#fic: wildest dreams

[janaispunk]

i can see the end as it begins

chapter 1 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

word count: ~5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad isn’t a nice person), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, semi-public sex, fingering, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, spanking, pet names, let me know if i missed anything 🫶🏻

a/n: my favorite person on this app @joelscurls planted the idea of dbf!dave in both our heads and after many many feral dms, porn gifs, plotting and just generally freaking out, we have finally managed to put the first chapter together :) we’re currently planning with 4 chapters in total that we’re gonna take turns posting, so go follow jess if you don’t already (criminal behavior tbh)! i’m beyond excited to be able to do this with someone whose writing i adore sooo much, we’re both beyond excited about this story, and we hope that you enjoy it 🫶🏻

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

“I want a divorce.”

It’s been almost a year since Carol spoke those words into the tense silence of their dining room and they still echo in Dave’s mind as if it happened yesterday.

He doesn’t mourn the marriage, doesn’t miss Carol, not in the way he probably should. But he mourns the life that he had, the perfect suburban family, the stability. A little boring maybe, but safe, calming. Predictable.

And he misses his girls. He misses the sound of small feet on the hardwood-floor greeting him as soon as he opened the front door, giggly exclamations of “Daddy’s home!” and tiny hands grabbing at him, begging to be picked up. Now he opens the door to an empty, silent apartment. He has them every second weekend, which he rationally knows makes the most sense with his often irregular working hours, but it’s simply not enough. It’s like time is constantly running through his fingers and he just can’t make it stop, can’t bring his life back under control.

He’s doing what he can to keep himself busy, anything to keep his mind occupied and his thoughts from spiraling into that pit of loneliness that he’s found himself in. He started reconnecting with friends, going out with his colleagues and contacting people from his army days that he hasn’t spoken to in years, trying to build a social life outside of his family and the neighbors that he no longer lives next to.

It’s tedious, making him realize that he really doesn’t like people all that much, but it’s better than spending his evenings by himself and wondering where things went so awfully wrong.

He spends a lot of time with Jim, one of the guys that trained with him and that he always got along with rather well. Jim was delighted when Dave called, promptly inviting him to join him at golf the next day, which somehow turned into a weekly event on Dave’s schedule. It’s nice enough, giving him some sense of routine and he finds that he’s rather good at it. Jim runs his own company by now, the thing that he invests all of his time in, which got him a lot of money, but also a divorce.

It’s all he talks about, too, but it’s fine with Dave, not being forced to contribute that much to the conversation – because really, there’s not much worth mentioning happening in his life anyway – and he’s content to just nod along and hum in agreement most of the time.

Jim has a daughter too, a lot older than Dave’s though, already out of the house, attending law school. He can tell that Jim is proud when he talks about her, but it always seems to be connected to achievements, an underlying pressure to their relationship that leaves Dave a little uneasy and he silently vows to himself to never apply any sort of conditions to his love for his daughters.

But he's never met the young woman and he probably never will, so he doesn’t dwell on it, because what does it matter to him, really?

You huff a sigh as the familiar sight of the country club that your father loves to frequent comes into view and hand the Uber driver a tip before sliding out of the car.

You had thought you’d be getting a night out with your Dad, just the two of you, a rare occurrence. Not that you had been particularly looking forward to being grilled about law school, your grades, networking and internship opportunities, but at least he would be listening to you, paying attention. Joking that he was making sure that the money he put into your education was well invested, a joke that felt less funny every time you were reminded just how financially dependent you were on your father.

If the topic of conversation wasn’t school, it was what kind of acquaintances you’ve made, if maybe you’d met a guy with good connections, someone who could introduce you to the right people. Cautionary warnings not to get involved with the wrong sort, not to get on the wrong track.

Just once, you would like to talk about if you were enjoying school, what living on your own was like, how you got along with your roommate, the fun times you had with your girlfriends, anything about your life that wasn’t somehow connected to success or keeping up appearances. But your relationship wasn’t like that. He didn’t care about these sorts of things, he never had.

You continuously swallowed down the heavy feeling of envy in your stomach when your friends talked about their parents, painting a picture of unconditional love and support that was foreign to you, telling yourself that everything was fine the way it was.

“I invited Dave to join us tomorrow,” he then told you yesterday morning, offhandedly, sipping his coffee and his eyes already glued to his phone. You nodded silently, forcing your lips into something that resembled a smile. He had mentioned someone named Dave before, an old friend from his army days that he had recently reconnected with, if you remembered correctly. It didn’t matter, really, your father’s countless acquaintances blurred into a mix of vaguely familiar faces in your head anyway. If you had mixed feelings about the evening plans before, this new development made it clear that you wouldn’t partake in the conversation much, just smile politely, sit pretty and let the grown ups talk.

Steeling yourself, you walk in, your heels clicking against the floor. After spotting your dad almost immediately and waving in his direction, you make a beeline for the bar. He was sitting alone, you think, furrowing your brow in thought. You’re running a little late yourself, maybe that Dave guy couldn’t make it? You don’t hate the idea of that.

Dave had been reluctant to come out tonight, couldn’t help the feeling that he was intruding on his friend’s father-daughter time, something that he was desperate to have more of, but Jim had insisted.

“Lots of women you could meet there!”

He had scoffed under his breath, not able to picture himself meeting someone new, going through the motions of getting to know them, opening up, adjusting his routine to someone else’s again. He could much less picture himself meeting a woman he’d be interested in at a fucking country club of all places. Eventually, the thought of another evening in his silent and empty apartment with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company made him accept anyway.

He’s drumming his fingers against the polished wooden bar, waiting to pick up the second round of beers for Jim and himself, when someone slides up to the counter beside him. He glances over, eyes focusing in on the woman who is studying the drinks menu.

He feels an inexplicable pull towards her, couldn’t look away again even if he tried. She’s beautiful, he thinks as he takes in her features in the soft warm light, lingering on the shape of her lips, before his gaze trails down her body, over the short black dress that’s clinging to her in the most enticing way. She’s also younger than him; too young, the responsible part of his mind argues. Not the kind of woman that he should be interested in meeting. He still can’t look away.

“Evening.” The greeting comes out before he can stop himself. She looks up, a hint of annoyance on her pretty face, but her gaze softens as her eyes meet his. A smirk plays on her lips.

“Hi.” Her eyes flicker down his own body and up again, something akin to excitement taking over her expression. He’s rusty, hasn’t done this in ages, but her interest is palpable, and it shoots a thrill of pleasure through him.

“I’m David,” he introduces himself. No one has called him David in… god knows how long, but it feels better than Dave in this moment, right somehow. Like he can be a different person, just for a little while.

“Pleasure,” she grins, tells him her name and shakes his hand, her eyes glinting in the warm lights of the bar. Her touch on his skin, even just his hand, is like electricity is flowing through the air between them. She feels so soft and his life has been so devoid of softness lately that he has to force himself to let go of her hand again.

Something tugs at the back of his mind, like this name should ring a bell, but he shoves the thought aside. He’s too busy picturing himself taking her home this evening, imagining how soft her skin would feel in other places, how she would look splayed out underneath him on his sheets, how her breath would sound when he–

“I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?” her melodic voice interrupts the vivid daydream playing in his mind. She has taken a step towards him and hints of the sweet notes of her perfume are beginning to surround the air around him. It’s getting a little hard to think straight.

“I– yes. First time actually,” he laughs and delights in the way her face lights up at the sound. “You come here a lot, then?” The cliché line makes him want to cringe, but she doesn’t falter, only shrugs and lets her eyes slowly trail down his body once more, obviously wanting him to notice.

“Depends. I might be here more often if it means I get to see you.”

She reaches out until her fingers softly graze his wrist and it demands a great amount of willpower not to take her home right this instant.

The heartbeat in your chest is thrumming along to the butterflies that are erupting in your stomach. You’ve never been this bold, too shy to flirt at all most of the time, but the stranger in front of you is clouding your sense of judgment and has your insecurities flying right out of the window. His interest is written over his face clear as day and you feel an immediate pull towards him that you can’t explain.

He’s so handsome that your hands are itching to touch him more, to find out if he’s as broad and solid as is large frame suggests, if that jawline would feel as strong under your fingertips as it looks, and if his deep brown eyes would soften before you press your lips against his. No wedding ring either, you note in the back of your mind, sending another surge of excitement through you.

The fact that he seems old enough to be your father, something that your therapist would probably have a few words to say about, is only adding to the arousal that’s coursing through your veins. You want him.

You almost jump when your drinks arrive in front of you; you had all but forgotten where you are, and that you’re very much in eyesight of your actual father. Suddenly, you feel silly, reality catching up to you. Surely he was just being nice and you read way too much into it, making a fool of yourself.

“Well, I–I’ll see you around then.” You hastily grab your glass and are ready to make a run for it, when his large hand wraps around your elbow.

“Looking forward to it,” he purrs, before he takes the two beers off the counter in front of him.

Awkwardness slowly sets in when you start walking in the same direction, but it doesn’t fully hit you until you both stop at the same table, your father beaming up at you.

“Sweetheart, you already met Dave I see, that’s great. Come, sit!”

You’re frozen, stupidly blinking between your father and the man beside you a few times. The man who introduced himself as David.

David. Dave. Oh. Oh.

“Y–yeah,” you stutter out eventually and plaster a smile on your face as you take a seat beside your dad. David looks just as dumbstruck as you feel when he slides into the chair opposite from you, quietly handing one of the beers over to your dad. His friend.

Your father launches into a story about their army days together and you’re nodding along, but not one word actively registers in your brain. The conversation eventually moves on to your dad’s recent work projects, the majority of the talking done by him, with the occasional question from David, while you’re silently sipping on your drink.

The initial embarrassment of the whole situation makes you want to sink down into the ground, but still you can’t keep your eyes from flicking to David again and again. They linger on his lips, constantly in a pout that you would give anything to feel against yours, the slight shadow of stubble on his cheeks at the end of the day that you know would scratch against your skin so deliciously, the way his hand dwarfs his beer on the table, thick fingers that could stretch– No. No, you’re not going there.

Your cheeks are burning and you stare down at the tabletop in front of you.

When your gaze lifts back up, David’s eyes are already trained on you, glinting like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about. You reluctantly look back at your father, who’s still rambling on about some big client that he’s currently dealing with, completely oblivious to the charged energy between his friend and you.

David shifts in his seat and his leg bumps against yours under the table. You grasp your drink tighter, forcing yourself not to react in any way, but you don’t move away either. Neither does he. You shoot him a look and the hint of a smirk plays around his mouth. He looks too damn good like this, so excitingly wrong in a way that makes your pulse flutter.

It feels like you’re burning up from inside and as little attention as your dad is paying to you, you’re certain that he’s gonna notice that something is off with you eventually. You hastily scramble to your feet and excuse yourself to the bathroom. You feel David’s eyes on you as you walk away until you’re out of sight.

The cool water that you run over your wrists and splash onto your cheeks does a poor job of calming you down. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you admonish yourself. It’s certainly not more than a tiny bit of flirting to him, if at all, just some harmless fun to amuse himself probably, and you’re getting this worked up about it.

No. You need to get out of this situation. You’re gonna walk back out there, make something up about a headache and catch a cab home. It will probably earn you a lecture about politeness later in the evening, but you’ll gladly take that.

When you approach the table again, your dad is just getting off his phone, his expression already far away. You know that look all too well, being subjected to it almost daily.

“Work emergency?” you ask, without a real question behind your words.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, getting up, barely looking at you, already all business. “Sorry, I gotta get to the office, Dave will drive you home. Right, Dave?”

Your eyes fly to David and you catch him swallowing hard, but he nods regardless, lips quirking up in a forced smile. “Of course.”

You both silently watch your father’s retreating back, already speaking into his phone again. The fabric of Dave’s pants ghosts against your bare leg below the table once more. You wish it were his fingers instead.

You hadn’t anticipated to be alone with him and all the reasonable thoughts that you’ve come up with in the privacy of the bathroom are wiped from your mind. It feels like you’re buzzing, a rush of excitement thrumming through your veins, like your body knows that you’re on the brink of doing something really stupid and really fucking tempting.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, a knowing glint in his eyes as he takes in your expression. He still hasn’t moved his leg.

“I don’t think you are.”

Your stomach swoops at his words. You bite your lip. He wouldn’t be acting like this if he didn’t want you, would he? His eyes dart to your lips at the movement and darken. Fuck it.

“No, I’m not.” You pray that he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. He’s fucking intimidating and this is wrong on so many levels and you want him so badly to want you.

The tension between you is a palpable thing, almost making it hard to breathe when he leads you out of the club, his hand at the small of your back and causing you to shiver. Will he really just drive you home? Will he say something, do something, touch you more? You don’t know how to ask for any of it and desperately wish that he’ll take the reins, that somehow he already knows what you want. You have a feeling that he does.

He opens his car door for you, another thing that really shouldn’t affect you this much, before he walks around the vehicle and gets in beside you. You catch a hint of his cologne in the confined space and press your thighs together before you can stop yourself. Your heart is racing and you just know that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

He clears his throat. “We gotta stop at my place, I have some paperwork that I’d like your–” He interrupts himself, his grip on the steering wheel tightening until his knuckles are white, “that I’d like Jim to look over for me.”

You nod, a small hum leaving your throat. The implication of going to his place has you reeling. He nods back, stealing a glance at you before he starts the car. You can’t help watching him as he drives, the subtle control that he exudes, the way the muscles on his thighs are flexing underneath the fabric of his pants. He looks over at you a few times, and you don’t have it in yourself to pretend that your eyes aren’t glued to him.

“See something you like?” he asks eventually, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah,” you answer, so breathless it’s embarrassing and you shift a little in your seat. Your dress rides up at the movement, revealing more skin, and his eyes fly down instantly.

“Me too,” he rasps.

When he stops the car in front of his building, you decide that it’s time to be brave.

“Do you want me to come up with you?”

“No,” his answer comes instantly. His tone isn’t cold, but determined, not to be argued with.

“Oh.” Your cheeks are heating up again. You hate how small your voice sounds. “I thought–”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, avoiding your gaze.

“I can’t. You’re– You know why. You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care. I’m an adult, I can do what I want.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“Sweetheart, stop. Trust me, I want to, but–”

“Please?” You’re begging, no dignity left in you, only want want want. “Just one time. Please, David?”

His eyes fly up to your face at that. You can see the shift, the way his expression hardens, turning into something feral that has heat growing between your legs.

“Just one time,” he repeats, his voice dark with desire, no longer trying to conceal it.

His hands find your thighs, grabbing at you roughly, moving you until you’re in his lap, legs spread wide, his breath fanning against your lips. One hand is in your hair, the other gliding under the hem of your dress, his touch turning you into a trembling mess.

“This is what you want?” he growls, the grip in your hair tightening. You don’t think that you’ve ever wanted anything as much as this.

“Please,” you whine again, and he presses forward, lips clashing against yours, the kiss all tongue and teeth and desperate need and you’re melting into him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his hands all over you now, grabbing at your dress, your skin, any place he can reach.

Your mouth travels over his cheek and down to his neck, sucking kisses and bites into his skin. The stubble scratches against your face just like you thought it would and you start working on the buttons of his shirt with trembling fingers, rolling your hips, desperate for friction. His grip steadies you, pulling down the neckline of your dress, kissing along the lace of your bra before he pulls the cups down too. A groan rises up in his throat as he cups your tits, thumbs circling over your already hardened nipples before he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, breath hot against your damp skin. You arch into his touch and he chuckles, sucking on the bud again before he bites down, eliciting a loud moan from you. His touch travels up your thighs, leaving a burning trail behind, until his fingertips rub over the soaked fabric of your panties and you gasp at the barely-there touch.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, pressing down harder. “Already dripping for me, huh? You want it that bad?”

You nod eagerly, pushing down onto his fingers.

“Alright.” He sounds just as wrecked as you feel. He starts undoing his belt buckle and his pants and you lift up just enough to allow him to shove them down his hips.

At the first glance at his cock, your mouth falls open, a silent breath escaping you. He’s big, certainly the biggest you’ve ever had, and maybe you should think about how you’ll take all of him inside of you, but you find yourself craving him, craving the stinging stretch, craving the feeling of being as close as possible to him.

“Don’t worry.” He seems mildly amused, catching your lips in another kiss. “We’ll make it fit.”

Another shudder runs through your body at this. “I’m not worried,” you admit in a whisper.

He laughs at that, a breathless sound that you instantly want to hear again.

“Good.”

He pulls your underwear to the side and thrusts one thick finger up into your slick heat without warning. His thumb rubs around your clit and you already feel an orgasm creeping up on you. He adds a second finger, his rhythm relentless, and you cry out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to steady yourself, but it’s pointless. You’re already clenching, so close to the edge, when he pulls out of you and fixes you with a hard glare.

“Not yet. You’re only gonna come on my cock tonight, understood?”

You want to scream, want his fingers back, but you realize that you also want this authority, want him to take control, to take whatever he wants from you. It’s a heady feeling, one that you’ve never experienced before, but you’re already desperate for more.

“Okay,” you agree, and his responding smirk is enough for another wave of wetness to gather between your legs.

With one steadying hand securely on your hip, he leans over to the glovebox, mumbling about protection, but you stop him, fingers looping around his wrist.

“I’m on the pill, and I’m clean, I promise. You don’t need–”

He leans back, the grip on your hip tightening again.

“Fuck sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nod quickly, another “please” falling from your lips.

The grin on his face is downright feral as he hikes your dress up higher, eyes raking over your body. You’re sure that you look a mess, all intimate parts of you on display, your skin damp with sweat, your hair a wild nest. You curl in on yourself a little, but David won’t have any of that.

“Hey,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs. “If I’m gonna do this, you’re gonna look at me and beg for it, are we clear?”

You lift your head, wide eyes searching his. Desperate to do what he asks, desperate for his approval. He’s gorgeous in the low lights, his cheeks flushed, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and chest.

“Please,” you whine. “Please David, I need you.”

His movements turn frantic at your words, moving you around until you’re positioned just above him, your panties pulled to the side, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, already soaking him.

“Just one time?” he rasps once more.

“Just one time,” you agree. You’d agree to anything right now.

He pulls you down slowly, beginning to part your walls. You whine loudly at the stretch. It burns, but you relish in the feeling of getting filled by him, and his responding groan has your lips pulling up in a smile.

You keep sinking down, moving until he’s completely sheathed inside you and your eyes fall shut at the overwhelming sensation. His fingers are on your chin in an instant, giving your head a light shake.

“Nuh-uh, eyes right here, sweetheart,” he reminds you, gritting the words out. He twitches inside you and you force your eyelids to open again.

“Feels so good,” you whine, your voice reduced to a broken, breathless thing, but then he starts moving and you’re not able to form words any longer.

He rolls his hips up into you and you meet his thrusts with your own movements, clinging to his shoulders for dear life. His hands are everywhere, digging into your hips, pinching your nipples, gripping your chin whenever your eyes are starting to slip closed again.

So you keep your gaze obediently on him, your eyes locked, delighting in the way his face scrunches up in pleasure, in the sounds that are falling from his lips, matching your own.

“Good girl, taking me so fucking well,” he groans, his hand connecting with your ass in a light slap. An obscenely loud moan escapes you in response and you clench around him, more wetness covering his length and your thighs.

He stills and leans back to take in your heated face and blown pupils, an amused smirk forming on his face. “You liked that, huh?”

You nod, once again unable to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he demands, his fingers grabbing your face again. “Eyes on me, remember?”

Your gaze reluctantly trails up and his smirk grows.

“So…” he drawls, slowly picking up his thrusts again, “what exactly did you like, huh? When I called you a good girl… or when I did this?”

He smacks your ass again and you grind down onto him almost instinctively. You’re burning up in shame, but you obediently hold his gaze.

“B–both,” you whisper, in disbelief that you’re admitting this to him, but you feel too good to hold back now.

“Fuck,” he growls, his movements speeding up and his grip on your hips bordering on painful, “knew you were a dirty little thing.”

Another slap lands on your skin, harder than before, at the same time that he thrusts deep into you. The combined sensations are enough to throw you over the edge that you had been teetering on since he first touched you and you scream out his name as you fall apart.

He holds your shaking body close, cock grinding into you as you pulse around him and he groans, burying his face in your neck, spilling his own release deep inside of you.

“Fucking perfect,” he whispers, mouth pressing against your skin. “Can’t believe that you let me–”

You barely make out the words, ecstasy still coursing through your veins, but you lean into him, holding onto his broad shoulders, feeling like his body is the only real thing in your world right now.

You stay like this, entangled in each other’s embrace until your breaths even out and he carefully lifts your face, pressing one more kiss against your lips. It hits you suddenly, that this might be the last kiss that you share with him. Just one time, right?

He helps you to properly put your clothes back on, supporting your weight as you slink back into the passenger seat, before he pulls his pants back on and jogs up to his apartment to gather the paperwork for your father.

Your father. His friend. Fuck. Now that the lust-induced haze has lifted a bit and you’re able to think more clearly again, the weight of tonight’s events starts crashing down on you. He would kill you. He can’t know, no one can.

Dave returns within minutes, his brow furrowed as he takes you in. You think that he clocks the growing panic that is probably written all over your face. He reaches for your hand, slowly enough that you could retract it if you wanted to, but you long for his touch, for the reassurance of it.

“You alright?” he asks softly.

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He nods back, not prying, which you are grateful for, and starts the car, making his way over to your house. Your hand still clasped in his. Both your release and his pooling in your panties.

You only let go of him when he pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. You don’t think that your dad checks the footage from the security cameras regularly, but it’s a risk that you’re not willing to take.

“Thank you,” you mumble, once again unable to meet his eyes. “I– I had a great night.”

He smiles, appearing more relaxed than he’d been all evening.

“Me too, sweetheart. Good night.” You feel his eyes on you as you walk up to the door.

You shower, reluctantly washing away all traces of the evening and crawl into bed. You still feel his hands on your skin, the sensation following you into your dreams.

When the morning comes, hushed promises of just one time echo in your head, but the desire to do it again, for more, is burning through your body, consuming your thoughts.

“Hey Dad,” you ask, stepping into his office where he’s brooding over documents, “I think I left my jacket in Dave’s car, could you give me his number? Maybe I can go pick it up.”

if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending in an ask – it’s really the thing that keeps writers going :)

#fic: wildest dreams #dave york #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york smut #pedrostories #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dbf!dave york

[silverscreenlipstick]

it’s… happening??

#cowboy remus pt. 2 #sequel to wildest dreams #wolfstar #cowboy remus lupin #cowboy remus agenda #taylor swift #marauders #smut #<3333 #sirius black #remus lupin #fic: wildest dreams

[dunbonnets]

VICTORIA HATHAWAY & JJ MAYBANK

he's so tall and handsome as hell　　　he's so bad, but he does it so well　　　　　　i can see the end as it begins

reading link | edited by dunbonnets | june 2023

#ch: victoria hathaway #fic: wildest dreams #series: the dear reader duology #obx fanfiction #obx oc #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks oc #wattpad #wattpad fic #wattpad fanfiction #wattpad oc #wattpad collab #*my friends oc #*my graphics #*my edits #*my gifs #*graphic by dunbonnets

[aegonx]

@ohhstark

#fic: wildest dreams #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #bymiranda

[back2bluesidex]

omg please make a part 2 of wildest dreams i loved it 🥺🥺🥺

Ah! How I wish I could make a part 2! But you know some stories are better with a sad yet satisfactory ending? And even if I write a part 2, I don't think I can make her forgive Jimin. I'm so sorry anon! 🥺 I couldn't comply with your request. 😭

#ask #nika's askbox #fic: wildest dreams

[byhuenii]

The Predestined and the Popstar — CL16

: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS Shes a popstar and He’s a famous F1 driver. . . who has a big crush on her, someone he’s never interacted with before so the grid tries to play matchmaker.

TROPE friends to lovers—matchmaker.

FACE-CLAIM Beabadoobee

DISCLAIMERS !! there will be a bunch of typos, but that’s my fault most of the time i don’t proofread. this is going to be a mix of smau and written so you have been warned! probably a mix of 50% written 50% smau !!

01 - She doesn’t even know you.

02 - Lets actually make a plan first

. . .

( photo creds pinterest and instagram )

#— prim’s ☆ wildest dreams! #w.riting ‹𝟹 ‎scripts #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 smau #f1 x you #cl16 x reader #cl16 #cl16 imagine #cl16 x you #cl16 x y/n #cl16 fic #cl16 fluff

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 05

PREVIOUS

It might be objectively funnier if no one knows Fluent Freshman’s first name (even me because there’s some funny ideas but nothing as funny as “UNKNOWN” Smith) aside from Wymack.

Even the announcers just refer to him by his last name (maybe his first name is very foreign and hard to pronounce, maybe that’s why he got into foreign languages, maybe it’s so bland that the announcers just can’t his full name without yawning, maybe it’s just that someone else on the Foxes has the same first name so there’d be confusion, who knows) This only occasionally creates confusion because the Terrapins and the Ravens both have someone with the same last name as him.

Either way after one-two hit confidence crushing combo of the CVS girl knowing he has tummy trouble and the conversation with Neil where Neil asks about his stomach ulcers FF utilizes all of his years of learned behavior to fully fade into the background. Wallflower? No man I’m Wallpaper you cannot see me.” This has unintended consequences.

1. He has become undetectable which means that he is now, once again, hearing all sorts of relationship talk but now it’s not just between Captain Neil and Andrew Minyard and their surprisingly soft private life.

He is subjected to Nicky gushing to Erik in German. He has to listen to Kevin talk to someone named Jean in French (he only finds out later that they’re NOT dating but it sounds like date talk...though most of his experience is listening to Captain Neil and Andrew Minyard loving say they hate one another so maybe he has a bad pool of knowledge.) Matt, Aaron, Jack, and some of his other freshman players all speak in English but CHRIST he wishes it was in any language he doesn’t know. (If he hears Jack say ‘Yeah sure whatever Babe.’ one more time HE’S going to slap the asshole for being so dismissive to his girlfriend.)

2. He has become objectively better at being a defensive dealer because other teams just kind of don’t notice him and pass right to him. Kevin wants to study him on what about him makes him so adept at causing unforced errors in objectively better players. Fluent Freshman, having been yelled at by Kevin more than once, takes the moment Kevin’s eyes are diverted by Captain Neil saying something and just slides out of his seat into a different seat (Middle of the bus. The least noticeable section) and puts up his hoodie and pretends to sleep. (he does not. what if he drools? It’s already hard enough getting sleep in a room with two roomies. He got to campus earliest so that he could claim a top bunk so no one could see him even if heights make him nervous.)

3. Since he has become undetectable that means that Andrew Minyard and Captain Neil have a hard time detecting him. So he has not had to endure their silent judging company. He is sure that Andrew is waiting for him to slip and he’s also sure that Captain Neil thinks he’s stupid. No other freshman gets as much homework help from the Captain as he does. Still, he doesn’t have to sit in the silent knowledge that they both dislike him enough that they want him to know it. HIs ulcers are starting to get better and the girl at the CVS (He’d have to have a whole conversation to change where his prescription is filled and he’d rather die) didn’t even recognize him when he came in for a refill on his prescription or note that he was buying pepto bismol again.

HOWEVER

This means that Neil has come back with slumped shoulders and uneaten snacks the last five times he’s gone for his usual hangout. They are never planned hangouts it’s just that FF is always in the same 3 locations because there are only so many spots on campus where your back is completely secured and that weren’t so intimidating to go into (The library is terrifying. What if he sneezes???) and for the last two weeks Andrew has been unable to find FF outside of practice either.

(It has to be stated that FF is in the EXACT same spots as before but he is in stealth mode and therefore only visible if you are a mantis shrimp.)

Andrew Minyard does NOT like this. FF is THE singular tolerable teammate. Andrew likes the decompression time  he gets when him and FF sit in quiet and do their own things. FF never asks for his attention but occasionally offers him good german literature recommendations for every stage of literacy ever since Andrew had mentioned wanting to get better at the written language so he wouldn’t have to rely on Neil or Nicky when the Monsters vacationed there next summer. He doesn’t call people friend easily but FF is a friend.

So it’s incredibly irritating that for the last two weeks he’s been completely unable to grab that friend and ask what the hell is going on. The Foxes have histories and it wouldn’t be the first time a Freshman’s past caught up with them or that one of them had something set them back into old survival habits. It’d happened with Matt, it’d happened with Aaron and Andrew, it for SURE happened with Neil, Sheena’s coping mechanisms had been the bane of Andrew’s existence the year before, some of the other freshman had setbacks this year and a few players over the years have had to leave due to the very circumstances that gave them a home with the Foxes. Andrew had never really cared as long as his people were fine.

It’s just that Andrew actually kind of cares about this Freshman, he considers him as someone who could be one of his people.

Which is why Andrew will keep stalking the campus around FF’s preferred haunts until he grabs him.

Andrew catches him outside of stealth mode (He had been using a urinal that is NOT where you don’t want people to notice you) and grabs him by the scruff. “We’re taking a drive.” he says and FF just sort of goes limp and lets himself be dragged off.

He hopes that he can write his grandma a letter telling her how much her love and care over the years meant to him before Andrew kills him. He’d even take if Andrew would only let him write it in his own blood.

NEXT

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings, @blep-23

#Fluent Freshman AU #Neil watching as FF fades into the background and pointedly doesn't draw attention #Neil: It's hard to see someone else living your wildest dream. #All of the Foxes have tried at one point or another to indirectly get Wymack to say FF's name #No one knows it #Dan may have recruited him but when Neil reached out to her she says she doesn't really remember it #Dan: I think it had an E in it? Or was it an A? Maybe a U?" #Anderw: Great his name has a vowel. That narrows it down. #AFTG #AFTG Fic #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #AFTG shitpost #Andreil #Fluent Freshman is very Kuroko Tetsuya RN #Slaps FF look at how many Expys I can fit into this bad boy #FF - Pt. 05

[birdiewriteslit]

wildest dreams au: masterlist

luke hughes x f!actress!abigail abernathy

fc: the beautiful, extraordinary milly alcock

background: abigail abernathy grew up in boston (yes, she’s a bruins fan). her dad and jim hughes go way back, and they kept in touch for years. a few times a year, abigail’s family would visit toronto and the hughes family would visit boston. abigail and luke are the same age, and they’re the closest.

abigail’s works: shameless, outer banks; upcoming: the summer i turned pretty season 3

go b’s

luke’s girl

happy new year!

issues and exes

the boys are back in town

talk to me, moose

jealousy

#birdiewriteslit #birdiewritesfics #birdie’s edits #birdie’s aus #wildest dreams au #abigail abernathy #luke hughes x abigail abernathy #luke hughes x oc #luke hughes #lh43 #nj devils #nhl #jack hughes #quinn hughes #smau #media edit #nhl fic #luke hughes fic

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Wildest dreams, pt. 32 (Paul Lahote)

Summary: Rebuilding their relationship is slow, but worth it. They struggle to find their footing as life goes on, sharing what's on their mind and weighing on their hearts.

Warnings: angst, fluff, sexual innuendos, swearing, GRAPHIC depictions of death and blood

Wildest Dreams Masterlist

————————————

It’s been a few days since Paul promised he’d ask Y/N’s permission to host a birthday dinner. Daisy has texted him at least a dozen times by now, demanding details he cannot provide. Some would say he’s afraid to ask, but that’s not the core issue here. The key to this puzzling silence on his behalf lies in the way Y/N is sitting on his lap, running her soft hands over his as she lathers them in sweet-scented hand cream. A soft smile lingers upon her supple lips and her eyes shyly shift to his curious ones so often he’s barely able to keep his composure. All he wants is to taste her again, to feel her responding to his advances the way she once did – hungrily, unapologetically, wildly, and often. There were days he was concerned about how often she initiated sex…he missed those days. And now when they’re rebuilding intimacy brick by fragile brick, Paul isn’t all too happy about it being put at risk because of Daisy and her inability to give others space.

“You’re staring,” she raises her left eyebrow.

“How can I not?”

Biting his bottom lip, Paul suppresses a smile. Seeing it as a challenge, Y/N cups his cheeks. Brushing the tip of her nose against his, she grins as he releases his tortured bottom lip a shade darker, lightly swollen, and kissable…so incredibly inviting.

“Now who’s staring?” Paul teases as his hands grip her hips.

“How can I not?” She mimics. “You’re incredibly beautiful and you’re mine.”

Unable to resist, Paul’s lips spread in a smile she’d been craving. She can see how it came from deep inside to light his eyes and spread into every part of him. When she lost her sparkle and stopped smiling, his faded as well. It’s truly rewarding to make an effort to get better when it reflects so perfectly in Paul.

“I am.”

“Mine?”

“Incredibly beautiful,” he exclaims, evoking a laugh from her he hasn’t heard in a long time. It’s bright and playful and she’s throwing her head back and he can’t help but laugh with her. Y/N’s laugh is Paul’s serenity and a sign she feels safe with him. Oftentimes Paul caught himself wondering if Y/N trusts he can keep her safe as he once promised her. There’s not a single part of him that trusted himself to be able to do as much, but it would kill him if she doubted him too.

Resting her forehead on his, Y/N lets out a soft exhale, her hands sliding lower until her fingertips rest on his jawline.

“Yours,” he murmurs. “Always have been, always will be.”

“Thank you,” Y/N’s voice is weak, as if her soul trembles for reassurance Paul was certain he’s diligently given time and time again. But if she needs to hear it more often, he’ll give it to her.

“Don’t thank me. Why are you thanking me?”

“For not regretting having me as an imprint.”

“I could never regret you,” Paul takes her face in his hands. Can’t she see she’s his entire world? “Look at me,” Paul orders but she squeezes her eyes shut. “Hey, hey,” he says firmly. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, she does as told. Her lips part slightly in anticipation.

“Every day I get to spend with you is another day I cherish life, love, and destiny. I didn’t believe in that shit!” Chuckling, Paul shakes his head. “Don’t you see? You made me believe in love and destiny and actually speak that into existence! There’s no one else on this planet that I would let hear me being this sappy.”

“It is a little sappy,” she jokes and he chuckles heartily.

“Well, you’re gonna pay for that.”

Raising her eyebrows, she smirks. “And how exactly are you going to make me?”

Pursing his lips, Paul pulls up his legs, his knees coming up right from behind her back enough to push her firmly into his chest.

“Crushing me? That’s your perfect plan?”

Giving her thighs a squeeze, he nods. “In a way.”

Before she had a moment to think, Y/N yelps as she lands on the soft mattress, Paul on top of her. His body weight presses her into the bed, genuinely crushing her to death. So why does it feel so good? Her nightgown moved aside, revealing a part of her right breast and Paul’s licking his lips as he cracked a smile unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her chest. He wants nothing more than to possess Y/N again, to feel her writhe beneath him as she comes undone. Lost in his soul’s desire, his mouth comes down hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them. Restraint crumbles beneath the weight of pent-up longing, and his lips mold to hers with an urgency that borders on primal. The kiss, though almost brutal in its intensity, is an act of reclamation, a fervent assertion of belonging.

He loses himself in the warmth of her breath, in the softness of her lips yielding beneath the onslaught of his need. The world outside this stolen embrace ceases to exist. His hands find refuge in the tousled strands of her hair, fingers tangling and releasing in a rhythm dictated by their synchronized heartbeats.

An inkling of common sense washes over him, pushing himself off her instantly. Laying on his back, beside Y/N, Paul covers his face. He allowed himself to lose control long enough to forget about her boundaries, about her wishes. It was a game that turned into so much more far too quickly and he lost himself long enough to act like a predator catching up with the prey.

“I’m sorry,” he swallows thickly, unable to look at her as a cold wave of regret washes up at the shores of his conscience. What started as a game, a dance on the precipice of shared longing he’s allowed to spiral into something he never intended. In this vulnerable moment, Paul grapples not only with the awful breach of invisible boundaries he feels were drawn since their almost wedding, but with the fear of disappointing her, of shattering the trust carefully woven between them.

Y/N doesn’t respond, but the weight on the mattress shifts and then it’s on top of him. Looking at her through his fingers, Paul can’t believe the sight. She’s entirely bare before him, her breasts on display, and her hands are pulling down his boxers faster than he can comprehend.

“What are you doing?” Paul’s voice is laced with curiosity and caution.

“What you’re scared of doing,” she remarks. Her movements are deliberate, determined to bridge the emotional chasm she feels separated them as they finally made some progress.

Grabbing her hands tightly, he sits up with a frown etched upon his forehead. “Stop that and talk to me.” His words sound like a tender echo in the room.

Chuckling dryly, she shakes her head. She meets his gaze unclouded by shame or disappointment. Instead, it holds a quiet reassurance. “That’s the point, Paul. I don’t want to talk, or think, I just want you.” His face is set in a firm, serious expression as she rolls her eyes at him. “I want you inside of me;” she clarifies, as her hands reach for his, intertwining in a gentle grasp.

“If that’s what you want,” he nods.

“Do you?”

“More than you could ever know.”

She pulls him to her, seeking his mouth. He laughs at her grasping hands, teasing her, but there’s no ridicule in his chocolate eyes. There’s only the wish to prolong their pleasure. A sparkle comes alive in her eyes, and Paul knows she will have the last laugh. Her hands move downward. When she finds what she wants, there is no more laughter in his eyes. They are black with passion as he pushes her down beside him.

It isn’t long before their pleasure reaches its high and they’re both released from their sweet torment. Y/N feels drained, her bones weak as Paul moves partially aside, though his leg is still across her calf, his arm across her breasts.

“That was -” Paul begins.

“Long overdue,” she exclaims. “I don’t think we’ve ever done it this quickly!”

“As long as we both finish,” he notes happily.

“How are you so sure I did?”

Paul smirks. “Oh, I know.”

Brushing his hair back, she sighs. “I love you.”

“Even with the beard?”

Giggling, she nods. “Even with the beard!”

“Good, good. Guess I’m going to throw away the shaving cream I bought this morning.”

Pecking his shoulder, Y/N places a hand over Paul’s chest. “Definitely. You’re not shaving until we see how well that beard works for me in other places when we take things more slowly next time.”

His chest quakes under her fingertips as his laughter fills the room. The birthday dinner can certainly wait until morning because there’s nothing in this world worth endangering the sweetness of this moment.

The problem is, the sweetness of that moment repeated often throughout the morning and then it lasted the entire day. Like catching up on lost time, Y/N and Paul spent the next day wrapped up in each other until they physically couldn’t move anymore.

“I’m pretty sure they’ll send out a search party for us,” Y/N snickers as Paul swipes away all the unread messages on his screen.

“If it was urgent, someone would be at the door by now.” Burying his head in her neck, Paul inhales her deeply only to realize she almost entirely smells like him. Playfully biting at her soft skin right above the collarbone, he licks the teeth marks left behind.

“I’m not even gonna say anything,” she snorts before checking her phone as well. “Well, they’re definitely relentless.”

“Mhmm,” Paul murmurs between feather-light kisses he’s leaving across her chest.

“What dinner are they talking about in the group chat?”

Pausing, Paul looks at her through his lashes. “Fuck. I forgot.”

“Well, now that you remember, fill me in.”

“They want a dinner party for your birthday. I promised them I’d ask you, but then –“

“I screwed your brains out?”

“Something like that,” he grins, “wait, that’s exactly what you did.”

Running her fingers through his hair, she sighs contently. “I think I’d be up for a dinner. Nothing glamorous, no gifts necessary. Just a dinner with friends.”

“I don’t think gifts are optional.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she inhales deeply. “Fine. Fine. I can handle some gifts. Just promise me you’ll get me out of there if my social battery runs out.”

Pressing his lips in a thin line, Paul furrows his eyebrows.

“We’re hosting it, aren’t we?” She grimaces with realization.

“I think so.”

Staring at the ceiling, her fingers coil around the ends of Paul’s dark hair. “Tell them it’s a go, but you definitely owe me five more orgasms to be okay with hosting.”

Chuckling, he pecks her chin. “It will be my pleasure.”

When the day came, Y/N found herself overwhelmed by noon. She sent Paul to the store at least five times, constantly finding something new she could make for the pack on her phone to the point he confiscated it.

“Maybe I can make the mac n’cheese?” Paul suggests.

Pausing, with her hand on her hip, Y/N snorts. “Sure. We have time for the fire department to show up for dinner too. Might have to make a little extra. Would be rude not to invite them for dinner when they’re already going to be here.”

Folding his arms across his chest, Paul says nothing as he gives her a pointed look. She looks surprisingly put together considering she spent the day cooking. Most times he’d let the comment made go, but this time he was waiting for an apology, one he hoped she’d realize he’s owed.

Tossing the oven mitts on the table, she sighs. “Pasta isn’t your dish, babe. I love you and your cooking, so if you wanna help, pasta is not on the menu. Butttt a potato salad is and I’d really appreciate it if you made it the same way you did last month because I craved it for a week.”

Huffing, he nods. They had ONE incident with pasta and it’s only because he forgot to put the water in the pot before he lost control and shifted. The look on her face when she realized he was a wolf while smoke was bellowing from the kitchen window had him staying away from the kitchen for months on end.

“Sure,” he releases a tired sigh. Instead of turning it into an argument, Paul decided to just keep quiet. This dinner clearly triggered her in a somewhat different way; where he expected depression and doing it all himself with Emily’s tips and tricks, he received an overly anxious perfectionist who was driving him insane. But it’s her birthday…the first one since she lost her dad. It doesn’t matter how old you are when you lose a parent, especially when it’s the last parent you had, there will be a sadness that clings to your heart for a long time after. He remembers losing his mom, and later his dad, and he wasn’t prepared for either death. To this day, Paul wishes he had more time to spend with them, to ask them why.

Why didn’t his mother tell him she was dying of cancer when she decided to send Paul to live with his father? He could have been there with her in the last months of her life, to have used the time she had left better. That’s a luxury they stole from him…the luxury he didn’t have with his dad at all. The only comfort he has is how quick his father’s death was compared to his mother's. Sudden cardiac death takes moments, not excruciatingly painful months as metastatic breast cancer does.

So, yes. Paul has more understanding than Y/N thinks. The first birthday isn’t easy, especially for someone who has a close relationship with their parent. She hasn’t taken a proper breath the whole day, wasting away precious moments they could have spent together.

When he woke up, Paul found their bed empty. He cannot even try to guess how long she’s been up cooking and cleaning, all of the things he planned to do. He wanted to cook for her, for them all. Paul wanted to make this day as easy as possible for her, but he should have known better. Y/N does everything well, but relaxing is not her strongest suit.

“Jacob said he’s bringing a cake,” Y/N breaks the silence. “Apparently, Alice had seen it in her vision and bought it.”

“That’s nice of her.”

“Yeah,” she turns to face him. “Is it weird we didn’t invite the Cullens? I kind of feel bad for excluding them.”

Licking his lips, Paul shakes his head. “We’re all perfectly happy to be on friendly terms, but I wouldn’t put a family of vampires in the same room with shapeshifters who’re struggling with old urges right now. You did well.”

“Is it really that bad?” Y/N places the spoon on the counter, approaching Paul with genuine worry reflecting in her eyes. “Are you struggling?”

“Every day,” he admits with a tightlipped smile.

“You never told me,” she realizes. “I really need to do better.”

“It’s fine.”

“I wish it was,” she frowns. “What else do you struggle with?”

Glancing at her, he shrugs meekly. “I don’t think we should be having this conversation now.”

“Why?” Swallowing thickly, Y/N leans on her forearms. When Paul remains silent, she bows her head low. “I’m just gonna ask then. Are you still having those nightmares?”

Noticing his hand stop stirring, Y/N’s eyes widen. Paul’s jaw clenches and her lips part. They’re not out of the woods yet. She’s still marked for death. If anything, her father delayed her death for a little while. There’s not a single part of her that doubts she was the intended victim, but her father managed to protect her the only way he could – by sacrificing his own life.

Flashes of his ripped-open throat have her grabbing onto her stomach as nausea forces bile up her throat. Unable to run to the bathroom, it spills past her mouth into the sink and before she has a chance to take her next breath, Paul’s warm hand is splayed between her shoulder blades and the other is holding her hair back.

“Ugh,” she groans. “Throwing up in the sink is so fucked up,” she tries to laugh only to gag as she senses the smell of stomach acid. Paul lets the water run, running a wet hand across her face and neck. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I throw up thinking about it too.”

Looking up at him, she leans into his chest. “You could have said something.”

“Your dad was killed. It’s not a burden I was looking to share when you were already struggling.”

Inhaling sharply, she wraps her arms around him. “I’m strong enough,” she states. “I promise you can stop treating me like I’ll break if we argue or you have something on your mind. I don’t care how bad it is, I’m here for you.”

“Talking about your death isn’t something I like to do,” Paul pulls back lightly, his scowl playing with her heartstrings. He’s been so strong, but when will he let down his armor again? It can’t be good for him to bottle all this up.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“We’re having people over in two hours,” Paul reminds her.

“And we have made like five dishes already. We can order pizza if they eat everything prepared.”

Paul smiles seeing her relax for the first time that day. This is the Y/N he’s been missing. “The beach?”

“Of course!”

As the sun begins its descent beyond the horizon, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky, they walk along the shoreline, entwined hands swaying gently like the rhythm of the waves as the ocean breeze plays with their hair. Little is said about the darkness they need to share, deciding to table it for another day. This is meant to be a moment for just the two of them – the couple who fell in love against all odds and chose to love each other every day continuously.

“It’s weird how this was meant to be the place we say our vows in,” she muses.

Pulling her closer, Paul closes his eyes. “Would have been beautiful,” the ache of unrealized dreams carries in his voice.

“I was so ready to call you my husband,” she confesses with a teasing smirk, a glimmer of playful light in her eyes.

Biting his lower lip, his eyes reopen, finding solace in the depth of hers. “I was already calling you my wife that day. It felt right.”

Staring at each other as the sun goes down, they smile longingly as if each glance is a rediscovery of love after the tragedy that stained their happiness.

“Let’s get married,” Y/N declares.

“I’d love to,” Paul places his hands on her hips, lightly pulling her in front of him.

“No, I mean would you like to marry me tonight?”

Caught off guard, Paul coughs as he nearly chokes on his saliva. He grabs her shoulders for support before cupping her cheeks, bending his neck to meet her eyes with furrowed brows. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I’m serious! We can have Sam marry us and then just file the paperwork tomorrow. I mean we have the marriage license; it’s not rocket science.”

Paul, running his tongue across his lips, takes a few bewildered steps to the left. Shaking his head in disbelief, he glances at her repeatedly, searching for any sign of it being a joke. But this isn’t a joke, this is real.

“Okay,” he finally utters, the shock evident in his nod.

“Okay?” Sparked by Paul’s unexpected agreement, a giggle bubbles forth from her, carrying genuine happiness. It’s infectious, dancing through the air, infusing the moment with warmth Paul is certain will linger in his memories.

“Yeah! Let’s get married tonight!”

A/N: Unfortunately Tumblr had been making me suffer regarding the tagging, so I hope these tags work, if not I TRIED. I am also aware it has been a while since I updated, so hope this was good enough of an apology.

@notperfect-justme @sucker4seresin @ahoyyharrington @b-tchymoon @squiddaloo @abbiesxox @kellyashcroft @the-chaotic-cow @xxxjaexxx @captainrogers-19 @bexloxl @adaydreamaway08 @sunsetevergreen @volturiwolf @twihard08 @galacticstxrdust @sorrow-and-bliss @missxmarvelous @locokoca @unstablekay @makhaia @venusdelaroix @avadakadabra93 @tearsforhan @a-marie-a @lendeluxe @seagulls-corner @konigslilslut @rottenstyx @itsmytimetoodream @dreamerwasfound @convolutings @thingfromlove @jennyamanda8 @havecourage-darling @luvr-exe @alittlejudgemental @turningtoclown @emptydoorsandpaintedwindows @marvelmenarebeautiful @bringmethe-world @alitaar @sugasthreedollarkookie @chloe-skywalker @heyheyheyggg @feral-ratatattat-king @fandomrulesall-blog @dcgoddess @lilac-crowns-blog @small-town-wayward-daughter @queenotaku27 @yourqueentp @boreddemigodd @chaosgoblinreblogsthings @felinegrate @lunajay33 @gtfoana @hpboysslut2707 @tpwk-harrystyles @amberpanda99 @let-love-bleeds-red @mo-s-blog @nj01 @myheadsinanotherworld @problematicpastry @witchybabel @llovergirlll @ireadthensuetheauthors @queerrobin @wordacadabra

#paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #twilight #twilight fanfiction #twilight fandom #wildest dreams fic #paul lahote series #twilight series #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x imprint

[bdoubleowo]

I think truthing is best avoided because it’s incredibly invasive and parasocial and at the very least one should keep the behavior to yourself as to not make the cc’s uncomfortable, and that anything short of the full picture (something impossible to achieve as an outside observer) could be missing context and that friendships come in many forms and there are other ways to experience relationships aside from just romantic or platonic but also I think Dream is just actually full on /r in love with George I don’t know what else to say why does he act Like That

#I’ve been like. ‘truthing isn’t great but something is going on there’ for months. probably a year now #and yet somehow my expectations keep getting. surpassed #i like to think dream chose to search for wattpad George fics specifically so he could read gnf x reader fics #dnf fics are impersonal to him. he’s a party separate from the narrator. x reader fics allow him to live out his wildest dreams #honestly there’s like. truthing that’s just believing something with your whole pussy and then Truthing where you actively search for proof #capital T truthing is invasive. i think sometimes you just gotta to believe weird shit that affects no one #shout out to my friend who saw this post rotting in my drafts and said ‘no post it actually’ #i made them start listening to heatwaves by showing them this unposted dnf post #dnf #dreamnotfound #og post

[janaispunk]

no one has to know what we do

chapter 2 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: Try as you might, Dave and you can’t stay away from each other.

word count: 4.4k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks), able-bodied reader, reader has hair that Dave pulls, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, unprotected p in v, fingering, rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, spanking, sooooo many pussy slaps (don’t look at us), pet names, let me know if anything is missing!

a/n: co-written with my love @joelscurls, who unfortunately couldn’t write this entire chapter the way we had originally planned, so you’re stuck with me again. if you notice that some parts are better written than others, those are most likely hers haha <3 this is lowkey my favorite thing that i’ve ever put out, and i hope you like it as much as i do 🤍

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @janaispunknotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

The phone feels like a paperweight in your hand. It’s late — you should be sleeping, but you know it’s useless to even attempt shutting your eyes. It’s too loud in your head right now — that promise of just one time blaring: a warning. Still, you can’t help but consider ignoring it, texting David and begging to see him again.

It’s probably a bit pathetic, yearning for a man who made it clear he wanted nothing to do with you beyond a one night stand. Daydreaming about the timbre of his voice, the stretch of his cock. Getting his phone number from your father, who’s none the wiser. Your father, who is asleep in his own room just down the hall. Being home for the summer has never felt like such a burden.

Guilt eats at you as your fingers hover over the screen, David’s contact front and center. It would be so easy to send him a text right now, let him know you’re thinking about him. About the other night. But your conscience reins you in. Your father’s face flashes behind your eyes — rage and disappointment painting his features scarlet, and you drop the phone beside you on the mattress with a huff.

It’s difficult to even imagine the inevitable severity of his reaction if he ever found out. He’d probably cut you off, the revelation of you whoring around with his friend — and the possibility of this news getting out, tarnishing your family’s pure reputation — more than enough for him to disown you.

You hate him sometimes. Hate the life he’s forced onto you. You’re not even interested in studying law — not really. You never had a choice, though. It was determined before you even graduated high school that you’d follow in your dad’s footsteps. And as long as he’s funding your studies, your future, you have no right to complain. This is the life you should want. The life everyone wants. He reminds you of that fact regularly. Him, and his countless snooty club buddies.

But David — David is refreshing.

He doesn’t come from old money. He doesn’t pinch your cheeks and talk around you rather than to you, declarations of you must be so proud aimed at your father as you stand awkwardly to the side. You’re pretty sure he’s the first person outside of your professors to really look at you, take interest in anything you have to say in… god knows how long.

You can still feel his eyes boring into you. The subtle but tactful brush of his leg against yours under the table. The exhilaration that had thrummed in your veins. He’d made you feel something. You’d almost forgotten you could feel anything apart from stress and agitation. And as you lay in bed, mind swimming with arousal and impending remorse, you fear you may not be able to control yourself much longer, consequences be damned.

He’s not expecting you to reach out.

Why would you? You’d mutually agreed on that night in his car being a one time thing — just a hookup; something he would’ve done before meeting Carol. Something he should probably be doing more often now. Except you’ve somehow sunk your teeth in him, injected him with a sort of venom.

Because all he can think about is seeing you again.

It’s wrong — beyond wrong. You’re so young; still in college, for christ sake. He never met you before the other night, but he’d been stationed overseas with your father when your mother was pregnant with you. He still remembers reading the letters she’d sent in care packages over his shoulder, the ones detailing her symptoms, what foods she was craving.

Strawberries. She always wanted strawberries. Maybe that’s why you’re so sweet.

He’s never been with a woman like you; never had someone trust him with so much vigor. Your needy little pleas, your vehement obedience, your desperation to take all of him in the driver’s seat of his car — you are nothing short of intoxicating.

Still, he tells himself you’re off limits. Trudges through the days that follow with the thought of you bouncing in his lap fogging his head. Struggles to focus at work and recovers in an increasingly poor manner when called on in meetings.

And then, late on a Friday night, you text him.

He only knows it’s you because you tell him so — your full name flashing across the screen followed by an apology for messaging him so late. You say you’re out with friends, and he’d probably have guessed anyway by the typos littering your sentences.

Seconds after the first, another text comes through:

[1:23am] csnt stop thinking about u. pls see me again i promise i won’t twll anyone

Fuck. Fuck.

His muscles tense; his cock twitches in his boxers. And before he does something stupid, like responds, he sets the phone face down on his bedside table. Stalks off to the bathroom with the intention of taking an icy-cold shower, detoxing himself best he can.

He hasn’t even closed the door yet when he hears it ring.

The rhythmic jingle drones through his studio apartment, and he all but leaps at the noise. Sure enough, it's you, calling him drunk in the middle of the night.

His head swims. He presses ‘answer’ anyway.

“David?” Your voice sounds so sugary-sweet, cloying with innocence. He can hear people in the background, maybe your friends, talking about getting another round of drinks.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asks first. You tell him yes; say you're waiting on a rideshare.

He exhales. And even though hearing you is making him dizzy with a fucked up sort of desire, echoes of your pleasured sounds ringing in his ears, he manages to maintain composure when you say, “can I please come over?”

“Don't think that's the best idea,” he mutters. The lack of conviction in his words would likely be painfully obvious if you weren't intoxicated. But you are, and you whine through the receiver at his rejection.

Dave fights to ignore the increasing stiffness in his boxers.

“Please,” you beg. Fuck, he loves the way you sound when you beg. “I just got off the phone with my dad…he doesn't want me coming home so drunk; said he's working on a case and I’ll be a nuisance.”

His heart breaks for you. For the girl who just wants a father who loves her, who sees her as a person with feelings. Dave can't imagine ever treating his daughters this way. Would never dream of it.

“C-can I?” your voice sounds through the speaker again — softer, less sure. Like you've prepared yourself already for the blow of him rejecting you too.

“Can't– can’t you stay with one of your friends?”

You sigh, defeated. “I want to stay with you.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. God, it would be so easy to say yes. To go and pick you up from the bar himself, bring you back to his place. Help you sober up a bit and fuck you until you can't take it anymore. But he can’t; he shouldn't even be speaking to you right now. He needs to cut this off. Needs to make it clear to you that you can't reach out to him again.

“You– we can’t.” He’s stern, direct. It pains him. “The other night shouldn’t have happened.” True, though he doesn’t regret it. Not one bit.

You’re quiet on the other end of the line for a second too long. When you finally do speak again, your voice breaks.

“You don’t like me?”

He’s going to tell you that of course that’s not it, that he’s been thinking about you constantly, that he wishes he could get you out of his fucking head. But he doesn’t get the chance. Because your friends are laughing boisterously around you, then, sounds growing more and more muffled through the speaker, and you’re telling him rather unceremoniously that you have to go.

The call disconnects with a beep.

You wake the following morning with a dizzying headache, daylight burning a hole between your eyes. With your friend still soundly asleep, you slip out of her room and then her apartment; find yourself home just as your father is getting ready to leave for work.

His travel mug sits on the entrance table as he pulls his shoes on, and you're immediately met with the smells of coffee and his leathery cologne.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he mutters as he grabs his briefcase. You don't dare look him in the eyes, lest you be met with their disapproving stare.

“Hi,” you reply, small and non confrontational. When he doesn't answer, you continue past him, begin your ascent up the stairs toward your room.

“Not very appropriate for a young professional, going out and getting wasted. Your future employer could've been there. Could've seen you acting like an imbecile.”

Annoyance furls behind your temples; makes the pounding in your head grow tenfold.

“Well then they probably won't be my future employer,” you snip.

“Probably not.”

You hear the front door close behind you and, with an agitated sigh, drag your feet the rest of the way up the stairs. You fall onto the covers of your bed, well aware that you should probably shower, but your body feels too heavy, in no way ready to move again just yet.

When you pull out your phone, ready for some mindless scrolling to numb your thoughts for a while, you’re met with a notification that sends your heart racing.

Have fun last night?

From David, sent five minutes ago.

You hastily scroll up, reading your own texts from last night, full of typos and barely coherent. csnt stop thinking about u. Your head falls back with a groan. You had gone out to forget about him, not to drunkenly confess your feelings to him in the middle of the night.

Now that you’re thinking about it, you also vaguely recall speaking to him. You tap on your call log and sure enough, there’s his name, only minutes after you texted him. You have no idea what you might have said to him, only a blurry memory of being upset about something. Great, this is great.

Sighing deeply, you go back to messages.

i was very drunk. sorry for bothering you

His reply comes almost instantly.

Who said you bothered me?

You’ve only met him once, and yet you can picture his smirk as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.

Dave is sipping his coffee, black, no sugar, and listens to Jim going over his plans for the both of them going golfing next weekend, humming occasionally.

It pains him, looking at the man in front of him, while your voice from last night is still ringing through his head. How hurt you sounded, looking for a place to stay, not being welcome in your own home.

When Jim stands up to leave for work, he remains seated, gesturing towards his half eaten bagel, but assuring the other man that he doesn’t have to wait for him.

You still haven’t left his thoughts. If anything, the longing he feels for you has gotten worse since you told him how much you want to see him again. And he’s so tired of denying himself the one thing he really wants.

He’s patient, chipping away at the bagel until he sees your father’s gray Dodge peel out of the parking lot. And then he gives it another 10 minutes, just to be safe.

Come join me for coffee? I’m downtown at Roasted Beans.

You respond moments later — such an obedient little thing, you are — letting him know you’ll be there shortly. He finishes off his drink, discards the cup along with the bagel wrapper, and orders two fresh coffees.

He sees you before you see him. Eyes wide, lips parted ever so slightly, you look so cute as you scan the cafe. You’re wearing a sundress, the blue fabric dancing around your thighs with every turn of your body, and Dave finds himself entranced by you.

You smile when you finally catch sight of him, your entire face lighting up and he smiles back without a second thought.

You shouldn’t meet him again. You really, really shouldn’t. But the conversation with your father this morning keeps replaying in your head, the disapproval weighing heavy on you, the feeling of being unable to do anything right.

You long for someone to look at you without judgment, for the sound of good girl against your skin. You long for David.

After last night and the fact that he obviously didn’t invite you over, you had thought that for him, maybe it really had been a just one time thing. Like you both had agreed on multiple times.

But then he’d texted you again, asking you to meet him. It’s almost embarrassing, how quickly you got ready, eager to see him again, despite knowing better.

On the drive over, you run through countless discussions in your head, trying to decide what you’re going to say to him. You have to be reasonable. There’s too much at stake. David is a mistake that you wouldn’t be able to come back from. You’re just going to meet him because he asked you to, because that’s the nice thing to do. It’ll just be coffee, nothing more.

Your resolve crumbles as soon as you see him. His eyes are already on you, their expression so full of want that it makes you ache. You walk over, feigning confidence as you slide onto the chair next to his, a quiet greeting on your lips. The deep, smooth sound of his voice when he returns it is enough to make you melt.

He has already ordered for you. It’s a small thing, rationally, but it’s once again more care, more attention than you’re used to. Warmth is spreading through your chest, but you try steeling yourself, forcing out the words that you’ve prepared to say.

“Listen, I want to apologize about last night. I shouldn’t have– I wasn’t thinking straight, I’m sorry for bothering–”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He interrupts your nervous stuttering, his hand gently wrapping around yours on the table. “I already told you that you didn’t bother me. If anything–” He sighs, his grip tightening. “I’m the one who’s sorry, you were looking for somewhere to stay, I shouldn’t have turned you down like that.”

It breaks Dave’s heart, seeing how you’re making yourself smaller, how ready you seem for him to scold you. Your quiet You don’t like me? still echoes in his mind. How your own father didn’t care where his daughter spent the night, as long as she didn’t come home. Didn’t bother him.

He clocked the way your eyes widened in surprise at the coffee that he got you, how you huff a relieved breath when he assures you again that he’s not annoyed with you. You’re so sweet, so deserving of being loved and cared for, and he so desperately wants to be the person who does that for you.

He felt the same pull from that night towards you as soon as he laid eyes on you again, and it’s only gotten worse, now that you’re right next to him, now that he’s touching the soft surface of your hand. He vividly remembers how your skin felt under his fingertips, how you writhed against him.

The urge to get just a taste of that again becomes overwhelming. He holds your gaze as his fingers start gliding over your thighs under the table, inching towards the hem of your dress. Your lips part, the softest whimper escaping your throat at his touch.

He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t be touching you like this, shouldn’t be thinking about you like this. Can’t stop thinking about you. I want to stay with you. How is he supposed to keep away, to stop himself, when you come to him so willingly, so desperate to be wanted?

“David?” Fuck, he loves that you call him that. “Will you take me home with you? Please?”

He can tell that you’re scared to ask, bracing yourself to be rejected again. He’s not nearly as strong as you think he is.

“Yes. Come on.”

He pulls you to your feet and out of the door before either of you have the chance to change your minds.

He’s a bad man, shouldn’t be getting off on having total control over you like this. He’s probably sick; should see that shrink Carol recommended a couple months ago after the divorce was officially finalized. But the way you’re looking at him — with the same big-eyed, doleful stare you’d given him that first night — tells him you want this. Need this, even. You long to relinquish control to someone other than your hawkish father.

So pliant in his lap, limbs all gooey and relaxed under his touch, it’s clear that you trust him. Maybe more than he trusts himself.

You’re spread out on his couch, clothes hastily discarded as soon as the both of you stumbled over the threshold, already entangled in each other. He’s led you to the living room, the thought of fucking you in his bed, of your presence lingering there, your scent permeating his sheets, the last invisible line that he’s determined not to cross.

He has been toying with your body, collected your wrists in a hold over your head and told you to keep them there while he flicked and tugged on your nipples, sucked marks into your skin while you writhed underneath him.

He’s taking it slow, now that you’re here with him, now that he has the time to thoroughly break you down and put you back together again.

You’re already soaked when he sinks a finger into you, your tight walls clenching around him immediately. You coo up at him — a needy little noise that has his resolve disintegrating in seconds flat — and you look relieved when his hand loosely wraps around your throat.

“Please,” you whisper then, and he tuts.

“You want me to take care of you?”

You nod.

“Then you take what I give you. No begging. Do I make myself clear?”

Another noise — this one smaller, stuck in your throat — and he’s pulling his finger out of you again, lips curling into a cruel smile.

He doesn’t give you any time to prepare before the first slap lands on your already-throbbing clit. You can’t help but shriek. In response, he tightens the grip on your throat slightly. Gives three more stinging smacks in quick succession. Dave almost doesn’t notice when your eyes begin to roll back. He does notice, however, when your hips begin to roll upward, your body chasing his hand.

“Oh, such a good girl you are,” he praises.

Slap.

“You love this, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” you moan, garbled and a little breathless.

Slap.

“Pathetic little girl. Bet you could come just from this, you’re so desperate. Couldn’t you?”

You gasp.

Slap.

“Answer me,” Dave demands. “Or I’ll stop.”

It’s almost comical how quickly you sputter the word yes, eyes desperately pleading with him to keep going. And he’s almost shocked just how badly you needed this. In this moment, any guilt he’d been feeling is replaced with the desperate desire to give you exactly what you crave.

He slaps you again, a little harder this time, and you wail. Your legs are trembling, but you make no move to close them, keeping yourself spread wide open and accessible for him.

He’s throbbing, fighting the urge to sink his cock into your tight heat, but he wants, needs to know how far he can push you. How far you’ll go for him.

You’re dripping onto his cushions and he collects some of your slick with his fingers, rubs them against your clit. Your skin is burning under his fingertips. He teases the oversensitive nub with gentle touches, relishes in the way your eyes are glued to his face, the way your lips are trembling as you’re silently pleading with him.

No words are escaping you, and you’re so good, making him so proud with how you’re following his commands.

He slaps your clit again, and again, and again, until you’re a babbling mess, your throat constricting against his grip and your back arching as you come with a cry. Wetness floods out of you and you’re shuddering in his hold, broken whimpers of his name falling from your lips.

He watches with sick fascination, almost unable to believe that he drove you to this point. How much you enjoy being treated like this. That you’re just as twisted as he is.

When you come down, your arms weakly reach for him and he scoops you up, pulls you into his lap until your face is nuzzled into his neck.

“Good girl,” he coos, gently stroking your hair, “you did so good.”

He gives you a few moments to rest, tracing shapes across your back, until his fingers dip deeper, gliding over your ass and between your spread legs, where you’re still so fucking wet.

You squirm under his touch, needy little sounds traveling up to his ears once more. “Please,” you whisper.

One hand grabs into your hair, pulling your head back until he can see your face. You look wrecked. Pupils blown wide, your eyes wet with tears, but what really gets him is the way you look at him. He had worried, for a second, that he might have been too rough, but there’s only pure trust and longing in your eyes.

“I thought I told you no begging.”

You bite your lip, furrow your brow in that adorable way of yours. “I’m sorry. It just– it all feels so good.”

He presses his thumb down on your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth.

“I know it does, sweetheart. You need more?”

You nod quietly, your eyes wide and pleading.

“Alright then.” He turns you over so quickly that you gasp, scrambling for a second to get your bearings. You’re on all fours, your legs still spread, your ass on display for him.

He had wanted to prepare you a little more, to give you several of his fingers first before he stretches you out on his cock, but he can’t possibly hold back any longer. Judging from the loud moan that you let out, he thinks that you like the sting of him sinking into you unprepared.

It’s even better than he remembers, your slick walls engulfing him so tightly. He starts pounding into you, the depth of his thrusts jolting your body forward and forcing more sounds from you.

He wants you to still feel him tomorrow, wants you to remember him, wants to stake a claim that he knows he doesn’t have. He groans your name, his fingers digging into your hips, greedy for every part of you that he can reach.

Perfect, you’re so fucking perfect, giving yourself to him like this.

“Come on,” he growls, reaching down to find your clit again, rubbing in tight circles. “Give me another one.”

You cry out, pushing back against him. So fucking eager. He lands two quick slaps on your ass and you fall apart, trembling wildly as your walls pulse around him and you scream out his name.

He can’t hold himself back any more and follows you over the edge, pumping into you once more and holding your hips pressed against his.

You both collapse down onto his couch, a mess of tangled, sweaty limbs and quick breaths. You curl your body into his and he presses kisses against your cheeks, your temples, your lips.

Slowly, as he’s coming back to his senses, the guilt settles in.

He lets go of you much too quickly, stands up and starts getting dressed quietly. You watch him for a moment, wracking your mind for something to say, before he looks at you.

“Get dressed. I’ll drive you home.”

He sounds cold, distant. So different from the man who just took you to heights that you didn’t know existed until now. You suppress a shiver and get up hastily. Suddenly, being naked around him feels much too exposed, too vulnerable for your liking.

You pull your dress over your head and slide your shoes back on, but one crucial item is missing.

“Did– did you see my underwear?” you force yourself to ask. He shakes his head, not gracing you with a verbal answer.

Eventually, you give up the search and follow him down the stairs and into his car. The silence grows, until its weight is pressing down, almost suffocating you. You steal glances at him, but his eyes are fixed on the road, staring straight ahead, never wavering. A muscle in his jaw is ticking.

The mix of his spend and yours is pooling between your legs, but it makes you feel dirty now. You force down the lump that’s building in your throat.

When he stops in front of your house, you scramble out of the car without a word. You don’t know what would be worse, if he said goodbye like nothing was wrong or if he remained silent. You don’t want to find out.

It’s late in the evening, you’re lying on your bed, eyelids squeezed shut, willing sleep to finally overtake you. Thoughts keep spiraling through your head, so many questions that you have no answers to.

He asked you to meet up, for fuck’s sake. You don’t understand why he’s treating you like this, but you’re determined to not let it happen again. Just two times, you think with a bitter scoff.

Your phone vibrates on your bedside table, indicating a new message.

[11:55pm] I can’t stop thinking about you either.

Attached is a photo. A photo of a familiar lacy scrap of fabric, grasped in his hand and covered in milky white cum.

It’s filthy, and wrong, and you feel yourself getting obscenely wet at the thought of him touching himself with your missing panties clutched between his fingers.

Maybe just one more time.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

#janas fics #fic: wildest dreams #dave york x reader #dave york #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedrostories

[silverscreenlipstick]

dear god i just read wildest dreams and . im hypervebtilating . this is life changing . everyone knows im absolutely obsessed w cowboy wolfstar and seriously i can't believe my luck in finding ur oneshot . im giggling and kickinf my feet i still just . am speechless like i love them so bad anyways all this to say THANK U UR DOING THE LORDS WORK THANK U THANJ Y THANK U

Oml THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR SAYING ALL THESE KIND WORDS. yeah, the cowboy remus agenda was just going wild here on tumblr, so i was like fuck it, i’m gonna hop on the train too!! i intended for it to be just pure smut, but for some reason my brain was like nope!! let’s have a sort of emotional ending to it?

but i am just so beyond happy of your response. it makes me happy and giggle and kick my feet at these lovely comments. thank you so much and i hope you’re having/had the best day!! <3333

#asks #fic: wildest dreams

[dunbonnets]

✧. ┊ Wildest Dreams, a JJ Maybank fanfic written by Daniella ( @void-daniella )

THE HATHAWAY FAMILY WAS KNOWN throughout Kildare Island for their wealth and position as partners at the most reputable law firm on the island. They were one of the wealthiest families on Figure Eight, and their two children were top of their peers in every respect. If there was a contest or competition, Victoria and Charlie Hathaway would win by a landslide no matter what. AS THEY GREW UP, THE HATHAWAY SIBLINGS changed more than they’d care to admit. Where Victoria used to be the perfect child who never dared to put a toe out of line, by the time she turned seventeen, she wanted nothing less than to taste a bit of freedom. There was something about the idea of rebellion that made her want it more than anything else. ENTER JJ MAYBANK, THE BOY FROM HER PARENTS’ NIGHTMARES. First of all, he’s a Pogue and the son of Luke Maybank, one of the people her parents despise the most from the Cut. If she were to ask any of his friends about him, they’d say JJ was the latest in a long line of fishing, drinking, smuggling, vendetta-holding salt-lifers who made their living off the water (Tori would never admit to having asked about JJ, especially when it happened while she was drunk and the answer came from none other than his best friend, John B). HE WAS NOTHING BUT TROUBLE, and trouble never looked so good. There was something alluring about the impulsive nature of JJ Maybank that made Tori want to be less of the perfect daughter and more of a free spirit. If Tori was being honest, she was more intrigued by JJ Maybank than any boyfriend she ever had before.  BUT EVEN THE WILDEST DREAMS COME WITH A PRICE, and JJ Maybank is no exception. Victoria Hathaway never expected her fleeting infatuation with JJ to lead to anything more than a hookup, and little did she know that her life would change in the weeks after Hurricane Agatha hit Kildare. It’s just like her mom says, you’ve got to live each moment like it’s never gonna happen again.  AFTER ALL, NOTHING LASTS FOREVER.

edited by dunbonnets | april 2023

#*my graphics #*my edits #*my gifs #*graphic by dunbonnets #ship: tori and jj #fic: wildest dreams #obxedit #outer banks #*my friends oc #*outer banks fic #*jj maybank fic #*other ocs #ch: victoria hathaway

[everliving-everblaze]

You know, I see a lot of older fans talk about "the 2020 fandom," and I truly think that was an unrepeatable situation. Not ONLY were we all on pandemic brain, but the author of the series had just announced for the first time that there wouldn't be a full book that year. We had all the free time in the world, zero content coming our way, and had just been left on a book where Sophitz broke up and Keefe got put into a coma. How could we NOT have gone absolutely feral? anything was possible

#only those circumstances could have created wildest dreams and constant fic/art ask games and prompt games #and wild theories around every corner and nonstop debate about ships and hate on characters and return fire with cursed theories and edits #and just..... EVERYTHING that happened in the 2020 fandom. man. #keepblr #kotlc

[pinkiebieberpie]

i thought, "heaven can't help me now" .⁠｡⁠*⁠♡✧⁠*∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠° nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down •⁠ᴗ✧⁠*｡⁠•⁠ ｡⁠☆ he's so tall and handsome as hell

sam winchester moodboard || supernatural masterlist

++ tagging my sun ☀️ @ghostlyfleur

#wildest dreams by taylor swift #supernatural #sam winchester #jared padalecki #sam winchester fic #sam winchester drabble #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester au #sam winchester supernatural #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester spn #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester ff #sam winchester moodboard #supernatural moodboard #spn sam reader #sam spn

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wildest Dreams 5

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, manipulation, lying. Tags are not exhaustive and more may be added as the series progresses.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Andy Barber lost everything and you’re about to give him it all back. (dark!reader)

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: The bitch is back.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like snakes love Woody’s boots. Take care. 💖

You enter the office and strut over to the desk. You put down the bag and unzip it as Andy shuts the door with a soft click. You reach inside and take out one of the wrapped subs.

“I made you a sandwich, honey. And there’s pasta salad. I also brought a thermos of coffee. Decaf, you have to cut back on caffeine,” you explain as you unpack the lunch, “and tonight, I think we could go for a quick shop–”

“What are you doing here?” He hisses as he nears the desk, “you can’t be here.”

“Oh, that’s silly. You are entitled to a break. You’re a lawyer, you know the law.”

“That’s not what I mean–”

“It’s really nice of me to come all the way down here and bring you lunch, isn’t it?” A edge hardens in your voice, “so, you’re welcome.”

He growls and stares at you. You turn and tilt your chin up at him defiantly. If anyone can handle him, it’s you. And only you. Your only natural talent is stubbornness, everything else you’ve worked tirelessly to hone.

“If you’re unhappy, you just have to put your foot down,” you face him completely. “You are the man so if you must put me in my place, do so.”

His brows furrow and he sighs. You wait. He doesn’t move. You let a laugh trickle up your throat.

“You have a choice right now, Mr. Barber,” you say, “you can sit and eat your lunch or you can…” you pause and slide the bag aside, then move the food out of your way. You set your feet flat and plant your feet, “spank me and send me home. Show me that you are in charge.” You look at him again and bat your eyes, “I will do whatever you like.”

He inhales and puts his hands on his hips, “I told you, leave me alone–”

“Stop with that,” you ball your fists and hit the desk, “you need me. You want me! I felt it last night and you did too. I had to clean your cum out of your underwear–”

“Enough,” he waggles his finger at you, “enough.”

“Do you want me to go, Mr. Barber?” You spread your palms flat again and push your ass out, wiggling it, “you better be clear with me. I need a strong hand to guide me.”

“I’m not doing this,” he insists.

“Well, I’m not leaving so… sit and eat your lunch.”

“What is wrong with you?” He snarls as he throws his hand out, “I am begging you–”

You stand straight and face him. He winces as you step closer but he doesn’t retreat. You grab his crotch and he grunts, catching your hand as he jerks his hips back. You giggle as he tries to pull you off him.

“You can lie, but your body can’t,” you taunt as you feel his dick, half-hard and twitching, “you can’t hold all that in honey, that’s what I’m for.”

“Stop,” he squeezes your wrist, “I’m at work–”

“You’re on break,” you insist, fondling him.

He rips your arm away and shoves you so you stumble back. You laugh as you barely keep from falling, your ankles bending in your heels. You give a devilish smirk and wink at him.

You reach behind your head and push down the top of your zipper, then bend on arm under to pull it the rest of the way. Andy exhales loudly as you let your dress slacken and you wiggle your shoulders free. He comes forward, grabbing at the dress as you push it further and further.

“Stop,” he hisses through his teeth, “don’t–”

You rip the dress past your waist and drop it to pool at your feet. You look at him, hands on your hips as you stand in a lacy white bra and thong. He recoils and clears his throat.

“You can’t do this,” he says weakly.

“You want to fuck me now?” You ask, “I can get in your lap. Bend over the desk?”

“No,” he crosses his arms and looks away.

“I can use my mouth again,” you get closer to him, “you could cum on my tits?” You press your hands to his chest and he flinches, his jaw gritting, “or I can use my hands…”

“Please,” his voice is hollow.

“It’s all up to you, Mr. Barber. You are in charge,” you caress the muscle of his chest, “you know I can’t fight you off. But if you want to tell me what to do, you better make sure I do it.”

“Enough,” he stills your hands, “I can’t–”

“You can–”

“No,” he insists.

“What’s the matter, hmm? I’m not like her, Andy. I’m not going to argue with you. Not if you put your foot down. So do it? Show me you’re the boss.”

“Don’t,” he growls.

“What?”

“Don’t talk about… her.”

“Andy,” you hum, “she’s dead. You need to move–”

Suddenly, his hand is on the back of your neck. You wobble in your heels as he turns you and pushes your head down. Your cheek meets the desk as you bring your hands to the wood. You don’t fight it, instead pushing your ass up.

The first slap makes you moan. The way his hand cracks off your ass ripples through your body and makes your legs shake. You smile as he does it again, harder, surer. His breath deepens with each strike, coming closer and closer together. Until your ass is raw and tingling.

He stops, his palm against your hot flesh. He lets out a long heave and drags his hand off of you as he lets go of your neck. He steps away and spins, scratching his beard as he shakes his head.

“Go home,” he demands as he rounds the desk, “not– go back to my house and don’t come back here. Understand?”

You stand slowly. You’re so wet. You want to just climb over him and make him finish the job. But you won’t. 

“Yes, Mr. Barber,” you step into your dress and pull it up. “I will see you when you get home.”

You reach under your skirt and roll your panties down your legs. You carefully unhook them from around your feet and drop them on his desk. He has his back to you, staring at the window as his shoulders are square and stiff. 

You grab your purse and shimmy happily, “have a good day, honey. I love you.”

He doesn’t say a word. It doesn’t bother you. He’s close. He can’t hold out for much longer. You know him. You know exactly what he needs. You are what he needs.

👗

You’re making dinner when Andy gets in. You hear the door and his footsteps, slow and sonorous. You wait for him to come say hello so you can ask him how his day is. He doesn’t. 

You smile at the steaming pan, scraping the wooden spatula off the bottom. He’s still afraid, but he doesn’t know why. He’s not scared of you, only of himself. He lost control in his office, showed his true colours, but doesn’t he know that’s exactly what you love about him.

You set a lid over the pan to keep supper warm. Your painstaking effort to make a new dish will not be put to waste. He will not be eating in his office or on the couch. He will come and sit at the table. This is a proper household.

You march to the door and listen. You don’t hear him. He’s hiding from you. Ugh, he needs to get over it. You are just trying to take care of him and it’s clear he can’t do that for himself.

You go upstairs and stop at the top. You hear him in his office, a low roll in his throat as the wheel of his chair squeaks. Nope, that’s not how this is going to go.

You continue down the hallway and enter his office without knocking. He’s tugging at his tie as you do. You stop before him with stone in your jaw.

“Can you not smell the dinner I’ve spent hours making for you?”

He looks at you, a ripple above his brow. “I have work–”

“You are done work,” you look at the clock on the narrow table in the corner, “it’s home time. You’re going to come eat dinner–”

“I am working,” he insists.

“Andrew.”

“Don’t,” he warns with a jab of his finger, “this is how it’s going to work, understand? You are going to stay away from me. If you insist on squatting here, keep out of my way.”

“Squatting? Pardon you,” you stomp your foot, “that’s not how you speak to me.”

“You are deranged,” he rolls closer to his desk, “do you not understand that?”

“You didn’t think so when I had your dick in my mouth,” you snap, quickly reeling back. “What I mean honey, is that I’m not the deranged one. You’re the one not seeing things clearly. You don’t know how much you truly need me.”

“I don’t,” he sniffs.

“You’re lonely, Andy. You’re miserable, you can’t just hide away every night with beer and paperwork,” you tut, “you need someone here with you. Someone to take care of you. That’s all I’m trying to do.”

“You don’t know me. You’re a fucking stalker but you don’t know–”

“No more beer, by the way,” you ignore him, “I emptied that thing.”

You point to the minifridge between the bookshelves, “it’s bad for you.”

“You what?”

“I’ve done a whole inventory. Gotten rid of all the junk. Made a list of what we need. Oh and of course, we have to clean the barbecue for next week.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re going to invite the neighbours, of course. Celebrate our engagement–”

“Engagement? What are you even talking– what engagement–”

You hold out your hand, displaying the ring to him, “I love it. Don’t you? It’s simple but elegant. Unlike that big old hunk of diamonds you got for the first one. You and me, we’re not like that–”

“You’re walking a fucking line,” he warns.

“You’re letting me,” you challenge tritely.

He sits back and huffs. His eyes roll back as his frustration tenses in his neck, twitching in his cheek.

“I can’t do this,” he breathes.

“Honey,” you soften your tone, “please, you’re stressed. We both know you doing all this…” you look around, “isn’t good for you. It’ll all catch up to you and I couldn’t stand to see you sick.”

“I’m not–”

“Shhh,” you come around the desk, “Andy, you carry so much stress.”

You touch his face and he leans away from you. You brush your fingertips along his beard and down to his neck. His jaw clenches as he stares past you.

“I’m not trying to destroy your life, Andy, I’m here to make it better,” you trail your touch down his shirt, “I only want to make you happy. I know it’s been so hard for you, so why don’t you let me make it…” you linger along the top of his fly, “easier?”

“Stop,” he breathes as he grips the arm of the chair.

“Make me,” you purr as you pick open his fly.

He doesn’t move. He shudders as you slide down his zipper. You don’t hesitate. You push apart the top of his pants and slip your hand beneath the fabric. You rub him through his boxers. He’s already getting hard.

You squeeze him until he groans and you lean in to kiss his forehead. You breathe into his hairline as you toy with him, his body constricting and his chest rising and falling fast.

“This is what you want. Even if you won’t admit it. But I’ll give it to you, honey, I’ll give you whatever you want,” You nuzzle his soft hair, “I’m ready for all of you.”

“Please…” he rasps as he pulls his head back, jutting out his chin.

“Please, what, baby?” You moan as you pump him through the cotton.

“I–” he chokes and closes his eyes.

As you play with him, his hips shift, and he trembles. Spurred on, your fingers crawl to the top of his underwear and dip beneath. You grip him, feeling the thick veins corded under his skin. You hold him firmly, moving your hand up and down, watching how he squirms and whimpers. You feel power in your very hand.

“Isn’t that good? I can be so good for you… so good to you,” you grab the arm of the chair and push it back. You get to your knees before him, watching yourself pump him, “don’t you want me to be good to you?”

You tug down the strap of your dress, then the other, all while keeping your hand moving. He grunts as you awkwardly shrug away the fabric. You pull down the strap of your bra, your tits popping free of the lacy cups. You angle his tip over the curve of your chest as you sidle closer.

“That’s it, Mr. Barber, you can do it…” you coax, “cum all over my tits. Come on, come on–”

Andy grunts and his pelvis jerks. He spasms as strings of cum shoot out across your skin. You smirk as you ease him through his climax, the warmth of his release dripping down your throat and tits. He shakes and you let him go gently. He dick pops up and twitches against his stomach.

He looks at you from beneath shroud lashes as you touch your slick chest, scooping up his cum and holding it up on your fingertips. You push your fingers into your mouth and suck off the salty flavour. He lip quivers as he gapes at you.

“Are you ready for dinner, honey?”

#andy barber #andy barber x dark!reader #dark reader #dark!reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #defending jacob #wildest dreams