’re about to explode if you won’t get through with this.

Frankie’s just as impatient; he’s so hard now that he might just come in his pants like a pathetic whiny teenager at the sight of you fully on display like this. Your pussy is nearly glistening with slickness, now being completely engulfed by Frankie’s mouth. His mustache and stubble tickle you, awakening senses in you that make you think you’ve been kissing and sleeping with the wrong people all your adult life. Simply feeling him like this is enough to make you go crazy.

You could easily come just like this. It’s maddening, the sensation of sufficiency and insufficiency, both in a delicious juxtaposition with each other. Your fingers snake their way up into his hair, tugging roughly, thus earning a grunt from him that reverberates throughout your pussy. The vibration sends you in overdrive; you desperately try to rub yourself against his face while Frankie’s hands hold your thighs in place, his tongue licking furiously against your folds, his nose nudged into your clit.

The white, hot pleasure that sears through you is nearly debilitating. Frankie knows what he’s doing, collecting every ounce of arousal he can right into his mouth. You can’t help the moans that escape your mouth, and yet you do everything in your power to not moan his name. That is the one thing you cannot do. If you do it, if you allow him and yourself that… you’ll give this affair all the power to destroy you all.

Words flee from your mind. The sounds emerging from in between your legs are downright obscene, glib, but God, they’re perfect. Frankie is just as riled up, if not more; he can’t think straight anymore, not when he’s quite drunk on you and tasting you so intimately, giving you exactly what you want and need. He fumbles with unzipping his jeans, needing more. He’s so hard, it hurts to even touch the hem of his boxers. But he has to, he needs this so fucking much, it’s consuming him entirely.

When he finally curls his hand around his cock, he grunts against your cunt, probably grunting some nonsensical words too, but it’s just as irrelevant as talking at all. You trigger each other through the sounds of pleasure emanating from your bodies: you moan, he moans. You rub yourself against his face, he fists his cock faster. You’re both driven by lust, the sensation having its roots deep into other emotions as well: love, abandonment, disappointment, everything else that makes up your history with each other.

Once you come, your body seizes up, legs locked around his face while Frankie still drinks from you. He feels his own climax creeping up on him, so he forces himself to stop. It’s more hurtful than before, but if he’s gonna sin, he might as well do it properly.

He wants to feel you. Wholly, completely unbound and unhinged. So he licks his lips, taking just a fleeting second to admire you beautifully fucked out face, and how mesmerizing you are.

No thinking, he reminds himself. No thinking, no talking, just living in this immoral moment.

So he searches in the pockets of his jeans, not even pulled down properly, but just enough to allow him wiggle room to stroke himself. Alas, he finds the little pesky wrapper and quickly tears it off, placing the condom on his cock, and kneading the flesh of your thighs with tenderness before he guides himself to your entrance.

You watch in awe, your heart beating so fast with anticipation that it almost bursts out of your chest. You want to beg, to mutter something, but you fear that if you talk, it might give this moment more meaning, and you refuse to do that.

You gasp, the sound broken in tiny little pieces when you finally feel Frankie inside you. You’re both still half dressed, too eager and aware of what you are doing to properly do this, but you do know that you are solely guided by lust and forbidden love. Frankie makes a sound like he’s choking, and you can see it on his face that he’s falling apart too, perhaps much more than you are. He rolls his lips once, twice, and the way he’s sliding into you has you seeing stars.

It’s never felt this way before.

You know that it’s because of how you feel about him, but even if you’d voice that, it would be futile. The situation is too precarious already, and you can’t give this moment any more meaning than it already has.

The pace Frankie sets is slow at first, simply feeling you gush around him, warm and tight and so, so full of him. His head falls in the crook of your neck, his hair messy and forehead sweaty as he gives into what you both so desperately crave. You can feel his lips trying to pepper kisses on your neck, his breaths fast and irregular. You hold him by the back of his neck, your touch careful and sweet as he snaps his hips faster, desperate, just like the two of you. That’s just how you need it, speedy and a little bit rough. Too much regret eats you alive to not seize the moment, too many unspoken words and far too much unrequited love contained in the same place.

Frankie is absolutely lost in you, in your scent, in your taste, all of you. He is so hungry and desperate for you, all he can think about is coming. And he feels it crashing over him in no time; he spills himself inside the condom, his thrusts now sloppy as his body reaches ecstasy. His breath is harsh against your neck, his eyes dying to find yours, to gaze lovingly into them.

But he can’t. It would mean too much. It would completely devastate him if he’d do that while he came.

So he doesn’t. He looks everywhere but directly into your eyes, and you do the same. You avoid his facial expression to the best of your abilities, even though you’re already addicted to this feeling, and you suspect he is, too. But now that it’s over, now that Frankie finds enough strength to pull out of you and clean himself up before he leaves without uttering a single word, he knows this made things even worse. He knows this complicates things further, and he can’t help but think back to Andrea and her decision to press pause on their relationship and what it truly means. He momentarily wonders if she had done something similar.

But it’s too much, both reeling from the crushing force of his orgasm and how it felt to be inside you at last, and thinking about the reasons why marriage might no longer be an option. He can’t think about all of that, his head hurts as much as his joints and heart.

He does throw you a glance before he leaves, as if apologizing. You understand as much, and you share that feeling as much. If you couldn’t stop thinking about a pathetic little kiss, how were you going to be able to keep this out of your mind?

How will you—or he—be able to face each other, knowing what you did, and how much it meant to both of you?

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sunnyrealist · 1 month

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Chapter 35: Fantasy and Fear

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Artwork was created by @giselsann-opencommissions!

Chapter Background and Summary: Sebastian and Kate are on an adventurous camping trip in the Scottish Highlands. On the third day, the lovers discover a cave hidden behind a large waterfall that does not appear on any map. Since the trip is meant to be one of exploration and treasure-hunting, they decide to check it out. The cave gives both of them a strange, ominous feeling, but just as Sebastian tells Kate they should turn back, they are tempted to continue into the depths by butterflies and mysterious, unnatural flora. When they reach the furthest area of the cave, they watch from above as a bookstore suddenly materializes. What could it mean?

Pairing: 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x Kate Mayflower (my OC)

Content warnings: In general, this story is rated 18+, so MNDI. This particular chapter features discussion of past trauma and incarceration, feelings of hopelessness, panic, and losing consciousness.

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Please leave some feedback. A comment, like, or Kudos would be quite motivational. 🥰

Chapter 35: Fantasy and Fear

Kate and Sebastian both crouch down to get a better look at what has become of the pit. It has somehow transformed into the interior of a bookstore.

There are shelves filled with magical artifacts and books of all shapes and sizes. At the front are two large windows and a door made of stained glass and golden oak, just like the door at Kate’s cottage. It appears to be dark outside the bookstore. Nighttime, Kate thinks. At the rear of the store, there is a large wooden desk with a register, a vase of sunflowers, and two framed signs. One says, “Ask about the Baked Sweet of the Week!” and the other has information about a Muggle Literature Club. A self-writing quill dips into a pot of ink and scribbles some notes. Behind the desk is a swinging door, which Kate imagines would likely lead to a stock room.

Upon reading the framed signs, Kate gasps and her hands meet over her mouth in shock. It’s what she has always dreamed of…

“Sebastian… it’s… it’s my bookstore, I think,” Kate marvels. “I don’t understand how-”

A bell jingles at the front door. A man enters and quietly closes the door behind him. When he turns around, it’s Sebastian’s turn to inhale sharply. The man is… him. Sebastian Sallow - but an older Sebastian. He is wearing brown trousers with a matching jacket and tan vest. Based on his appearance, it looks like time has passed. They are seeing the future. Sebastian’s freckles remain, but his new additions are a mustache, a short, well-kempt beard, and a few wrinkles on his forehead and next to his eyes.

“What the-” A wide-eyed Sebastian begins but then is cut off.

Older Sebastian calls out, “Honey? It’s me!”

There is a pause, and then, from behind the swinging door comes a reply in Kate’s voice: “Just a minute!”

The older Sebastian meanders around the shop, tidying up while he waits.

“Sebastian,” Kate whispers in a sharp tone to her boyfriend. “Are you seeing this?”

“Yes,” he replies. “Yes, and I don’t… I don’t understand. This cannot be real. It just cannot be real.” He reaches out to put a hand on Kate’s shoulder, as if to ensure she is actually still here with him.

“And yet, we are both seeing it…” Kate murmurs.

The swinging door opens. Examining the figure waddling through the doorway from top to bottom causes Kate’s eyebrows to rise. Her mouth drops. It’s her. Kate. Older, with smile lines, her hair in an updo, and very, very, very pregnant. She makes her way to the older Sebastian, who hugs and kisses her as a greeting.

Sebastian and Kate both turn red, transfixed on the scene below them.

“My love… What is this? What is going on?” Sebastian asks Kate.

“I don’t know…” Kate responds, baffled. “Is it the future?”

“I just checked on the girls at home,” Older Sebastian tells Older Kate. “Everything is fine, but your mum is definitely ready to go home for the night.” He chuckles, then pauses. “How are you feeling, Sunshine?” He places his hand on her enormous stomach.

“I am feeling alright today, but my feet ache. They’re so swollen. I just don’t fit in my boots anymore, love. I’m going to look up a charm this weekend to widen my shoes,” Older Kate explains tiredly. As Older Sebastian caresses her tummy, she smiles and quietly says, “Any day now. We timed this pregnancy out well.”

Older Sebastian grins. “Yes, we sure did. I’ll be off for the summer soon, and then we won’t have to rely on your mum so much.”

Older Kate’s mouth flattens. “Well, we’ve never had multiples before, sweetheart. I wouldn’t count on forsaking mum’s help just yet.” She takes a deep breath and then exhales, giving Older Sebastian a serious look. “No more after this. I mean it.”

“Yes, Mrs. Sallow, we agreed,” Older Sebastian replies, leaning in to kiss her. “No more babies.” A sly smile takes over his face. “Though accidents sometimes happen, you know…”

Older Kate swats him. “You’re insatiable!” She giggles, then softly reminds him, “We hardly even have room at the cottage for the sweet babes on the way.”

“I know.” Older Sebastian leans down and kisses her belly. “In all seriousness, I can’t wait to meet our new little stars.” Older Kate smiles with tenderness. He stands back up and embraces her in fondness. “Would you like me to lock up for the night? It’s just past six.”

The couple watches it all from above in rapt attention, filled with warmth. Sebastian’s eyesight becomes blurry; rubbing at his eyes, he realizes he’s actually crying. Seeing his older self so happy, hopeful, and successful, undoubtedly committed to the love of his life, makes him feel things he has never dared to before. Since meeting Kate, he’s been dreaming about a secure future, and here it is before his very eyes. And as for Kate, her eyes are fixed on the older versions of themselves, shocked to see everything in her head brought to life.

Swept up in the fantasy, both are surprised to suddenly experience chills. It feels as though it has gone from summer to winter temperatures in the span of seconds. Kate glances at Sebastian in shock and is about to question it until their focus is directed back to the scene below.

There is abrupt, loud, and aggressive banging on the front door at the bookshop. Older Sebastian and Kate are startled, breaking apart from their hug. The windows of the shop fog up, freezing, and then, a much older man enters the shop. He is wearing a dark blue top hat and robes marked with the “M” for the Ministry of Magic. Judging from his badge, he clearly works for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He slams the door closed behind him, and Older Kate jumps in surprise.

“Well, well, well…” the man says, as though he is amused. “I’ve finally found my top fighter after all these years.”

Older Sebastian protectively moves in front of Older Kate.

Kate realizes that her breathing is now visible in the cool air.

“I’m here to collect you, Sallow,” the man continues. “I’ve never had a prisoner as capable and scrappy as you. You’re going to help me pay off my betting debts to the other officers.”

Older Sebastian seems frozen now, his mouth gaping.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me from your Azkaban days, Sallow! I fondly remember you and your screams all too well. And when I bring you back home, we’ll… reacquaint ourselves,” the man tells him menacingly.

“I’m a free man,” Sebastian firmly says with a sneer. “Leave us alone. Get out of this shop.”

“Free? You’ll never be free, boy,” the man answers. “In fact, I have a warrant for your arrest… It took quite a bit of fabrication, but I managed…”

Older Kate pulls out her wand, determined to put an end to the exchange. “Stupe-”

“EXPELLIARMUS!” the man calls out faster. Her wand flies out of her hand as she yelps.

“Now, now, Sallow...” The man smiles, his teeth yellow. “Come with me willingly, or I’ll have your old friend feed off of her.” He gestures towards the window, where a Dementor now hovers. “I wonder… Could it feed off of unborn children as well? Now, that would be quite the experiment…”

As he opens the door, Older Sebastian blanches, freezing. The Dementor glides into the shop. Older Kate screams as it approaches her.

Suddenly, the scene disappears entirely, and Kate and Sebastian are left in complete darkness in the depths of the cave. Kate is shivering and has a feeling of emptiness - that all of her hope and happiness is lost and will never return again. She somehow manages to shakily pull her wand from her pocket.

“Lumos,” she finally chokes out.

Now that Kate can see again, she realizes that, while nothing else may have been real, the Dementor is. She’s never seen one in person before - only pictures in textbooks, years ago. The terrifying creature is floating straight towards Sebastian, whose face is devoid of color. He seems to be paralyzed in fear. She watches in shock as he seems to submit to it, accepting a cruel fate. The Dementor’s mouth opens for its kiss…

“NO!!!” Kate yells.

The Dementor doesn’t even take notice of her. It is dead-set on Sebastian, who weakly whispers, “Lumos.” Nothing happens. His face, once filled with emotion, goes completely blank as the Dementor begins its work. It appears as though the creature is sucking away Sebastian’s soul. Suddenly, more Dementors appear. There have to be at least ten of them, all headed towards Sebastian. His eyes are dead.

“NO! You can’t have him!” Kate shouts, trembling in fear. “NO!”

Kate can see that the situation is dire. She’s not sure if Sebastian is even conscious anymore. If anyone is going to save them, it will have to be her.

Holding her wand outstretched, Kate slowly approaches the group of Dementors, seeking to put herself in between them and Sebastian. She has never felt so afraid in her entire life. Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and attempts to calm herself, even though she is shaking.

In her mind, it’s Christmas with her family, and Kate is ten years old, wearing a frilly red and green frock with a bow in her hair. Her papa hauls a large tree into the ballroom, and Irene, with a huge grin, uses sparkly white ornaments to decorate it. Kate follows her nose into her family’s kitchen. She can smell gingerbread baking and sees images of herself, as a child, decorating the biscuits with icing. Her impeccably-dressed mamma presents perfectly wrapped gifts to each of them. Kate’s extended family sings a Yuletide carol, while the flames of a huge fireplace warm her heart. Her Auntie Paula sneakily allows her to take her first sip of wine, to which she gags and then giggles. Outside the huge window of the ballroom, snow is falling. She breathes into the glass and draws a heart with her finger, outlining a snowman that has been charmed to wave at guests leaving the party.

Kate’s eyes fly open, determined. “Expecto Patronum!!!”

Blue light erupts from her wand, and her sea lion Patronus materializes, swimming through the air straight towards the Dementors. They all shrink back and begin to float away, repelled by her powerful, incredibly joyful memory. The sea lion swiftly chases them back into the darkness.

When Kate can no longer see any of the foul monsters, she rushes to Sebastian’s side, while her Patronus stands guard.

“Sebastian! Sebastian!” she cries out, trying to get him to respond in some way. “Please, Sebastian!” She lightly slaps his cheek.

He doesn’t stir. Eyes closed, he appears asleep. She’s never seen his face so oddly pale. When she takes his ice-cold hand, he is unresponsive and limp. She quickly puts her ear down to his chest to make sure his heart is still beating. To her relief, it is, but it’s so faint and seems unsteady that she begins to panic.

“Fuck! Shit!” Kate shouts in anguish, looking around hopelessly. There is obviously no one to help. “Sebastian!”

For a full minute, she continues her attempts to wake him up to no avail.

She knows she must keep her mind from spiraling if they are going to reach safety outside of the cave.

Though Kate is frantic, she pretends to be brave. In an attempt to use a steady tone, she soothingly tells her boyfriend, “Sebastian… I-I don’t know if you can hear me, but… you’re okay. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get us out of here. I-It will be alright.”

How, though?

She warily peeks at the pitch-black corner where the Dementors disappeared, to make sure they will not attack again. Then, she attempts to pick Sebastian up, quickly realizing that that will not work. She is petite and unathletic, not strong enough even with adrenaline. Wracking her brain, she considers all of the possible ways she could bring him to safety.

I could use a feather-light charm… but carrying him would still be awkward and potentially dangerous, especially once we leave the cave and have to maneuver away from the waterfall…

Oh! Wait! I know!

Curving her wand tip in the shape of a C, she casts, “Mobilicorpus.”

Thank goodness for Professor Ronen and my O in Charms…

Sebastian’s body floats into the air, his head lolling a bit, as he is unconscious. When she tests out ambling backwards, his form follows her closely. She breathes a sigh of relief.

“Everything is alright, Seb,” she whispers calmly. “I’m getting us out of here. Just hold on, alright? I promise - I promise - we’ll make it out alive. I’ll get you to camp.” She pauses. “I love you, Seb. It’s going to be okay.”

Kate’s sea lion Patronus does a flip and waves a fin encouragingly as she leads Sebastian out of that part of the cave. She heads back in the direction from which they came, but after walking for a while, she realizes that the butterflies, mushrooms, flowers, and vines have all disappeared from the cave. Her brow furrows in confusion until she deduces that they must have been a trick of the Dementors to lure them further into the cave.

It was all an elaborate trap.

If Sebastian had been alone… She doesn’t allow herself to finish the thought. She has to focus.

Remembering the Devil’s Snare, her wand is ready to cast Lumos. They pass through the menacing tendrils easily, and minutes later, she can see sunlight once more.

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow x oc #post azkaban sebastian #hufflepuff x slytherin #aged up sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy oc #hl oc #hl sebastian #hogwarts legacy romance #sebastian sallow

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