#glimmer cowboy look

[taintedcigs]

— cowboy hat rule.

pairing: cowboy!steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, MINORS DNI!!!!, pet names, praising, kinda degrading but not really, a lil argument, dom!steve, rivals to fcking, swearing, good old bj for our good boy stevie! reader has a nickname 'sunshine' bc i didn't wanna do y/n sorry:(

summary: helping out mr. harrington in his ranch was supposed to be fun, but steve harrington was an asshole. an absolute pain in your ass that teased you, and you gave him the same energy back, always. so when you unknowingly wear his cowboy hat, he decides to teach you what exactly the cowboy hat rule is. (wc: 5k+)

author's note: this is just horny babbling. i have no idea how cowboy lore works so if im wrong pls just close ur eyes i tried to research but i couldnt find shit just pls i just want cowboy steve dick. and ofc no proof-reading bc im lazy as hell. no dividers ugly aesthetic bc of tumblrs f ass not showing my shit in tags SIGH.

also PLSSS LIKE + REBLOG + COMMENT TO SUPPORT ME MWAH ILY

When you told Mr. Harrington you’d be more than happy to help around his Ranch during the summer, you didn’t expect Steve to become a problem, but you were wrong, so fucking wrong. 

A cocky cowboy who’s way too into partying and into his looks and his fluffy hair than you could ever imagine. That’s exactly how you’d describe Steve Harrington. Even though you so badly wanted to believe otherwise, wanted to disregard the rumors and the reputation that came with him. But, he made it so goddamn hard. 

All he fucking did was tease you, complain. Order you around and act like you didn’t know how to do shit. And, you didn’t, but he was supposed to be your guidance, teach you. But all he did was grumble and give you that goddamned smirk. 

Yet, you couldn’t fully hate him, there was a side of him he rarely showed you, one that cared, one that offered you rides—it was more of a mumble each night but you accepted nonetheless, one that ended up at your side whenever an asswipe bothered you at the bar, one that offered you a hand on your back when you were crying, he didn’t ask what happened, didn’t speak, just stood there, letting you spill out your guts. The two of you never spoke about these incidents, ever, because he acted like they didn’t exist, like he couldn’t bear the thought of being nice to you. 

You were so fascinated by him, even though you’d never admit it out loud. He was charismatic, outright funny, and had a heart of gold that you only peered one layer of. 

And fuck it, he was fine, annoyingly good-looking that he was a distraction to be around when you were supposed to be working, him with those sturdy denim jeans that cupped his ass perfectly, wide-brimmed cowboy hat with a creased crown, put perfectly on his head. Even though you’d much rather see his pretty hair falling on his face, run your hands through his smooth layers.

Usually, when it got as hot as it did today, he’d even take off that stupid shirt, feast your eyes with his glimmering chest, all hairy and glistening with sweat, broad shoulders as he ordered everyone around made you gulp. Like he is doing with you, right fucking now. 

“Sunshine, get back to work.” Heat travels to your cheeks quickly, and that stupid nickname rolls off his lips so bitterly, the one he always called you just because you were all nice and smiley—even when he was being an asshole to you, something that grinded his gears, you guessed it was a foreign concept to him, being nice. 

You were quick to shake off the hold he had on you, getting back on your feet as you stood your ground. “I am working! Just needed a second to breathe!” The lies rolled off your lips so simply that you wondered if he caught you staring. When he turned around to leave, you guessed he hadn’t. 

“Asshole.” The insult leaves you before you can register how close Steve still was to you. 

Turning head-spinningly fast. “What did ya say?” He spits, making you gulp physically. 

He looks out of the world stunning when he’s mad, maybe it’s a toxic trait of yours but, fuck, the way his chocolate hues turn unrecognizable, that slight quirk of his brows, and the way his muscles flex in pure anger made you rub your thighs together. 

Jesus Christ. He is getting into your head, and you hate that you think of him this way when he is so mean. 

“Nothing! I’m just saying it’s really hot out today,” you hum, the sun rays hitting your face not making it easier on the heat that flame your cheeks. 

He gives you a snort, all mocking once he takes a step closer, making you feel hotter if that is possible. “Well that’s what happens in the summer, darlin’”

Hand on the wall he tilts his head slightly, all with sass that has you rolling your eyes. “Or did you expect the weather to give Miss Sunshine some sorta special treatment?”

You roll your eyes, an act you always did that makes Steve’s jaw clench. “Oh, come on Steve! It’s really, really, hot, and the sun is all on my face!”

“Boo-hoo, princess,” he mocks, tipping his hat, almost as if to tease you further.

You scoff, getting closer to him. “Easy for you to just stand around in that big hat!” With a narrowed gaze, you cross your arms against your chest, like a brat, another trait that annoyed Steve even further.

Then, you beam again, and Steve knows no matter how much you hate it, Sunshine is absolutely the nickname you deserve, eyes glistening with happiness that it annoyingly even brings a glint to his pretty amber hues. His gaze unintentionally droops down to tour lips, so plushy and soft looking when it curls into that pretty smile that Steve wants to kiss you all over. 

“Oh! Do you mind if I?” You ask all giggly, pointing toward his wide-brimmed hat, hand teasingly standing above his head. 

He scoffs as if you had just asked him the most insulting question ever. “Not a chance,” he spits, now he crosses his arms in front of his chest, eyeing you with a dark glint in his eyes, one you couldn’t decide was full of annoyance or just pure desire. 

“Mhmmm… okay,” you hum, feigning innocence for a second, before snatching it off his head with another hearty giggle.

Oh, what he would do to hear that on a loop, admire the way your lips stretched into the prettiest grin, brows quirked.

“Sunshine!” He chides, much rougher than he intends to, but you don’t pay attention to him when you place the hat carefully on your head, smoothing your hair.

You shrug, looking up at him with those doe eyes that have him melting, everytime, without fail. “Admit it, looks better on me.” You shrug, expecting him to agree.

Instead, he just offers you a deep sigh of breath, eyes almost widening when he realises what you just did. “Do you even—”

He huffs, hiding the obvious pink shade thats starting to color his cheeks, you really had no idea the hold you had on him, did you? “God, you city girls have no idea about anything, huh?”

Your brows furrow. “What?” 

“Cowboy hat rule?” He asks with a tilt of his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

A teasing smile curves on your plushy lips as you push for more information. “What’s that?”

“Just give me the hat back,” he insists, attempting to mask the warmth that crept into his tone.

With a shake of your head, your defiance only grows, a glint of mischief dancing in your gaze. “Not until you tell me the rules.” 

“Sunshine,” he warns, voice so grumbly that heat travels all over your body quicker than the sun burning you. 

“Steve?” You hum with a flirty gaze, so teasing that Steve wants to fuck you right then and there, until he teaches you proper manners, until he shows you not to be a total fucking brat and not to roll your eyes at him, until he shows you that you’re his. 

But, of course, he settles on a low grumble of, “You’re annoying.”

“You used to be more creative with the insults, Harrington.” Another teasing remark, and Steve rolls his tongue inside of his mouth. 

With a smirk, he takes another step toward you, when your back hit the walls of the barn, only then you realise, he has you cornered. “You wanna know the cowboy hat rule, princess?” He asks all smugly.

Gaze meaner than he is, chest almost pressed against yours, voice so low that all you can do is slightly nod. 

Your breath gets hitched in your throat when his face is mere inches away from yours, hot breath fanning against your cheeks, skin heating on the impact, that brattiness you wear as a mask quick to slip off when he’s all demanding. “You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” His tone is almost a growl, pupils blown wide, making you gulp, physically.

“What?” You blink, unsure of what he’s actually asking. Excitement jumping around in your tummy. 

“You heard me. Wanna take me for a ride, Sunshine?” He is so goddamn close that you are sure he can hear the annoying tumble your heart does at the weight of what his words hold. 

It makes you pause, gaze sticking on his, sometimes slipping away to his soft lips, almost to signal him of something, but all you can do is try to hide the embarrassment that burns your cheeks. 

“Didn’t think so,” he scoffs, backing away just slightly. 

His cowboy hat is too big on your head, tipping low over your eyes, possibly hiding your nervousness as you mutter, “What if I do?”

With a smooth motion, he flips it off from your head, holding it with his palm, away from you. “Get back to work, Sunshine.”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I, those horses ain’t gonna straddle their strap themselves, off. to. work,” he hisses, turning to leave.

You huff, heat still burning off your cheeks, more embarrassed than annoyed, yet you still don’t have it in yourself to let it go, you can’t let him have this. Win this.

Quick to snatch the hat back, “So the hat rule is, wear the cowboy hat, ride the cowboy, huh?” You mumble behind him, your voice failing you, yet you appear to be giggly, and Steve heaves a deep sigh of breath, before fully turning to you.

He halts a bit when he sees you once again, in his hat, tipped low, that stupidly addicting smirk gracing your slightly-open lips, hand on your hips, and all he wants to do is fuck you till you lose that attitude of yours. 

“Stop,” he warns, taking a step closer to you but with a shake of your head you back away, and he sighs, loud and annoyed. 

“Gimme that, sunshine!”

“Nuh-uh.” All teasing and bratty, and grating on Steve’s last nerve. You know this, yet you wanna keep pushing him, further and further, until he snaps, until he can’t take it anymore. You have no reason to do this, you’re supposed to hate him, think of him as an annoying asshole.

But the two of you are finally tethering on that line, the line between purely teasing each other out of spite, to teasing each other out of flirting, you know that, and you don’t wanna take a step back. “Prove it.”

You are all up in his face, and all he can do his roll his eyes, cheeks beetle red, frustration worn on his face. “Knock it off.”

You tut gently, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Not until you—” Your words are interrupted quickly when he snatches up the hat from your head in annoyance, making you gasp when he discarded it easily.

“Get back to work!” His voice raises, and it makes you take a deep breath.

Shit, did you fuck this up?

“What?” You question, entire body feeling dizzy. He takes a step closer.

“You heard me.”

Another step closer, his breaths come out in short gasps, frustration taking over him. “Get back to fuckin’ work, before I can’t stop myself.”

He is close. Too fucking close, and you can’t help the way your gaze droops down to his soft lips, slightly parted open, downturned from frustration. God, you realize how hot he is when he is angry, once again. “F—from what?”

He hesitates, before licking his lips. This is it. He wants, no, he desperately needs you. Needs to put you to your place. Teach you what happens to bratty girls like you. Show you what exactly the stupid rule is. “From fucking you in this goddamn barn.”

You release the breath you’ve been holding back, feeling small, so small under his gaze. Mouth hanging open, and all you want is him to pin you against the wall, have you screaming out his name. “From making sure I show you how the goddamn cowboy hat rule works.”

Your back is plastered against the wall, his hands are by your side, you are caged beneath him, chest rising in anticipation. “Is that what you want, honey, think you can handle all of that?” He’s so smug, and you don’t know what overtakes you when he’s all in control like this, you wanna obey him, make him happy, proud, so you bite back on your insults.

His smirk is dangerously alluring, and you’re under his spell. 

“Please,” you beg, heat finds your cheeks again, you hate the hold he has on you.

He barks out a chuckle, so mean, yet as equally hot. “Please, what? Speak up,” he spits, rolling his tongue inside of the roof of his mouth, lips wearing a smirk.

“Ruin me,” your voice is small, meek, yet it makes him groan. 

You’re such a good girl for him, and he wants nothing more than to ruin you. Fully. Completely. Ruin you for every other man. 

His head ducks down to your neck, leaving a sloppy kiss before leaning into your ear, his breath hot on your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Goddamit darlin’, you gonna be the death of me, huh?”

You don’t—you can’t answer, you’re speechless, rubbing your thighs together desperately, seeking some friction, a touch, anything. 

He levels with you again, dangerous gaze on your lips, fingertips brushing against your cheeks teasingly “You know what I always wanted to do, sunshine?” He coarses lowly. 

“W—what?” You ask with a gulp, lips twitching with need. 

He gives you another grin, that asshole. The pad of his thumb slowly caressing your lips now, making you shiver with hunger. “Always wanted to put you to your place, you and that damn smart mouth, always runnin’ it for no good reason. I’d give you a good reason for those pretty lips, huh? Use it the way I wanna use it, fill it the way I wanna feel it,” he grunts like he said the most normal thing, yet you’re already squirming, wanting to open your lips, take his fingers in your mouth and suck on them, show him how much of a good girl you can be for him.

He has you on such a hold already, and you can’t complain. For someone who seemed to be annoyed—hell, even hated him a few minutes ago, you feel crazy, batshit insane, all you want is him.  

His fingertips play with your lips all teasingly, pupils blown wide, the other hand caresses your hair so possessively that you melt into his touch. “You gonna be good for me sweet thing?”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. “Y—yes, sir.”

Sir. 

Godfuckingdammit. You don’t know the hold you have on him, do you?

He bites back on the moan that rumbles in his throat, instead settling on a, “Good girl.” Your puppy dog eyes glint at the praise, and he makes a mental note of it. . 

“Get on your knees f’me, darlin’,” he grumbles, and you’re quick to obey, not minding the uncomfortable feeling of the wooden floors scraping your knees, or the fact that anyone might’ve walked in, the door was locked, and there was probably no one around yet Mr. Harrington might’ve returned to the ranch at any moment. But he made you feel safe, somehow. 

You look up at him with those doe-eyes again, making him suck in a breath before he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them off his hips, boxers so tight around his hard cock that he grunts involuntarily.  

Your eyes go wide the second his erection springs free, almost hitting the tip of your nose, red, angry and leaking with pre-cum, he lets out a chuckle at your expression before grabbing the base of his cock. 

Same eyes, looking up at him all hungrily, Steve feels the way blood rushes quickly to his cock, making him harder if that's even possible, with a groan he runs the leaking tip across your lips. “Open up.”

Your hand replaces his quickly, and he runs his fingers through several strands of your hair, teaching you how exactly he wants you. 

You open your mouth wide, just like he likes it, tongue giving his slit kitten licks, moaning at the taste of his salty pre-cum, wrapping your plushy lips around his thick head, and sucking the life out of him, determined, and feigning innocence with the soft gaze you held. 

Head thrown back, heavy boots planted on the harsh ground, he lets out a low groan, stroking your hair all softly. “Look at you s’pretty like this for me.”

His hand wraps tighter around your hair, pushing you onto him, making sure you gag a little and that only spurs you on, making you whine around his cock, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Cat got your tongue, darlin’?” He chuckles all meanly. 

“God, do you have any idea how many times I wanted to shut up that bratty mouth like this?” He asks with grunts leaving his open mouth, hand working harshly around your head, mouth feeling like heaven the more you bob around his thick length, struggling to take all of him. 

“Those pretty lips are—mmpf, shit—better stuffed with my cock than being a spoiled lil’ city girl runnin’ her mouth, ain’t that right, baby?” You nod meekly, angelic eyes seeking for his validation before you flatten your tongue around the sensitive part of his tip, struggling to take all of him in your mouth. Earning guttural moans, eyes squeezed shut as he feels your soft lips wrapped around him again.

“Fuck, sweet thing.” You can feel his filthy grunts straight in your core, all low and lewd that you almost moan around him again, he puts one hand on the wall, helping himself to better move in and out of your throat. 

He knows if you keep this up, he’ll cum right and there, and fuck, he needs that. But he needs to be inside of you more. 

You keep up your stroking, now adjusting yourself properly to start licking and sucking on his balls. “Sunshine, you need to s—stop,” the words barely leave his lips, he so doesn’t want you to stop. But, he needs to cum inside of you. 

Yet, you don’t listen to him as your movement speeds up, determined to feel his load warming your throat, make him proud, and your mouth bobs harder around his length, making him growl at you harshly. “Sunshine,” he warns, pulling you by your hair. 

You’re quick to take a deep breath of air once he pulls you off, looking up at him with the perfect innocent eyes, your lips wearing the prettiest pout. “Was that not good for you, Stevie?” 

Stevie. That nickname makes his head spin faster, all he wants to do is fuck you against those stupid rustic walls, have you screaming out for him, the whole ranch filled with your filthy noises, no one was around anyway.

“You kiddin’, sweetheart?” He gives you a chuckle, wrapping his hands around your jaw, pulling you off the floor. 

“You were fuckin’ amazing,” he hums, leaning down to kiss you, tasing the salty semen on your tongue. 

His hands are quick to travel along to your waist, fingertips finding their way onto your panties rather quickly, earning a gasp out of you. “Need to be in here first, honey.”

You nod, so quickly that you can feel him grinning into the kiss, his hands are everywhere, yours are more or less the same, quick to get rid of his top, to feel his toned chest in your soft hands, your top is sprawled right next to his, revealing your pink and gold bra at him, breasts peeking out just enough to have him groan, big hands quick to get rid of them. 

He has you caged against the amber walls, back hitting the rough material, making you hiss. Your skin heats at the impact, it’s filthy, lewd, and so public, but none of you even care enough to break the kiss. He settles between your thighs, his pants drooped to his ankles, hands rubbing across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

The sight of you so easily submitting to him, makes his cock grow harder than he thought was possible, looking so ethereal that Steve forgets all about everything else. “Sunshine,” he breathes, hands fiddling with the hem of your panties. 

“Mhmm,” is all you can muster, legs slightly open for him, and he almost feels possessive over you, it’s entirely stupid, but he looks so fucking alluring with those dark chestnut eyes, layered hair a mess, and cock weeping entirely with the thought of you. 

His thumb runs over the seam of your pussy, just a glimpse of how his fingers are going to ruin you, and you pulse and clench against him already. Wet. Drenched. And all ready to take him. “You’re soaked,” he groans.

Leaning further into your ear, “is that all for me, honey?” he rasps, desperate, needing your confirmation. 

Heat grows in your cheeks faster than a scorching day in July, and he grins, again, all cocky and proud. “Yes,” you admit meekly, and Steve’s quick to kiss your worries away. 

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he growls, swirling your wetness up and around your slit, almost toying with you, having you desperately mewl for him. 

He can’t put his finger on it, what it is that draws him this much into you, but he’s hooked, so goddamn obsessed that he feels like an idiot, for being this much of an asshole, for acting like a grade school boy who’s pulling the pigtails of his crush. Like a stupid cliche. 

“Stevie.” That nickname, again. Godfuckingdammit, Steve thinks. You have him so wrapped around your finger, it’s like a prayer, and he’s sure you’re not aware of it. And it drives him even crazier. “Please.”

“Talk to me.” His voice is low, lips now nipping at your neck, suckling, giving you all the marks you need. 

“I need you,” you hum, eyes squeezed shut, desperate. His finger discard your panties and slide easily inside of you, your back is fully dipped into the well-worn walls with how good he feels, his thick fingers making their way in and out of your soppy cunt, whines leave your lips faster than you can comprehend. 

“Ruin me, Steve, fully, completely.” You don’t know how those words leave past your lush lips, but your thighs ache with need, cunt throbbing for him and him only. 

His eyes widen quickly, pure hunger quick to fill his veins, mouth hanging open, curses leaving his lips at how forward you are being. “Show me the cowboy hat rule, sir.” 

Steve all but groans, mouth harshly on yours again, chests pressed together and you can feel how hard he truly is, rock stiff, and aching to be inside of you. The sheer size of how he feels against your thighs almost makes your eyes bulge again. 

His fingers stop moving in and out of you, before you can whine, he spins you around so fast that you gasp loudly, hands immediately plastered on the wall, pleasure and excitement fills your tummy, but the fact that he’s seeing you all vulnerable like this is embarrassing enough that you try to close your legs. 

He’s quick to stop you with a grin, rough hands landing on the back of your thighs, spreading them open while tutting you. “Nuh-uh. Don’t get all shy now, princess. Spread them open f’me.” You spread them a little, cunt throbbing with how close his fingers are. 

He groans again once he fully gets a view of you like this, face down, ass up, your pussy slicked with your juices, at his mercy. “‘M gonna ruin you, honey, don’t you worry.” A dark chuckle barks out from his chest, sending chills down your spine, almost making you whine. 

Fuck. 

His hands are rough when he has you by your waist, bruising almost. Lining his cock in front of your slick core, he swipes the head of his reddened tip inside of you with one forceful thrust. Your plushy lips open slightly, stealing your breath away as you try to adjust to his size.

Shit, shit, shit, he feels even better than you fucking expected.

His cock splits you open, filling every goddamn inch of you. You don’t know how many times you thought this, but, shit, he’s as big as the gossip in this small town says he is. 

His thrusts are slow, grunts so loud and heavenly that it spurs you on more and more. His weight on you, the bruising hold. You feel him everywhere. On your back, hips, and fucking inside of you.

“F-fucking, fuck!” he growls, leaving nibbles all over your shoulder and back, even with the fact that this was Steve, and he was rough and filthy, it was wildly intimate, so wildly intimate that you could feel your heart pounding inside of your chest. 

“How are you this fuckin’ tight, s-sweetheart?” One of his hands travel up to your neck, roughly holding you down, hips slamming into you with such force that you cry out.

He watches the way his girthy cock disappears in and out of you, wetting himself with your juices, filling every inch of you. “Doin’ s’good for me, princess.” His praises are heavenly, making your chest swell with pride.

He moves inside of your soppy cunt with short thrusts. Completely bottomed out, thrusting against the same sensitive spot every time as his balls, heavy with cum grind against your clit, with each movement, making you cry out his name, babbles leaving your mouth. “Yeah, you like this don’t ya? Want me to ruin this slutty pussy, huh? Ruin it for every other men?”

You nod all dumbly, yet, it isn’t enough for him. He wants to hear you, have you scream it out. “Say it, sweet thing, fuckin’ say it,” he groans, coarse voice making tingles appear everywhere on your skin. 

“I-I love it, Stevie, want you to ruin me for everyone else, mmpf,” you moan all fucked out, eyes rolled all the way back to your head, hips desperately grinding against him for some more friction. 

He picks up his pace, fucking into you with reckless abandon.“F-fuck doll, won’t last if you keep runnin’ that dirty mouth.” 

But his words just encourage you to keep going, gasps coming out in short breaths as you manage to drive him crazier. “All yours, sir, all yours.” 

He grunts at that, one of his arms snaking around and under your hips to find a better angle, lifting you up so that he can fuck his cock deeper into you, make you feel how fucking big he really is. “That’s right, baby, it’s all fuckin’ mine.”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks, entire body burning with it. The slick sounds of his hips driving into you, your moans, his low groans are all that fill the room. So fucking filthy, and you can feel yourself clenching around him. 

It’s all too much; his hands everywhere, the lewd noises he makes, how deep his girthy cock is bottomed out inside of you, making you feel every ridge. It’s fucking perfect, and you desperately need to cum. 

And of fucking course, Steve can feel your pussy gripping him, so tight that he knows he’s gonna cum right after you do. “Gonna cum f’me, huh? Such a good girl,” he praises, again, knowing the effect it has on you and all you can do is gasp and weakly nod. 

One of his thumbs quickly finds your clit, making your pussy throb around him in pure ecstasy, all the overstimulation enough to have you crying like a bitch in heat. “Give it to me, angel,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses everywhere on your skin.   

His movements pick up, padded thumb rubbing circles around your clit, the other hand landing on your nipples, twisting them while pumping into you, it’s all too much that it makes you sob and beg for him. 

“Cream my cock, let me ruin you completely, darlin’” It’s all the confirmation you need as your orgasm builds and washes through you, body exploding with pleasure, spreading through your skin as you scream out his name. 

Your pussy squeezes and pulses around his cock, and he fucking knows, he won’t last, not in the slightest. “S-shit, sweet thing, gonna make me cum with all those filthy noises.” 

“Want that, honey, hmm? Wanna be filled with my cum? Show everybody in this town who owns ya? Owns this tight lil’ cunt?” He feels it, that pure hunger for you over taking him, coarse voice, dark eyes, like a man possessed. His fingers dig further into your skin as he desperately chases his orgasm, enjoying the sloppy sounds your pussy makes as he drives into you.

“P-please, Stevie, n-need your cum,” you weakly hum. And it fucking breaks him. Hips losing all rhythm when he spills his warm load into you, twitching inside of you once he pumps you full of his cum. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sunshine,” he breathes, collapsing on your back, both of you trying to come down from the high. He slips free of you slowly, his cum dripping down your thighs, making him grin proudly. 

“S-steve,” you weakly murmur, collapsing in his arms. He holds you down, slight kisses left on your back, delicate in a way you have never seen him before. Yet, the two of you don’t mention it, “let me take you home,” he mutters, a gentle hold on you that makes you feel warm.

“N-no.”

“No?” Intrigued, his breath gets caught in his throat, the look you give him is so sultry that the blood rushes to his cock in an instant again. Fucking fuck, what have you done to him.

“We still haven’t followed the rules,” you purr sweetly, causing him to raise his brows in excitement, tempting him further and further. 

“The rule was wear the hat, ride the cowboy, wasn’t it?” You question with a slight grin, eyes lulled, still fucked out. 

Your fingertips gently grazed against his chest, hairy and slicked with sweat, his sudden dominance fading when you were so quick to switch from begging to cum underneath him to gaining that flirty, giddy personality again. Already leaving him a mess. “Y-yeah,” he murmured, watching you hungrily, his cock already weeping again. 

“Then, sit down and lemme take care of you, cowboy,” you ordered again, shuddering breaths leaving him in an instant.   

Now you were going to ruin him.

Fully.

Completely.

And Steve couldn’t be more infatuated. You were truly his demise.   

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fics #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagines #cowboy!steve harrington

[pinkmirth]

i need more cowboi reiner tryna knock u up pls 🥺 👉 👈

⸻ STUFFED!

SYNOPSIS ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ reiner just can’t seem to control how hungry he is for you. what better way to make you his than by stuffing you full of him?

CONTAINS ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ ( 2.5k+ words of . . . ) cowboy!reiner x fem!reader (black coded), nsfw/smut, modern au, countryside setting, established relationship, reiner has a big fat breeding kink, sex flashbacks, doggie style, standing sex, creampie, use of pet names (ex. mama, sugar, honey), reader calls reiner ‘papa’, mentions of pregnancy, lowercase intended, explicit language, minors shoo!

MY LOVE NOTE! ౨ৎ ₊ ⊹ it’s undeniable that cowboy reiner’s got a raging breeding kink. thanks so much for sending in your thoughts, my love! now here’s rei-rei bein’ a shameless feen for his pretty girl! 🎀

reiner’s terribly distracted.

the last thing he wants to do is lay blame, but in a way, you’re the reason why. the mere thought of you is enough to make this cowboy go buckwild. rei-rei swears he usually has more self control, it’s just that you strip him of all common sense.

you, pretty little you, make him all scatterbrained. his head’s been filled with nothing but romantics and vulgarities ever since he took you on a date seven months ago. you’ve turned him into some fool in love, for goodness’ sake.

memories of last night’s escapades come to mind. his mouth practically waters when remembering your plush ass; how you tossed it onto his pelvis with an arching back and swaying tits, peering at him with the sultriest smile, not to mention those glimmering bedroom eyes of yours. he recalls having to hold you still, so you wouldn’t be able to squirm away if his pounding were to become too much. you were soft, he remembers, so soft. the flesh of your hips would squish beneath the imposing pressure of his callous fingers, digging tighter into your sides whenever you’d flutter around the girth of him. he remembers the way he came inside with a rumbly moan, leaving your pussy full and the sheets wet . . . he wants to do it all over again.

with all that’s going on in that perverse little mind of his, he can hardly bring himself to focus on feeding the cattle. the only thing that can solve his problem is its source; you. and just like that, reiner’s dropping whatever he’d been doing before. his chores can surely wait, but this surge of desire can’t be overlooked. not a thing matters as much as finding you, fucking you, filling you.

he rounds the barn, passes by the apple trees and the horse stables in search of you. his cock pulses with every step, prodding stubbornly against the soft cotton of his boxers, now smeared with sticky precum. reiner brings a hand down to provide himself some relief, palming his boner with a low grunt. he’s so fucking hard that it almost hurts. that’s what he gets for fantasizing about you for the past thirty minutes and doing nothing about it until now.

with heavy steps, reiner makes his entrance into the farmhouse and is met by the sight of you lounging in the living room. you’re seated on the floral-print recliner with your pedicured toes propped up, all nice and comfortable. you’re wearing the dainty string of pearls he bought you for your birthday earlier in the year. pride flushes throughout his chest when seeing how prettily it rests on your collarbone.

you greet your man with a glossy smile, one that makes his dick throb beneath his hay-specked coveralls. reiner wonders if you’ve taken note of just how red he looks, rosy heat scattered across his face, from the highs of his cheekbones to the tips of his ears. he can feel his skin blazing with complete and total need.

reiner elicits a weak mumble of ‘hey, sugar. . .’, a stark contrast to your tone being all light and cheery as you ramble on about the cute little mini-skirt you’re crocheting for yourself. ‘since the weather’s getting warmer,’ you chime.

reiner loves you. he really, truly does, but he simply isn’t in the headspace to pay mind to the mundane task you’re occupied with at the moment— not when he’s this close to tearing off your summer dress, bending you over, peeling himself out of his spurred boots and pumping you full of every drop of cum he has to offer. fuck, he’s breathing harder now. gradually, he feels his resolve slip.

“you alright, honey?” you set down your crocheting hook, staring up at him with big, curious eyes. your voice, soft and consoling, grounds him just a little. reiner pulls off his signature cowboy hat, sets it on the nearby coffee table, and ruffles his hair so it falls into place. “yeah, i’m just—“ a pause amidst his sigh. truthfully, he’s here because he wants to fuck you pregnant. “i wanted t’see you, is all.” he settles on saying that instead. it’s much sweeter, all the more more romantic. less fetish-y. you probably would’ve looked at him funny if he admitted to crossing the entire farm by foot just so he could fill you up.

“aw, rei! you were missin’ me?” you laugh out of flattery. oh, your reiner. he’s so sweet in his own right. your boyfriend wants to ‘see you’, as he claims, like he hadn’t woken you up with nibbles to your neck, taken a (somewhat long, fairly busy) shower with you this morning, and ate breakfast alongside you before heading off to tend to the farm. you assume he can’t help but cling to you and want more.

it’s sudden, but welcomed, how reiner closes in on you. he draws near like a magnet, until the space between you no longer exists. he’s crouching down to the level of the chair, hovering over you to press a kiss on your lips. “mhm. missed you so bad, mama,” he mumbles against your mouth. in reply, you whisper onto his lips, something about how he’s always ‘so eager.’ he leans into you, desperate for more, and the chair creaks underneath the addition of his weight. he’s a large man, anyone can tell. his brawny build and imposing height never fail to make you feel safe underneath him. 

reiner dips his head low and plants one, two, three sloppy kisses along your warm neck, and it gets you hotter than the southern heat. he leaves saliva in his wake, trailed by the lightest of bruises from his suctioning lips. he tries to undo your clothes and his, but the small space that this decade-old chair provides won’t allow for it. besides, it wouldn’t be wise of him to make you squirt on a family heirloom. “this won’t do,” he clicks his teeth, decidingly picking you up. your legs wrap around his torso like second nature, arms circled around the back of his muscular neck.

“reiii, baby wait!” you draw out the call of his name, but all it does is coax him further. can’t you tell that your voice is only making him harder? that your whines urge him to fuck you silly? 

“wait?” he reiterates, grinding up into your clothed core. you shudder upon contact. “what for?” from beneath the denim he wears, you can feel his stiffness poke against your flimsy panties. “don’t you wanna head to bed first, honey? hm?” you whine into his neck. it takes a good eight seconds for him to respond.

“uh-uh,” reiner gives you a half-hearted grunt, with his gaze fixed on your cleavage that the low neckline of your dress presents to him. obviously, he’s interested in other things. “here’s just fine, sugar.” he’s strong enough to fuck you standing up with nothing else supporting him, and you know that. he doesn’t need a goddamn mattress.

reiner’s large hands grab at your underside, using your ass as the perfect leverage to press you close to him. this is your third time fucking the week, and it’s only tuesday. you’d mention it, but he’s too busy kissing down the valley of your breasts. impatience seeps through his every movement, from how he grasps at your thighs to keep you upright, to eagerly feeling along your lower half like it’s his first time touching your body.

“slow down, rei.” begrudgingly, reiner removes his lips from your chest. he finally calms for just a moment, so that he can meet your beautiful eyes. your face has been overtaken by a subtle pout. “m’sorry, honey,” he murmurs between a deep kiss, all wet and tongue-filled. you assume that’s supposed to be his form of an apology. his toned arm re-fastens itself around your body, holding you tight, while the other bunches up your dress and pushes down his bottoms, “but i need you. so fuckin’ bad.” you could never deny him and that sweet southern drawl. he knows that his smooth mouth works magic on you— he always gets what he wants from his pretty girl. 

now freed of any confines, reiner lowers his hand to stroke at the base of his dick, tugging himself with a low hiss. involuntarily, his hips buck. “you can finish up that skirt later, hm?” he releases himself and appoints his attention to you, the pads of his fingers circling your clit in just the way you like. your head falls forward onto his broad shoulder. “hell, i’ll even buy you some o’those frilly ones at that fancy mall you like goin’ to . . .” he utters partially to you and a little to himself, still occupied with keeping pressure on your bud. by now, with your head thrown back, you’ve already forgotten what you were working on in the first place.

having done this countless times before, reiner’s quickly able to find your dripping entrance. the drag of his tip through your puffy folds causes a ‘shlck’ sound to elicit. reiner smiles to himself; you’re embarrassingly wet. your hips begin to swivel and writhe, that’s how he knows you’re getting as needy as he. choosing not to waste any more time, he pushes himself inside with one swift motion. you cry out from the stretch, already fluttering around the first few inches he gives you. so far, it's just the tip and some, but he's so wide.

“goddamnit, baby . . . i fuckin’ love this pussy,” reiner grunts through clenched teeth. he’d usually start off with a shallow thrust and ease you into it, but he isn’t feeling as patient. every thrust is fast-paced, almost rushed. the impact has you bouncing in his arms, all as he continues his unrelenting efforts.

“s’good, rei— so good,” wavering moans spill past your lips. he hisses when your manicured nails dig into the hot flesh of his firm, round biceps. you squeeze around him until his eyes go rolling back. “i know, mama. i know,” reiner whines and groans, because it’s all he can manage to do. if he was air-headed about you earlier, surely he’s braindead now. he pumps into you rapidly, restlessly, but he still finds a way to make it feel so thorough. that’s probably because he’s fucking huge; incredibly endowed, like every other big and buff part of him. with a cock this thick, how could he not strike every nerve and hit every spot? 

he rolls his hips up into you with breathtaking fervor, fucks into you until he’s balls deep within your pulsating cunt. sweat dripping down his furrowed brow, he rasps out, “can’t wait to fill you up,” sloppy kisses follow, and his tongue slides across yours as he mumbles on about cumming inside, stuffing you full, making you his. you finally know what he’s doing, you should’ve known all along— he’s going to pump his cum into you as deep as he can get it to go. thrust his seed into your pliant womb until he’s fucked a baby into you. 

the mere thought of makin’ you a mama has his head spinning. reiner’s breath catches in his throat, and your sounds heighten in pitch— the pair of you can tell that you’re bound to reach ecstasy. he squats a bit lower, goes a little faster, attempting to propel you both into your orgasms. it’s coming on like an impending wave; your belly tightens, toes curling from where your heels dig into reiner’s strong back.

he knows you’ve come undone once your smooth, ridge-like walls begin to spasm around him, to the point where he can hardly pull back or push in further. he likes to think that it’s your pretty pussy’s way of begging for his cum. still, he doesn’t let up, not until you’re thoroughly impregnated. “jus’ a lil more. hold on ‘fa me, honey, m’kay?” he pleads through throaty whimpers. weakly, you nod. the overstim makes you pant and mewl, biting onto the damp skin of his exposed jugular to try and quiet yourself.

reiner slams you down onto him, the veins in his forearms bulging as he desperately grasps onto the globes of your ass. the resounding slap of skin rings around his tingling ears, lewd sounds floating throughout the otherwise quiet farmhouse.

“g’na let papa fill you up? yeah?” you cry out a weak ‘mhm!’ along with other pleas of how much you want it; want him. his balls twitch and his abdomen goes tense. “m'close,” he gruffly whispers. you decide to spur him on: “g-gimme your babies, papa, i need it!” that’s all he needs to topple over the edge. “oh fuck, mama— m’gonnacum,” reiner’s words jumble together when he comes, coating your insides with warm globs of white. though his thighs never cease their trembling, he still maintains a steady hold on you, keeping your limp frame upright. 

reiner stays inside as a means of keeping all his seed plugged into you, just for good measure. he doubts that he’s got enough energy remaining to round up the cattle after this. his chest heaves slowly, and his hair’s a mess from all that pulling you were doing, but he’s more than satisfied. he's even got this dumb, blissed-out smile on his face to show his content. you're sure he's knocked you up thoroughly by now.

he’ll make sure to buy you a pregnancy test by next morning. 

#𝓂𝓎 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓈𝓉ℴ𝓇𝒾ℯ𝓈.ᐟ #reiner smut #reiner braun smut #reiner x black reader #reiner x black reader smut #reiner braun x black reader #reiner braun x black reader smut #x reader #aot smut #reiner x reader smut #reiner braun #cowboy reiner #cowboy reiner smut #— harmoni answers #— (.reiner) #— (drabbles!) #— (reiner drabbles!) #smut #x black reader #x black reader smut #aot x black reader #aot x black reader smut #reiner braun x reader smut #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x you #thanks so much for dropping by! mwuah 💕 #— harmoni writes #୨୧ — isla writes #୨୧ — mira writes! #౨ৎ — 𝓂𝓎 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓈𝓉ℴ𝓇𝒾ℯ𝓈!

[gogobootz1]

At War

Luke Castellan x Reader [fem!daughter of Apollo]

Summary: There's nothing like some friendly competition, but when planning rival parties, you and Luke are a little less than friendly.

Word count: 2k

Every year, there came a time for the retreats- a chance for children of the gods to bond and have some special fun. One big retreat seemed pointless, so camp faculty allowed two. The two retreats accidentally split the boys and girls, and naturally, they turned into an (unofficial) competition. As one of the oldest and most experienced campers- you’d been volunteering to champion a retreat for years. Traditionally, you’ve hosted a slumber party equipped with PJs, dancing, games, movies, braid trains, nail polish, and basically anything anyone could want. You also, of course, have the best food. Each year, it’s been a hit, and it’s only gotten better with time. 

The only problem is that you have tough competition. The day after the retreats, you always hear about what happened at the other one. Paintball, camping, fishing, mad romps through the wood, scary stories- barbecue. Everyone loved it. And every year, you’ve had to quietly conceal your anger and jealousy. It pains you to admit that Luke sure can throw a party (maybe even better than you can). But this year, you are more determined than ever to outdo him. 

The two of you have long been in competition, and things have only escalated. As hilarious as Mr. D found both your antics last year, Chiron was extremely unhappy about the fact the two of you had exceeded the budget by miles. He’d told you both to reign it in this year or no more retreats. When he felt that didn’t sufficiently move you, he threatened to let other people plan them. You both caved and vowed to stick to the budget this year. 

You’re always a little frantic the day of, and today is no different. To your chagrin, Luke is cool as a cucumber. It pisses you off to no end. 

“Nervous?” A smug voice voice asks from behind your back. You drop the spoon you were using to push mashed potatoes around your plate. 

You turn slowly on the bench, “Why should I be?"

“Usually, you’re pulling out your hair before the retreats,” he says skeptically, “perfectionism taking its toll.”

“Yeah? Well, my perfectionism makes my parties perfect,” you flaunt. The few sisters that can stand to be around you when you’re stressed roll their eyes. It’s clear to them this is escalating. 

“What about when Susie vomited in your bouncy house last year?” He taunts, and you glare at him. That girl should not have been jumping after four bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and two Redbulls- it was hardly your fault. 

“How about when Aidan got a concussion after falling off the mechanical bull?” You snap back. 

You don’t notice Luke’s shadow until he pipes in, “Are these people okay?” 

“They signed waivers!” You say at the same time, and the new Poseidon kid takes a defensive step back. You send Luke a glare when you realize you spoke in sync. He huffs before smirking at you. 

“Good luck with your sleepover,” he mocks, “You’re gonna need it.” Before you can reply, he marches away, protégée in tow. 

“Eat shit!” You call out after him. 

“That was weak, girl,” one of your sisters says.  

“Shut up, I know,” you shake your head at her, “now come help me set up.” You drag her up by her elbow to make your sacrifices, then get to work. 

Five hours later, the main hall looks great. Your disco ball is glimmering, the mini photo booth is equipped with feather boas and pink cowboy hats, the food is all laid out, and the stage you bribed some Hephaestus kids to build looks great. 

“Perfect,” you whisper, pleased at your surroundings. 

“Fucking finally!” Your sister throws her hands up and walks away. You’ve very likely driven most of your half-siblings insane today. 

“Thanks for your help!” You call after her, and as she goes, you spot some prying eyes through the window. Percy, you think his name is, looks afraid now that you’ve caught him peering in through the window. In a few swift moves, you leave the room and block his exit from the patio. 

“Can I help you?” You ask suspiciously. 

“Just admiring your excellent disco theme,” he says, putting an ultra-sweet smile on his face. As charming as the boy is, you take your retreat very seriously and feel a deep-seated urge to protect it from potential sabotage. 

“Mhmmm,” you nod, “and you wouldn’t happen to be reporting back to anyone about what you’ve seen?” 

“Whaaaaaat?” Percy asks, awkwardly chuckling. 

Your shoulders drop, of course, Luke would stoop to employing spies. You dig into your pocket and pull out a ten-dollar bill, “I’ll give you this if you act as a double agent.” 

He eyes your money suspiciously, “Do you really think I can be bought?” 

You roll your eyes and pull out another bill, “How’s twenty?” 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he grabs both bills from your hand and shakes it. Percy happily walks past you, shoving his new earnings into his pocket. 

You grin, “Make sure he hears all about how awesome my party is!”

“I’m on it, boss,” he calls over his shoulder. After a short walk, he’s back to the boathouse lounge where Luke has been waiting for his report. 

“Well?” The older boy asks him, jumping up from his spot on the couch. 

Percy shakes his head solemnly, “Bad news, boss.” 

“What?!” He asks, eyes wide. “Don’t tell me she went over budget. She didn't get another mariachi band, did she?” Percy shakes his head and files this new information away. With what he’s been hearing about the last few retreats, he’s almost sad to have missed them. 

“No, but it does look super cool,” he nods, and it really wasn’t a lie- he saw a chocolate fountain on that snack table. 

“Damn,” Luke’s face twitches in annoyance. 

“But your party will be great too, I’m sure,” he smiles, nodding reassuringly. 

“Of course, it will,” he says defensively, “make sure you check back in over there from time to time. I want to know how it’s progressing.” 

“Sure,” Percy nods, but his concern at the competitiveness underlying this event grows. He wonders just how bad this will get tonight. But check back in he does, and he won’t deny he enjoys himself at the sleepover. Every time he visits, you give him a new sparkly mocktail, and the Aphrodite girls give him a new feather boa. At one point, he’s wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and eating some cake. He was very impressed when M&Ms fell out of the middle as you cut it. Apparently, it’s also one of your newest sisters’ birthdays- he’s heard whisperings of some big special present for her yet to come. 

Each time Percy returns to the other retreat, he can see Luke get a little more tense. The fact that he’s exaggerating doesn’t help either. When he tells the older boy that you have an ice sculpture spitting Dr. Pepper, he thinks he sees steam pour from Luke’s ears. It’s not like people aren’t enjoying his party, but Percy can that Luke wants to one-up you and feels like he’s falling short. 

“And I’ve heard she has a special surprise in store for Sophie since it’s her birthday. Apparently, she’s the newest addition to their cabin, so she wants to do something special,” Percy nods at him, eating a taco he had brought back from your party. Luke cuts him off by grabbing the taco from his hand just as he’s about to take another bite. “Hey!” He protests when Luke puts it right in the trash. 

“When is this surprise?” He asks the twelve-year-old. 

“The Aphrodite girls told me I should be back in like twenty minutes so I wouldn’t miss it,” Percy tells him. 

“And when was that?” 

“Like twenty minutes ago,” he shrugs, and Luke just stares at him. “Ohhhhh,” he says when he realizes how long it’s been. 

“Come on,” Luke shakes his head and starts out the door, Percy in tow. They can hear the surprise before they see it, an ABBA song blasting out of the building. Only, they don’t realize who's performing it until they walk in. Along with two of your musically-inclined Apollo sisters, you’re dressed in bell bottoms and sleeves. And you look like you’re having the time of your life- until you spot them, that is. 

“Look, look, look, look,” you pull the microphone away to mutter to Tanya. Her shock is visible, but you both keep performing anyway. The crowd goes wild at the end, and Sophie runs up on stage to give you a big hug. You let Tanya take over host duties and make your way through the crowd to the party crasher. 

“That was,” Luke starts, but you are not keen to hear whatever he has to say about your outfit, or your performance, or your party. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

His expression instantly sours, “I wanted some Dr. Pepper from your ice sculpture, where is it?” 

“What are you talking about?” You’re highly confused until Percy gives you the cut-it-out motion from behind Luke’s back. “We put it back in the freezer,” you say, and Percy gives you the thumbs up. No matter what you think of him, Luke’s not an idiot. He turns around in time to spot Percy’s gestures. 

“Wait a second, are you two colluding?” He looks between the two of you in shock. 

“You were colluding with him first,” you shrug, crossing your arms. “You really earned that twenty dollars, by the way,” you compliment the kid, and he gives you a pleased nod. 

“Dude,” Luke turns toward Percy, betrayed. 

“She outbid you,” he shrugs. “Hey, what if you guys just went to each other’s parties?” 

You both eye the boy suspiciously, “Why would we do that?” You ask him, and Luke nods in agreement.

“Well, you’re both so desperate to know about the other’s party, so why don’t you just experience it for yourselves?” Percy asks, and when he feels you aren’t sufficiently moved by it, he tries again. “If you attend both parties, you can decide who wins.” 

“Good enough for me,” Luke wanders off into your party.

“Yeah, okay,” you head for the door. 

“Hopeless,” Percy mumbles, shaking his head. 

An hour later, you and Luke meet in the middle of your respective parties. You stare at each other for a minute before you admit in sync, “I had fun.” 

“We have to stop doing that,” you shake your head. 

“Agreed.” 

You’re both silent again for a minute. “The slip and slide was a good idea,” you say reluctantly, soap still in your hair, “low budget but lots of fun. Tubing was good too. And the campfire.” You had changed out of the disco attire and into shorts and a T-shirt over your swimsuit. 

“Did you try-“

“Chris can really grill,” you nod. After some hesitance, you finally choke out a confession, “I am very displeased to call you the winner.”

“No way,” he shakes his head. 

“What?”

“You totally won,” he shrugs, “the disco was killer.” You only now realize he changed into pajamas. 

“You actually embraced the sleepover?” 

He flicks some grass off your shoulder, “You gave my party a fair shot.” That’s true, and you nod, looking away for a second. “The chocolate fountain was a nice touch.”

“Thank you.”

“And I was trying to tell you earlier, but your performance was really cool,” he admits. 

“Yeah?” A genuine grin grows on your face at this. Most everyone in the Apollo cabin loves music, but some of your half-siblings are more keen to perform than you. Hearing this, and from him especially, means a lot. 

“Yeah,” he nods, smiling now too. “You’re the winner here.” 

“Let’s call it a draw?” You offer, and he nods. 

“What if we just worked together and planned one party next year?” He asked, and you pretend to consider it for a moment. 

“That could be cool,” you nod, “imagine what we could do with the combined budget.” 

He grins and scrunches his nose, “How about we enjoy this year’s party until then?”

“We could do that,” you nod, “where to?”

He swiftly wraps an arm over your shoulder and starts guiding you back to your party, “Let’s boogie.” You laugh, and he thinks it’s a sound he could get used to. 

-----------------------------------------

I've been awake for too long so idk if this is coherent but I had fun <3

#luke castellan x reader #pjo fanfic #luke x reader #pjo series #luke castellan #pjo x reader #pjo tv show #charlie bushnell #luke castellan x you

[m2ok]

Golden Salvation

pt.2

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Male Reader

A/N: HI GUYS!!! IM BACK!!! It’s been… a hot minute, and I apologize for my sudden disappearance (And all the unanswered asks which I will eventually get to don’t worry!) But here is a fic to make up for it! This is just part one, and while I have the rest planned out let me know if you guys even like this and want me to continue :)

             

   Batwing doors opened, a heavy squeak following their movement as the result of rusted hinges, Heavy footsteps hit against equally creaky wooden floors with slow and methodical steps. One Simon Riley came waltzing in… a smirk on his face and his hat tilted low over his eyes as the other people in the saloon looked away.

Everyone knew of him; it was damn near impossible not to with his reputation. He sat down on a worn stool, a gruff sigh leaving his lips as he took his hat off and rested it on the bar in front of him. His eyes, you would swear, glimmered when he looked up at you from his place on his seat, a rare moment when you were taller than him.

“Hi, pretty boy” he cooed “Miss me much?”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed on your lips, rolling your eyes as you set the glasses you had been polishing down. Without so much as a word yet you leaned over, plucking his hat from the wood it was settled on to place it on your head instead, a sort of teasing only you could hope to get away with.

“Hey there, Cowboy” you said, flicking the hat, his hat, up over your eyes so you could see properly. “’Course I missed ya… yer my favorite customer after all” Though you teased, you both knew he was much more than a regular customer.

Simons lips curled into an easy smirk as he gazed up at you, eyebrows quirking with intrigue.

“Well now, aint you looking pretty as a picture” he drawled, reaching up to trace his thumb along your jawline. A low chuckle rumbled deep from his chest- he always did love your teasing spirit.

“Favorite, huh? Reckon I’ll hold ya to that, darling” His eyes darkened just a touch as he leaned in, breath whispering against your skin. There was an unspoken question there, a hungry gleam that promised all sorts of trouble if you chose to indulge him.

For now, Simon simply toyed with the worn brim of his hat atop your head, satisfaction radiating off him in waves.

“Sure, do feel mighty fine seein’ my colors on ya. Been far too long” he’d comment.

You would hum as you leaned into his gentle touch, an almost laughable dichotomy when compared to the blood that had been spilled by them. You gazed up at him with adoring, devoted eyes.

“I could be in your colors every night if youd stay” you’d whisper, your words for him and only him to hear. It was almost impossible to get Simon to stay with you longer than a week anymore and he would get antsy to hit the wild again, his soul calling for him to wander from town to town.

Simon’s breath hitched at your words; eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he savored the simple intimacy you graced him with. Things were never simple with him – his was a dangerous line of work that more often than not left him with a target on his back.

And yet…the way you looked at him, like he hung the very stars in the sky…it was downright bewitching. Made a man forget all his wrongs and want to be redeemed.

“Darlin’” he sighed, rough palms gently cupping your cheek. His expression was unusually soft and vulnerable, a rare peek behind a steely façade. “Aint nothin’ I want more than to stay wrapped up in you forever…but ya know I got debts to pay, and it aint safe…”

His voice trailed off, unspoken realities lingering heavily in the air between you two. Staying was a risk he wasn’t sure he had the right to take, no matter how much you stirred his soul.

You would nod, glancing away from his eyes as you slowly leaned back up from where you were resting on your elbows, allowing his hand to leave your cheek as you created a space of distance. Both physically and mentally.

All you wanted was to be his entirely, but it wasn’t in the cards for you. “I know…” you’d acknowledge, a sad sort of smile permeating your lips. Part of you believed he liked the outlaw life, and could you rightly blame him? Going from town to town with nothing tethering you down for too long. Being able to leave with the sunrise, the only person you were answering to being yourself.

But oh how you longed every night to be the thing he wanted to come home to, to be the reason he would stay.

You would carefully take the hat off your head, placing it back down on his own, your actions a silent understanding of his words.

Simon would frown as you withdrew, immediately missing the reassuring presence of you in his space. He knew this life caused you pain – knew he was the source of it, in a way. But old habits die hard, and walking the outlaw’s path was engrained deep in his blood.

Reaching up, his fingers curled carefully around your wrist before you could pull away fully. Not to stop you, merely to offer quiet solace in his touch.

“I ain’t never meant to string you along, darlin’” he said gruffly “Fact is… part of me does like ridin’ the wind. But another part…” His gazed flicked meaningfully to where his hand held you, imploring you to believe the sincerity in his eyes.

“Another part thinks it might be time to settle. Plant my feet somewhere they can’t be dug up so easy. And there ain’t no other plot of soil that calls to me like you do”

It was as close to a declaration as Simon had ever come. His walls were crumbling away piece by piece in your presence.

You would carefully pry his hand from his wrist, picking up your rag and a fresh glass to polish, avoiding his eyes as you worked. “I believe you Simon, really I do…But that’s only part of you” Youd say, stealing a glance over at him.

“I couldn’t ask you to ignore that other part, what kinda man would I be if I asked that of you?” you’d say.

Simons fingers flexed instinctively as your hand slipped free, the loss resonating deep in his core. He sighed, long and low, tipped hat casting shadows across his weathered features.

You spoke the brutal truth – he was far too wild a creature to ever truly be named. And you, with your heart of gold…you deserved someone whole, not half a man forever torn between two worlds.

“I reckon yer right, as usual” He said gruffly, rueful smile playing at his lips. And yet his eyes remained dark, conflicted, as if desperately seeking an alternative solution you both knew did not exist.

This was your tragedy, written in the stars from the beginning. Two souls who fit together perfectly, if only the fates had not made them for different paths.

Reaching out, Simon gave your hand a final gentle squeeze before releasing in once more. “Ya never stop amazin’ me darlin’. I sure as hell don’t deserve ya. But I aim to prove myself worthy, one of these days.”

His words trailed off into weighted silence. For now, this was goodbye. Somewhere deep in his soul Simon swore it wouldn’t be the last, couldn’t be.

Simon rose from the stool with a grunt, his hat settled over his brow as he gave the saloon one last lingering sweep. Memories of your sweetness lingered in every splintered beam, in every scratch in the wooden floor where his bootheels had worn down the polish of years past.

This place had become more home to him than any house of sticks or stones ever could, all because of you.

With a sigh, Simon pushed through those familiar batwing doors out into the dusty street. Sunset painted the sky a flaming orange, shadows stretched long across the dirt. Another night was falling…and he had a debt to collect before morning came.

But in his heart of hearts, he felt a seed had planted, a hope that one day he might return to stay. For good.

You would retreat to your little home for the night after closing the saloon, doing your best to put the conversation in a box in your mind as you slipped into bed for the night. Another evening with the other side cold as the steel Simon holstered. You could only bite back tears as you closed your eyes, desperate to find solace in sleep.

It wasn’t but three hours later, after you had long drifted off into the reprieve that was your dreamscape, that you were awoken to the sound of glass shattering. You would jolt up, heart nearly beating out of your chest as a figure stalked into the room, their movements slow and at ease before they stepped into the moonlight and their face came into view.

“well well well…” the man said, a dark glint in his eyes “If it aint Ghosts little plaything” The man grinned, hand on the hilt of his belt as he took out his gun, pointing it right at you.

#cod modern warfare #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod imagine #cod x male reader #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost x male reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x male reader #fanfic #male reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader

[xozombiee]

“AFTER HOURS!” | W. BONNEY

✫| synopsis: bartending in the west gets boring at times, especially when the same old cowboys and outlaws come through those saloon doors everyday. you’d thought this was it..that’s the end of your story. then a certain outlaw, who’s name was getting around, walked through the doors.

warnings: porn with little plot, mentions of death, riding, little praise..it’s always gonna be there, female bodied reader, lowk psy rubbing??, hair pulling me thinks, idk what else

note: am i doing this instead of my homework?…yes. also do i know wtf women wore in the 1800s? err no. i tried tho! this is not proofread btw

In a dusty, sun-kissed town nestled amidst the rugged landscape of the west, there stood a saloon that echoed with tales of grit and resilience. behind the polished mahogany bar, you stood tall with a fiery spirit that matched the flickering glow of the oil lamps that illuminated the room.

you weren’t any ordinary bartender; you were a force to be reckoned with. with glimmering eyes that held mystery, and a rough demeanor that you used to command respect from every patron who dared to enter the establishment. your hands, calloused from years of hard work, moved with grace and precision as you served up drinks that could raise spirits or drown sorrows.

though the town was dominated by rough cowboys and outlaws, you had carved out your own place in their rugged hearts. they sought solace in your presence, and you became a confidante, offering a sympathetic ear to the broken souls who stumbled through the doors.

as the sun began its descent, casting an orange hue over the town, your saloon transformed into a sanctuary of camaraderie and laughter. the clinking of glasses and the lively banter of patrons mixed with the soulful melodies of a lone pianist, creating a symphony that echoed through the wooden walls.

but behind the facade of joviality, you carried your own secrets and dreams. you arrived in this town not long ago, escaping a past that haunted your every step. determined to leave a mark on the world, you had chosen the life of a bartending, finding comfort in the stories and journeys of those who crossed paths with you.

with swift movements back and forth behind your bar, you served drinks to the men celebrating..whatever it was this time. they sang along with others, their words jumbled and lazy, but undoubtedly filled with passion. you laughed as one of them sung to you, his eyes droopy and a crooked smile at his lips.

cleaning a few glasses, you watch as they all chat amongst themselves, if they weren’t still singing that is. a part of you yearned to have a life like theirs. to be free to do whatever you please, and not be told otherwise. you’d liked the idea of running from place to place and meeting new people. though, that’d never happen for you.

your back turns as you gather the clean glasses together, putting them neatly side by side. the sound of the saloon doors open, a sound you were used to by now. with your back still turned, you notice how most of the attendees in the saloon had gone quiet, watching as the person and their footsteps approached the bar.

turning back around, you come face to face with a taller man. he wore a shabby black hat, a maroon corduroy jacket that sat along his shoulders, and a gun at his waist. two actually, you noted as the jacket moved when he sat at the bar.

with a polite smile, you come closer, holding his gaze with yours. “evening, sir. what can i get you?”

he gives you a tight lipped smile, “whiskey, please.”

you hold his gaze for a second longer before glancing back at the people in the saloon. they stared with either fear, or curiosity in their faces. a scowl grows on your lips, muttering a small ‘drunkards’ under your breath.

the man watches as you place a clean glass onto the bar, and grab a bottle filled with brown liquid. his gaze moves to the drink as it pours into the cup, almost filling to the brim.

“you look familiar,” your voice chimes in again. “have i seen you in here before?”

he shakes his head, gaze falling back to yours. “nah.” he replies. “just passing through.”

with a sigh falling from your nose, you try to read his expression; he looked tired. you weren’t an idiot, it was obvious he was on the run. you’d seen his face on the posters, but didn’t know what his name was or what he was wanted for.

your fingernail taps against the glossy wood of the bar. trying to hide your sympathetic expression, you glance around the room. “if you need anything else, let me know, yeah?”

he nods, watching as you walk away to tend to the other customers. the way you moved was calm despite working in such an intense environment. his eyes trailed up and down your figure before taking a sip from his glass.

it seemed like hours passed as you worked. going back and forth behind the counter was time consuming as it passed so quickly. more and more people were leaving the bar as the early hours of the next day were coming.

as you went to grab some glasses from tables, you notice as the man before was still at the bar. his head was hung low, eyes trained on his glass. he’d had about three glasses of whiskey by now, only taking sips from time to time.

you’d noticed through the night how people tried to approach him. he’d usually brush them off, or making small talk that ended in peaceful silence. he wasn’t someone that was easily approachable to the blind eye. he held a strong, cold demeanor.

after gathering all the dirty glasses, and kicking the last passed out drunkard, you slide back behind the bar. you take the bucket of dirty glasses to the small sink, placing it inside before turning the water on. as it fills, you stare at it as your mind falls else where.

before it overflows, you turn the faucet off. you pour a little soap into the mix before drying your hands off to let the glasses soak. with echoing footsteps, you turn back to the bar and are face to face with the man of the night.

“want another, or is three enough?” you ask, a slight smile at your lips.

he glances up at you, studying your expression for a moment. his eyes drop back to the wooden bar, fingers tapping his halfway-empty-glass.

“this is fine.” he answers.

your elbows come to rest at the cool wood, chin in your palm as you watch him. you’d debated for most of the night to ask him what exactly he was running from. it would probably sound stupid considering how everyone and their second cousin knew about it. all except for you, as you didn’t look much into news and such.

he stares back at you, giving you the same energy within his gaze. his blue eyes analyze every bit of you, and you almost shudder at the sight of it.

“so, how long you been on the run now?” you ask, voice interrupting each of your own thoughts.

he brings the glass to his lips, downing the rest before replying. “months.” he mutters, not even phased by your abrupt question.

you hum in reply, “alone?”

“mhm.”

with his short and simple response, you laugh. it wasn’t out of humor, but rather more of irritation. you’d think someone as well known as him would talk more. most outlaws never shut up about flaunting their reputations. it’s different.

“you’re not a man of many words.” you say, not really caring about how he’d take your tone.

he shrugs, sucking his teeth a bit. “i’ve got nothing to say.”

you raise a brow, “tell me a story or something. i hear the same shit every night from my regulars. give me something new.” you request.

pouring a little more whiskey into his glass, you watch as his eyes dart to yours. “it’s on me.” you assure, giving him a smile.

the man sighs, tilting his head a little at the thought. what could he tell you? that he killed a man? that he fought a man in a saloon just like yours right before shooting him in the stomach out of defense? no..you’d probably already heard it anyways.

“what do you already know about me?” he questions, taking another sip.

your eyes squint at him, “i know you’re an outlaw on the run, obviously..and that’s about it. i don’t even know what the hell they call you.” you reply.

he chuckles, a small smile at his lips. “you’re probably one of the first.” he says. “just call me billy.”

with another hum, you nod slowly and give him your name. “billy..yeah, i think i did hear that once or twice.”

“well, either way, i don’t have many stories to tell.”

your eyes roll, a huff coming from your nose. “tell me why you’re an outlaw. i’ve heard like three different stories, and it can’t be all of them.”

billy smiles again, eyes falling from yours and to your lips for a split second. you watch him debate in his head before taking his hat off. he sets it on the empty stool next to him, running his fingers through his hair. he had brown shaggy hair that was sprawled all over his head.

“i killed a man. it was self defense.” he says, almost as if he was pleading his case.

you deadpan at him, “that’s all i get? not even a backstory?”

“there’s not much to it. he was making accusations at me..which weren’t entirely false, then he came at me. we fought over my gun, and i shot.” he elaborates, glancing at you with disinterest as if it was a meaningless story.

you fall quiet for a moment, brows raised while processing his words. that story was heard, but you didn’t know if it was the truth until now. the other stories were about robbing a bank and killing a bunch of people. hearing the actual story now..you couldn’t understand all the fuss.

a laugh falls from your lips, hand moving to pinch the bridge of your nose. “so, all this talk is because you killed a man that was attacking you?”

“yes, ma’am.”

your smile remains for a bit, eyes watching billy. “so, what now? you just gonna keep running?”

he shrugs once more, eyes kept on his glass. “probably.”

“have you at least slept?”

billy shakes his head. you chew on the inside of your cheek, contemplating multiple things in your head. if you offered him a place to sleep in the loft above your saloon, he’d probably laugh in your face. but, a part of you didn’t want him out on the street sleeping defenseless.

as a other sigh falls from you, you move away from the bar and stand straight. “i’ve got an extra room where i stay. wanna take it for the night?”

his eyes find yours, expression vague, “are you sure? i mean, i don’t wanna—”

“it’s fine. i’d feel guilty if i opened up tomorrow and my regulars are telling me you got killed in your sleep.”

billy focuses on you for awhile before taking one last sip. he lightly places the glass on the counter before moving to grab some money from his pocket.

your hand finds his wrist as he places it on the counter. “keep it. just take your ass upstairs while i finish up.”

he grins a little, grabbing his hat and standing from the stool. billy slowly moves to the door at the back of the saloon, opening it and disappearing from sight. you roll up your sleeves as you move back to the sink, dipping your hands into the soapy water to clean the glasses.

after about ten minutes, you make way up to your loft in the building. your footsteps slightly echo as you move toward the light in the living room. when you reach the floor, you watch as billy sits on the couch with his head thrown back on the edge while his hat covered up his face.

slowly approaching in front of him, you lightly kick his shin. he snaps his head up, eyes wide as his hat falls to his lap. he lets out a small breath in relief, making you smile. you watch as he sits up on the couch.

“scared the shit out of me.” he mumbles, putting that ragged hat on again.

you move to sit next to him, bouncing lightly on the cushions. “must’ve been too tired to hear me coming up the steps.”

he leans into the couch once more, eyes trained on the ceiling. you watched his expression and how he studied the whiteness of the panels above.

“penny for your thoughts?” you whisper, watching his eyes shift over to you.

billy shakes his head, scoffing a little to himself. “it’s nothing. just thinking.”

“about?”

“everything.”

you let your gaze falter, moving to the floor. “everything that’s happened?” you ask.

he nods, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. billy wants nothing more than to go back and stop everything that’s happened. to change what got him to this point.

but if he did that, he would’ve never met you. you were one of the kindest people to him since the incident. the way you carried yourself, much like him, was with confidence. he respected you, and that aspect of your personality.

“i understand what it’s like..kind of.” you say, patting down the wrinkles in your outfit. “i was never wanted, but i’ve done things. things i wish i could take back.”

billy watches as you speak, the way your lips move and the expression you hold shifts with each emotion running through you. he almost doesn’t understand what you’re saying. the only thing keeping him to reality was the fact you sounded serious.

he adjusts himself on the furniture, “what have you done?” he asks, a part of him afraid to know the answer.

“i’ve killed.” you reply, the tone of your voice dropping lowly. “it was in defense, like you.”

billy watches the way you bounce your knee against the flooring of the loft. the dress you wear moves along with it, and your shoe lightly taps.

“when did it happen?” he asks as his pure curiosity gets the best of him.

you look up at him, smiling a little. “i was fourteen.”

billy looks at you, empathizing with your situation. though he wasn’t that young when it happened, he still felt some sort of connection with your experience.

“i don’t regret killing him honestly, but i regret hurting my family and his. they didn’t deserve to go through that. it wasn’t any of their faults.” you say as you breathe out slowly.

in an small moment, his hand is on yours. it’s a light touch, like he’s afraid to hurt you. billy moves his other hand to the space beneath your chin, and shifts your head to look at him in the eyes.

his voice is light, “you were defending yourself. it wasn’t your fault either.” billy whispers.

the words make your heart swell. after everything, hearing those words made it all feel better. almost all the guilt left your veins. he was right after all. it wasn’t your fault. what that man did..you just did what you had to.

as he holds your gaze, you slowly inch toward him. his blue irises bore into yours, watching as you shift them to his lips. they were slightly chapped and held a small frown on them.

billy leaned closer to you and your breaths mingled, like two lights finding each other in the darkness. he could feel your heart beating against your ribcage, as all of his senses were focused on you and you alone.

he closed the distance, and his lips met yours. billy felt himself melt into you like a magnet. everything muted itself, and his hands made way to your waist. he pulled you onto him, your knees caging around his thighs.

your hands found their way to his jaw, pulling him even closer. he tasted your soft lips and felt your warm skin against his. the room seemed to dissolve around you as the only thing in existence was this. this perfect union.

time stood still, and you both wanted more, but neither wanting it to initiate it. then, with what restraint he had left, he pulled away, his lips still grazing yours.

he looks up at you, his eyes filled with worry. “im sorry, i didn’t mean—”

“shut up.”

pressing your lips back to his, he lets out a grunt in reply before melting into you once more. the warmth of you, your lips, your being that sat in his lap—he felt lightheaded. billy moved his hands to your waist again, slowly trailing them up your back.

you feel the buttons of your dress being undone. he stops right before taking the sleeves off, prying himself away from you. billy’s eyes look into yours for confirmation, and you give him a quick, impatient nod in reply.

with that, he pulls the dress off slowly. your lips trail from his own to his neck, putting the flesh between your teeth. he groaned, trying to focus on untying your corset.

as he removed it, he wasted no time to discard it to the floor, hands making way to take off the chemise you wore.

“all those months on the run got you impatient now, cowboy?” you mutter, laughing as he would struggle from time to time.

billy looks up at you, his gaze slightly hidden by his hat, “no, just none of the women i’ve been with wore this much underneath. i’m also not a cowboy, sweetheart.”

rolling your eyes, you grab at his wrists to stop him. he looks up at you, big eyes and all, causing the built up pressure in your lower stomach to worsen. “just leave it. i’m not wearing anything under, so don’t fuss.”

you watch him nod slowly as he started to stare, making no move to take off his clothes. “do i have to do it for you?” you whisper, hands undoing the brown suspenders on his shoulders.

he shakes his head, moving to unbutton his pants he wore. you watch the way he fumbles with them, sliding them midway down his thighs. billy’s hands eventually move back to your waist, bunching up your chemise to your hips.

billy’s eyes watch as your pretty pussy comes into view, sitting in his lap with such a prepossessing aura. he has to restrain himself from taking you right then.

his dick was hard and twitching, the length had an angry tip with its slit profusely leaking pre-cum. it looked painful and it was because of you. you. you wondered if you had power over him now for a brief second but you shake your head clear of these thoughts.

instead, you catch his lips again, the kiss slower this time. you raise yourself a bit so he can align himself to your entrance. the cool touch of his hand meets your cunt, sliding a finger through the folds and collecting the juices flowing from you.

he uses your slick and spreads it across your sensitive pussy. you took a deep breath of air into your lungs. this feeling was new, since no man you’d been with ever did this, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

a small groan falls from billy’s lips as he uses it to prep himself, guiding his hand along his cock and pumping it slowly. he was on the girthy side with veins on the underside of his cock.

you knew you would stretch around him, that your walls would be a perfect fit around his length. you were too impatient for any sort of foreplay; you wanted the stretch. you wanted him to make you dizzy with his cock splitting you apart.

billy grabs your hips with his unoccupied hand, bringing you closer to him. you let out a whimper as you began to sink onto him, eyes flicking to his. those blue ones he held were zeroed down to the place you both were connected now.

his hands are on either side of your hip, guiding you down on his length. it was after his cock was fully stuffed in you, that his self-control allowed him to almost whine at the feeling of you.

your hands are on his shoulders to support yourself. your fingers weakly fist his shirt as you begin to ride him, raising yourself a few inches before slamming down on his cock with a loud moan escaping your lips. he reached the deepest spot inside of you somehow. no one had ever done that. not like this.

his cockhead grazes your spongy spot as you fuck yourself on him. arousal and his pre-cum are smeared all over your thighs. this sight made billy’s breath hitch, something you didn't notice as you were too busy with your eyes closed and taking him. you looked completely dissoluted like this.

your hair was a mess now, your lips glossy and swollen, hands digging into his shoulder. billy felt himself become enraptured by you and this sight. it was something he could get used to..if he wasn’t an outlaw that is.

he pulls you closer to him. one of his hands is on your back, pressing you to him. his hips raise upwards to fuck you as he now lets out more vocal sounds of enjoyment.

watching him with a hazy gaze, you remove the hat from his head. you place it onto your own, grinning at how he stares up at you like you were the creator of all living beings and creatures on this earth.

moving one of your hands from his shoulder, you bring it to his hair and give some strands a tug. he groans, the vibrations of his chest transferring to his dick, which transferred to you.

each thrust of his was made for his selfishness in your velvet walls. the drag of his cock was perfect, his speed was unbelievable. it was like heaven itself, but without the pearly gates and clouds.

while stuck in your own brain, the feeling of teeth bring you back to reality. you let a shuddered sigh fall as billy digs into the collarbone that peaked from your square-necked chemise. he slowly kisses up your neck, bringing a hand to the back of your head.

“fuck..’s too good,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice even.

you laugh, making him groan a little. he looks up, watching as you bounce with one hand held on his hat to keep it on. “too good? were all your other girls shit?”

he lets out short breaths, his blue eyes studying the way you moved as if he was in a trance. billy would answer if he wasn’t on another planet right now. a planet where you were taking him so deliciously, almost to the point where he could pass out.

“fuck,” he says under his breath as your pussy clenches around him. “where do you want it?” his voice was strained from trying to keep his composure.

you pant, “inside.”

billy doesn’t waste a second before obliging and quickening his pace, making the hat on your head fall lopsided. you could feel the pressure in you tightening, almost about to burst like a pipe.

he moves his thumb to rub at your clit, and the tip of his cock repeatedly nudges against that one spot that has you falling apart on top of him with a loud cry. your orgasm hits you hard and billy can’t hold it in any longer. he fucks into you for another minute, eyes squeezed shut as he groans out your name.

billy groans when you flutter around him as you cum. he’s thrusting his hips up into you with his newfound force. it requires you to tighten your grip on his shoulders to stay put as he empties his load deep inside you, his sweet moans echoing in the living room.

your cunt milks him dry, and he fills you up to the brim—to the point where you could feel him leak out of you. the both of you pause, your hands resting on his chest as you catch your breath.

he slowly eases his cock out of you. the both of you were breathing heavily as he pulls you closer, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. you wrap you arms around his chest, listening to his heart beat.

“wanna share my bed?” you whisper.

tags: @m0rphys

#xozombiee #YESS I FINISHED #tom blyth #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid #save a horse ride a cowboy #coriolanus snow #RAHHHHHH #guys pls like #and subscribe #william h bonney

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: A trip down goblin lane.

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Vampire hunter! Reader

Word count: 5.6k

Synopsis: You, an amateur vampire hunter, find it really hard to kill the one vampire you were tasked to kill.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), same universe as the WWDITS series, CW blood, TW violence, CW suggestive, Mockumentary AU, established relationship, Fluff.

A/N: Special thanks to @al1x00 (ly fr) for the idea! Happy 1k! 🫶 (Enjoy my attempt at humor lol)

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Hobie's Masterlist

The camera focuses on a leather clad man sitting on a patchwork armrest. His long leg is crossed over the other, metal clinking against each other when he moves. He places his elbow on the armrest, hand under his chin, ringed fingers tapping on his cheek—bored and clearly disinterested. Red eyes lined with dark eyeliner, piercings glimmering under the camera lights, sharp nails painted, he makes the crew suck in a breath.

He's the perfect picture of a rockstar.

The dimly lit gothic home provides the perfect backdrop to the ‘confession booth’, various books, knick knacks from far flung places are littered all over the living room. A grand piano stands proudly to his left, dark oak polished and well taken care off. Tapestries from the sixteenth century are tacked on the walls next to seventies and eighties band posters. His coat rack is full of jackets that look like they come from different times in history.

The producer nods at him, asking for the man's name, his voice just above a whisper so that the microphones don't catch the sound.

He sighs, jaws tighten for a second. “Name's Hobie, Hobie Brown.” His voice shakes the crew's bones. The blond haired producer clears his throat and Hobie rolls his eyes like a spoiled celebrity. “And I'm a vampire.” he says flatly.

The blond gestures for him to continue, asking him how old he is. “Fuckin' hell.” Hobie says under his breath. “Were you not taught manners? Come off it, you don't ask a vampire their age.”

The clipboard holding man, who pretends to be important, asks him why he agreed to the interview if he's so disinterested.

“Fine,” He smiles, showing his sharp fangs, the simple act makes the documentary team's heart skip a beat. “Before you say ‘m following a trend of vampires givin' interviews and a ‘peak behind the cape’ like the wankers in staten island or the lovebirds in dubai. ‘m not, ‘m only doin' this because,” he points dramatically at the clipboard holding man. “Your director told me all proceeds from this goes to charity. And it better be—”

Something thumps outside. The camera sharply turns to the closed floor length curtains.

“Oi, eyes back ‘ere.” Hobie exclaims, the camera whizzes back to his figure. “Again, vampire, been alive for…” he inhales, “a long bloody time. Been a pirate, a cowboy, hell even a rockstar. But always an anarchist.” He says proudly. “I've been rebelling against the one who bit me for centuries,” the camera zooms in on his scowl. “Hate that knobhead.”

Something falls right outside his windows, a groan and a curse sounding out, voice muffled by the walls.

The crew expects Hobie to hiss or even deal with the intruder but he smiles, posture loosening up.

“That,” he points at the source of the ruckus. “That’s a vampire hunter.” Smiling, the crew could hear a muffled ‘fuck you’ behind the walls. “She's been hunting me for a few years now. She—eh, hasn't been close.”

The cursing was louder, camera swishing towards the source, your angry face peeking out from the curtains. The boom mic captures your annoyed growl clearly as you place your face as close as possible on the glass.

“Fuck you, Hobart!”

He chuckles as the crew's face grows with concern. “Don't worry, she's—I guess bad at her job. She's interestin’ though. Y’know what, let me just show you.” He stands up, the cameras and the entire crew follows him through the hallways of his home.

The cameraman almost trips on a stray guitar on the floor. “Careful now, that was a present from some rockstar in the seventies. That's why I leave it on the floor, it works best as a boot scraper.”

Hobie stops in front of double doors, scenes of a love story are carved on the wood.

“It was a gift.” He addresses the doors, “not my first choice but where else would I put the bloody thing?” With a small push, hands braced on both doors, he reveals the expansive room lined with hundreds of paintings and photographs.

He sucks in his teeth. “The entire house is a gift, I'd rather live in a boathouse honestly but this works fine I guess.” Shrugging, he points at the oldest looking wood carving hanging on the wall. A man kneels in front of a woman, rose in his hand as she looks down at him with glee.

“Yes, that's me courting. The wood carver fucked up the scene though, it was more like me ravaging– uh” he clears his throat “…this won't show in pbs right?”

The people behind the cameras shrug as Hobie looks to them for an answer.

“I'll tone it down then, for the children, just in case.” He continues down the lineup of pictures.

Stopping by a large painting of what looks like Hobie in medieval clothing. The painted version of him is surrounded by flowers and trees. His antlers protruding from his head, webs clings to his arms.

“This was when people thought I was fae.” He makes a face, “everyone was tripping on shrooms back then.” walking towards the middle of the room, passing by a few more paintings and tapestries, He pauses on a yellowed painting of a woman who looks similar to you, only less angry.

“Look at her,” sighing, the vampire has heart eyes while looking at the painting. “this was before she was cursed by that bitcharse jealous witch. Now every descendant of hers is cursed to never harm me or any of my spawns, which is bad because they all think I killed their ancestor, and all they want is to kill me. A consequence of dating a vampire hunter during the fifteenth century, I guess.”

“The curse is a two way street, they can't kill me, I can't hypnotize them. It's not that I want to anyway.” he continues.

Another ruckus echoes throughout the house. Hobie smiles again. “I believe she doesn't know about it, so hush, yeah?” He does a double take. “Wait, can you cut that part out?”

—

The second crew runs towards you as you climb the tresses of the house. The camera lens zooms in on your clumsy climbing. Looking down, hearing leaves crunch underfoot, you yelp in surprise.

“What—?!” Losing your hold, you fall on a bush, landing directly at his wild flowers. “Ow! Who the fuck—?!”

—

Now sitting down on a lawn chair, leaves stuck in your hair, face and clothes covered in dirt, you scowl at the producer behind the camera.

Sighing, clicking your tongue, you answer their questions with another question. “Who the fuck are you guys?”

You raise an eyebrow at the words ‘documentary crew’ uttered by the producer.

“Seriously? Who would want to interview Hobart? Scratch that, is it because of those fuckers in staten island?”

A cameraman answers, ‘for charity.’

You blink in surprise, “charity? You fuckin' kidding me? Well if it's for the kids then.” sighing, you resign, looking directly at the camera with disdain, you say your first name. “And I'm a vampire hunter, I mean obviously I am just looking at all the stakes and holy water strapped to me. I look like I'm very fun at parties.” You say jokingly, “and church, probably. Dunno never been.”

The camera cuts back to Hobie still in the large room full of paintings and memorabilia.

“— I didn't do anythin’ wrong. They're absolutely mad at me for no reason—” he stops, thinking. “But I guess I was the reason their family was cursed innit?”

He changes subjects, showing the camera a painting near the end of the room.

“Oh this? This is when her great great great great grandfather almost got me, memories huh? He was mighty fit.” The crew zooms in on a gorgeous painting of a man trying to put a stake through Hobie's heart while he smiles up at him like he's smitten.

“Good times.” He chuckles.

—

“Fuck this.” You say, standing up from the chair, grabbing the mic off from your shirt abruptly. The camera follows you as you grab the lawn chair that you were just sitting on. You then proceed to throw it at a stained glass window. Giving you entry to his abode.

“It was gaudy anyway.” Entering the house, your shoes crunch the broken glass.

—

“Huh, she's inside. That's a record.” Hobie says almost excitedly. “I'll show you the rest of the room after this—.”

The double doors burst open, the camera swivels to you and the camera crew behind you. Holding a stake, you scowl at Hobie.

“Hello, darling, how was your commute?” He genuinely smiles.

“I have a car now, fuck you!” You lunge at him.

Lightning fast, he grabs your wrist right before the stake kisses his chest. The camera crews film on the sides, avoiding getting hit themselves.

“Good for you, finally saved up then?”

Lifting your legs, you kick his chest, you tumble, landing on your feet, staring at him menacingly. “Yes! It's a kia!” you scream before you run full speed at him.

“You got a good deal on it? Automatic or manual?”

“No!” You swing at him, he dodges. “I think I got swindled!” Kick “And it's a manual!” Punch “I’m not a pussy!”

Hobie clicks his tongue, avoiding the pointed edge of the stake. “Point ‘em to me, love, maybe I can get you your money back.”

Stepping back further away, you pause while he stands at the end of the room. Changing your hold on the sharp wood, you throw it at him, he leans slightly, dodging the projectile. it hits the wall right next to your ancestor’s portrait.

“You'll just drink him dry like the last guy!”

He shrugs, making a face that makes you want to punch him harder. “Not my fault he was a knobhead.”

You bounce on your feet, pouncing at him. “He was my dentist!”

He moves to the side, seeing you running towards one of the paintings, in danger of getting smashed by you. In his panic, he raises his arm to stop you, accidentally clothes lining you. His wall-like arm hits you right on your face.

Falling harshly on the floor, you're completely unconscious.

Hobie looks at the cameras with concern. “Shit.”

—

You wake up on an ancient looking couch, it's soft despite its appearance. Lifting your head with a groan, headache punching through the back of your head, you grimace loudly at the camera crew still filming in the corner.

Falling back on the couch, you hide your flustered face with your arm, pulling the blanket further up your chest.

“I promise I'm not that bad at fighting.” You murmur, still hiding your face from the cameras. “You just caught me at a bad time.”

Hobie suddenly appears with a whoosh, he holds a metal tray with tea and a hot compress placed on it.

“Who's giving you a bad time?”

You audibly groan. “No one.”

He places the tray on the coffee table, sparing a quick glance at the camera. “I caught you lackin’ you're not always that bad. Tea?”

Wordlessly reaching up, you flip him the bird. Hobie smiles softly, tapping your legs to give him space on the settee. The documentary crew is surprised that you actually move to give way to him.

He sits by your legs, preparing your tea just like how you always take it. Two sugars and a dash of milk. The entire production staff is perplexed to say the least.

With a clink of the tea spoon against the cup, you sit up, wincing slightly. “Can I get another sugar cube?”

Hobie raises a brow, “it's that kind of day huh? What's bothering you, love?”

You scoff, taking a cube for yourself then plopping it in your tea cup. “Nothing.”

He flicks his eyes at the camera with a knowing glance. Resting his elbow atop his thigh, chin placed on his hand, he pokes at your leg using his foot. Wordlessly having a conversation. With a sigh and a frown, you sip at your tea.

“Ex kicked me out. Now I'm living with the family again.”

Hobie's nonchalance drops, hand instinctively reaching out to you until he realizes what he's doing, he retracts his hand back.

“Shit, ‘m sorry. Their loss.”

“Mm-hmm, consequences of living with someone you've only dated for three months.” You finish your drink in one gulp. “‘sides, I don't have to pay rent anymore.”

“You've got shitty taste in partners.” You snort, half agreeing with him. “But you have to live with your psycho family so there's that.”

You laugh, the camera zooms in on Hobie's pleased expression.

“They're tolerable now, mellowed out after they took out count Belois.” You look at Hobie, copying his position like a mirror.

“He was an arse, did all of us a favour.” he stares at your eyes while the camera continues to film, yet you two don't seem to notice them anymore.

“Yeah, wish I was there though.” You say in a small voice. “They never invite me to those hunts. Always left watching outside.”

Hobie reaches towards you again, this time he actually holds you. Long fingers curling around your wrist, his thumb rubbing gently. “If only they know how hard you could kick.”

“You barely moved when I kicked you.” Chuckling, your eyes sparkle under the dim lights.

“Well it's me,” he inches closer to you in the seat, knee brushing against yours. “But if it was any other vampire out there they would have flown.”

You scrunch your face. Laying your hand down to your thigh, Hobie intertwined his fingers around yours properly this time. The camera captures the confusing scene.

“Because they turned into a bat?”

He grins, showing you his teeth, you don't even flinch. “Nah, because you kicked ‘em too hard. Did you hit your head that hard?” Knocking his knuckles against your temple softly, you move back like lightning has struck you.

“No, I'm actually okay, thanks.” You take your hand away, eyes flitting nervously at the camera then to Hobie. “I gotta go, dinner with the psycho family.” Standing up, you take your belongings from the floor. “You know how it is.”

He looks up at you with an unreadable expression, “yeah, I know how it is.” He says forlornly.

Patting his shoulder awkwardly, your hand lingers for a half second. “Bye,” you stare at the crew in the corner, “bye to all of you, I guess. Don't get eaten.”

The camera pans towards Hobie who just shrugs, fangs poking out of his lips.

—

Hobie eats alone in his empty dining room. The table is long, made of strong narra, designed to sit a dozen or so people. He sits in the head of the table, utensils scraping against the bloodied plate. His goblet is full, untouched.

He looks up at the camera on the other side of the table, observing his every move.

“The table's a gift too.” He says before continuing to eat silently.

—

The camera follows Hobie throughout his day. Roaming aimlessly around the house, he floats above the ground, hand and feet sticking on the wall while he dusts pictures that's placed on the highest shelf.

In the afternoon, he writes music on his piano while he flashes back and forth towards the drums and guitar, testing the music he wrote.

The crew captures Hobie burying something in the backyard. Jacket off, tank top and bare arms in full display. Moonlight illuminating his skin. His necklaces clink together as he shovels in dirt, packing the hole in tightly. The producer asks something about familiars and Hobie scowls at the word.

“No, just no. ‘m fully against havin’ familiars, it's fuckin' wrong.” He sticks the shovel harshly on the soil when the producer questions him again. “Ask me again and you'll be the one ‘m burying next.”

The camera shuts off abruptly.

—

The small supermarket's repetitive jingle from the nineties irks Hobie as he shops for some meat. But what irks him more is the documentary crew finding him especially after he went out of his way to hide from them.

He tosses a box of your favourite tea in the basket, annoyed at the team behind the cameras and boom mics. “Do the lot of you have a tracker on me or somethin’?” Shaking his head, he stomps down the aisle, heavy boots thudding loudly on the floor.

With his leather jacket plus all the metal and spikes on him, Hobie looks like a regular punk shopping for groceries. But if you looked closer, stayed too long in his presence, your flight or fight response kicks in, rendering anyone frozen on the spot.

His ruby eyes scan around the soap display, trying to ignore the cameras and people trailing after him, he gets a whiff of a familiar scent: strawberries and cream, it's you.

Hobie's feet move on its own, carrying him towards your direction. He spots you standing in the fruit section, weighing a watermelon in your hands, knocking on it then listening to the sound closely like you're trying to eavesdrop.

“What's the watermelon saying?”

“Christ!” You jump, dropping the watermelon.

Thankfully he catches it before the fruit splatters on the linoleum. “Just me, love.”

Clutching your chest, you take deep breaths. “I thought I smelled something rotten.” He raises a brow at your comment. “What are you doing here? This is far from your place.”

“First of all, I smell like sandalwood and fresh linen, fuck you.” You snort, rolling your eyes. “And ‘m tryin' to avoid them.” He points behind him, towards the cameras.

“Augh, they're still following you?”

“Apparently I signed a contract, it's not a one time thing.” He places the watermelon back to the crate, taking one that is riper and sweeter just for you. He then gently drops it in your cart, you nod a thanks.

“I told you before don't sign anything when you're drunk off of alcohol filled blood.”

“You're right, lovie, should've listened to you. Can't blame me when I only hear music whenever you open your pretty mouth.” He leans on your cart nonchalantly, giving you his signature smirk that has people falling over themselves for centuries.

“That's not much of a compliment.” You grimace, unaffected by his charm. “Listen, since we're in a public place I'm not gonna try to kill you so please get off my cart, I've got some shopping to do.” Shaking the trolley, he leans away, dismayed. “Also, the owner seems to like me, which is rare enough, so I don't want to ruin my relationship with the old lady. Shoo, Hobart, I'm off the clock.”

“You've got two people who like you now. One more than the other, I suppose.”

You narrow your eyes towards the vampire. “Who's the second one.”

Hobie walks backwards, arm wrapped around his basket, smile blinding everyone in its vicinity. “Me, darling, isn't it obvious?”

The bright fluorescent lights shouldn't do him any favours but by god, he looks amazing under it.

You don't answer, the camera zooms into your hands gripping the handles of the shopping cart, chest heaving, swallowing thickly.

He leaves, going towards the cashier to pay for his groceries. And you spot a sign that's labeled ‘50% off on garlic!’ you glare at the camera, pushing the cart towards the display.

—

Hobie sits on his work table, pieces of a TV are jumbled out on the table as he tinkers with them. His hands shake slightly, he should really feed.

“—‘m pretty good with technology, not like the other vampires. I've adapted well with—” he sniffs, “wait, what's that smell?”

He opens the door to find thousands of garlic circling around his house, “what—?”

“Tada!” You pop out from the side, hands carrying bushels of garlic, no doubt smelling like it too. “Wait, no, not tada, that's in poor taste because you hate them.”

Hobie gags at the smell, eyes watery and irritated. “This is a bad idea!” He rubs at his eyes, tears fully streaming on his cheeks.

“Why? Because it's working?!” You cackle, throwing the vegetable like confetti, one lands right on top of your head.

“Because it attracts—!”

You screech when you feel a sharp tug at your coat. A little green creature shrieks at you, the sound rings your eardrums, almost breaking the boom mic. Its eyes are dark and glassy, ears pointed, teeth sharp.

“A Goblin?!” Falling on your ass, you crawl backwards, watching as more and more of them appear from the bushes.

“I'm a goblin.” The one with a worn out party hat says, voice cracking like foil.

“What are you a Pokémon?!”

Hobie runs after you as fast as he can with the garlic hindering him. “Get inside!” He yells, dragging you towards the door. His hands sizzle atop your arms, the garlic searing his skin.

The creatures skidaddles towards you, towards the smell of garlic. Waves upon waves of green skitter and crawl on all limbs, eyes hungry, mouths agape.

“Hobie!” You hold on to his wrists as the ground scratches your back. Kicking an incoming goblin, you yelp as the door closes at the nick of time.

Claws scratch at the windows and walls. One of them even bangs its head hard on the glass just to get to you.

Hobie hides you behind him, eyes still stinging and skin aflame. “Get to the basement!” He screams when one breaches the house with glass shattering. “Go!”

Running down, Hobie lets you and the crew go first. He grabs a cutlass from the wall, chopping one that comes a little too close to your leg.

You look back at him with worry. “Hobie!”

“I'll be there! Just go!” He grabs one by the neck, throwing it away haphazardly.

It yells a faint ‘whee’ as it sails through the house.

Reaching the large basement, you search for the light switch, a cameraman beats you to it and you yelp at the sudden brightness.

The basement is full of things from different centuries. An iron maiden lays discarded on the corner, its steel rusted and brown. A sculpture of a woman sits on a shelf, it looks like it's a long lost work of Rodin. There's a large tapestry depicting a vampire war that is now collecting dust on the wall.

But the thing that catches your eyes is the massive metal cage that sits in the middle of the room. You would gawk but the swarm of goblins are nearing the basement. The familiar thumping of boots shakes you with relief.

“Cage!” Hobie grabs you effortlessly, you have no time to react as he carries you like a duffel bag by your waist.

The crew follows frantically, closing the metal doors shut behind them just as the swarm gets close. They shriek and bang on the bars, little arms trying to reach towards you.

He lays you back to your feet, dropping the drenched sword on the ground, palms still healing. He cups your face, searching for any injuries.

“You alright?” He heaves, out of breath, legs covered in goblin bites and palms searing but he looks at you like you're the one who's bleeding.

Staring at him with your irises blown out, mouth slightly parted, you embrace him to his surprise and the crew's.

“I'm okay,” you lean away before he could hug back. Hands placed on his shoulders, nails digging into him like he's about to be yanked away from you. “Are you?”

Hobie forgets about the other people inside the cage and the goblins trying to nibble at him. It's only you in his hands, even though the pungent smell of garlic makes his nose itch. Eyes tender, touch gentle, he could only nod.

“Yeah, I'm good now.” His voice lacks the usual charm.

You can finally breathe. “I thought…I'm the only one that's allowed to kill you.”

Chuckling, he traces your jaw with his thumb. “I know. You're first in line, darling.”

The crew stands near the sides awkwardly.

—

The goblins are trashing Hobie's basement, and based on the sounds from upstairs, they're also wreaking havoc in the entire house.

You sit back to back with Hobie in the middle of the cage, away from the bars, hands braced to your sides, his own are mere inches away from yours. He's glad that the garlic smell has wafted away from you, but not enough to get rid of the goblins still hankering for your flesh.

The crew stays away from the openings of the cage whilst a handful of the creatures try to grab at their equipment. It's been hours since the initial attack and everyone's getting hungry and thirsty, including Hobie.

“Why do you even have a dungeon in your basement—? Wait, scratch that, don't answer.” You try to pass the time.

“It was for your great great uncle—”

“Ew!”

“Get your head out of the gutter.” He says flatly, hands shaking from hunger. “I got it so he has a safe place to transform every full moon.”

“What? Huh, so that's why that branch of the family is so hairy.”

He changes the subject. “What were you thinkin’ with the garlic?” Hobie lays his head right on your shoulder, craning his neck to face you, he uses the closeness to memorize your face. His crimson eyes are dimmer than you're used to.

“I dunno, I thought it was a genius idea back then. Y’know, trap you inside, starve you then when you're weak enough I'd put a stake through your heart.”

“It's a good thing you're bloody fit.” He murmurs, chuckling quietly. “You almost got me though.” Your ears pick up the fatigue in his voice.

“And here I thought you fancy me for my amazing personality.”

“That too.” He smiles weakly, feeling the ache in his bones. “We need to get out of here.” His jaw visibly tightens, wanting to get away from you and your scent. Unfortunately it's not so easy when you're trapped.

“I know,” You sigh, Hobie sits up, covering his ears with the heels of his palms. “You okay?”

“I can hear your blood rushing through your veins.” He bites the inside of his cheeks. “Fuck, we really need to get out of here.” Standing up on wobbly feet, you help him up while the crew stands as far as they can without getting slashed by goblin claws.

“You're hungry.” You state the obvious.

“Starvin’” his red eyes flick down to your neck, already feeling guilty from the simple look.

You swallow thickly. “When was the last time you drank?”

“A couple days ago.” His vision blurs.

“Why are you starving yourself?” Scolding him, you guide him back down on the cold granite. “Hobart.”

“Why do you keep callin' me that?” Cold hands against your own, his eyes zeroes in on your face, avoiding the veins in your neck. “You sound like her when you call me that.”

Your eyes soften, warming him with your palms atop his cheeks, you worry. “You haven't answered my question.”

He groans, head lolling backwards. “Got busy, forgot what day it was.”

“Busy with what?” You click your tongue, lifting his head back up with your hands under his head. You search his hungry eyes, making a decision you could regret in the long run.

“If I let you feed, will you be able to get rid of the goblins?”

That has him picking his head back up, waking him up from his hungry stupor. “What—?”

You reiterate, voice determined. “If I let you drink from me can you get your strength back and get rid of the little fuckers?”

“Y/N, I can't let you do that.”

“I know what happens if you don't feed and judging by how the goblins are devouring your entire house like some frat, they aren't leaving soon enough.” You ball his shirt in your hands for emphasis. “I'm letting you drink, just this one time so we could all go home.”

“Are you really sure?”

“Just don't turn me into your spawn, deal?”

Hobie cracks a smile, fangs glinting off the basement lights. You suddenly feel your nerves kicking in.

“I promise I won't. Just tell me if it gets too much, yeah?”

“Okay,” you inhale deeply, tugging down the collar of your shirt, showing him what he needs. “Don't drink me dry.”

“That depends, for all I know you taste brilliantly.” His joke alleviates your fear a little. You're both unaware of the cameras watching, recording everything. Even forgetting that they were there in the first place.

His hand is on the back of your neck, the other is gripping on to your arm like his life depends on it. Eyeing your skin, lips brushing along it, fangs barely piercing, he gives you enough time to lean away.

“Hurry on with it, I need to pee.”

With a deep chuckle, he sinks his teeth in you.

Gasping, you bite down on your bottom lip, stifling any sounds. But Hobie can hear them from your chest, feel how your body quivers with every suck and nip from his teeth.

You whimper and he holds on to you tighter.

He wants to devour you whole, his instincts tell him to ravage you until you're dry and limp in his arms— to rip you apart with his bare teeth. But he doesn't, he's careful and gentle like he's drinking nectar straight from a flower.

“F-fuck…” you let out, hands shaking, sliding down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer.

He turns warmer with your crimson flowing through him, not letting a single drop of the precious liquid dribble from his mouth.

Hobie feels like his dead heart beats once again after centuries.

Eyes closed, you feel like you're on cloud nine. You look like it too, eyes hazy, lips parted, hand holding on to him weakly.

Before he could drown in you, Hobie carefully eases his teeth out from your pierced skin, maw covered in your blood, thumb pressing down to your wounds to stop the bleeding.

It will scar, but you're alright with that thought.

He feels anew. His eyes are sharper, adrenaline coursing through him like your blood in his system. His ears perked at every breath you let out. Eyes blown up like the size of dinner plates, his warm breath fans your cheeks.

Half of him regrets doing it, now that he has gotten a taste, he can't go back to biting random rich assholes. His other half delights in your after taste, so sweet and nectarine that makes him crave more.

You crane your neck slowly like molasses to look at him sweetly through your half lidded eyes, and a soft yet tired smile on your lips. Still clinging into euphoria, vision swirling and heart beating a thousand times per second. You feel like you've ascended and you'll never go down from it.

Licking his teeth, Hobie resists the urge to dive back in. But he's more than that, you're more than a blood bag.

“You alright?” He whispers, he smells like you.

You hum, smiling giddily like a child who just got what she wanted.

“‘m gonna go and kill some goblins now. Stay here for me?”

You hum a tune that sounds like a rendition of ‘happy birthday.’ Giggling, you pat his cheek.

“Yeah, you'll be alright. I'll get you some orange juice after this.”

“Orange sounds nice… such a pretty color. And cookies, yum.” You chortle like you just heard the best joke. “Oh handsome, so handsome. I'm gonna bite you back one day.” Staring up at him, your eyes roll back, falling unconscious.

“Lookin' forward to it.”

Hobie gently lays you down on the floor, standing up, ears listening to your fast heart beat, but it's not enough proof for him. Eyes observing your chest, watching it go up and down, making sure he didn't go too far. Satisfied, he points at the crew cowering in the corner, their cameras still rolling. The documentary won't air anywhere at this rate.

“Watch her.” He says sternly, eyes glaring.

They all nod frantically.

With a swift kick to the metal door, he strikes down every goblin he sees.

—

You sit on the same patchwork armchair, sipping on a warm cup of tea, comfortable and content in your seat. The two pin prick scars on your neck peeks under your collar. The camera has you in the spotlight, zoomed in on your freshly washed face.

“Do you know about the curse?” The man behind the camera asks, his voice wavering with every word like it's taboo to mention it.

“What curse?” You watch as their faces morph into panic. “I'm fucking with you,” you laugh at their expense.

“Of course I know about it. Why do you think I hunt him down? For fun? Well, partly because of it but we broke that curse like five generations ago when my ancestor figured it all out and made friends with the witch.”

Smiling fondly, you continue. “She's my godmother now. Don't tell him.” You warn. “Hunting him down is an initiation for us really, a tradition to try and kill him, just really doing our best to cause damage. He's pretty powerful.”

Laying your elbows on your knees, you look directly at the camera.

“I mean you've seen the room right? He's fucking obsessed, someone has to off him or just—I honestly think he should just move on.” shrugging you sip your tea that he made for you.

“Is that why you're living with him?” They ask unabashedly. The camera zooms out, showing you still in your pajamas, complete with fluffy slippers.

“Uh—”

Hobie appears in the corner, leaning on the doorway casually, a similar pajama pants hanging low on his hips.

“Darling, have you seen my good jumper—?”

You take your crossbow from under the chair, twisting in your seat, you aim it at his head, shooting, the arrow whizzes past him, he ducks down as the arrow imbeds into the oak.

Hobie laughs on the floor, lifting up a black and red jumper. “Found it!”

“Goddamnit.” The word is laced with endearment. You turn back towards the crew, eyes narrowed at them. “Wait, why are you guys here so early?”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

A/N: Thank you for reading! And happy 1k! 🎉

#in pursuit of blood #in pursuit of blood series #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #hobie brown #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #spider punk #spider punk x you #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #vampire!au #vampire! hobie brown #vampire! hobie brown x reader #vampire! hobie #vampire hunter! reader #cw blood #tw violence #WWDITS AU #mockumentary au #1k special #hobie fluff #hobie x reader #fanfic

[honestsycrets]

querido ii: ¿estás bien? | outlaw!miguel o'hara

Chapter List

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | tripleshot(?); explicit

❛ summary | while miguel gathers gabriella, you have an unexpected visit from aaron. miguel doesn't take his visit well.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats, implied physical assault, implied molestation, miguel beating a bitch up, mention of alcohol and smoking, f!reader.

❛ sy's notes | a bit long but-- enjoy.

The path Gabriella took was traceable. He wove through the pass of battered grass with efficiency, passing by groups of grazing cattle until he came upon a small wooden barn. It was nestled just in the mouth of the forest. It was clumsily built and even more sloppily painted. Miguel had no doubt that it had to be Peter’s handiwork. It had that look about it, half done but done in love.

“Gabriella?” her name was clumsy on his tongue. Before today, he’d gotten no word of his daughter in smuggled letters from Peter. Didn’t even know you were pregnant. It made sense, after the accident, that he’d step up. That was the kinda man Peter was.

“Go away,” she sniffled between the fallen tears and snot, her sobbing loud and relentless. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Let me take you home, kid.”

“No.” she bit out. “I don’t know you.”

“You know your mama.”

“I don’ think I do,” she said.

“Yeah, well, that makes two’a us.” Crestfallen, Miguel set his back against the wood panneling, folding his broad arms one over the other. His head connected with the aged old wood, staring into the distance at your little house with its peeling paint and tall flowering trees. He takes a swig of his flask of booze, needing something to cut with the sudden reality that he was an instant father. A smoke would do, too.

He should have known his method of pulling out and praying would slip up one day. Apparently, that came sooner than he thought. If he searched his memories way back when, he might have remembered a time or two that he failed to pull out, your beautiful body riding him for all he was worth. All beat up, he was a sad sex partner, clinging underneath layers of your frilly dress to fuck up into you. Coño, that had to be it. A laugh slipped off his lips, empty of his typical sass and mirth.

“Came back to see my girl and end up a father, fancy that.”

“Your girl?” Gabriella said, in between her raw tears. “What’d you mean your girl?”

“Tu mamá. She was my girl. Met her as a cattle hand for her papá. Back when I used to do things right,” Miguel found himself explaining, turning his head over to the tiny window. He couldn’t help but remember the first time you caught his eye-- the day you dropped that ruby-red rebozo into a muddy puddle on the way back from church. Whirling off his newly broken horse, Miguel near flung himself off her saddle to pick it up. Gabriella shifted to look out the empty window at him. “Shoulda seen her then. She had this glimmer, used to bring me out burros no matter how hot it was.”

He remembers the many days sitting on the wooden gate, tearing tasteless dried meat until you came around. You slipped out of your mother’s schoolhouse without fail to bring him something to eat. He hated sopita days the most. You loved those days the most. Beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd eat it, smack on a smile. Listened with an annoyed grin to the other cattle hands when they teased him about having to drop his entire salary back on the man to get your hand in marriage. Like the asshole would give you to a sunburnt, down-in-the-dirt cowboy like him. If he'd known that, he would've just eloped before things got... messy.

“Mama likes sopita,” Gabriella said. At least she knew her mother. “I like frijoles and tortillas.”

Sencillo. She was a simple child. Miguel exhaled a plume of smoke, spotting a dark brown horse out in the distance. He wasn't sure, but it could be Aaron coming to bother you again. He swore that the man had come in earlier when Miguel was feeding Widow in the barn.

“Abuelo y mi tia were shot.” She stated. What'd you do?! She’s not moving! Miguel shook the memory free. Every time he remembered, he hoped he could forget. He brings his cigarette back to his lips as the little girl goes on. “That’s what mamá said. Then, the paper says you killed the sheriff. Real outlaw like!"

“That’s what they say,” he mumbled, finding his mind running.

The days of running from his thoughts were coming to a quick end. He’s traveled far and wide, never married-- though he had certain needs met. It never fit. No one’s body held the quiet calm of yours under his, your fingers dancing the expanse of his muscled back, your soft lips on his chapped ones. He just wanted to make it right, thinking there was nothing more to tie you down. Looking at the curious twinkle in his daughter’s big brown doe eyes, that was obviously wrong.

“Yeah, but did you do it?”

“Don’t think your mamá would appreciate me talking out of turn.” Miguel unfolded his arms, knowing that he already said too much. He doesn’t know how much of the event you’ve told her. It’s easy to want to tell her things, to be more honest, and to invite open conversation like a papá should. He let Peter handle it all for years.

“What about me?” she asked, curious. “Did’ja come back for me?”

“You?” Miguel peeped over. “I didn’t even know you were alive, kid. Besides that, you won’t even talk to me man to man.”

“Man to girl,” she pushed open the door and popped out with her hands square on her hips. She’s a little spitfire, standing there proudly, fractured in some beautiful way, through moments of grief. It still wears in her girlish eyes, but it's smoothed over some by Miguel’s presence. He suddenly has a terrible fear of letting her down. He caught the tail of a frown before it dissipated. She presented him with her hand.

“My papá’s gone, so you’ll just have to do.”

Great, he’s a second-rate father. He knows he’s no Peter, who could run off with the smallest joy a child had. He could make it seem like the most amazing thing he’s ever heard. Miguel has a cold demeanor, his aptitude in things outside gunfights is questionable, and he has a fat ass bounty on his head-- no doubt spearheaded by Aaron. The deaths were so old. The sheriff was another issue. Why else would he keep chasing him?

“I’ll try.”

He could do this. Whatever having a child entailed, he wanted to do it. To one day bring that smile to Gabriella’s lips. A smile warmed his hardened face as he took hers. It’s the only thing that a newfound father could wish for his daughter-- to be the source of her happiness.

By the time they trek back home, there is no sight of Aaron. Widow is tucked kindly in your barn, out of the sweltering sun that beat down her little face to keep her safe. They take the backdoor in.

“Mamá?” Gabriella stepped in first. Miguel followed after, his hand on his gun out of habit. Too many sleepless nights in the middle of nowhere, nights sleeping in caves and rocky ground. “Mamá, are you there?”

Your clothes are thrown over a wooden chair, forgotten. Your cleaning water is used and indicates that you cleaned up in their absence. Miguel stepped past a broken dish in the kitchen that Gabriella thought fell off on its own accord. He set the sherds on top of one another and continued on in his inspection of the kitchen.

“Oh, mama made pie!” Gabriella picked up the forgotten peach pie from the window and set it on the lace tablecloth that covered the table. Miguel promptly shut the window behind her. He recognized Peter’s old pistol on the table, still holstered up in your thigh wrapping. Night had fallen on the home. Had they been gone so long?

Something’s off-- Miguel decided.

“I’m upstairs,” you called from up the steps. Your voice sounded strained, suppressing something Miguel didn’t quite understand.

“Eat n’ bed,” he told Gabi.

"Can I eat the pie?"

"Eat what'cha want." He minded how she took the pie up to her room with a shake of his head. He wasn’t getting him any of that any time soon. He checked her room first, shooing her off with the awkwardest hug. Not on his part, but hers. She squeezed his waist the tightest she could before she disappeared inside.

On his last visit here, he hadn't gone into depth exploring the home. It was beautiful. Warmed by your touch with well-framed family portraits and knick-knacks he recognizes from a decade ago. It’s terribly domestic, but that’s the beauty of a lifestyle he is alien to. Miguel hovered before a wedding photo. Unlike the typical wedding photos he saw town to town, you were clearly pregnant behind that tight white dress. Peter was clearly grinning like the idiot he was. He draws his knuckles over the heavy wooden door with a silent knock. He doesn’t want to fall into a trap with his daughter next door.

“Adelante,” you whispered, inviting him in. He pushes the door apart.

There’s no sign of Aaron. You sat at a small vanity, combing your hair out with a hand-me-down brush. Your hair fell over a heavy welt on your cheek that wasn’t there hours ago. His eye trained on the bruise. For a few long moments, he was silent. He eventually clicks the door shut and takes several steps forward, peeling your tiny palm that obscures the heavy bruising on your cheekbone.

“Did you find her?”

“What happened?” he asked, plain and dry. No room for debate, no way to deflect. You turned your head to one side, stroking your nightgown for a semblance of comfort. He removed your hand and set it on your lap, his large hand tilting your face in gentle concern. You abandoned your brush on the vanity. The spot was hot and angry, burning with a blotchy color that painted your face in a watercolor of bruises. “Was it Aaron?”

“You saw him?” He met your eyes and kept his gaze steady and strong. That was his answer. You sighed. “It’s not important.”

“Did he put his hands on you? Did he-- touch you?”

Miguel knew how Aaron looked at you in the past. Even back then, married to your sister, his eyes always wandered to any pretty thing. It wasn’t enough that the rumors that spread were full of talk of Miguel and you, ever the hot topic at every dance he took you to. Not because it was unique but because your father had clear objections to the match. Aaron took his presence as a threat. Right now, it was.

“Did you find Gabi?”

“She’s safe in her room,” he cropped his words. “I want to talk about you.”

“Y yo no,” you looked away. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Mi amor,” Miguel brought his hand down, supporting your soft jaw in his hand. Miguel doesn’t beg, but he will this time. It was all he could do to make you tell the truth. To soothe the sick feeling in his gut, to make sure that you were well taken care of. In a surge of concern, Miguel tried to push the issue further. “Don’t shut me out.”

“You’ll get all worked up and that ain’t gonna do nothin’ but raise that bounty on your head.”

"So." It doesn't matter that you had a point. There was a warning hanging in his eyes-- he wouldn’t let it go. Not without an explanation first. It was impossible. "I already got a chunk of change on my head. What's one more gonna do?"

“He’s been pressing me to search the ranch for you every so often,” you admitted, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I left the front door open and he came on in while I was changing. I was about sick of it, querido, so I told him to go away. I guess… he didn’t like that much. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Miguel cut you off. That was closer to a version of the truth than he knew you wanted to admit. He knew you enough to know it wasn’t the full story. Miguel slipped onto his knees, his worn slacks scratching the floor beneath him. He held your hands in his, reminding himself not to lash out, throw something, or hit something for not being there. There was no outlet for his rage right then. He'd take it out on something later.

“He didn’t violate me if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” Your lip pursed, struggled to make words that don’t hurt so much. Your tongue was fat in your mouth as you explained. “He just… grabbed on me a bit.”

Grabbed on you a bit? Miguel searched your fingers with an intent expression for an answer that made sense. You were being cryptic. He doesn’t particularly like weighing the options of what it could mean. He could have grabbed the door and forced his way in. He could have grabbed you and tried to force himself on you. The thought burned low in his stomach, simmering the need for revenge.

“What’d he grab?” he drew your name out in a soft, puff of a thing. Your fingers left his, smoothing over your nightgown again in an effort to soothe yourself. Your breath quickened, a clear signal that he was hitting his limit with you.

“I don’t--” you struggled. “I don’t want to talk about none of that. You just came back today, Gabi learned the truth, Peter-- I can’t do it. Can’t you let it go?”

He knew that the tears pricking your eyes weren’t over something like Peter’s death or the bite of dust in your eyes. Shame and embarrassment dangle before him, fueling his enmity with a man that he’d not run up against in many years. If anything were going to force him into action, it would be this.

“If that’s what you want, amor.”

He couldn’t let it go. But if it helped you relax, he’d just let you think he could. Miguel sprung up on two feet and kicked off his dark brown boots under your wooden vanity. He slipped off his suit jacket and vest before offering you his hand.

“I should… check on Gabi. She might be hungry.”

“She took up with that pie you made her. Menudo’s on the stove.”

“Pero… I should make sure she’s okay.”

“Amor, are you okay?” he asked, his voice terribly mild, but bore a seriousness that struck a cord in you. His words hung like the blade of a scythe, cutting through the strength you had to have day to day since Peter passed. First death. Now as Miguel suspected, a molestation?

No, you choked out, your face pale of its usual warmth. You didn’t fight as he brought you into bed, his hand underneath your neck to draw you close. He knew his smoky scent would reek the sheets, yet you did not seem to care, burrowing in the space between his neck. Your hand slipped underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt, curling in his chest hair. He caressed your back in soft circles.

“Miggy?”

“¿Sí, mi hermosa?”

“Make it better.”

Take care of it, he thought bitterly. That’s what you meant. Miguel slid his other large hand over the back of your neck, working you through the tears. The flood of your tears against his neck reminded him of how pathetic of a job he’d been doing, caring for his new little family, for you-- the woman he came to take away.

For this moment, he could only cradle your cheek and distract you with a salty kiss. He clumsily nudged his nose against yours to force you to pay attention to him. He probably tastes of booze, smoke, and a little bit of dried meat, but if he does, you don’t seem to mind it. Your lips shuddered, lips opening slightly to allow him to kiss you more fully. Your kiss held its own familiarity, a signal that he was home despite the years that passed.

“I don’t think I can do this alone,” you murmured against his lips. “I ain’t that strong.”

“You’re plenty strong. Got through a whole pregnancy without your man around, raised her up good.”

“I knew I was with child before you left,” you peered up. Emotions flickered there: a rush of anger, uncertainty, disappointment, most of all, sadness pooled in his eyes. “I just… I ain’t know how to tell you, what’d it change with papa not liking you the least bit after Lupe’s shooting.”

“I would’a wifed you up quick.”

Now-- what would he do? Miguel wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t be just Aaron who would come around the longer he spent in this town. Bounty hunters of all kinds would be breathing down his neck. There was no future for him here. The only alternative was to take his family out of this tiny town, carve out a new life elsewhere. Miguel brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

“I still would.”

Your cheeks are warm as they get, “Who’d marry an outlaw and a widow?”

“Someone out west that ain’t know about us.”

“There such a place?” you asked.

“'Course there is,” he assured you. “Think ‘bout it.”

You looked at him for a long time, considering if Miguel was telling you the truth, but he’s never lied before. Not where it counts. Miguel’s hand wandered, pulling your thigh over his, content with your consideration.

“Think that’d make me a bad mom, whisking my kid off to be with an outlaw, ain’t it?”

Miguel arched his brow at you, his eyes glossy and warm, teasing. In any other case, he might have agreed. But it was his child you cared for. He wasn’t about to abandon you— no way to make money, no way to take care of Gabriella but to remarry or sell off everything and try a life in the city. You liked rocking on a rocking chair at the end of the night, running through the wildflowers, and the taste of honey in the warmer months. You were no city girl.

“Ain’t like they don’t know whose kid it is.” Miguel laughed, a tuft of pride spilling into his words. “She look like she's mine.”

“Peter’d say that too.” The thought made you smile in a way you knew it shouldn’t. As good as a man Peter was, he brought up that fact the day you gave birth, when he abandoned the fields to be by your side. How we gonna hide this? He’d laugh. She ain’t look Anglo. She look just like Miguel. He always did say he hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. It was. Peter was a one-of-a-kind man. The memory brought a twinge of a smile to your face, looking over your marital bedroom. Speaking of others--

“Didn’t you meet other girls out there?”

Miguel forgets the kind of woman you were. A very jealous, terribly protective woman. He knew the question would come up eventually. You were a woman who loved to be the center of his world. Every man and woman wanted to be the only one in their lover’s eyes. He traveled the grassy roads for years and saw all there was to see. All types of women. Native women who lived on the land and slept in longhouses. Anglo women seemed to love to run their fingers down his swarthy skin but never considered bringing him home-- even if he wasn’t interested. Black women always fed him, even if they distrusted him a little. And, Hispanic women whose fathers did not like him prowling around their land. He couldn't blame them. He wouldn't want someone like him for Gabi, either.

“I met my share.”

“And you still came back?”

“Yeah? I came back for you. What, you want me out?” Despite your brilliant, soft smile, your mind ran like you’d taken the first ticket on the railroad out of town. He knew what you were thinking. You were wondering how many women he’d been with, what they were like, what--

"You're so sassy," you teased. He slid on top of you, his fat belt buckle catching on your nightgown. His lips peppered gentle but scratchy kisses down the expanse of your neck. The soft bruising there reminded him of Aaron’s mistakes. He'd take care of that next.

“Miggy,” you giggled, tugging on his thick dark brown hair. “Stop it.”

“Todavía te amo,” he lifted off your neck enough to utter the words. Your cheeks flooded with an unfamiliar warmth. You'd not had someone to make your heart soar in a really long time. Your hand curled up his head, dipped along the curves of his face to his sharp jawline, and tugged him to look at you. He complied, a tilt in his head.

“I wanna see you naked. You’ve gotten so big,” you said. “Take off your clothes.”

Well-- he had to know that one was coming. Miguel suppressed a small snicker from leaving his chest as he pushed off the bed and brought his fingers against the buttons you hadn’t undone. You scooted up on the bed, dragged your gown over your knees, and watched him undress. He drew the shirt off his massive arms and threw it in on your chair. His skin was memorable, still as dark and swarthy as you remember, but cut in more defined musculature. You brought your nail to your lip, suckling on the nail as he threw you a half-lidded look.

“Well?” he hooked his thumbs onto his belt buckle, waving a little closer. “You're not saying anything.”

“You’re so big, querido.”

“Believe you already said that,” Miguel teased.

He knew he looked good. It was how he attracted so many different women. You twiddled your fingers to urge him closer. Something about you loosening his belt filled his belly with a distant excitement. He watched you unlatch the fat buckle and draw his belt free of the loops with a whirl of leather. He held his thick leather belt in one hand as your trembling hands came up to unbutton him. The firm fabric slid down over his hips, revealing nothing beneath but his hirsute legs and a flaccid cock that settled on a tuft of nearly black pubic hair. If he wasn't mistaken, you moistened your lips.

Selfishly, he wonders how many men you’ve been with since he ran off. He wouldn't have blamed you if you wanted to be with a hundred. He left you pregnant, without a family, and likely terrified.

“How long’s it been?” Miguel stepped out of what was left, standing there as naked as the first day he came into this world, exposed without his rifle or his handgun. Your cheeks flared with warmth, gliding a hand up his hip. “Since you've been with a man.”

“Eight years.”

He knew that Peter had no interest in you, and you had no interest in Peter. He was simply a good man doing what he thought was right. If not for Peter-- he’s not sure what would have become of you. Yet, illogically, he thought you could stomach to be with another man.

“You never been with another man?”

“I married Peter. I’d never do him like that,” you shook your head, inching your hand over his cock. After eight years, you deserved a good fucking. He can’t bring himself to force you into it, not after what you’ve been through tonight. He allows you to lead, milking his cock with your small hand. Your other crawls up to his scarred stomach, tracing the line of hair to his navel. There were countless scars on his body, never afraid to leap head first into a battle.

“I bet you had needs,” Miguel murmured. "You use your hand?"

“‘Course I did, Miggy. I’m a woman, ain’t I?” You looked up at him, your bruised face beautiful as it was. Despite what other men liked to say, that women ain’t need to do nothing but lay there and take them, Miguel knows better. His mind is full of distant memories of sex with one another. Sneaking out in the deep of night to fuck in the fields, snatching you midway through your chores to kiss and finger you in the barn, or exchanging the smallest of glances around town. "Now don't talk so nasty, Gabriella is right next door."

“Downstairs. Lemme take care of you,” Miguel found took your hand, lifting it away from his cock and forcing you to stand. You complied, following his hand that slipped between your legs, stroking up your thighs to your neglected core. He imagines that on nights like this, quiet and alone when Peter was on a cattle drive, you’d come into your bed just like this. Slip over your bed, stroke your long fingers over your puffy lips, maybe dip one inside, and think of him.

“What if she comes in?”

“She won’t.”

“But I don’t know how to--”

“Mujer. You don’t need to think of anything short of what I’m about to do to you.” Miguel lifted your nightgown up and off your body. Your hands snapped to your midsection, covering whatever it was that was so offensive.

"Stop that." Miguel tilted his head to the side, flicking your hands away from appreciating the sight of your belly, littered with softly discolored stretch marks.

“But I ain’t pretty no more,” you told him. “I got--”

“You got marks from bearing me a baby. I know. Now, hush up,” Miguel teased gently, the pads of his fingers swooping over the marks. They had gone silvery with age. Perhaps, he thinks, you thought you'd never be with a man. Now, you seem so suddenly self-conscious of the marks that litter your skin. He curved his hands around to squeeze your plush hips, flushing his body against yours. You felt his cock rub up against your belly, soft to the touch. Miguel's cock stiffened against your navel, a feeling that brought a crack of arousal through your core. You rubbed your thighs together for the friction. As relief pooled in your belly, Miguel seized your jaw to kiss you, his hands slapping your ass to force you to move. You shifted forward, crying out into his muscular chest. “I’m after a woman, not a girl. Get on all fours. It’s my turn to see you.”

You complied by sliding onto the bed, memories of what Miguel liked flooding your mind: chest against the sheets and ass up. Despite the very real concerns you had about his attraction, Miguel seemed no worse for wear when you looked over your shoulder. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grabbed your ass, massaged your cheeks between his palms, and separated your lips. He licked a long band up between your tender lips, enough to wrench free a soft gasp. He suckled on them with a wet pop, the puff of his lips musing hot air onto your cunt.

“That’s cute,” Miguel murmured, letting his palm come on your ass for a teasing slap. You groaned, the hot redness burned in a sweet and unfamiliar way. His lips began to moisten with your lubricant spilling over them, tasting of a woman he hadn’t had in too long. His tongue prodded at the entrance to your gentle hole, pushing in one of his thick digits. Your walls protested the intrusion, clamping over the foreign finger.

“Ah Miguel,” you curled your toes, his finger stretching you in preparation for his fat cock. “I ain’t sure I can take you.”

“Sure you can.” Miguel hummed, inserting another alongside the first. You were tight, that was for sure. He was sure that you hadn’t been with another man in years, just as you said. It made his cock leak to think of it-- your virginity was his, your child was his, and… now you’d be his again. He spat on your hole, his wet saliva squelching with your lubricant around his broad fingers as he entered your body. Your hips rutted back onto him, instantly making Miguel release a husky laugh. "Your pussy knows you can. Look'it eating me up."

"Por dios Miguel, don't talk like that." You stiffened around his fingers. His mouth had gotten nastier in his time away. He knows you like the way he worships you, finger flicking lightly over your walls, making sure to stretch you wide. Another slipped alongside the first, twisting his wrist for a deeper thrust, working you nice and loose, enjoying the gasps of decadent pleasure. Miguel whispered beautiful words of praise, remarking on how easily you took him, how well you'd be in only a few minutes. Your hands ruffled the sheets, cantering your hips back onto him. You needed his words, so tired after years of sexual frustration.

"That's it. Tell me you missed it," he fucked you a few more times before his rhythm would die off, leaving you empty of him. His hand shifted to your breasts, molding them between his big palms, waiting for an answer that sounded right.

"I missed you, Miggy."

Miguel momentarily paused. Then, he stepped up, the hair on his legs brushing your thighs as he mounted you. The blunt head of his cock nudged along your lips.

“I’ma fuck you now,” Miguel murmured into your ear, letting his chest rest on your own. He pushed into you. Your walls stretched with his long stroke, Miguel's face tightening up. He was seated against your cervix, pushed up as far as you would let him go. For all your whining about his language, the obscene cry that left your lips was loud. Loud enough that Miguel slapped his hand over your mouth. He hooked his thumb in your mouth, forcing you to suck him as he sped up his deep thrusts, pushing you closer to your limit.

“Just gorgeous, mi hermosa.” Miguel found himself grinding forth. The repetitive squeaking of the bed made what he was about to say real stupid like. “But you gotta be quiet. Gabi don’t need to know what we’re doin’.”

Your tongue coasted around his thumb, suckling him nice and wet. Your walls clamped back over him, unused to the feeling of having a man inside. Miguel found himself rutting against your cunt, his tightening balls slapping your ass as he moved. Again and again, Miguel set a soothing, quick rhythm, filling the emptiness from years ago.

He'd been with many women over the years. None felt so easy, so like home. He curses himself for not doing it sooner. Your fingers dipped between your bodies, filling the emptiness, and causing your pleasure to blossom under your fingers. Pleasure explodes in your core, battered by his frantic thrusts, and your mind goes over the edge into some distant land of warm pleasure. Your walls spasmed violently, and Miguel's gasps became thin, adjusting his hold on your hips under the clench of your muscles against his length. He holds onto his decency poorly, strain bundled in his brow.

“Could you-- inside?” you said between his thrusts, muffled by the fingers hooked in your moist mouth.

“I do that-- and-- you'll get pregnant,” you’re both older now, he wants to think wiser than being two stupid kids fucking one another without care. Not that his pull-out game was particularly great back then-- Miggy please, you cry his name out, a tone that is stretched sweetly thin, walls spasming tightly over his fat cock. He muffles a curse, his pace jagged and uneven, desperate.

“Please, I miss it,” you cry, a litany of please threatening his ability to be well-behaved. He never was good at that in the first place, never good at saying no. Miguel drags you onto his cock, complying with a groan that he didn’t mean to be quite so loud. Thick streams of cum fill your tight little hole, bubbling out around the site of your union. He rides out the tails of his orgasm, earning you desperate little snaps of his shaking hips.

“Ay dios,” Miguel came down from his high with a slap to your ass, ripping his other hand free from your mouth to comb through his hair. He didn’t just-- he did. Miguel threw a glance at you, your shy eyes hiding behind an embroidered pillow. “I came inside.”

Coño. Great. Just-- great.

“I can feel it,” you teased him. He was stressed out, seeing a stream of his cum dribbling out from your cunt. He didn’t even know how to take care of one. How was he going to take care of two? His eyes narrowed.

“You best pray that it don’t take.”

“Don’t think I control that, Miguel.”

He pieced himself together smoothly, failing to notice anything but the emptiness that settled in your chest. A sigh left his chest and Miguel would set a kiss on the top of your head, looking toward the clothes-covered chair. Your eyebrows drew together in the realization that Miguel did not intend to stay.

“Are you leaving already?” You whined, pulling his name out from somewhere deep and lonely. He knew what it was. He just fucked you-- and now, he was going to run off. “Where you off to?”

“I got something to do. I’ll be back another day.”

A frown marred your soft features, lips slapped shut. You pushed away the warm quilt and slipped below it with your head on pillows that still smelled of Peter. You took one, propped it under your arm, and hid your lovely face from view. Silence filled the suddenly stuffy room. Other women would whine and complain about his fuck-and-run attitude. He didn't usually care.

Miguel dropped his pants, drawing closer to look at you. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see an ounce of the grief in your watery eyes. Panic, embodied in sparks of anxiety, spilled down his chest. Filled his stomach full with a fear of aggravating your already damaged state.

“Hermosa…” he began, his voice tender and soft. He slipped behind your back, his fingers running across your waist. "What is it?"

“I’m-- I don’t want to be alone. I didn’t want you to go,” you stammered into the pillow, blinking back tears that fell so readily. You didn't want to say what happened, but you needed his comfort more than sex. Your words were heavy, hard to make out, almost as if you were suffocating. “Not so soon.”

“Then I stay,” he said, husky and soft.

“You’ll stay?”

His muscular arms bunched around your waist as he set a kiss on the top of your head. He was careful, sliding you away from the hunched position on your bed onto his chest. He’d stay if that was what you wanted. Not permanently. He could never afford you such a promise here, where many a man had 2099 reasons to chase him down. You were his reason to stay, to keep you safe. The other slept next door. Or, he hoped she was sleeping.

“For tonight.”

He forgot what this felt like, the ability to stay in bed with someone you cared for, no pressure to run. Miguel was disheartened without his gun in arms reach, instead combing his fingers through your hair, watching the moon draw overhead. At some point, your breath faded into a gentle rise and drop in your chest to the tune of the whistling wind against the side of your home.

He found himself awake for minutes after, focusing on the bright moon multiple times that night, her embrace cool and welcoming. The constellations pale in comparison to the bright light that streamed into the room. He could almost imagine doing this every day, in another world, where his head wasn’t on a wanted flyer in your biblia. Sleep claimed him, restful and horrible, and hours passed.

The gun was hot. Miguel's fingers trembled, wrapped around the grip of his mother's old gun. "Lupe! Miguel, oh glory, Miguel what did you do?" He hears your distant scream, the desperation rooted in your voice. There was a pool of blood by his feet, dripping out from a woman who gave him nothing but grief.

"What I had to," As much as he'd tell you that killing her, rather than wounding her, was wholly an accident, he knew it wasn't. It was another something he had to do. He knew the next something would be your father wielding that ancient rifle and putting a claim on his head.

Shit. He wakes with a start. Miguel soothes the bags under his eyes. Not a day had gone past that he had good dreams-- less so when he was in a proper bed with a woman. Not any woman, but his woman. You're dead asleep against his chest, his arm having long since gone numb. Still as beautiful as hours ago, blissed out and well fucked, the bruising on your face reminds him that he has shit to do.

There is little disrespect like the disrespect of a man molesting your love, the mother of your child. But you don’t want a body from him. So he would be gentle with this, unpeeling himself from your warmth and striding into town while the moon still howled in the sky, knowing where a useless scum bag like Aaron Delgado would be. He’d be drinking up, his liver fat and useless.

The saloon was still somehow rowdy, stuffed to the brim with men who sought relief from family life and women who knew the easiest way to make a buck off pretty lies. Popping into the saloon was stepping back into his usual life, one of little value other than the skills it gave him. Namely, his hand hooked around the gun.

“Hey handsome,” a maid cooed, trying to call his attention. But he’s not focused on the breasts in his face as he veered past, pushing through groups of standing men. He came up behind Aaron, who was dead asleep on the bar. It never failed that he looked sloppy, his booze soaking his ruffled shirt.

“What can I get you?” the barman said.

Miguel gripped Aaron’s collar and what little hair wasn’t balding, lifting and cracking the man’s head hard on the bar. Aaron may not have been awake before but he was sure now, blinking the stars out of his eyes.

“The hell!”

The sound of feet against the squeaky old floor marked the rush of steps out of the bar. Miguel kicked Aaron’s bar seat out from underneath him, sending him careening onto the floor with a heavy thump.

“Miguel?” he snapped, bright-eyed, eyes trained on Aaron. Aaron snapped his hand to his hip. Miguel leveled his gun at Aaron, threatening him to touch it, just try. Blood flowed free from Aaron’s nose. He pushed it away with the back of his hand, smug smile like he knew Miguel would show up.

“It is you. I knew you’d be around.”

That's him. Some stragglers, friends of Aaron’s no doubt, lurched forward. Miguel shot into the ground by Aaron’s hip as a warning. It burst into the floor with a booming pop. He had no qualms about making double murder a triple, quadruple if he had to. Aaron pushed himself onto one arm. Miguel’s foot connected with Aaron’s ribs, sending him soaring across the floor. He connected with an aged piano, a bundle of keys singing under the small man who stumbled past Aaron's poor, shitty friends.

“C’mon,” Aaron pushed himself up on his palms. "Kicking a man while he's down?"

“You didn't think twice about breaking in and hitting my woman."

Miguel knelt down, checking the urge to blow his face off, but not now. Not while you had a stake in this shit of a town. Aaron's face quivered, what little friends he had gossiping in and among one another, others slipping the fuck out. Aaron has nothing useful to say.

"You so much as think of touching my woman again and you won’t be so much as crawling out of here. The undertaker be putting you under, you hear?"

“Gimme a break. What I did was nothing compared to what you did to Lupe."

"Don't you fuckin' dare bring her up."

"I just touched on her. You killed my wife. She felt mighty nice, Miguel, bet you’re mighty proud--”

Miguel considers himself good up til that point, walloping the butt of his gun across Aaron’s face to force compliance. Once, twice, maybe three times. After the third, he lost the thin hold he had on his control. He just knows it's enough to where the bruises that formed on his face would make yours seem like gentle love taps. He beats the man bloody and slips out to the sound of calls for Sherriff Morales.

He never was good at handling disrespect.

#miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara/you #atsv imagine #atsv imagines #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv au #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara imagines #miguel o'hara fic #spider 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel smut #atsv smut

[morallyinept]

COWBOY CHRISTMAS - A Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) Christmas One Shot

Summary: Your husband Jack takes you out on a snowy Christmas Eve horse ride around the ranch, then helps you thaw out after.

Pairing: Husband!Jack Daniels x Wife!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 5k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Husband Jack hits differently and I'm here for it. Horsey speak researched because I'm not a horsey person. Neigh. I hope you enjoy spending Christmas with Jack. 🎄

Tagging @ladybess-a03 as Jack is her husband 🤠🖤

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

“Now, you hold on tight to them reins there, sugar. Don’t want ol’ Thunder here gallopin’ off into the breach.” Jacks says to you with a wink. 

You watch as he buttons up his denim jacket; a woolly sheepskin lines the collar inside around his neck. “Hoo, it’s a chilly one this mornin’!” He exclaims in that Southern twang making sweet, unbashed love to his vocal chords.

“Remind me why I let you talk me into this?” You say, feeling the cold rake it’s sharp fingernails down your spine. 

“'Cause I can talk you into anythin'." He grins. "Besides, you’re gonna love it.” He assures. 

“I love our warm bed more.” You mutter, trying not to smirk. 

You grip tight on the leather reins with your gloved hands as the horse snuffles gently; the cool air wisps out of his large, wet nostrils in gossamer tendrils, floating into the air.

The snow is fresh and crisp on the ground; the Ranch is covered in billowy marshmallows heaped on the roof like someone let the powdered sugar pour overnight. The whole scene looks as though a snow globe has been shaken up and long since settled with the coarse glitter of it all glimmering under the pallor of the winter sun; a pale blue orb lingering in the sky.

A Christmas Eve morning horse ride with your husband Jack sounded appealing when he suggested it, but now that you’re the one in the driver’s seat so to speak, you're not so sure, as your stomach tosses about with the anxiousness of it all. 

It’s not that you’re not a keen rider, it’s just that Jack’s array of Appaloosas and Mustangs from the rodeo show - that’s been a lucrative business for you both, if not but a hectic one - can always seem to sense your trepidation, and do everything they can to keep you from venturing near them, let alone mounting them. 

But Jack’s a determined son of a gun to get you used to it, and a few lessons with a deep brown Lusitano named Thunder, seem to be paying off, as the two of you bond the more time you spend with the stallion.

Thunder stands at a regal sixteen hands, his physique a perfect blend of strength and elegance. His coat is a rich chestnut, gleaming under the dappled sunlight like polished mahogany. He's probably the most handsome thing you've ever laid eyes on, aside from your husband, of course.

Jack had assured you that Thunder’s physique, combined with his gentle demeanour and keen intelligence, made him not just a stunning horse, but also an ideal companion for you.

And that smooth talking cowboy hadn’t been wrong yet. 

Jack hoists himself up, grunting with a steely puff as he settles on the double saddle behind you. Not brave enough yet to go it alone in the snow, Jack rides tandem with you this morning.

The front of his Stetson knocks gently against the back of your head as he adjusts, and the horse pads his front hooves in anticipation to get going. 

“Easy, Thunder,” he soothes as he reaches around and checks the reins. “You good to go, sweet thing?” Jack asks you. 

“What are you going to hold on to?” You query as he lets go of the reins, turning to glance at him over your shoulder warily.

You’ve seen Jack ride plenty of times, to the point he trusts his stallions and mares implicitly. There's some magical fluidity between them as you watch from the sidelines of the paddock when they practise together.

Although each time he rides free and un-reined, you can’t help but grimace and worry, especially when he shows off in the rodeo ring.

“Why, your gorgeous self, of course!” You feel him pinch your hips playfully and then his arms wrap around your waist. He pats your belly softly. 

“I got you, nice n' tight.” The wetness of his lips are cold as they squish against your cheek where he kisses you affectionately. You giggle as his fuzzy moustache tickles against your skin.

“Now, you’re the one in control, remember. Just like I taught you. Pull back gently if you want him to slow down.”

“Okay.” You nod, taking in a deep breath and sounding much more confident than you actually feel. And Jack picks up on it and rubs your arms down. 

“You’ve got nothin’ to worry about, sugar. He’s infatuated with you.” Jack reassures. He holds you tighter and runs his nose against the side of your face. “And he ain’t the only one.” he murmurs. 

“You keep doing that and we’re never getting out of this damn paddock,” you groan as he nips against your lobe, tonguing it slyly.

Despite the cold, you suddenly feel the warmth creeping up under your jacket trying to strangle you. 

He chuckles and pulls back, sitting himself upright and placing his hands together around your waist again. 

“Let’s skedaddle.” He instructs.

You breathe out, clicking your tongue twice and squeeze your legs gently against the underside of Thunder. He immediately trots forward languidly.

“There you go, nice n' easy there. See, he ain’t so buck wild after all, is he now?” Jack says.  

“No, he’s a good boy,” you say, leaning forward and patting Thunder’s head as he strides forward out the paddock. “A good boy that’s going to go nice and slow, okay?” You whisper, imploring the horse. 

Thunder simply snorts in response.

You settle into it; a gentle trot across the acres of the Ranch on this wintery morning. You can feel the cold biting against your face as you tuck your chin into your scarf to ward off the nip.

The scene is magical; treetops covered in plumes of glittery white, and every sound seems more muted somehow, wrapped up in a bundle of snow that acts as a cosy insulator. 

The soft pads of Thunder’s hooves against the cold ground, and Jack's breathing just behind your ear, are the only sounds you can hear around the exquisite peace.

And you lose yourself to it, closing your eyes and resting back against Jack’s chest as you relax into the ride together. 

“You doin’ alright there?” Jack asks, and you feel his gloved hands rubbing back and forth against your stomach creating fluttery wings to beat and flap around inside of it. 

“Mmm,” you reply. “This is just beautiful.” You confirm feeling more taken with it all. “This was a great idea.” 

“I’m mighty glad you feel that way, darlin’. We gotta get you out ridin’ some more.” Jack suggests.

“I do plenty of riding, cowboy.” You toss a hot smirk at him over your shoulder.

“Christ. Ain’t that the truth.” He chuckles.

You feel his hands squeeze your hips again and his breaths are felt warming in the crook of your neck.

“Wanna kick it up a notch?”

“Go faster?” You peep with alarm. 

“Sure, you can handle it.”

“But the snow, isn’t that dangerous?”

Jack scoffs. “Snow’s fresh, darlin’. No ice.”

“But-”

“Gotta trust in your horse.”

You make an uncertain noise in the back of your throat.

“Ain’t gonna let anythin’ happen to you.” Jack reassures and your uncertainty begins to waver as you feel yourself melt in the sincerity of his eyes.

“Okay.” You nod, smiling. 

“That’s my girl. Go on, now. Squeeze your calves against him. That’s it, you’re doin’ real good.” Jack praises as Thunder ups his paces to a gentle canter, full of brio and a little faster than his previous meandering.

He bows and nods his large head, whinnying. 

“Oh see, he likes that. Our boy here was bred for speed.” Jack pats the back of the stallion’s neck and Thunder snuffles in response. 

You can feel your fingers gripping tighter on the reins, your body tensing up. 

“You trust me, sugar?” You hear Jack pollute in your ear.

You turn to look at him incredulously.

“He wants to run. Gotta give it to him.” 

“Oh God.” You wince. 

You steady yourself as Thunder nickers and snuffles again. Jack takes your hand and weaves it around Thunder’s mane. A trick he does himself whilst on the rodeo to be sure to stay on if the horse should suddenly veer off.

Your gloved fingers hold tightly through the silken hair whilst your other hand grips on the reins as tight as you can. 

“He’ll take care of you. We both will.” Jack takes a hold of the reins with you, his arms either side. “Hold on tight, darlin’.” 

You steady yourself, holding on tightly as he instructs and bracing yourself. 

“Hup! Hup!” You hear Jack instruct Thunder with a sharp command, and the horse bolts forward.

He attacks the gallop at full speed, like he's running for his life. Like he was born to do nothing else other then run.

“Shit, Jack!” You gasp, as he takes full control. 

The sounds of Thunder’s hooves are louder and feel like they crack and echo across the sky. Your body is forced into a galloping rhythm; your butt bashing up and down against the saddle as you try to find some comfort with it.

You rise up, remembering to anchor yourself in the stirrups, leaning forward like your body is floating as Thunder moves under you.

You can feel Jack’s body against yours, moving with you. He has both hands on the reins, but has manoeuvred so you're safe inside his arms too.

“See why I named him Thunder now?!” Jack muses as he bears down on the reins and the horse’s speed increases furthermore. 

You can feel Thunder’s muscles bunch and release. You can feel and hear his hooves hit the ground in heavy thuds that ricochet through your skeleton, and see the hypnotic, rhythmic motion of his head, which you’re following with your hands.

It’s exhilarating. 

The cold wind whips through your bones, despite the jacket and scarf’s protection. You hear Jack holler and chuckle behind you.

“Alright now!” He cheers triumphantly as Thunder takes a sharp turn, effortlessly, and you cling on for dear life grounding down on your teeth and steadying yourself with your stirrups. 

“Oh my God!” You wail as the exhilaration begins to twist that fear into utter elation. 

Your teeth feel the cold as you can’t contain the wild smile opening up your lips as you giggle and holler alongside Jack; his enthusiasm and passion for the ride infecting you.

The wind is blowing so hard that you really can’t see or hear very clearly and Thunder’s ears twitch up as you holler an enthusiastic woo! Into the air. It feels like you're flying as the wind streams tears from your eyes. 

Thunder’s hooves beat frantically against the snow and the ride through the acres soon comes to an end as Jack instructs you to slow Thunder to a steady trot once more.

You can sense Thunder’s reluctance, he would run forever if he could, but you pull on the reins and announce for him to slow and he does. 

“Woah, easy. Easy…” you soothe as he tries to resist, but eventually settles back into that steady canter as you all catch your collective breath.

You wipe your eyes with the back of your woolly hand and Jack smiles at you. 

“That was amazing,” you admit, your body shaking, not just from the cold now.

“I knew you’d love it.” He replies, grinning. “Your husband knows you better than you think.” 

“Sometimes,” you tease.

“Sometimes?” He scoffs and stamps another kiss on your cold cheek. 

Once in the paddock, Jack jumps off and helps you down. You lunge for him, planting a heavy kiss on his lips and slip your tongue into his hot, wet mouth. 

“What’s got you so hot n’ bothered, hmm?” He murmurs against your lips. 

“Adrenaline.” You shrug giggling, as you stroke the back of Jack's nape where his brown curls gather under his suede Stetson.   

His hands sweep through your hair, messy from being wind-whipped and he studies your face with chocolate mocha eyes. You shiver as he pulls you to him. 

“Fuck, sugar.” He groans as you press your mouth to his again; your kiss mutating into something desperate and untamed.

You both stumble backwards and Jack loses his footing and pulls you down with him in the muddy slush around the paddock.

“Ah shit,” he groans, chuckling. 

You squeal as you feel the cold and wet instantly soak into your jeans. Scrambling, you try to get up, but slip further into the mud as Jack gives up and howls loudly at your plight.

He’s rewarded with a glop of mud thrown at his chest.

“Need a hand there, darlin’?” Once he’s contained himself enough, he helps you up and you both head back to the Ranch to warm up. 

“Go on n’ get yourself inside. I’ll wrangle Thunder back into the stable. Reckon it might snow again soon.” He glances up at the sky, the sun long since besmirched by clouds of grey.

“Don’t take too long, handsome” you smirk.

“Lickety-split.” Jack breathes into your mouth as you kiss him again. 

You look at the state of you both, covered in freezing mud, and Jack has some splashed up on his forehead, and you can’t help but laugh at the state of you both, despite shivering.

“Why don’t you run us a bath?” Jack suggests with dark eyes, and you nod as if under a captive spell.

You leave your muddy boots on the porch and head inside. The warmth hits you immediately and you shimmy yourself out of your wet jacket, blowing into your hands that feel like icicles, despite the gloves. 

You pace up the stairs, wading somewhat as your jeans stick to you, to the bathroom and fill the large jacuzzi-style tub with hot water, stripping as you notice snowflakes starting to billow lightly outside. 

“Missed your calling as a weatherman, Jack.” You snicker to yourself.

You toss in a fragrant bath bomb and light some incense filling the bathroom with heady notes of sandalwood, patchouli, and exotic florals; the swirling tendrils evoking a sense of tranquillity as your skin starts to perspire.

You step into the sizzling, enveloping water that seems to wrap its arms around you with the inviting warmth as you succumb to it wholly.

You breathe out slowly, moaning in relief as you slide your shoulders under the water, the temperature burning you slightly and relishing the feel of it.

You swill the water around; lavishing yourself in the foamy remnants of the bath bomb. You eventually lay still in the water and breathe in and out a few times, keeping your eyes closed.

Your cold, aching muscles from the ride find some sedated bliss in those first few moments; like someone has slowly squeezed the angst and stress out of you like juicing an orange.

You close your eyes and relax, feeling the weight start to drop from you.

The invigorating peace is interrupted by the bathroom door slowly creaking open and footsteps pad in lightly on the tiled floor. 

You turn your head, smiling at Jack as he unbuttons his plaid shirt and drops it to his feet.

You sit up, watching him, and try not to obscenely salivate over your husband as he unbuckles his belt with a slow, deliberate simmer at you, but it's hard not to. He’ll always have that effect on you when he gets naked.

Your eyes roam over tan, sculpted arms, a svelte waist and long legs smattered with dark hairs, before you settle in on the thick, hardening cock between his legs. 

“Scooch on forward, sugar,” he says softly with a wink, standing at the side of the tub; that semi hard-on already taking shape and protruding out from his lean, muscular body.

He steps in and sits down in the water behind you; his long legs running parallel either side of you.

“Couldn’t resist,” you hum. 

“You gettin’ started without me, hmm?” Jack queries as he pulls you back into his chest, wrapping his arms over your stomach again.

You feel him plant kisses into your crown as you nuzzle into him. 

“Scrub my back for me?” You question coyly over your shoulder, and flutter your eyelashes at him.

The steam in the bathroom makes the mirror frost over with condensation and the air seems to vibrate around you both and stick to your clammy skin.

You sit upright; the water making your back glisten at him and he licks his lips as he regards you.

“Well, how can I resist such a tempting offer?” Jack smiles and reaches for the soap on the side of the bath behind him, lathering it up in his big hands. 

You feel his hands massaging into your shoulders; his fingers kneading away all the tension and the slippery feel of the soap foaming on your back, squelching through his thick digits.

“Mmm,” you sigh as he works his thumbs down either side of your spinal cord.

“That feel good, hmm?” Jack husks from behind you, squeezing and manipulating the muscles under your skin. He knows it’s good - knows it will drive you wild.

“Real good…” You utter, eyes closed and lost inside of his hypnotic rhythms and magic hands. 

You can hear him breathe in your ear and feel him plant lascivious kisses down the side of your damp face. The faint scratch of his shaven jaw runs prickly against your skin; the soft fuzz of his moustache counteracting it begins to tickle again.  

It begins to wake your nipples up; sending goosebumps to bloom around your areolas pulling them tight and tingly.

He runs his fingers down your back and up under your arms sitting forward himself, and slathers the soapy lather in his hands across your collarbone and down towards your breasts.

Your breath hitches as his roaming fingers tease your nipples, pulling and rolling them gently, and you sink back into his chest once more as he massages. He runs the open palms of his hands all over them; cupping, squeezing, fondling.

“That’s so nice,” you groan as he kisses the side of your temple. 

“I told you, I know you well.” You can hear him grin, a graze inside your ear.

His wet, soapy fingers continue to work their way down your torso, gliding across your navel before he gives it a gentle squeeze and strokes gently.

“What’re we gonna name this lil’ dill pickle in here, hmm?” Jack asks, and you glance down at your tummy, still flat, but in a few months time it’ll be swollen and rotund as the baby grows.

“Depends what he looks like when he comes out. Hopefully not like a dill pickle. I hate pickles.” You say, crinkling your nose.

You hear Jack snort behind you into your hair. “Hates pickles. I married me a mad one.”

“You knew what you were getting yourself into, cowboy.” You chuckle.

“Mmhm. He?” He queries.

“Feels like a he.” You say, placing your hands on top of Jack’s. The light of your wedding band shimmering in the wet. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Jack breathes in, his lips grazing your skin behind your ear “as long as it’s healthy, darlin’, it don’t matter. Gonna love it all the same.”

You smile, reaching up behind you to stroke his face. You feel him peck your fingers.  

“When he's out, I’ll put another one in there.” He confirms.

“Woah, hold your horses,” you say.

“You just try n’ stop me, sugar. Got yourself a virile man. Gonna have a whole bunch of lil’ rodeo riders gallopin’ about the joint.” Jack pinches your hips gently and you giggle when he hits a ticklish spot as he gruffs another chuckle in your ear.

He feels you flinch and the top of your buttocks push against his cock that has long since hardened completely under the water.

“Besides, I'm waitin’ for these to grow nice n’ big, too,” Jack smirks.

Jack kisses down the side of your face once more; his lips searching yours out and finally making contact with them as you twist yourself in the water to reach them.

His tongue darts into your mouth as he squeezes onto your right breast, and a satisfied grunt escapes into your mouth from him.

You splash water at him as he growls playfully into you, moaning as you kiss him again. 

It makes all the hairs of your body stand tall to order, hearing him moan like that - moan for you. Warming you as you inhale them in; oxygen to your lungs.

Filling you deep with sweet images of him teaching your child - or several of them - to ride horses and take care of them. The thought of Jack’s paternal instincts rile you up even further.

Although it doesn’t take much with the hormones either.

His kiss is hungry; swallowing you up and you raise your wet hands to finger inside of his hair, weaving through it gently at first, but becoming fiercer with tugs as he reacts to it.

You wonder what else it’ll be that you’ll crave this much as your pregnancy advances, because you're constantly craving your husband inside you, night and day it seems.

And neither of you are complaining about it.     

He follows the track of bubbles down your body with his hand, slides down over your torso and abdomen until his fingers reach forward and disappear between the middle of your legs inside the bubbly pool. 

You gasp, breaking the kiss as you feel them instantly finding your clit and shudder as he swipes across it with the pads of his tips. They tease between your soapy folds. His middle finger starts tapping and rubbing against your hub, making you gasp into his mouth.  

“Suck, darlin’... just like that.” 

His other hand grips gently around under your face, stroking your jawline as his digits run over your lips when he breaks the kiss.

Hooded brown eyes regard you before inserting his index and middle finger into your mouth.

You suck on them gently, and run your tongue over them as his other fingers thrum heavier on your clit under the water, causing it to swill around you as you fidget, grinding against his fingers as he slowly teases you with them.

He can still feel the viscous slickness of you around them, feeling silkier in the water. 

“You feel that, sugar? What you’re doin’ to me? Got my cock all big n' hard for you.” His fingers move off your clit and begin to take a walk inside of you, and you gasp again in delight.

Jack marvels with mud coloured eyes as you lap at his fingers, imagining they’re his cock. They taste slightly salty like it; rough and calloused skin being soothed by your tongue.

He groans into your ear nipping at your lobe, as you feel him pressing against your lower back and getting harder by the second. 

“Mmm, Jack…” His name escapes out of your mouth, dripping in honey and all things sweet.

The fingers you’ve been sucking on run across your throat and he kisses you more forcefully as he slides his digits in and out of your pussy, gaining momentum.

Your part your legs wider so he can delve in further to you, arching back up against him as the sensation of tingles flood outwards from your core all over your body and skin, crackling outwards like fuzzed lightning.

“Fuck!” You pant as he works you up and pushes you closer and closer to the edge until you finally leap off.

An electrifying sensation courses through you, sparking an intoxicating blend of satisfaction and euphoria as you gasp out.

“Jack!”

“Fuck, darlin’, that’s it.” Jack encourages as the heel of his palm grinds heavily against your clit as he fingers you through your pulsing orgasm.

Your thighs jolt and shudder as he strokes gentler now, teasing circles around your sensitive bud after withdrawing his slick soaked fingers.

You twist around in the bath completely to face him. You want him; want him hard and are going to take him - hard. 

“Fuck,” you moan, taking him in. 

He lays back in the tub, knees open wide with plumes of suds, and cock resting heavy and thick against his stomach.

It makes you salivate to see him like this; so fucking gorgeous and wet, and all yours. 

“See somethin’ you like?” He smirks. 

You run your drenched hands over his cock, nodding. Feeling how he pulses and the veins throb around your grip as you jerk him slowly.

“Show me again how well you can ride, sugar.” Jack challenges, as you grin.

You straddle him, sliding up and down against him; your lips teasing him as you rub against his hard, thick length. 

“Gimme that pussy, darlin’.” 

“You want it, cowboy?” You utter as you slip back and forth over him.

“Oh, you know I want it.” He hisses through his teeth as you rub your cunt up and down his length, groaning as it still tingles on your clit. “Always want this fuckin’ gorgeous pussy.” 

You sit down on his thick cock that’s poking out of the water at you, inviting you onto its swollen, wet head. The water sloshes around you both as he grabs at your hips and grinds you down onto his throbbing dick.

“Fuck,” he grits as he fills you. 

You balance your weight on your arms, holding onto the edges of the tub, sliding up and down him; bouncing that pussy of yours off of his cock. 

“C’mon, sugar. Ride me. Ride your cowboy.” Jack tempts. 

Jack thrusts his hips upwards to meet you halfway as you thud back down on him, making you both cry out.

“Fuck, like that!” He hollers, the water now splashing over the sides of the tub onto the floor with your intense determination to get off.

“That feel good, darlin'? Lemme see you. Eyes on me, sweet thing. Christ, look at you... So fuckin’ gorgeous on my dick. That's it now, work it... Like that. Aw, hell yeah, like that…” he croons, panting.

He can feel himself becoming more and more frantic with you and you love it. You grip onto his hands, anchoring yourself as he bucks underneath you; lifting his hips as you ride him deeper and faster.

“Jack! Fuck!”

You’re wailing as your head snaps back, suds flicking up the tiles, and the water in the tub is nothing more than a swirling whirlpool around you both.

You can feel the brewing of your orgasm; the tightening inside your stomach and the deep pull of your cunt cinching around him.

It’s a delicious feeling as you unwind yourself completely. The air in the bathroom carrying a heavy, languid heat, wrapping you in a heady cocoon of sensual bliss.

Jack gorges on the vision of you, sitting atop him; breasts shiny with the soapy water dripping down them, jiggling up and down. Panting and groaning for him as your body runs slick with water and bubbles. 

The blooming feeling, like a sunlit daydream, unfolds with gentle intensity that bathes you in a soft, golden glow as it builds from within.

A velvet touch of warmth that lingers dreamily through the marrow of your bones, leaving you submerged in a haze of dizzy serenity, where time slows and the world takes on a muted hue around the fuzzed edges of your vision, condensating your eyes as you enjoy the deep thrusting inside you. 

“Darlin’. Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He groans. He can feel himself beginning to lose it, grunting and getting ready to fill you up.

You let go of his hands and slap them down on his chest, riding him ragged over the final hurdle; cunt tightening and pumping his cock.

He can just about bear it as your position means he’s gone that little bit further inside you still, and your walls are rubbing deliciously against him.

“Ah shee-it!” Jack curses out with a snarl pulled around his beautiful lips. “Gonna fill you up, sugar. You’re close now… I can feel it. Want you comin’ all over my cock as I fill you, okay?” He drawls in that thick, Kentucky squall.

Nodding, you go faster; twerking on his dick and feeling the build up inside you reach epic proportions - your own release imminent. You want this; crave this from him, as you let yourself let go. 

“Come for me, Jack!”

“Fuck, yeah!” 

He shudders against you, cursing out and biting his bottom lip as he begins exploding inside you. Veins in his neck twitching and bulging as he howls. 

You slump forward onto him, kissing his wet, smooth chest delicately. The water finally comes to a still as you lay in the hot suds with him. 

You combust around him; calling his name out over and over; your rocking takes on a slow and steady pace until its eventual stop as you both shiver and judder from the come down.

Your body tingles all over and legs feel like wobbly jelly.

“Fuck me...” Jack sighs contentedly, grabbing a hold of your ass and squeezing it gently between the wavy, foamy froth.

“I just did.” You titter and he chuckles. 

“And then some.” He tilts your chin up to him and plants a lingering sensual kiss on your lips. 

“Jesus Christ, I love you, darlin’.” He wraps you tightly in his drenched arms. “You n’ that lil' dill pickle in there.”

You smile contentedly. “We love you too, cowboy.”

A little while later, you’re both dressed in warm clothes by the fireplace, as Jack sips from a glass of honey coloured whiskey.

You’re both exchanging cosy, satisfied smiles as you both wrap the gifts in coordinated teamwork, that you’ve picked out together for the staff that work at the Ranch. 

You crease the folds of the metallic paper, and he tears off the tape strips holding them out to you on a lone finger. He holds the ribbon in place, whilst you tie it into a bow over his digits.

He writes out the cards in a messy scrawl, whilst you place some food down in front of him, and he leans up to kiss you, patting and rubbing your tummy gently.

He lifts up the chunky knit of your sweater to reveal your soft, clean skin. You run your hands through his deep chocolate locks as he beams up at you.

“Happy Christmas, sugar.”

“Happy Christmas, Jack.”

You watch, smiling fondly, as he then runs his nose against your belly, inhaling the perfume of you, and you giggle at the tickle of his moustache.

Jack gazes up at you before pressing his soft, pursed lips below your belly button. A lingering little smooch sinking into the layers of your skin. 

“Happy Christmas, lil' dill pickle.” Jack says.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey smut #agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey kingsman #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #christmas stories #jett's writing

[frost-queen]

Kenough for you (Reader x Ken)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn

“Are… are you okay?” – you asked approaching the guy sitting on a bench. He was clearly sobbing. You had seen many bystanders ignore him due to his funky cowboy outfit. You couldn’t ignore him as your mind kept being drawn to him. Gently extending your hand, you touched his shoulder. It startled him. Making him turn jumpy to you, looking in shock at you. Now you had a good view of his face. – “Are you alright?” – you asked again.

He wiped a hand aggressively over his face. Clearing his throat afterwards, puffing his chest a bit up. – “I… I had something in my eye.” – he answered trying to sound confident. – “Okay.” – you replied not wanting to hurt his pride, although there was nothing wrong with a good cry. You already turned half away, not sure what more you could do.

You were about a few steps away from him when he got up. – “Wait!” – he called out making you stop. He came jogging over, the ruffles on his shirt waving with his movement. – “You… you came over to me?” – he said.

His expression made you unsure what he meant by that. – “Yes…” – you replied hesitant. He started to smile. A bit too energetic. – “You came to me… on your own… you a girl!” – he expressed overjoyed. It made you frown at him. – “Was that… wrong?” – you questioned not sure anymore. The man grabbed you by your shoulders tight, shaking his head. – “No, no not at all.” – he spoke.

“You see Barbie never comes over to me. It is always me going up to see her.” – he explained with a few hand gestures. – “Barbie?” – you cut in confused. – “Yes Barbie.” – he answered a bit bitsy, wanting to gush more about Barbie. You weren’t listening much further as you tried to work your brain over it.

“Are… are you talking about Barbie from Mattel?” – you asked with a quizzable brow. The man tilted his head confused at you. – “What’s a Mattel?” – he wanted to know. – “Barbie!” – you said loud, arguing with him about it. The man laughed chuckles. – “No Barbie is Barbie.” – he said dreamy.

He continued to gush about Barbie and how he sort of lost her. You tried to follow with his story, but it seemed very odd. Till you got an intrusive thought. – “Wait are you Ken?” – you shouted holding your hand up. The man went silent, blinking confused at you. – “You… you know me.” – he said in a sweet tone. Your eyes went wide before you laughed. Laughs quickly dying out when he stared all serious at you.

“Sorry.” – you apologized. – “So… so you lost your Barbie?” – you spoke after some silence to start the conversation once more. Ken nodded with pouted lips. – “Where… where did you last see her?” – you asked. Ken scratched his head, lifting the cowboy hat a bit up. – “There were smaller people.” – he responded thoughtfully.

“How tall?” – you questioned. Ken moved his hand to his hip, then moving it up till he lowered it doubtfully down once more. – “Okay a school then.” – you let out. You were about to lead the way till you realized you weren’t sure if he wanted you to tag along. – “Do you mind if I come with you? Help you find Barbie.” – you asked. Ken shook his head.

You gestured in a direction, walking beside Ken.  – “I’m Y/n.” – you said holding your hand out. – “Ken.” – he responded staring at your hand for a moment before shaking it happily. It made you chuckle at how adorably unaware he is. Ken smiled back at you, making sure he staid at your side as you navigated him through the city. You arrived at the school, yet there was no sign of Barbie. – “I don’t see her?” – Ken said, overlooking the deserted playground.

You checked your watch, seeing school had ended half an hour ago. – “I’ll see if anyone is still inside to ask.” – you suggested taking a few steps. You paused seeing that Ken wasn’t following you. – “Aren’t you coming?” – you questioned. Ken jump up straight, jogging over. – “I didn’t think you’d want me along.” – he said as you held the door open for him.

“Why would I not…” – you started, already filling in the rest in your mind. The way he was talking before, made you think he wasn’t used to being put first or feel wanted. Ken and you walked in, going up to the teacher’s lounge.

Knocking on the door, you heard a yes to enter. – “Hi, I’ve got a quick question.” – you said looking at the man drinking his coffee. Ken moved his hand up, saying softly ‘hi’ as it made you lower his hand. – “Have you noticed a woman around her, answering to the name Barbie?” – you asked. The man raised his eyebrow, setting his coffee down.

“She’s probably the prettiest woman you had ever seen in your life. Blonde hair. Lot’s of pink?” – you turned to Ken for validation that you were describing her well. Ken nodded letting you know you were on the right track. – “Left a long time.” – the man answered. – “Do you know where?” – you asked. – “Beats me.” – the man answered. You tugged on Ken’s sleeve, pulling him back outside with you.

Outside Ken went dramatically over to a wall, leaning his arm against it to sob. – “Don’t worry Ken, we’ll find Barbie.” – you reassured him. He sniffed loud. – “You think so?” – he asked looking at you. You nodded with a smile. Ken ran over to you, throwing his arms around you. – “You are awesome Y/n.” – he expressed letting go off you.

It made you laugh shyly. Ken and you left the school. – “Where do you want to look?” – you suggested. Ken looked confused at you. – “You… you want me to choose?” – he let out. You nodded with a smile. – “You know Barbie best. Where do you think she would go?” – you replied. Ken thought for a moment, trying to look cool. – “There!” – he called out slapping his arm out, almost hitting you in the face as it made you jump startled back.

“Come on Y/n.” – Ken took your hand, dragging you with him. Ken and you walked the beach line off. You noticed Ken looking questionable at you. – “Do you have something to ask Ken?” – you said nervous. Ken took a deep breath. – “What is your specialty?” – he asked making you frown. – “My specialty?” – you repeated. – “Mine is beach.” – he let you know. – “So you are beach Ken?” – you suggested. Ken nodded. – “So what about you?” – he asked again.

You hummed curious. – “I’m not exactly sure. I’m not that special Ken…”  - you answered looking away. Ken touched your arm, making you stop. – “I’m not Barbie.” – you told him, knowing you weren’t as special as Barbie. The girl that could do anything. This was the real world. Girls weren’t as perfect as Barbie. Ken’s hand slipped off your arm once you started walking again. – “You aren’t…” – Ken said questionable to himself.

Clearly seeing a difference between Barbie and you. Ken caught up with you again. His eye falling on the men that walked by. It made him try to look serious or cool. Puffing his chest a bit up. A couple walked past the two of you, making Ken follow their movement, even when they were past him. Looking over his shoulder to see them hold hands. It made him look at his own hand for a moment. A bit further away on the beach, he saw another couple.

The man having his arm over the girl’s shoulder and she didn’t seem to be annoyed by it. It made Ken have a lot of questions. You stopped for a moment, looking around for a blonde girl dressed in full pink. One that would scream Barbie. – “Hey uhm Y/n.” – Ken asked tapping you on the shoulder. You hummed loud to listen to his question.

“Do you think Barbie will hold hands with me when we find her?” – he asked locking his fingers together. – “I’m sure she will.” – you told him with a smile. Ken and you continued your search for Barbie. There was little luck as she could be anywhere. It was getting darker as you knew you couldn’t keep up the search for hours.

 “Ken… it’s getting dark… we should continue this tomorrow.” – you said pointing at the sky. Ken looked up. – “Can’t we keep searching in the dark?” – he asked. – “No Ken.” – you finished. – “Do… do you have a place to stay?” – you asked finding it a silly question afterwards. – “You can come over to my house.” – you suggested. – “Why?” – Ken said frowning. – “We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend.” – he let out finding it odd you were inviting him over to your dreamhouse. – “But we’re friends are we not?” – you replied feeling a bit shy.

Ken inhaled deep moving his arm up to show you his muscles. – “Sure.” – he said all cool. You laughed as Ken noticed it. Making him smile to see your laugh was genuine. You led Ken to your house when the sky was darkening. Ken ran inside going immediately for your bed. He let himself fall on it with a content breath. He rolled over, moving his hands behind his head.

“You have a nice dreamhouse Y/n.” – he said looking around. – “Thank you Ken.” – you responded. Ken sat up, bouncing a bit on your matrass. – “You can have the bed for tonight if you like.” – you offered. Ken’s eyes widened. – “Just a moment.”  - he said cooly. He got up disappearing into another room. – “Sublime!” – you heard him call out loud before returning. You found it sweet, laughing giddy.

Ken returned his eyes falling on the guitar in the corner. He ran over to it, grabbing it. Hugging it a bit as if having missed an old friend. – “Do you play?” – you asked. Ken cleared his throat, changing his posture. – “I do.” – he said making his voice deeper. – “Will you play for me?” – you gestured at a seat for him to sit.

Ken took a seat placing the guitar in front of him. You came sitting by him. Ken started playing the guitar as you looked in admiration at him. It made Ken smirk. You gasped surprised when he started singing, serenating for you. His gaze fixated on you as it made you feel bashful. Smiling dreamily back at him. Ken winked at you as it made you press your lips together to withhold a squeal.

Ken caught himself smiling the entire time while gazing at you. His smile slowly fading away as he became aware of what was happening. His words faded out as he stopped playing. – “Did… did I do something wrong?” – you asked watching him put the guitar away. – “No…” – Ken answered with a saddened smile.

Your smile faded as well. – “I’m not Barbie…” – you said having an idea of it. – “Y/n…” – Ken started as you didn’t want to hear his sympathy for you. You got up trying not to cry at how much pain that gave you. – “Y/n.” – Ken said getting up to go after you. You paused turning your head a bit to the side. – “Tomorrow we’ll find Barbie and you’ll return with her to Barbieland. And I will stay here. Don’t worry Ken, you’ll forget about me soon.” – you said over your shoulder before going into a room.

Ken went after you, being met up with a door in his face. He swallowed hurtful, lowering his head. You let your head fall back against the door. Exhaling deep, knowing you were falling for him. Falling for Ken. Someone who only had eyes for Barbie. Perfect Barbie.

Ken laid himself on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Rolling over to the side, he couldn’t deny what your attention made him feel like. It was different then with Barbie. He actually felt heard and seen. You hadn’t once rolled your eyes at him, found him annoying or send him away because it was girl’s night. Yet Barbie. Barbie was the one that called his heart.

Ken and you encountered each other at the same time in the living room. He had changed his cowboy clothes for something else. Ken and you shared an awkward gaze. – “Y/n… I…” – Ken began as you weren’t in the mood for his words of sympathy. – “We’ve got Barbie to find.” – you said leaving out the door. Ken followed in silence. Taking a deep breath, you wondered where you’d start looking.

Ken and you went down the street back to the beach where you searched last night. – “Y/n may I suggest something?” – Ken said nervously. – “Sure.” – you replied as he revealed a pair of skates. – “Can we skate?” – he asked. – “Where did you get those?” – you replied surprised. – “I never go anywhere without them.” – he told you.

“I don’t have any skates.” – you told Ken. Ken grabbed you by the wrist. – “We’ll get you a pair.” – he said happily. Overjoyed he got to skate. Ken found you a pair of skates, which you paid for. You weren’t used to wearing skates so you were a bit clumsy with it.

Needing to do your very best not to fall. – “This way we’ll find Barbie faster.” – Ken called out going faster as you could barely keep up. – “Ken wait!” – you shouted for him to stop. He didn’t seem to hear you or listen to it, just skating forwards. You tried to skate harder and catch up with him, but your feet danced. Slipping and not curving into a straight line.

Arms flailing you tried to keep your balance till you fell down. Hard on your bottom. Your face contracted in pain. A shadow fell upon you, blocking out the sun. – “Are you alright?” – looking up, you met up with a man. Holding his hand out to you. Ken stopped skating, noticing you weren’t near him. He frantically looked around till his gaze fell upon you. Watching a man help you up to your feet. Ken’s expression hardened as he skated over.

“Are you sure you are alright?” – the man asked still holding your hand. – “I’ll probably get a bruise, but other than that I’m alright.” – you told him.  You gasped startled when Ken came bumping hard at him. Pushing the man aside. The man fell to the ground. – “Find your own real girl!” – he shouted at him. You stared in disbelieve at him.

Ken then took you by the hand, skating off with you. The man staring confused at Ken. – “Ken!” – you called out loud not sure what had gotten into him. Ken kept skating with you as you pulled hard at his hand. He came to a stop, coming to stand before you. – “What was that for?” – you said loud.

“He was holding your hand!” – Ken answered. – “I did not like that!” – he said shaking his head and moving his finger across. You smiled flustered. Nearing Ken, you pressed a small kiss against his cheek. Ken’s expression turned blank, touching his cheek where you had kissed him.

“Ken?” – Ken turned his head, snapping out of his daydream. His eyes widening when he saw her. – “Barbie!” – he called out, arms wide open as he skated over to her. He wrapped his arms around her as Barbie moved her head back. – “Okay Ken that’s enough.” – she said pushing him off. – “I’ve been searching everywhere for you Barbie.” – he said holding her hand. Barbie moved her hand up so that it would slip out of his grip. – “Come meet Y/n.” – he went on stepping aside so Barbie could see you.

You waved at Barbie. – “Who is she?” – Barbie asked. Ken went over to you, pushing you a bit closer to Barbie. – “She helped me find you.” – Ken said going back to Barbie. – “I even went to her dreamhouse.” – he whispered giddy. Barbie stared in shock at you. – “Nice to meet you Barbie.” – you spoke as it felt bittersweet. – “Ken we’re going home.” – Barbie declared.

“Okay.” – Ken simply said. He was ready to follow her when you stopped him. – “Ken!” – he turned back to you. – “Aren’t… aren’t you going to say goodbye?” – you asked with tears in your eyes. Ken looked at Barbie for confirmation. Barbie sighed soft, gesturing at you a little bit annoyed.

Ken skated over to you, stopping before you. He took your hand, shaking it excitingly. – “Thank you for helping me find Barbie.” – he said letting go of your hand. – “That’s it?” – you asked hurtful that the moment he saw Barbie, he forgot about you. Ken furrowed his brows a bit. – “I’ll see you again won’t I?” – Ken questioned as you shook your head. – “I can’t Ken… I have to stay here…” – you told him with a saddened smile. Ken looked saddened down as well.

You lifted his head up by his chin. – “Ken, you are very special, remember that.” – you told him as he gazed back at you. – “You are too me. More than Barbie.” – you finished brushing your thumb against his cheek. – “Ken!” – Barbie called out impatient. Ken had looked over his shoulder to her. – “Y/n…” – he started turning back to you. The rest of his words swallowed back in when your lips crashed against his. Ken kept his eyes open, looking confused for a moment.

When you retrieved your lips from his, he immediately missed the contact. Keeping your gaze low, you took a step back. Ken seemingly wanted to move closer to you, but Barbie called him over again. He turned his gaze away, going over to Barbie. Barbie and Ken skated off as you watched them leave. Knowing Ken would always choose Barbie. Ken looked back, having stopped for a moment as he saw you leaving.

Somehow it felt painful to leave you. – “Ken!” – Barbie groaned out. Ken simply obeyed Barbie and followed her back to Barbieland. Where everything was still the same. Where Ken didn’t have a dreamhouse and was never allowed in as every night was girl’s night.  -----------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

#imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #the barbie movie #barbie #barbie 2023 #barbie the movie #barbie 2023 imagine #barbie 2023 fanfic #barbie fic #barbie imagine #barbie fanfiction #barbie fanfic #ken #ken imagine #ryan gosling #ken x you #ken x reader #ken x y/n #ken x real girl #ken fanfiction #ken fic #ken fanfic #barbieland #mattel

[staytinyville]

OUTLAW (24)

ATEEZ poly!ot8 x Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

Series Masterlist

Warning: none

A/N BETA READ (@mariana-mmtz). HAPPY JONGHO DAY! I posted this the 12th! I love my bear boy so much! Happy Birthday to the amazing and talented Choi Jongho🥰🥰

“Woo, we have to get the game from the traps.” You had a pout on your lips as you tried to unstick yourself from the man. “Not cuddle.” You told him pointedly. 

“But I like them.” The boy pouted, holding you from behind as he swayed your bodies. “Sweetheart, don't you like my hugs?” He turned you around, pulling you to face him as he inquired. 

“Yes.” You sighed, a smile on your face. “I like your hugs.”

That seemed to please the boy as a large grin overtook his face. “The right choice.” He hummed out.

He let go of you to skip over to a trap they had set out for some animals. Wooyoung had been sent out to gather whatever was caught and you had volunteered to go with him. With the bright smile and glimmering eyes he gave you, you were sure he had been beyond ecstatic to hear you say that. 

However, it proved to be harder seeing as Wooyoung had been talking your ear off about anything that crossed his mind. He was also very attached to you and while you found his excitable nature to be enlightening, you soon found out he didn’t allow you to go about your chores faster. 

“I haven't gotten to spend time with you like the others, so I want to make the best of this.” He explained to you, moving along to reset a trap that had been triggered. 

You paused in your steps, frowning as you looked down at him. “What do you mean?” You asked, tilting your head. 

“You seem close with the other boys.” He started. “Heck, I literally saw you kissing Seonghwa in the spring!” 

A blush settled on your face, remembering how he had caught you earlier in the day. 

“That first night as well, you and San seemed to be having an emotional talk and I don't know, I felt left out.” He shrugged in a careless way, but his words stung.

You knew at the moment that you were much closer to some of them than others. They were either living away from you or seemed too busy to have conversations with you. Yunho lived near you, but somehow you hadn’t spoken to him the way you had with Seonghwa or Jongho. 

Mingi explained that they all cared for you in some way and it left you baffled on why. You didn’t do anything out of the ordinary that would garner their attention, but yet they still saw you as someone they wanted to keep close. You didn’t know what the conversations about you entailed, but it seemed that they would only talk about the good things. 

They were a family that stuck together and shared every little secret from the looks of it. They cared about what they each had to say and you were sure that if someone wanted to come into the picture they would want to get the other’s approval first. By the looks of it, there was much more than approval. 

Because of this you had found yourself worried that one of them might not want to see you the way the others do or worse–not want to be your friend. You knew it wasn’t the case seeing as they all treated you with smiles on their faces and made sure you were comfortable. You could tell from the way Yunho had saved you from the jail or how San comforted you last night. 

Wooyoung wasn’t someone you were close to–at least not like Mingi or Seonghwa–but you knew he was someone you wanted to see that way. He was a very outgoing person who radiated chaotic energy. While most people would find that bothersome, the way he spoke to people and teased them made you laugh with your whole stomach. You found him appealing, but you guessed you never showed him that. 

“Hey, Woo.” You spoke softly, scooting closer to him. “I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I care about all of you equally. You mean a lot to me.” You told him. 

The boy stood up immediately, looking at you with a confused tilt of his head. “You care about all of us?”

You smiled at him, nodding your head. “It's something I have to think about for myself before I drag all of you into it.” You explained. “I want to make sure it's what I want.”

Wooyoung grew closer, trying his hardest not to reach out to grab you. “What'll happen if you do want it?”

You didn’t turn around from him, keeping your eyes locked on his as your noses bumped against each other. You could tell that he knew what it was you meant. They all probably already knew at that point, but you still weren’t positive with your choice. Not until you knew what it was they wanted.

“That's up to all of you.” You told him. “Anyway,” You grinned, pulling back, leaving him stunned for a moment. “If it makes you feel any better, I don't think the others can make me laugh as much as you do.”

Wooyoung’s lips pulled over his teeth as he watched you skip away. He was quick to rush after you, pulling you by the waist and swinging you around. You let out a squeak followed by giggles from his fingers tickling you. You heard his laugh behind you when your feet touched the ground. The boy laid his head on your shoulder, humming to himself as he buzzed with happiness. 

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” He whispered in your ear, giving your cheek a kiss. 

A blush finally settled on your face, making Wooyoung cackle. How he was reveling in the fact that he got you flustered. That was all he’s been wanting to do since you met. With the light conversation you both had, you guys went back to finding and resetting the traps. 

You had all walked a good 30 minutes when noises from a clearing had caught your attention. While there hadn’t been traps set out so far out, you had explained to Wooyoung it would be best to scavenge for things while you were at it. 

It led you to another group of people who were also walking around what seemed to be a camp. They had set up along the creek and looked to be much bigger than ATEEZ. 

“Who are they?” You asked as you and Wooyoung settled yourself behind some bushes at the treeline. 

Wooyoung had a frown on his face as he tried to gather information about the people. When his eyes caught sight of a flag waving from a travel wagon, his eyes went wide. “It's another gang.”

You looked over at the flag, noticing the hand painted symbol. You weren’t well versed in the gangs around the area, but you knew that they usually had symbols that signified they were part of one. You went back to looking around at the people bustling about. 

A frown overtook your face when you noticed there were no men around. It seemed to be about 5 women and 8 children running around the camp. They were chatting idly, not really caring much about what was going on around them. 

“Where are all the men?” You spoke out loud. As it began to draw on you, your head quickly snapped to Wooyoung. The boy had his own eyes wide as he realized what your words meant. Without speaking, you both turned around and sprinted back from where you came from. 

You were lucky the boys had lent you some pants or else running in a skirt would only be extremely troublesome. You had no clue how close the camp actually was or if the other gang members had already found the others, but you tried your hardest to keep up with Wooyoung’s long strides. 

He had disappeared for a bit before you caught up to him once more. He had come to a stop just at the clearing of the camp. You could hear the clashing and grunts going on in the camp and didn’t plan on stopping. Just as you passed Wooyoung though, he was quick to grip your waist and pull you back. 

Your eyes went wide as you heard and saw multiple older men fight against the boys. They were all clashing against each other, using whatever weapon they had on hand. You would flinch every time a loud bang would ring through the forest. 

“Sweetheart!” He cried out, holding you back from running into the fight.

“Woo!” You cried, struggling in his grasp as he held you back. “They’re getting ambushed!”

“You have to stay here!” He set you down harshly, keeping a tight grip on your arm to get you to listen. “You'll get hurt!” With that, he turned around and rushed to help the others. 

“No!” You stressed, stepping forward but stopping short.

You wanted to stay behind the trees and listen to Wooyoung’s orders, but when you saw one of the boys get punched in the stomach, it made you anxious to just stay by and watch. “To hell, I'm staying!”

You ran along the outside of the camp, trying to find something to use as a weapon. You weren’t thinking much with how you wanted to rush into the fight, however you did know that you wouldn’t make it against grown men. You needed something to defend yourself with. 

Your eyes caught sight of the pans the boys used to cook. Taking the largest skillet from the dishes, you were quick to enter the fight. One of the enemies didn’t even notice you as they ran by, your hands flying up with the frying pan to smack him in the face. 

He yelped loudly as his hands went up to his face. You looked at him wide-eyed when blood started seeping out of his nose. He gave you the deadliest of glares the moment he caught sight of you. 

“You bitc-'' You smacked him again, knocking him unconscious this time. You hated when people stalled in a fight. As if you were going to wait for them to have the chance to grab you. 

You looked back up at the larger fight, trying to find someone you knew. The closest to you had been Yunho who looked to be in a tough fist fight against a man. Yunho was facing you but was too busy to even notice your presence on the scene. As you rushed up closer, you didn’t hesitate to swing the frying pan at Yunho’s attacker. The hit made a loud banging sound, the pain probably resonating from the man’s head. 

He quickly fell over from the possible concussion. Yunho took a step back with his arms raised, looking up to find you staring at him. “Angel?” He looked at you confused. “What are you doing!?”

Before you were able to answer Yunho though, you heard the click of a gun. Your head snapped up to find Hongjoong pointing at one of the men. The only thing going through your head were all the children and women waiting for their husbands to return home. 

“Stop!” You screamed, dropping the pan and rushing to Hongjoong. The man’s eyes went wide as they landed on you, a scowl taking over his features.

At your scream everyone seemed to tense up, watching the man with a gun carefully should he take the shot without warning. Your hands pulled on Hongjoong’s arm, trying to pull it down. 

“They have families.” You furrowed your eyebrows, sighing deeply, as all you wanted to do was hurt them for even thinking about landing hits on your boys. There was a man laying on the floor in front of you two, blood staining his mouth as he panted.

“Better listen to your whore.” He spit out.

Your body tensed, all your care being thrown out the window. You slowly turned around, a menacing look in your eye as your face remained passive. You moved to the side, allowing Hongjoong room to look at the enemy. 

“Captain?” Those around who could hear felt a shiver go down their spine from how cold you sounded. 

“Yes, Princess?” Hongjoong kissed his teeth, raising his gun. 

“Shoot him in the foot.” You said deadly serious.

“Gladly.” The blue haired man had a wicked smirk on his face. 

There was a loud bang followed by a scream of pain. The man on the floor withered as the bullet fractured the bones in his foot. His comrades rushed forward to help him up. You were finally able to count 10 other men, including the two you knocked unconscious. 

“Take this as a warning!” Hongjoong sneered at them. “You got lucky our girl here is nice!”

You crouched in front of the man Hongjoong had injured. You had a dead look on your face, jaw clenched, as you thought about the kind of people they must have been. “They deserve better than criminals like you.” You spoke up, thinking about their families.

“And you think you're any better?” The man was going to spit in your face but thought otherwise when he saw the deadly look Hongjoong was giving him from over your shoulder. “You're running with the most wanted outlaws in the country.”

“Be glad they don't have the decency to kill you, then.” You spoke quietly. As you came to a stand, you looked over at the bodies you had injured. “Don’t forget the ones who are unconscious.” You turned your back, hearing the men all scrambling to leave the camp. 

You all watched as they rushed out, limping or carrying a man on their shoulders. Once the last of them disappeared into the forest line, the boys let out a sigh of relief. They started to scream and yell in excitement, exclaiming how it had been so long since they had a fight with another gang.

“That was a fight.” Seonghwa laughed. 

“Did one of them have a broken nose? Who did that?” San cackled.

“Angel.” Yunho answered. 

They all whipped their heads around to face you. “I used a frying pan.” You smiled awkwardly as your cheeks burned from the attention.

“Guys!” Wooyoung shouted, rushing up to the group. “Jongho is injured!”

That seemed to move you all back in action.

Series Masterlist

@thefrog3223 , @iarayara , @0rangemilk , @explorewithd , @detectivedoodle , @bangtanxberm , @a1i33a , @loveforred , @drunken-deitence , @0325tiny , @the-ghostest-with-the-mostest , @atinyreads , @atinytinaa , @lexiigom , @smilingtokki , @mismatchfluffysocks , @brain-empty-only-draken , @sousydive , @alex-tinyy , @h3arteyes4mingi , @onedumbho3 , @popcatx0 , @blue1amory , @mommahwa1117 , @stvrfir3 , @sunnyhokyu , @cloudieclair , @araknoid , @starjoongi1117 , @chel-awingcherry , @puppyminnnie ,

#kpop fanfic #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez wooyoung #ateez hongjoong #ateez san #ateez yeosang #ateez mingi #ateez jongho #ateez yunho #ateez seonghwa #fanfiction #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung ateez #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung x you #jung wooyoung

[kiwisbell]

Security Details: Chapter 2 [frankie morales]

Frankie’s long-time friend enlists his help. He's more than eager to accept the job. The problem is that he's in love with her.

chapter 1 | chapter 2

pairing: francisco "catfish" morales x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: abusive relationship (not between frankie and reader), murder, violence, BAMF frankie, protective frankie, possessive frankie, soft frankie, mutual pining, yearning, reader is not named but has a call sign (fox), frankie is dumb but he's got the spirit, angst, smut, fluff, partners to friends to lovers, happy ending, frankie spends most of this fic in his feelings, telltale signs of a fic written by a hopeless romantic, unprotected piv, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex, consensual somnophilia, english and spanish dirty talk, frankie going feral to keep his girl safe, possessive sex, blood and injury, undefined age gap

tags and warnings for this chapter: unrequited love becomes requited, unprotected piv (don't follow my lead), oral sex, frankie eating pussy like a king, blood and violence, frankie is unhinged, protective frankie, possessive sex, consensual somno, creampie, breeding kink, frankie morales fucks

word count: ~ 9k

chapter 2: oh, but i'm singing like a bird about it now

It takes him two hours to tell the entire story of what happened in Peru. It happens over dinner: the most disgusting canned ravioli he’s ever eaten and the most tolerable canned green beans. They sit opposite one another at the tiny two-person dining table, basking in slats of orange sunlight that filter through the closed blinds. He can’t risk anyone seeing her here now that she suspects someone is following her. 

“That’s…” She blows out a breath, poking some beans with her fork. “Jesus, Frankie. I’m sorry. That sounds like a really shitty few weeks.”

Sorry? All the shit he’s just confessed to doing for some pathetic fucking bags of money, and she’s sympathising? He must look bewildered enough to make her giggle, if a bit hysterically. “It’s just…” She drops her chin into her palm. “Two hundred and fifty million.”

He stares at her for a moment. The golden light on her face and the way her eyes glimmer. “Yeah.”

“And you got on the boat with five.”

He’s beginning to understand. “Yeah.”

“And…” She bites down on her lip. “You signed away your earnings.”

He doesn’t think either of them are able to pinpoint what causes the laughter, but soon they’re both in tears, choking and wheezing over something that is probably not funny at all. Tears are streaking down their faces and the tiny home is filled with the sound of cutlery clanging as they shake uncontrollably. Their minds are not their own, and when the laughter ebbs, they are left smiling at one another. It feels like it did before, for a wink. 

“What would you have done with it?” she asks.

He sips his beer—the fridge is still stocked from his last stay here. “Two years ago, it would have been an Aston Martin or a lifetime’s supply of cowboy boots.”

“And now?” She’s drinking, too, but she dug around the stores for a bottle of red wine and poured some into a mostly-clean mason jar. 

“Now…” Frankie sighs. “Lifetime’s supply of diapers and baby food.”

“I don’t know, Frankie. I like your cowboy boots.”

“Nah, see, now I know you're lying.”

“What the fuck are those?”

“What?” Frankie looked down at his boots. “You don't like ‘em?”

She covered her mouth with her hand, but it didn't shroud the shaking of her shoulders. “No. No, Frank, I don’t.” She touched her hand to her heart. “I looove them.”

“Don't be mean, Foxy,” piped up Santiago from the back. “Those bastards were paid for with blood money.”

She gasped. “Don't tell me…”

Santiago hoisted Frankie’s arm into the air and whooped. “Divorce does wonders, folks!”

Frankie flushed hot while Fox bit down on her lip. He felt dirty—wrong—for being glad about the split, for wanting the woman in front of him for far longer than he ever wanted Lisa. He felt like a cheater. “Cálmate,” he grumbled to Pope. 

She just laughed, rubbing a knot out of his shoulder. “If we're going to set a good example for your daughter, we have to teach her honesty. I think your boots are hideous. And yet”—she swigged her beer and kissed him on the cheek—“you somehow pull them off. You must teach me your ways.”

Frankie watches a car speed by through the blinds and makes sure it disappears from sight. “You ever notice him acting strangely?”

“He would miss dinner or come to bed late,” she says, “but I assumed he was working late, like he told me. Or cheating.”

Frankie frowns. “You wouldn't have cared?”

She scoffs. “Please, Frank. Of course I would care. It’s not like he would let me leave. I knew he was a recreational user, but I started to notice calls on the phone logs and missing links in email chains to and from a man named St. John—Matt said he was a higher-up at his company, but I think it's an alias. Started to feel like he was hiding something more than just another woman.” She rubs her brow. “Had a lot of thinking to do while I was… away. And things add up.”

“He got put away,” says Frankie. He only speaks to remind himself of the truth. He won't hurt her again. 

“Only because of this.” She points to her face. “I know it sounds paranoid—”

“I believe you,” says Frankie. “Like you said, you've never steered me wrong.”

She smiles. “We should sleep. You drove all day, and I had to listen to your music all day.”

“Hey.” Frankie points at her. “Driver picks music, Foxy. Don't insult Metallica.”

“Go to sleep,” she says again, disappearing back into the hallway where she'll stretch out in that twin bed. He putters around in the kitchen, scrubbing their plates a little too hard, arranging the cushions and blankets on the couch with a little too much force. Lying with his eyes fixed on the yellowed popcorn ceiling, the old ache in his back throbbing up his spine, Frankie loathes this house. He detests the colour of the walls and the way the floors would creak under your weight even if you weighed eighty pounds. He hates the uncomfortable furniture. 

He hates that she has to be here. 

He hates himself for letting his head get stuck so far up his own ass he never mustered up the courage to tell her how he loved her: that her smile makes him ache, that he craves her presence the way he used to crave nicotine, that she's it for him. He hates that she's been wasting her time with assholes who only hurt her while he's been wasting his time yearning but not acting. If he's too much of a coward to tell her, he'll show her. 

He’ll show her exactly how worth it she is. He’ll make sure she knows that he'd die for her the way she nearly did the day she took that bullet. 

~

They're used to waiting in a profession like theirs. She's accustomed to hours and days upon rooftops and inside inconspicuous vans. She's used to the way it makes her joints creak with disuse and her eyes sore from rarely blinking. They've been in this safe house for a week, and they're out of food. 

“No.”

“Frank—”

“No, Fox.” He’s frowning in frustration. It's a different frown than his concentration frown, which is altogether different from his needy frown—the one he gets when he's neglected. Her favourite grumpy dog. “It's too risky.”

Her bruises have mostly healed, along with the cut on her lip. But he'll never forget them. He’ll never forget seeing her walk into the kitchen in Santiago’s home, the terror that flooded him. 

“Everything’s risky if I’m being stalked,” she reasons. “I can't hide forever, Frankie. Especially not if we don't have any leads.”

His nostrils flare, and she knows she's in for more arguing. “I can go. You should stay here.”

“I know you can, Frank.” She gestures toward the windows. “Has anyone followed us here?”

“Not that I’ve seen,” he begins, “but—”

“I’m getting cabin fever.” She folds her arms over her chest. “I know you are, too. That's why we're arguing.”

He huffs. “We’re not… arguing.”

She smiles. “Good. Isn’t it better that we don't split up, anyway?”

He gets pissed off when his friends are right, sometimes. Whenever he's arguing with Santiago about something easily Googleable (she'll do just that—look it up and wait patiently with the phone screen turned away until they're finished their shouting match), he'll grind his jaw and sulk for a bit when he's in the wrong. Then, he'll slap Santiago good-naturedly on the cheek and they’ll move on. Being wrong about such trivial things leads to being wrong in the real world. Making the wrong call. Getting someone hurt. 

He's always been a bit of a worrier. 

But he doesn't get mad when she's right. Because she makes it sound so sweet, so gentle, and all he can do is laugh. Of course she's right. He was stupid to argue with her in the first place. It's much safer if they travel together. He can keep her safe. He can. 

He fucking will. 

“Get one of my sweatshirts,” he says. “Don't take off the hood.”

She rolls her eyes but does as he asks. Indulging him. He will earn the right to be indulged again. The sweatshirt is his, an old and too-large grubby thing, blue (his favourite colour), and it swallows her. He waits until she crosses the room to collect his wallet and plants himself by the window, rubbing a hand down his face and splashing some cold water over it for good measure. Jesus. Get yourself together. Fucking asshole.

They slip into the truck and he pulls out of the driveway after making triple-sure no one lingers nearby. She draws a knee up to her chest so she can rest her chin on it, always detesting the feeling of her feet on the ground. It’s as if she can taste the tremors in the ground on her tongue and needs reprieve from them. 

“Those jeans aren’t yours,” he says after a too-long silence. He hopes she isn’t put off by him memorising the articles in her closet. 

“Matt’s,” she says idly. “Got blood on mine. I felt like I wanted to fuck him over in some small way. Taking his pants probably wasn’t the best method.”

He says nothing, but he sets his jaw and turns into town. It’s small enough that it borders on a hamlet, really; there’s a single Food World and a gas station, which are connected to one another. He can see every single home from here, stuck in the middle of nowhere on this lonely country road. It’s almost pleasant.

“What’s your favourite piece from my closet, Frankie?”

Shit.

She says it teasingly, a smile tugging on one corner of her mouth. It’s the kind of smile she gets when she’s trying not to, biting down on her bottom lip. He can’t quite grasp the depth of his own want, the way his chest lurches and his fingers twitch toward her. His body knows him before he does. He wants to lunge across the truck bench and put his mouth on hers, slide his hands up her—his—sweatshirt, and feel her: her strong, soft, capable body, her scars and bruises he’s memorised in their years together. He wants to hear her gasps and whimpers, different from any cries of pain he’s heard from her lips before. He wants to make her feel good. And she would feel so fucking good. 

“You really wanna know?” he says.

She’s already looking at him when he parks at the Food World. “Yeah, I do.”

“That blue sundress,” he tells her, “the one you wear for the Fourth of July every year.”

Her brows lift a little in the middle, stretching the scar on her nose, and she’s so adorable sometimes it makes him hurt, makes him forget that she’s killed people with those fingers twiddling in her lap, makes him keep talking even though she already fucking knows what her dress looks like. She’s the one who wears it.

“It’s got these… I don’t know, these fuckin’ bows. Yeah, they’re bows. On the shoulders. You have to re-tie them when they get loose. Your face scrunches up when you concentrate, the way it does when you’re on a roof, watching a target through your scope.” Frankie watches her eyes scan his face, every inch, every freckle, like she’s trying to memorise it before a test. “It kinda—sorta flutters when there’s a breeze, y’know? It’s… nice.” He clears his throat and turns his head away, looking through the windshield. “You look nice in blue.”

Recalling the way her hips curve in that flowy fucking dress, the way she glows and shines and makes everyone shield their eyes from the glare, Frankie knows why his favourite colour is blue.

And Christ, the way she looks at him after his humiliating admission… The weight of her gaze, the slow blinking, the way her lashes brush her cheeks, the sheer power she imposes upon him when she watches him like that. He feels like he’s the biggest and smallest thing in the universe. He feels like suffering too long under that look will turn him to ashes. 

“Frank,” she says, a name shoved out, dreamlike in quality. “If you’d told me you liked it so much, I’d wear it every day.”

He lets himself laugh. “Even in winter?”

“I have snow boots and a parka for a reason.” She lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Haute couture, no?”

He needs to get out of this truck. He needs to get out before he does something he’ll regret. “C’mon,” he says, “let’s make this quick.”

The Food World is mostly deserted. There are two cashiers, one drumming his fingers on the counter and the other resting her chin in her palm. People mill about the aisles, mostly in similar dress to theirs, sweatpants and sweatshirts and ratty jeans. Muzak crackles through the overhead P.A. systems. Nothing immediately prickles at his instincts. Frankie lets her walk ahead, lingering behind her. He doesn’t like people at his back, never has: an old soldier’s itch. Even waiting in lines makes him sweat a little above the brow. She’s never been that nervous, but she understands. She reaches backward every so often and squeezes his hand to make sure he’s still with her. 

From here, he can’t exactly help but look at her ass in those too-big jeans, the flare of her hips, her legs. His hood is secure atop her head, morphing her into a stranger to the world, no longer the beautiful beacon with the cuts and bruises on her face. Frankie, in his own jeans and his grey T-shirt and his olive green button-up, cap snug on his head, looks just as unassuming—save for the permanent frown on his face. 

“We need these,” she says when they reach the empty baking aisle, though he isn’t sure why they’re in the baking aisle. Until he sees her hold up two boxes of cake mix. Chocolate and birthday confetti. 

“We do not need those.”

“Cat,” she says, her voice dropping low, nearly a fucking purr. Does she know what she’s doing? What she does to him? “You are too grumpy to function. It’s your birthday in a couple days. What if we’re still in that stupid house because of me? You’ll have no cake to celebrate.”

“I don’t want to celebrate getting older,” he says, gently plucking the boxes from her hands. It makes her eyes widen, a deliberate, dirty goddamn move, until she schools her face to look like she’s about to cry. He flicks her on the nose. “And that… is a rotten play, Fox.”

Her pouting mouth makes him want to pounce, to shove her up against the shelves of boxed mix and wipe that look off her face with his mouth. His fingers. His cock. God, he needs to get a grip. 

“You aren’t old, Frankie,” she says softly. She reaches for him and gently pries his fingers, one-by-one, from the box of chocolate mix. He lets her. “Your life deserves to be celebrated. We’ll do chocolate, okay? It’s understated.”

But he feels old. He remembers the first day she was introduced to the team: her fresh-faced and bounding with energy. He, mid-thirties at the time, was hesitant to accept a new member of the team. He and the guys had already gelled, known one another for years in Basic before they were slapped together, and Frankie didn’t know what to make of the sniper, the stunner. But she  slipped in, made them laugh and silenced any doubts with that perfect fucking aim, and made him feel like an asshole for ever thinking she wasn't the perfect choice. She's always the perfect choice. 

Your life deserves to be celebrated. 

“Okay,” he relents. “Chocolate. Now get out of this aisle before you convince me to buy whipped cream.”

She beams up at him and it's worth giving up his pride. “And don't give me any of that shit about this being your fault,” he says, guiding her toward the produce. “It's his. You know it.”

“It was my decision to rope you in, Frank. You're the only one I trust with my life like this.”

It's such a vulnerable, soft thing that escapes her mouth. Absently, his hand finds her waist, squeezes. She looks up at him, her face obscured by half a shadow thanks to the hood, and he's worried he's gone too far. But her lips part, her breath leaves her in a sigh, and she whispers, full of conviction: “I mean it.”

Frankie tries to rein in his breathing, shifts the cyclic stick back toward the space between two walls, his lungs. Overrides the spin-out by looking in her eyes. “I know you do,” he says. “I know, baby.” 

She brings his knuckles to her mouth and kisses each one. He loses control again. Fuck, he's not even scanning his surroundings. He's lost himself in her, in that gentle smile she gives him. There's solidarity in that smile. Forgiveness, almost. “For the record,” she says, “it wasn't a hundred guys.”

Just like that, he wants to slap himself all over again. 

You've been fucking around with a hundred other guys because you wanted me? Tell me how that makes sense, honey, because it doesn't make a goddamn inch of sense to me.

He hates himself. He hates himself so much, and he'll never be good enough to—

She's laughing. 

Why the fuck is she laughing?

“You have a tendency to get mad,” she says, still snickering a little. “And when you get mad, you run your mouth. I was hurt and drained and fucking humiliated from being the bitch dumb enough to date him for two years. And what you said hurt. But I shouldn't have walked away.” She shrugs. “Wasted so much time already.”

He shakes his head, vaguely unable to comprehend what she's saying. “How…” He clears his throat. “How can you say that? I was a fucking asshole. I called you—”

“You didn't call me anything.” She picks up a lemon and inspects it. “How do you feel about lemon meringue?”

“I've never had it.” He grasps her wrist. “What are you saying, Fox?”

“I’m saying that we've both been idiots. How have you never tried lemon meringue?”

“Mom never made it.” He slips his hand under her hood and cradles the back of her head. Look at me, he wants to say. Don't stop looking at me. “I’m sorry, Fox. I’m sorry for everything I said. I pressured you. I was so angry for what that dickhead had done to you, and I was so desperate for you, I didn't give you the space you needed. I am… so. Fucking. Sorry.” 

He shakes his head and shifts his thumb to trace the edge of her jaw, eyeing the nasty bruise. “You took a bullet for me. You and your infinite fucking wisdom. Jesus, you’re perfect. Knowing how much the world has burned you… It kills me, baby. I never wanted to hurt you, too, and I did. Don't forgive me. Please.”

Don't forgive me until I’ve earned it. I’ll never earn it. You're too good for this world, Foxy. You're too good for me. 

She lifts her hand to his, her fingers curling gently around his wrist. She hasn't stopped looking at him, her breaths coming a bit shorter, a bit bruised. “Frankie,” she whispers. “There's someone watching us by the doors. Don’t look.” 

His stomach plummets. He threads his fingers through hers and keeps her tucked to his side as they bypass the produce and head straight for the canned food aisle. “Grab what you need,” he says. “Make it heavy.”

A good makeshift weapon: a bag full of cans. He doesn't have his gun on him. It’s in the glove box. Fuck. She begins to swipe canned corn, beans, and ravioli into their reusable bag and he never lets go of her hand. “Relax,” she says, hoisting the bag up onto her shoulder and rubbing his arm in soothing lines. Up and down. Up and down. “It's okay, Frank. You're with me.”

He wants to believe her, but he's panicking. “Got everything?” he asks, trying to keep his posture casual even as his mind shifts gears. Keep your eyes open. Be ready. Keep her safe. 

For the love of all good things, keep her safe. 

“I’m ready,” she says easily, not a hint of her anxiety translating to her face. “Could’ve used that lemon, though.”

“If you want to bake for me so badly, honey, just tell me,” he says, not looking at her, keeping his head on a swivel for the someone she was talking about. “Describe him to me.”

“Tall, white, wearing all black,” she says quietly. They make their way toward the checkout. He wants to grab her hand and run to the truck, but they can't exactly smuggle out a bag filled with clanking metal cans. 

She reaches the counter first and smiles at the man behind it, immediately rushing to place all their items on the belt. “The man in all black,” she whispers to the man, never once dropping her smiling façade, “he’s got a gun. Please call the cops. I think he's following us.”

They both crowd together to shroud the cashier from view as he carries on bagging their groceries at the same time he reaches under the counter and presses the panic button. “How will you be paying?” he asks, all-too easily. 

Frankie looks behind him. The man, not facing them, rings out a single banana at the opposite register. The woman behind it looks polite but faintly rattled. He gathers the girl at his side a little closer, tucking an arm around her waist and slipping his hand into the pocket of the sweatshirt she wears. 

“Thank you,” says the cashier when she hands him a folded handful of bills. Frankie guesses he's thanking them for more than the money. “Have a great day. Stay safe out there.”

They both nod their thanks and walk as briskly as they can out of the store without drawing suspicion. Frankie doesn't hear any footsteps behind him, but he still fumbles with the keys in his rush to get her in the vehicle. 

She's got one foot still planted on the side step when she hazards a glance toward the doors of the Food World, and screams, “Frankie, down!”

He ducks at the same time he drops his shoulder to tackle her to the ground. He can't quite manoeuvre them quickly enough to prevent her from slamming hard into the ground; he watches her slam her shoulder against the asphalt at the same time the gunshot goes off. Frankie lands hard on his back, but they're both scrambling to get behind the truck. There isn't time to lick their wounds. The cans have spilled from the bag under the truck. One, filled with baked beans, nudges Frankie’s foot and rolls to a stop.

He keeps his hand pressed against her back as they move, grounding himself in her. She's still alive. He's going to keep it that way. “Fuck,” she says, daring to peek around the truck. “It’s him. Plus another guy at our eleven o’clock.”

“Get in the bed of the truck,” he says, handing her the can. “Smash the back window and crawl inside. Get the gun from the glove box. I’ll be right behind you.”

She nods, clinical in her analysis of the situation. Her face is grim, but she knows it’s their only option. Frankie unlatches the tailgate and pushes at her thighs to help her up while keeping her body as low as possible. She cracks the window with the edge of the can, but it takes three total hits to break the glass. It seems only one of the men is armed, the one who had followed them into the Food World. The other is making his way around the vehicle to flank them. Frankie ducks low to avoid one shot in particular, and he can hear it whizz past his ear. She’s inside the truck, crawling toward the glove box and wrenching it open. She flicks off the safety, leans out the broken window, and aims for the man closest to Frankie: the one holding the gun, who’s currently trying to kill him. 

It makes his ears ring. The shot fires hardly a foot away from his left ear, but he knows who’s fired it, so he doesn’t flinch. Next to him, he hears a body topple and flips onto his back. She hops out of the truck and checks to make sure the man is dead before she circles the truck to accost the other. 

Only he isn’t there. 

“Frank?” she says, not meeting his eyes, still scanning her surroundings. “Where—”

It happens too quickly. Too quickly, even, for Frankie to bark a warning. He can only watch in terror as the man springs out from behind the gas pump and tackles her to the ground. She loses her grip on the gun in the tussle, her head smacking hard against the pavement. Visibly dazed, eyes unfocused, she reaches blindly for the man’s throat, but he pins down her arms at her sides, his thighs bracketing her writhing legs as she tries, unavailingly, to kick him in the balls. 

Frankie doesn’t think when he acts. Terror and rage flood him. They are thick and cloying in his throat. They cloud the reason. The methodical soldier flees. 

He’s bigger than the man atop her. He’s also angrier. His body barrels into him, knocks him aside, sending them both rolling across the ground. Frankie doesn’t reach for the gun. He doesn’t even try to. He just balls his hand into a fist and breaks the man’s noise. 

Blood sprays, splattering the man’s face and Frankie’s knuckles as he yelps, a gurgled, helpless cry. But Frankie doesn’t stop. He can’t. He won’t. He punches, again and again and again. The face is a target, a pinkish round thing with eyes and a crooked nose and a mouth. The nose splits at the bridge, blood seeping. The whites of the eyes stain red. Blood vessels snap. Lips swell. At some point, the target stops crying, stops moving. He’s piloting, he’s in control, he’s so fucking out of control he can barely see. 

Cyclic stick. Window panes. Rotor blades. Scope. Rooftop. Stars. Laughter. Her. 

“Frankie.” 

The target is red now. Blood and skin and bone. His own split knuckles, beginning to hurt. His senses sharpen at the sound of his voice, but he doesn’t stop. Only slows down. He can’t stop. What if he gets back up? 

What if he hurts her again?

Faintly, he registers her stumbling toward him, hands and knees, desperate. Clawing at him. “Frankie,” she says. “Frankie, he’s down. Please. You’re done. It’s done.”

Finally, he pitches backward, as if someone has thrown him off the body beneath him. It’s the only way he can imagine stopping. He wants to go back for more, but her hands are there: one on his chest, pressing against his heart and calming the erratic beating, and the other cupping his face in her palm, like he’s something to be cherished. 

“You did it,” she pants. His hands fly backward, slapping against the asphalt to keep himself from tumbling onto his back. She’s still holding him. 

There’s a thin dribble of blood on her temple. It’s minimal. It’s nothing. But his hand flies to the nape of her neck. “You’re bleeding,” he croaks.

She laughs again, a bit raspy, a bit hysterical. “So are you.”

“He…” Frankie swallows, thick, smoke and fire and fear. “I didn’t see him.”

“Neither did I.” She kisses him on the forehead. It’s gentle, so gentle, and when it’s over, she rests her forehead on his. “Hear that?”

He does. Sirens. The police have arrived. “Means we need to get up,” she says. “Are you all right, Frank? Can you get up?”

She shifts back to help him stand, but he blurts out, “Wait. Wait.”

Panic flitting across her face, she returns to him. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head vaguely, not really feeling it, his vision sharpening to her. Her eyes are her mouth and her mouth is her nose and her nose is her ears. She’s whole and she’s here, in front of him, and he needs her to know. 

“I love you,” he says. 

The smile creeps up slow, but when it arrives, it knocks the breath from him. “Sounded just as good out loud as it did in my head.” Her fingers find the collar of his button-up, and she grips it hard. Her eyes bury him deep in the earth. “I love you, Francisco. But you knew that.”

“Wish I knew it sooner,” he huffs, leaning in so he can finally, finally, kiss her the way he’s wanted to for so long. 

But a shadow looms over them, and a policeman awkwardly clears his throat. “Sir, ma’am, are you able to stand up?”

~

One policeman was all the department could spare, apparently. She and Frankie rose to greet him, explaining the situation as best they could. The man, unconscious but not quite dead on the ground, did not help Frankie’s case, but the cashier corroborated their story, having seen the entire affair through the windows of the Food World. 

They were questioned for too fucking long at the station. They were supplied with a bag of ice for his knuckles, and another for the gash in her temple, as if to make up for keeping them there for ten hours. The bloodied man confessed, once he woke up from his Frankie-induced nap: a lackey for a trafficking ring who was enlisted to kill her for getting too close. Frankie, too. 

He drives them back to the safe house instead of St. Augustine. Frankie has too much to do, too much to say. He can’t stand any more car rides in total silence. 

“So,” she sighs when she follows him inside, “that was a total fucking—mmmph!”

With a grumbling sound from deep in his chest and a faint shake of his head—why fucking wait?—Frankie crowds her, the door closing at her back, and slants his mouth to fit hers. 

Her hand flies up to cup his cheek, keeping him close, the other at his back. His strong back, his broad shoulders, the scruff of his patchy beard. Fuck, she can feel all of it. Frankie keeps it gentle, holding back, his hand finding a home at the back of her neck. He just kisses her. 

She smells like oranges and blood and… fuck, like him, still wearing his sweatshirt. And kissing him. His head is spinning, his chest tightening, her perfect fist wrapped around his heart, squeezing until it pops. He wants it to. He wants to die here. He's finally here, and he's kissing the girl of his dreams. Love taps at the barricade of his skull, knocking at his ribs, asking to come in. He opens all of him. 

“I love you,” he says, grinning against her mouth. “Fucking love you.”

She laughs breathlessly when their teeth clack together, but neither of them can hold back their smile. “You saved my life,” she says, lifting the cap off his head so she can tangle her fingers in his hair, too-long since its last cut. “The scales are balancing, Francisco.”

He laughs, too, somewhat delirious from the taste and the smell of her, nudging his nose against hers. “Can you feel it?” he asks, placing his palm over her years-old bullet wound. 

“I feel it everywhere,” she says, angling his head so he can't help but look her in the eye. Good. He wants to see all of her, all the time. “Tell me again.”

He puts his forehead to hers and kisses the tip of her nose. “I love you. Te amo. Can’t fucking help it.”

She scans his face, eyes pleading. Outside, a bird chirps. He's surprised to discover that life exists outside the two of them. 

“I want you to show me,” she says. 

And he will. God, he will. She is the air he breathes. He kisses her like it, dipping his head low to catch her mouth again, harder and firmer, opening up her mouth for him. He slides his tongue against hers and swallows every needy sigh she loosens from her chest. His hand slides from her hip to her back, splaying his fingers underneath his sweatshirt and pressing her to him. 

“Frankie,” she whispers. The force of such a gentle plea tears at him, rends all his limbs apart, and catches on what's left of his restraint. A fish hook. It tugs until he bleeds, an open wound for her. 

He pulls away just long enough to grasp at the sweatshirt. “Take it off, Frankie,” she says, breathless and panting. He does. He'll do anything she asks. 

It lands in a heap by the door. Underneath, she's wearing the shirt she wore this morning, a simple white tee, and he grunts in frustration. “Too many clothes,” is vaguely what comes out of his mouth as he tugs it up over her head and revels in the way her pupils dilate. He may as well go the whole nine yards, he figures, unclasping her bra and bearing her to him. Her back arches and her tits press up against his chest, keen and wanting. 

He stares for a moment, his cock an aching and persistent presence in his jeans. He doesn't know what to do first. He's obsessed. He wants to possess her, be possessed by her, sink into her until it's unclear where either of their bodies begin. “You're fucking perfect,” he says. 

“You can take a picture if you want,” she teases, pushing up against him and lifting her arms around his neck. He really fucking loves the sound of that: a small printed picture he gets to look at whenever he can't have the real thing. “But kiss me first.”

He finally gets his mouth on her again, sated and not altogether. His calloused hand finds her rib cage, fingers brushing the swell of her breast. He's too rough for her; she's delicate, smooth, perfect. He’s got a pilot’s hands. 

“Jesus. You’re so soft,” he grunts into her mouth, kissing her until her lips are bruised. He shifts to the corner of her lips, her Cupid’s bow, the gentle curves of it that fascinate him. He finds her jawline and traces it with his lips, enjoying the way her breathing begins to go shallow as he moves to her ear, biting the lobe before sucking and licking at the spot below it. 

“Frankieeee,” she mewls, grinding against him. He makes a gruff noise into her throat as he breathes her in deep, breathing in the scent of her the way a drowning man sucks in air at the ascent. 

“I know, baby,” he mumbles, slipping his hand down to her jeans and toying with the button at the same time he kisses her shoulder. 

“Want to undress you,” she says, pushing her hips up against his hand. “Please.”

Frankie’s never heard begging sound so good. He nods against her skin and pulls away, only to hoist her up and wrap her thighs around his hips. He swells a little with pride at the needy whimper that leaves her at the show of strength. “Bedroom,” he says into her ear, nipping at her lobe again. 

She nods frantically. He lowers her onto the bed and she lifts herself up to grab at his shirt. He laughs at the eagerness, but it sobers to hot and heavy arousal at the sight of her concentration, her devout eagerness to get his clothes off. He helps her shrug him out of his button-up and lifts his arms for her as she takes off his shirt. Her lips part, her pupils dark and wide, and he's stunned. Stunned by her blatant desire, her inability to hide it. “Never thought…” She trails off, chest heaving. 

“What is it, baby?”

“Never thought I’d get this,” she says earnestly, thumb stroking his jaw. “You.”

He kicks off his shoes and socks, holding her firm around the waist. She stands on her toes and kisses him, deep and true. “You've got me,” he tells her, breathing it into her mouth. “I’m yours, baby. I’ve always been.”

“Frankie.” Her lips are on his jaw, licking at the patch of skin that breaks his beard, then his throat, tasting and licking him the way she wants to. “I love you so much.”

He curses. She's revelling in him, and he loves it. He can't let go of her, can't stop himself from parting his lips and squeezing his eyes shut at the way she lavishes his throat with her mouth. She begins to make her way down his chest, sitting down on the bed so she can travel all the way down to his navel. His breathing is jagged, torn at the edges. He needs her so badly. She needs him so badly. 

“Baby…”

She hums, busy pressing kisses to his ribs, fumbling with his belt, the button, the zipper, at his jeans. 

Frankie bends down and notches his hands at the back of her thighs, half-tossing her farther up the bed. He pulls off jeans and boxers and briefly allows himself to grin at the sight of her sucking in a breath when his cock slaps against his stomach, hard and leaking. He isn't an idiot. He knows he's big. And it feels fucking good to know she wants him. 

He crawls up her body and tilts her chin up so he can kiss her. “I want to taste you,” he says. She gasps when he cups the heat of her through her jeans. 

“Please,” she says, writhing against him. Frankie yanks those godforsaken jeans down with little mercy, and she chokes out a laugh. “You really hate those things.”

“They're his.” Frankie tosses them across the room. “I want you to walk out of here forgetting he ever touched you… His fucking hands on you.”

She grounds him with a thumb brushing over his chin. “I’m yours,” she says. “Yours, Francisco.”

He grabs her ankle and locks it around his hip, forcing her legs to spread wide. The wet spot on her pink panties is unmistakable. “Mine,” he says under his breath, pressing his palm against her clit through her underwear. She whines his name. “Fuck, honey. You’re mine, huh?”

She nods, lifting herself into her elbows to watch him peel her panties down her legs. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I am. Please…”

Frankie’s cock twitches at the sight of her glistening core. He shifts onto his stomach and, without warning, spreads her folds with two fingers and flattens his tongue against her slit. “Ohhh!” she cries, thighs trembling at the first touch. “Fuck… Frank…”

He flicks his tongue against her clit and presses his hips into the mattress to relieve some of the ache in his cock. Her moan is long and low, her hands grabbing, needy, nestling in his hair and holding on. He groans at the taste of her, the sweetness, nectar and sharp tang, so wet for him. For him. 

Frankie can't get enough. She tastes so good, and she moans so loudly for him, out here in the middle of nowhere, that he can't find it in himself to pull away from her cunt. Instead, he wraps a hand around her thigh as the other presses down against her belly to keep her still. He licks her clit until she's quivering and shifts to her entrance, circling it with his tongue before plunging inside and lapping up the slick that pours from her. She cries out with pleasure when his thumb circles her clit. 

“Your fingers,” she pleads, brows drawn up in the middle. “Want your fingers.”

Her face, flushed and needy, might make him come on the mattress. “You want my fingers, baby?” he says softly, still swiping her clit while his lips occupy themselves with kissing her inner thighs, the so-soft skin there. 

“Wanna know how it feels… to be one of your helicopters,” she says with a breathless laugh. 

He hums, bringing her clit into his mouth and sucking hard. She screams his name. “You're not a machine,” he says. 

“You fly them like you wanna fuck them,” she gasps, writhing as he suctions his lips to her clit again. 

He smacks the side of her thigh. “Only wanna fuck you. If you'll stay still.”

“Oh, please.” 

He can't tell if it's a genuine plea or her smart mouth, but he wants to see her come so badly he doesn't respond. He dives back in, sucking and lapping at her clit as two fingers trace her hole and sink in to the knuckle, prodding at her front wall. “Fucking wet,” he mumbles against her, but it's lost in the vibrations that make her cry out from the stimulation. 

“F—fuck, Frank, I…” Her eyes are unfocused, but he keeps his on her nonetheless. “I’m gonna… fuck—!”

He presses his fingers up against that spongy spot and laps at her clit while she comes, drenching his fingers in her hot slick. “Fuck,” she croaks, her body melting into the mattress. “That was…”

“Not over.” He sits up and leans over her, locking her leg around his hip and kissing her deeply. She’s boneless and pliant in his arms as he manhandles her hips up onto his thighs, sliding his cock through her wetness. She shivers. “I need you, baby,” he rasps. “Need you so fuckin’ bad.”

“Want you inside me, Frankie,” she says. “Fuck me, please. Make me yours.”

It's all he needs. Frankie pushes the head of his cock past her entrance and squeezes his eyes shut at the hot tightness of her. “Jesus.”

“You're big, Frank,” she says with a strained laugh. “Fuck, you're so—big!” 

He pushes more of himself inside and groans at the unrelenting grip of her walls around him. It's airtight, it's wet, it's fucking heaven. He's died. He must have. 

“I can take it,” she moans, her foot pressing at the small of his back, trying to pull more of him inside her. “I can, Frankie.”

She's so determined, so adorable in the way her brow scrunches, and he's so in love. He pushes inside until their hips are flush together and feels embarrassed by how good it is, so soon. It's been too long since he's buried himself inside a woman’s body, and hers is sending him fucking soaring. “Fucking… Hold still, honey. Can’t—fuck, you're so tight. Don't move. Just give me a second.”

She grins, head falling back into the pillow. “Can't… do that… to a helicopter.”

Frankie pulls out halfway and thrusts inside her sharply, hissing at the spark of pleasure that ricochets off his spine. “Smartass,” he grits out, relishing in the way she blindly reaches for the bedsheets and curls them in her hands. 

“Frankie, honey, fuck me,” she says, rocking her hips against his. 

He does. Of course he does. 

Frankie begins to move inside her, establishing a rhythm that gets her moaning under him. He fucks her the way she wants; he fucks her to make her his, forever. He gets so deep inside her he feels his head prod her womb, and it doubles him over. 

He drapes his body over her and humps her like an animal, kissing her until their mouths can barely fit together with the harsh thrusts that shift her body up the bed. His lips latch onto her jaw, nipping at it, then her shoulder, holding her body with the reverence it deserves, fucking into her until she's crying on his cock. 

Frankie lifts her legs up onto his shoulders and bends her in fucking half. “Fuck!” she screams. “Frankie!”

“Hold on, baby.” She brings her hands around her thighs, and the angle deepens deliciously. He fucks her hard, biting the flesh of her calf, grunting about how good she is, how good she takes him, wrapped around his cock. 

She drinks it in, swallowing thickly. “Wanted you… so long…”

He's punching the breath out of her, and he gently unwinds her hands from her thighs so they fall back down around his hips. He hooks a foot in the crook of her knee and rolls them over until she's on top. He places his hand on her belly. “Feel me?” he says, bucking his hips up into her. 

She chokes on whatever she was about to say and lets her head fall back. When her eyes meet his, they're lidded, lashes spidery on her cheeks and her gaze heavy with lust. “I feel you,” she says. “Fuck, you're so big. So deep.”

He plants his feet on the mattress and holds onto her hips, grinding her against him. She shudders, grasping his shoulders, when her clit rubs up against his navel. “No fuckin’ idea,” he grunts, “how long I’ve been picturing this.”

“You ever dream of me?” she asks, her hair falling over her shoulders. The one and only deity he’s ever believed in. “I dreamed about you,” she confesses, squeezing her breasts in her hands. Frankie can’t believe what he’s seeing or hearing, even though he’s balls-deep inside her. “Touched myself thinking about you. Thought about you taking me… Fuck, I think I’m dreaming.”

He takes two handfuls of her ass and bounces her hard on his cock. She yelps, nails digging into his shoulder. “That feel like a dream, baby?” he says. “You have any idea how crazy you make me? Every time you fucking touched me, smiled at me… Jesus, eres tan… so beautiful.”

“Frankie,” she moans. “It was so hot watching you beat the shit out of him for me.” She glides long and slow up and back down his length, guided by his hands bruising her hips. “Fuck, you’re so strong.”

Frankie is lightheaded from the admission. He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her down to him by the back of her head, baring his teeth against her cheek and he fucks up into her. It’s deep and she’s helpless in this position, taking his cock and clinging to him with cries of his name. “You like me protecting you?” he rasps into her ear. “Like me getting all bloody for you?”

“Fuck—yes!” she gasps. 

“Show me how much you like it,” he says. “Ride me.”

And oh, she rides him. It's like she's possessed, a feral little fox, lifting her hips until he's barely inside her and twisting on the way back down. His vision goes white with the feeling of it. “Fucking… Muy bien… No puedo… Baby, you're so good.”

She rocks on him, grinds, bounces, until he's seeing stars burst behind his eyes. It's good. It's really good. She just keeps going, riding him hard, the shitty mattress squeaking under their bodies. He squeezes her tits in his rough hands, pinching her nipples. Her moans turn to whimpers. 

He sits up and pulls out of her abruptly. She protests vaguely, but she’s so cockdrunk she can barely form words as he flips her onto her stomach and secures a pillow under hips. He has the perfect view of her ass from her, her head turned as far toward him as she can manage, cheek pressed into the mattress. He places a hand on the small of her back. Frankie slides into her from behind, and her moan is so loud, so desperate, that he begins to fuck her without mercy, without abandon. 

“Ohhhhh… Frank—fuck, I can’t… fuck!” 

“Yeah, you can,” he coos, grinding deep, pressing up against her front wall. Her ass arches up against him. “Are you my girl?”

She nods frantically, her cheek scratching the mattress as the force of his thrusts rock her entire body. “I’m your girl. I’m your girl.”

“Nobody fucks with my girl.” He pounds her so hard the room echoes with the sounds of his hips slapping against her ass, the squelching of her wet cunt around him. “My—perfect—girl.”

“Fuck. ‘M gonna come, Frankie,” she moans, face-down, fisting the bedsheets. 

He can feel it. She’s squeezing the life out of him, trapping him inside her, begging for his cum. “Where?” He barely manages to push out the question. 

“Inside,” she pleads. “Fuck, inside me, please. I want your cum.”

He can’t refuse her. He doesn’t want to. “I’ll give it to you, baby. Come for me.”

She stiffens and shudders, moaning his name and pulsating around his cock. He works her through it, thrusting shallow and urging himself toward his own peak, until she collapses onto the mattress and mewls like a fucking cat. “I love you, Frankie,” are the words he hears.

He does, pushing himself all the way inside her until he can’t even see his fucking cock anymore. He drowns her cunt in his hot cum, spilling deep and groaning her name, all while her pussy flutters around him and urges more, more, more out of him. When he finishes, he collapses on top of her, a canopy over her back, his lips finding her shoulder. He can’t muster the energy to pull out of her, let alone move, but she doesn’t seem to mind. 

“My big strong man,” she giggles. 

He huffs against her skin, moving to the crook of her neck, where he buries his face. “Fucking Fox.”

“Yeah, baby, you just did.” She’s still giggling, and it’s infectious. He grins into her throat, laughing until he’s wheezing. 

“Jesus Christ,” he manages, certain he’s smearing tears of laughter all over her. “We should probably eat dinner.”

“Are you hungry?” she asks. “Can you move? Because I’m not. And I can’t.”

He’s still chuckling. “I’m on top of you, baby. ‘Course you can’t move.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” She reaches around his head and scratches her fingers at the nape of his neck. He purrs against her. “We’ll eat when we wake up. Go to sleep, Frankie. I’ll be here when you open your eyes.”

He shifts off her slightly, pulling out of her as he moves onto his side to look into her eyes. He tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s matted with sweat and his manhandling. “I love you,” he tells her, just because he can. Because she loves him, too. 

She grins, sleepy and worn. “Wake me up,” she whispers, her fingers lovingly tracing the grey in his beard, “whenever you’d like. However you’d like.”

He can’t help but squeeze her ass where his hand rests on it. “You serious?”

“I’m always serious, Francisco.” Her eyes flutter shut, and he doesn’t say another word. 

He lets her sleep and watches until he follows.

~

He blinks awake to her hair tickling his nostrils, her soft back flush against his chest. He's seen her asleep before, memorised the way she looks when her lips are slightly parted and her even breathing gently rustles the hair in her face. He's so familiar with it. But he's never seen it so close, never felt the way her warm naked body curls gently into his, never been able to smell the lingering scent of citrus and sweat that clings to her. He's never been able to lean in and kiss her shoulder the way he does now. 

She's yours. 

Frankie is aware of his hard cock, slotted against the cleft of her asscheeks, needy for a wet, hot place to bury itself inside. He's aware of the way her body looks so tempting, so sweet. As his brain comes slowly to life, he becomes aware of the words she said last night. 

Wake me up however you'd like. 

He bites back a groan when she shifts in her sleep, her ass rocking back against his erection. Frankie reaches between their bodies and swipes two fingers through her folds. She's wet. No, she’s fucking soaked. 

I dreamed about you. 

Maybe she still does. 

Still slick with his cum and her own arousal, she’ll take him so easily. It's blinding. Frankie's mind goes hazy with need, his body acting independently of his mind. He lifts her thigh and hooks it back around his hip, slotting his cock at her entrance. In her sleep, she hums, and the gentle sound rattles around in his head as he slides his cock inside her until he bottoms out. 

He has to let out the rumbling sound that tears at his throat, so he buries his face in her throat and begins to fuck her from behind, pushing out little breaths of exertion into her skin. 

“Mmmmmfrankie,” she mumbles, her eyes still closed, body still limp and malleable. 

It’s deafening. She grips him so tightly, her walls sucking at him, begging for him. Frankie kisses the spot below her ear, sloppy and desperate, coaxing her awake with each languid drag of his cock. 

“Frank,” she gasps, her eyes cracking open, her head turning, her lips seeking his, desperate and fuzzy with desire.

“Needed you, baby,” he groans, fucking her harder now that she's awake. She whispers his name, her voice crackling with sleep, still not coherent but grabbing greedily at his cock with her cunt. “So fucking good. Wet for me even in your sleep, huh? Muy hermosa, can't take you anywhere.”

She whimpers, head resting on his shoulder, lifting her arm just to bring him closer to him, fingers threading in his messy hair. He gravitates to her, lips on her ear, her jaw, her shoulder, every-fucking-where. “Gonna… gonna keep me locked up here?” she says, throat clicking with drool. “Fuck me whenever you want?”

Frankie grinds, making her cry out, gasping with the effort of taking him so deep, pressing up against the spot he knows will make her crumble. Stardust on his fingers. “Maybe I will,” he muses. “Nobody can fuckin’ touch you that way.”

“Frankie!” she screams, but it's muted, croaking with disuse. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

She's a mess around him, debauched and so beautiful, pinching each knob of his spine with the pleasure it gives him to see her break because of him. It’s disarming. 

He hooks her leg higher, securing his arm around her thigh, pulling it back, fucking her harder. Deeper. He's so deep he knows it’ll take. It’ll fucking take, and—

It won't. She's got an implant. But fuck, Frankie imagines, rutting into her like a fucking monster, pressing up against her womb and giving her a piece of him that connects them forever. He reaches around her body and rubs her clit because he's about to come, and she comes first. She has to. 

She does. Crying out his name, grabbing at him with her needy hands, she soaks his cock. Fucking soaks it, her slick sticky on his thighs and making it oh, so easy to take her harder, deeper still. The sounds are filthy and obscene and wet, and he tangles his fingers in her hair to pull her head backward. She's squirming and squeezing around him, begging for him to come inside her. 

He does. Spurt after spurt of hot cum finds its home at the deepest part of her, and there's so much it dribbles out around his cock and mingles with her own wetness. Frankie groans into her ear as he comes, rocking shallowly, not stopping until he's given her all of it. The slick noise as he pulls out makes his cock twitch even more, but they're both tired, spent, and in need of a shower. 

“Oh my God,” she mutters into the pillow, panting. “I can't walk.”

Frankie chuckles, sliding off the bed and tugging on her ankle. She protests with a little whine. “You're cute, baby, but don't be lazy. Gotta clean you up.”

“Don't wanna,” she says, wiggling her ass at him, giving him a glimpse of the cum slipping out of her hole, the mess he made of her body. 

He covers her body with his and bites the flesh of her asscheek. “Frankie!” she squeals. 

“Get up,” he says, giving the bite mark a gentle smack.

She finally turns over and, pouting, follows him into the bathroom. “You think it's over?” she asks him, locking the door behind them even though nobody else is in the house. Force of habit. 

Frankie turns on the shower and places his fingers underneath the stream to test the temperature. “If it isn't,” he says, “we’ll figure it out.”

She smiles up at him. “You need a haircut, Francisco.”

“Lost my favourite hairdresser for a bit,” he says, pulling her naked body up against him. “Made some mistakes.”

“Maybe she'll take on her favourite client again,” muses his girl, brushing his hair away from his forehead with her fingers. “We waited so long, Frankie.”

Her voice holds melancholy, the drip of knowing misery that they've wasted years yearning. But Frankie kisses her forehead and cradles the back of her head. “You and your infinite wisdom, baby. Don’t you have something for me?”

She laughs, and it's like the bells at midnight. “I’m fresh out,” she whispers, resting her cheek against his chest. “But maybe my wisdom is that I love you. It’s the best choice I’ve ever made.”

THE END.

#pedro pascal fic #kiwisbell's fics #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fluff #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction

[muiitoloko]

JEALOUS HARRY HART - KINGSMAN

Author's notes: Hey, guys! Just letting you know that in this one shot your character, you, uses the code name Bedivere. Any spelling errors please let me know as English is not my first language.

Summary: Harry Hart, the epitome of composure and chivalry, finds himself consumed by jealousy as he observes you gracefully dancing with Agent Tequila.

Pairing: Harry Hart ( Kingsman ) × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Jealousy, Possessiveness, and Bad Language (maybe?)

The grand hall of the Kingsman headquarters was elegantly adorned, transformed into a setting befitting a formal dinner. High-level agents from Kingsman and Statesman mingled, their conversations blending with the melodic tunes that filled the air. Among the guests, Harry Hart, the newly appointed head of Kingsman, codenamed Arthur, exuded an air of authority, his eyes surveying the room.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the attendees, Harry held a secret—a clandestine relationship with a fellow agent known as Bedivere. Their connection had quietly blossomed behind closed doors, fueled by stolen moments and shared passions. The age difference between them whispered constantly in their hearts, but their love transcended those trivial boundaries.

As the doors swung open, softly announcing the arrival of someone, a few eyes turned to the captivating figure that commanded attention wherever she went. Her entrance was elegantly late, her form exuding confidence, with mischief dancing in her eyes. Bedivere had just returned from a demanding mission, her weariness concealed beneath her seductive charm.

Searching the room for Harry, Bedivere's gaze fell upon Eggsy, known as Galahad, who was engaged in conversation at the bar with a Statesman agent, recognizable by his cowboy hat. A mischievous smile played on her lips as you approached, her steps graceful and magnetic.

"Eggsy," you greeted, your voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "You seem to be enjoying yourself tonight."

Eggsy turned, his eyes widening in surprise as he registered Bedivere's presence. "Well, well, look who's here, Bedivere. Allow me to introduce you to Agent Tequila," he said, gesturing to the Statesman agent.

Tequila's gaze fixed on Bedivere, his lips curving into a mischievous smile. He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand, attempting to mimic an English gentleman. Tequila couldn't help but tease, "Is that how the English do it?"

You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, Tequila, you have much to learn about our customs," you replied, your tone laced with playful banter. Eggsy inclined his head slightly at the call through the earpiece of his glasses.

Seizing the opportunity, Eggsy excused himself, leaving Bedivere and Tequila alone. You turned to the bartender, ordering a glass of whiskey. Tequila's curiosity got the better of him, and he remarked, "I didn't know you were a whiskey girl."

Bedivere's smile grew, a touch of mystery coloring her gaze. "Well, there's more to me than meets the eye, Agent Tequila," you said, your voice filled with a mix of amusement and secrecy. Taking a sip, you savored the familiar warmth of the amber liquid.

The playful banter continued, a dance of humor and charm between Bedivere and Tequila. As the music filled the air, Tequila pointed to the dance floor, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "Care to teach me how to dance like a true English gentleman?"

You hesitated for a moment, your thoughts briefly lingering on the fact that you hadn't spoken to Harry yet. But you pushed those concerns aside, assuming he was busy with his duties as Arthur and entertaining Agent Champ, the head of Statesman. With a nod and a smile, you placed your hand in Tequila's, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

Near the dance floor, Harry's eyes followed Bedivere with a mix of admiration and unease. Alongside Eggsy and Champ, his attention was divided between their conversation and the captivating sight of Bedivere gracefully swaying on the dance floor with Tequila. There was a twinge of jealousy in Harry's heart, a possessiveness he struggled to suppress.

His grip tightened around his martini glass, the cool glass offering a brief respite from the heat coursing through his veins. Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself, determined to maintain a facade of composure. He couldn't let his emotions get the best of him, not when the future alliance between Kingsman and Statesman was at stake.

Unaware of the internal battle Harry was waging, Champ continued their conversation, discussing the intricacies of their joint operations. Harry nodded and smiled, his responses automatic, his mind elsewhere. He discreetly activated his glasses, sending a private message to Bedivere, urging her to meet him in the serene gardens just beyond the corridor.

With a renewed determination, Harry excused himself from Champ's company, offering polite pleasantries before making his way towards the exit. The air outside was crisp and refreshing, a stark contrast to the bustling energy of the party. The moon cast a gentle glow upon the meticulously manicured gardens, providing a serene backdrop for their clandestine rendezvous.

Bedivere's heart raced as she received Harry's message through the glasses. Confusion momentarily took hold of her. What had you done this time to justify such urgency? You had been behaving impeccably, or so you believed. Nevertheless, duty called, and you knew shouldn't keep Harry waiting.

Stopping the dance, Bedivere turned to Tequila, a apologetic smile on her lips. "I'm sorry, duty is calling, and I must go," you explained, your tone sincere. Tequila nodded, lifting his cowboy hat in farewell, understanding the demands of your profession. "Until next time, Bedivere," he said with a tinge of regret.

With a sense of purpose, Bedivere quickly made her way through the crowd, her eyes scanning the room for Harry. The dimly lit corridor that led to the serene gardens beckoned, and you followed the path, hoping to locate him there.

Suddenly, you felt a firm grip on your wrist, and before you could react, you were pulled into a secluded corner. You collided with a solid chest and looked up, meeting Harry's annoyed gaze. Confusion swirled in your mind as he spun you around and pressed you against the wall, his hands on either side of your head, effectively trapping you between his body and the hard surface.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Bedivere questioned, her voice filled with surprise and anticipation. Her heart raced, intrigued by the unknown intensity in his eyes. This was a side of Harry you hadn't witnessed before, and it both thrilled and intrigued her.

Harry's tone was laced with a touch of jealousy as he asked, "Were you enjoying yourself with Agent Tequila?" Bedivere couldn't help but smile mischievously, realizing the source of his agitation. Harry's composed demeanor was slipping, and it was thrilling for you to witness him crumble in your presence.

Toying with the button of his suit jacket, you provocatively replied while undoing his jacket, "Oh, Harry, I must admit, I was having a splendid time." Your words elicited a low growl from him, his hand finding the back of your neck, guiding your gaze to meet his. The intensity in his eyes softened his resolve, and you found yourself melting under his touch.

You reassured him, your voice filled with warmth, "Tequila is just a colleague, nothing more." But Harry retorted, his voice husky with desire, "He wasn't looking at you like he wanted to be just a colleague. He was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive." Bedivere couldn't resist teasing him further. With a playful smile, you said, "And isn't that how you look at me too, Harry?"

Harry's grip tightened around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His touch sent shivers down your spine as he whispered, "The difference is, I can look at you like that because you belong to me." Bedivere nodded, acknowledging his claim, feeling a sense of belonging and security in his possessiveness.

Their lips crashed together in a passionate kiss, the culmination of their hidden desires and the release of pent-up tension. When they pulled apart, Harry whispered in your ear, his voice filled with desire, "Go home and wait for me in my bed, Bedivere." You played with his tie, your voice teasing as you asked, "What? Are you planning to eat me tonight, Arthur?"

A smile graced Harry's lips as he took a step back, buttoning his jacket. "Count on it," he replied, his eyes filled with promises. With a final glance, he turned and walked away, leaving Bedivere yearning for more.

Watching him disappear back into the Kingsman mansion, Bedivere adjusted his attire, a sense of anticipation coursing through his veins. You walked confidently to where you had parked the car, ready to obey Harry's command and go home, knowing that your passion would ignite again behind closed doors. The night held promises of love, desire and a future intertwined with secrecy and adventure.

As you walked away from the garden, Bedivere couldn't help but smile. No matter what challenges they faced, their love remained unyielding, stronger than ever. And you looked forward to the moment when you would find yourself in Harry's arms, ready to explore the depths of their connection once more.

#kingsman #harry hart x reader #colin firth #colin firth x reader #harry hart #gary unwin #agent tequila #kingsman secret service #galahad x reader #kingsman fanfiction

[stranger-nightmare]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐎𝐧𝐞 | 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 ’𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫’ 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰 & 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 ’𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧’ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧

requested by anonymous

A/N: happy halloween darlings!! here we have the final kinktober post, and it’s not a short drabble like the rest of my kinktober posts, oh no no no my lovelies, this is a full-on, long-ass oneshot, so enjoy!!

I hope you’ve enjoyed the rest of my kinktober posts too, and I hope you’ve all had / are having a wonderful halloween!!

“Hey Angel,” Jake winks at you, letting his gaze rake up and down your body languidly, a smirk plastering his face.

You roll your eyes at the cliché joke, clearly referencing your outfit for the night. It was Halloween and you, along with all the other Top Gun pilots, were at a party for the evening hosted graciously by Yale at his impressive beach house. You’d decided to dress in accordance to your callsign; Angel.

A plain white dress, simple, elegant, and still sexy as hell. It was tight, hugging your curves and contours of your body. The material was thin enough that your nipples were just apparent beneath the delicate fabric. It’s neckline just low enough to be enticing, its hemline the same; just short enough to be tempting, showing a fair amount of your bare thighs. A soft glimmer of glitter was dusted over your skin, giving you an ethereal glow. And last, but not least, you wore a simple halo headband for the full effect.

“Very clever,” you quip sarcastically to Jake’s comment.

You then let your gaze rake over Jake and his costume, taking in the glory of his body and how much of it he’d left on display. Not surprisingly Jake had decided to dress as a cowboy, and a slutty one at that. A beige cowboy hat sat atop his head, accentuating his tanned skin. He wore a blue chequered shirt which he hadn’t bothered to do up, leaving it open to reveal his almost obscenely perfect torso. His light blue jeans were tight and hung low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination. His belt was thick, a large oval gold buckle sitting between the v of his muscles which glared like an arrow towards where you were most curious to peak…

“Like what you see darlin’?” He tilts his head cockily, letting his Texan drawl deepen his voice. 

You shrug, trying to look nonchalant, attempting to hide your warm cheeks by taking a swig of your drink. Thankfully at that moment you feel a hand on your arm and turn to see Bradley behind you. Your gaze flicks over him quickly, taking in the blue jeans, blue denim jacket, and orange puffer vest. You knew immediately who he was dressed as; the one and only Marty McFly from Back to the Future.

“Ah, just in time,” you joke lightly, referencing his outfit.

“Very funny, Angel,” he squints playfully at you as you roll your eyes at the cheap joke for the second time that night. 

“Seresin,” he nods a greeting at Jake.

“Bradshaw,” Jake returns the greeting nod, his signature cocky smirk adorning his face again.

“You look good,” Bradley compliments with a wicked gleam in his voice.

“I am good, Rooster. I’m very good,” Jake quips, his smirk growing even more. 

You shake your head with a small laugh. You reach behind you, feeling out until your hand wrapped around Bradley’s. Your other hand reaches out to grab Jake’s. 

“Come on boys,” you giggle invitingly, starting to tug the boys along with you as you moved towards the centre of the living room where other people were dancing, “let’s go dance!” 

The boys let you drag them along, guiding them towards the dance floor. You giggle as you start to dance, swaying in time to the music, your hands still gripping the boys. Bradley is quick to join in, letting himself move with you as you swung your arm with his. Jake, on the other hand, releases your hand with a shrug, mumbling something about how he didn’t really want to dance, before he moves to lean against the wall just opposite you.

Of course Jake Seresin was too cool to dance, you think to yourself. Your eyes roll again before an idea flashes in your mind. You keep your gaze steady on Jake’s as you slowly press yourself backwards, letting your body lean into Bradley’s. You break your gaze away from Jake’s for a second as you twist your head to look up at Bradley behind you. You let your hand reach up until it snaked around Bradley’s nape, your nails scratching at the base of his scalp.

At the same time, you start to rock your hips in time with the music, swaying lightly, deliberately pushing back against Bradley so your ass was grinding against his crotch. Bradley lets out the softest of groans, so quiet you’d have missed it if his mouth wasn’t right against your ear as he pressed his cheek against your head. His hips quickly start to match your rhythm, swaying with you, rocking into your backside. 

His hands quickly snake around your body, one finding purchase on your hip, helping to guide you as you moved together. The other lies flat against your stomach, keeping you in place flush against him. You let out a gentle sigh as you tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder, eyes closed, as you grind with Bradley. It’s then that you let your eyes open again, landing on Jake where he was still leaning against the wall. But now he was leant forward, his eyes burning as they watched you with such an intensity you could practically feel the heat on your skin. You let your lips part with another soft sigh as you determinedly keep your eyes steady on Jake’s. Your hands wander over your own body, caressing yourself as you moved to the music. Jake’s eyes follow your hands, drinking in each movement as they roam over the curves of your body. 

You decide to push him even further, determined to break his resolve. Your hands move to the already short hem of your white dress, pulling it up slightly, revealing even more of the soft skin of your thighs, tugging it until it just barely covered your clothed core. You see Jake’s body physically tense as he watches your movement, his eyes transfixed on the exposed skin of your bare thighs. You hear as light chuckle behind you as Bradley cottons on to your little game.

A small gasp escapes you when Bradley decides to join in on your little game. You could feel his head shift as he tucked it into your neck even further, his lips lightly brushing against your skin, sending a shiver through your spine. But you knew, somehow you knew, that his eyes were also locked onto Jake. You let your back arch against Bradley, your mouth hanging open with a soft moan as one of Bradley’s hands move to caress your thigh, his fingers dragging across your bare skin, slowly moving higher and higher until they also toyed with hem of your short dress. 

That was the final straw for Jake, his resolve finally breaking.

He pushes himself up off the wall and stalks directly towards you. You don’t let him talk, barely give him a second as he approaches you, before you’re reaching outwards and grabbing him by the belt buckle and pulling him in until his hips collided with your own. Your hands immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him in close as you keep your hips rocking, bucking up against Jake, feeling the push of his belt buckle into your abdomen. Jake’s hands are quick to grip onto your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he moves you against him. The surge of power that flows through you is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. To have these two beautiful men pressed against, hips rocking against yours, hands all over your body; it made you dizzy, in the best possible way. 

You don’t know how long you stay like this with them. The music, the chatter, it all blurs into the background as your focus remains solely on the two men holding you, touching you, intoxicating you. Their hands were all over your body, caressing and grabbing at your waist, your ass, your hips, your thighs. You thanked the gods there was music playing loud enough so that no one else could hear the moans that fell freely from your lips.

Well, except Bradley and Jake, who seemed to drink in each of your moans, meeting them with a buck of their hips, a pinch of their fingers on your dress, a groan of their own against your skin. Both of them had their faces buried in your neck, letting their heavy breathing fan over your skin, the brim of Jake’s hat knocking against your head. You could feel both of their lips barely brushing over your skin, but neither of them moved to take anything further, neither moved to actually kiss you yet, no matter how desperate you were for it. 

You didn’t think you could take it much longer; your body was aching for more. And from what you could feel poking into your ass and your crotch, both boys were aching for more too. You let one hand reach behind you again, searching for Bradley’s nape and twisting your fingers into his hair. You reach out with your other hand, scratching down Jake’s bare torso until your fingers hook into his belt again, pulling him somehow even closer, yanking to get his attention. You can feel Bradley smile against your neck as you tug on his hair. Jake, however, lifts his head, removing it from the crook of your neck, until his eyes met yours again. His eyes are alight with lust, flickering with wicked intent. 

A whispered ‘please’ passes your lips before you can think better of it, causing that god forsaken smirk to return to Jake’s face. He leans in closer to you until the tip of his nose brushes against your own. Your breath hitches in your throat as his hungry gaze devours you.

“Please?” He mocks, titling his head to the side. “What is it that you want, angel?” 

You stammer helplessly as all words fail you. Your cheeks heat as you feel Bradley chuckle into your neck, equally as amused as Jake by your withering composure. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Jake prompts teasingly, his lips dangerously close to yours, your breathes mixing with his.

“I- I want-“ you pant heavily as all of the sensations almost overwhelm you, your mind spinning. 

“Hmm?” Jake prompts, his eyes darkening as they drop to stare greedily at your lips. 

“I want… you,” you finally manage to sigh breathlessly. 

You twist your head slightly towards Bradley, your cheek bumping his nose where he still had his face buried in your neck. The arm that still held onto Bradley’s nape tightened, tugging on his hair slightly with trembling fingers. 

“I- I want both of you,” your voice quivers as you finally admit to it, your cheeks warming. 

Your eyes flick back to Jake in front of you, your knees going weak as you take in the sheer look of hunger and desire that darkened his green eyes. His tongue darts out to wet his lips quickly as his eyes drag over your entire body greedily. 

“Hmm,” Jake acknowledges darkly, “is that so?” 

His gaze then shifts to behind you, locking eyes with Bradley.

“You alright with that, Bradshaw?” He drawls.

You can feel Bradley smirk against your skin as he places a quick kiss below your ear. He then lifts his head to meet Jake’s stare: “oh, I’m more than okay with it, Seresin…”

The next thing you know the three of you are snaking through the crowd, making your way upstairs until you eventually landed upon an empty bedroom. Jake locks the door behind the three of you, turning to face you where you stood somewhat awkwardly in the centre of the room. Bradley was just behind you, already shucking off his puffer vest and denim jacket, tossing them on a chair in the corner of the room, leaving him in just his button up and jeans. You gulp loudly, nerves flowing through you as Jake stalks over to you, moving to stand right in front of you. Your breath hitches in your throat as he towers over you, his eyes locked onto yours as he drinks you in, his green eyes glowing with desire.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?” Jake looks at you seriously as he takes off his cowboy hat and tosses it so it lands on the bedside table. 

You couldn’t believe that this was about to happen, your knees felt weak and you couldn’t tell where the nerves ended and the excitement started. You nod, not trusting your own voice to sound steady. You then feel a strong body sidle up behind you, a hand moving to cup your jaw, turning you gently until your face met Bradley’s. His thumb strokes your jaw reassuringly as he looks at you just as seriously as Jake did.

“You can tell us stop at any time, okay? Just say the word.”

You nod again, a tiny nervous smile gracing your lips. Bradley’s eyes dart to your mouth just as his thumb shifts to tug on your bottom lip. His eyes flick to yours for a final check in before he slowly, tentatively, leans in to push his mouth against yours. His lips start soft with yours, moving languidly, letting the two of you learn each other’s mouth. His thumb keeps stroking your jaw as his hand still cups your jaw, each brush of skin sending flares of electricity through your body. 

Beside you Jake saddles up closer, his head dipping into the crook of your neck again. But this time his lips work to caress your skin with kisses, his warm tongue tasting you with each mark he gently sucked into your skin. A soft moan escapes you, passing into Bradley’s mouth. He swallows it greedily, reciprocating with a gentle groan of his own. The noises seem to provoke something in Jake, who starts kissing his way up the side of your neck, moving upwards until he nipped lightly at your jaw.

You got the hint immediately, smiling lightly as you kiss Bradley for a final moment before you turn to your head towards Jake. Your eyes lock with his for just a second before he crashes his mouth greedily against yours, a barely contained restraint evident in his lips as he fights to be gentle, but everything in his body seems to want to devour you whole.

You whimper against his mouth, which seems to break the last of Jake’s restraint. His hands move to cup your face, pulling you against him. His body arches until his hips collide with yours, almost throwing you off balance with the force. Thankfully Bradley was still behind you to hold you steady, his hands gripping your waist. Jake’s lips are insatiable against yours; he kisses you dizzy, breathless, until your body is almost slack against Bradley as your knees go weak again. 

You moan into Jake’s mouth when you feel Bradley’s lips start to move on your neck, his moustache tickling your skin. Your hands rake down Jake’s chest again, scratching over his hard muscles. You then slide your hands back up his body, roaming over his shoulders, pushing his open shirt off him as you go. His hands release your face for only a second as he lets his shirt fall to the floor. His mouth is about to collide with yours again when you dodge him with a smirk, twisting your body between them as you face Bradley. 

Jake groans behind you as you lean to capture Bradley’s lips with your own, kissing him deeply as your hands desperately fumble with the buttons of his shirt. You feel the warmth of Jake’s body press into you from behind, his lips replacing where Bradley’s had just been on your neck, working to leave marks of his own across your skin.

You didn’t even realise you were trembling until your fingers fail to undo Bradley’s buttons. Mercifully he steps in to help, smirking against your mouth as he deftly undoes his own shirt, swiftly shirking it off and onto the floor. Your hands roam his torso just as greedily as they’d explored Jake’s, scratching again over the hard surface of his muscles. 

A surprised gasp tears from your mouth when you feel Jake’s hands caress your thighs, dragging up your skin until he reaches the hem of your dress, pulling it up slowly as he goes. The kiss with Bradley is broken as you allow Jake to pull the dress off you completely. Bradley’s breath hitches in his throat as he looks down at you, left bare except for the thin white lace panties you had on. Jake groans deeply, a sound of satisfaction as he looms over you from behind, causing you to look up at him and bat your eyelashes with a coy innocence.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Jake hums as he dips his head to kiss your neck again.

“Fucking perfect,” Bradley concurs before he crashes his lips to your again. 

Bradley’s hands grip your waist, pulling you against him. Meanwhile, Jake’s hands slide around your body until they found your tits, cupping them in his large palms. He uses his grip to pull you towards him, letting your back arch and your head tilt until your kiss with Bradley was broken again and Jake could once again close his mouth over yours. Your soft moans are swallowed by Jake as he plays with your tits, squeezing and kneading them, his large fingers pinching your nipples gently. For a moment you’re so lost in Jake’s kiss again, in the feeling of his large hands caressing your tits, that you barely register as Bradley’s hands curve round your hips, his fingers curling around the fabric of your panties. 

“Don’t think you’ll be needing these anymore, angel,” Bradley whispers wickedly against your neck just as he yanks hard and rips your panties right off you, tearing through the thin fabric. 

You gasp a pathetic whimper just as both boys chuckle darkly. You turn your head back to face Bradley, barely able to get out a complaint at your ruined panties before Bradley’s hand is moving to hover just above where you were aching to be touched, his fingers skimming over your pubic bone. You look up at him pliantly, eyes wide and pleading as you silently beg to be touched, bucking your hips into his touch, your pussy throbbing in desperation for some, any, kind of friction.

But Bradley’s eyes shift to look beyond you, locking gazes with Jake as they silently communicate their next move. Jake’s hand moves from behind you until he finds his place between your thighs. A strangled moan tears from your throat as he starts to rub his fingers between your folds, collecting and spreading your slick.

“Fuck Angel,” Jake groans, “you’re so wet. This all for us, hmm?” He hums cockily, already knowing the answer. 

You whimper, nodding lightly as your cheeks flush with heat, hiding your face in Bradley’s chest.

“Come get a feel of this Bradshaw; she’s practically dripping,” Jake’s voice is laced with a wicked edge.

Bradley accepts the invitation without hesitation, finally letting his hand dip lower until his fingers too were between your folds. He hisses in a sharp breath as he feels your slick coat his fingers.

“Shit,” he grunts with a smirk, “she’s soaked.” 

Your cheeks heat further, but by now you’re almost beyond caring; you just needed these boys to stop teasing you and to start touching you.

“Please,” you breathe quietly against Bradley’s chest.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ve got you,” Jake coos against the shell of your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “Gotta make sure you’re nice and ready to take us,” he whispers just as he sinks a finger into your aching cunt. 

You moan loudly, hips involuntarily pushing back against him until his finger was sunk to knuckle inside you. Jake holds you steady with his free hand, keeping his arm wrapped over your torso, pressing you against him. Your head falls back pitifully against his shoulder as his lips continue to roam your neck. Bradley’s hand, the one that was also between your legs, started to move in sync with Jake, his fingers rubbing at your clit.

You gasp and lurch forwards, pleasure starting to build and flow in your body. Jake’s lips are attached to your shoulder, kissing and biting even more marks into you skin. Bradley kept his head up, cocked to the side, as he watched you intently, enjoying the way your face was twisting with pleasure even from the slightest of touches. Your mouth hangs open in a soundless gasp when you feel Jake push another finger inside you, starting to use a scissoring motion, stretching you out slightly. Your breathing gets heavier, practically panting as you look at Bradley helplessly, so overcome with pleasure already. 

And these boys hadn’t even got to fucking you yet. 

Your legs were weak at the prospect. Bradley hums in satisfaction as he watches you become more and more undone between them. He leans down to place a kiss to your lips, his fingers still working your clit with expert ministrations. Jake starts to move faster, pumping inside you with even more fervour, his long fingers reaching that sensitive spot that had you mewling from how good it felt.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath, the sound muffled against Bradley’s lips, as you feel the coil start to tighten inside your belly, your orgasm fast approaching.

You lurch forwards, your head dropping as you now lean heavily against Bradley’s chest. Your knees start to feel weak, a tremble radiating through your thighs as they bring you closer to the precipice of your climax. All it takes is a final few thrusts from Jake’s fingers, a final few circles from Bradley’s fingers, and you’re gasping loudly as pleasure washes over you. Your pussy clenches, your body convulsing as your hips rock against their hands, riding out the euphoria. 

“That’s it, baby,” Bradley praises proudly just as he starts to slow down his movements until he eventually pulled his hand away as you started to shiver with sensitivity. 

“Mmm,” Jake hums against your neck as he scissors open his fingers inside you a few more times, “I think you’re ready to take us now sweetheart.” 

A tiny moan escapes you at the prospect; the fact that you were finally going to have both men inside you… it was enough to nearly have your knees buckling from under you. Bradley keeps a hold of your waist, keeping you steady as Jake releases you and moves away as he starts to strip himself of his jeans and boxers, kicking off his cowboy boots. Once Bradley is satisfied that you’d found your footing again he quickly follows suit, freeing himself of his own jeans and boxers.

With both men now naked beside you barely knew where to look or what to do with yourself. Both of them were glorious, and a part of you noted that they could have gone as Greek gods for Halloween, and it would have made perfect sense. Of course, Jake quickly notices you staring and tilts his head cockily, his smirk returning.

“Like what you see, Angel?” He taunts, calling back to the same question earlier in the night, as he saunters back over to you.

Jake encircles you in his arms and pulls you until your right side was pressed against his chest, letting your naked body collide with his, your skin flush against his, his hardened cock resting against the side of your ass. You can’t help the warmth of blush that creeps into your cheeks as he stares you down cockily. He chuckles cheekily just as he moves to climb onto the bed, guiding you with him.

He lays on his side, coaxing you to do the same, so that your chest was still pressed against his. Barely a moment later you feel the bed dip behind you and another large, strong body settle against your own. You look back over your shoulder to be meet with Bradley’s warm brown eyes. He quickly ducks his head to capture your lips in another kiss, keeping his mouth moving against yours as he slides in close beside you, his hardened cock pushing against the curve of your ass.

At the same time Jake pushes his hips forward against yours, his dick slipping between your thighs. You gasp against Bradley’s mouth as the tip of Jake’s cock rubs through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Bradley takes advantage of the moment, licking into your mouth and deepening the kiss, groaning at the way you were starting to rock your hips in response to Jake, your ass now sliding across Bradley’s dick. 

Jake’s head dips to latch his lips onto one side of your neck, his breathing starting to become as heavy as your own as he slowly starts to fuck himself between your legs, gliding between your thighs. Bradley swiftly follows suit, pushing his hips closer into you, angling his dick until he was also slotted between your thighs. Between your legs was a wet mess, your arousal, your cum, and a mixture of both men’s precum. They both rub their cocks fervently between your legs, fucking your thighs, gliding against each other; Jake’s cock just barely brushing against your folds, Bradley slotted just below him, rubbing his cock against the underside of Jake’s. You see their gaze lock for a minute as they rub their dicks against each other, both of their eyes alight with a kind of wicked challenge, as if daring the other to go on. They both smirk as they both rise to the challenge, letting themselves move between your thighs as they fuck against each other at the same time. 

Your moans are nothing but pathetic mewls as you move with them, squeezing your thighs together, revelling in the sounds it pulled from both men. Your grind your hips, pushing down, desperately hoping to gain more friction as Jake’s tip just barely moves against your throbbing pussy. Your hole clenches over nothing as you frantically buck your hips. Pathetic pleads pass your lips before you even realise you’d spoken aloud.

“Please,” you whimper. “Need you. Need you both,” you pout, nudging Jake’s cheek with your nose, your lips ghosting over his skin. “Need you both inside me,” you whisper brokenly as you reach an arm behind you to caress Bradley’s nape, twisting your head to look at him with imploring eyes. Strong fingers hook under your chin and pull your head until you were confronted with Bradley’s face in front of yours. 

“You still sure you want this?” He whispers gently.

You nod quickly, digging your nails into his nape where your hand was still caressing his neck. Bradley’s smile grows into a taunting smirk that matched the one you were used to seeing on Jake.

“You think you’re ready to take us, angel?” He murmurs darkly, his voice dangerously low and deep.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please,” you add in a whisper, rocking your hips back against him for emphasis. 

Both men hum deeply in acknowledgment to your pleas. They then lock eyes again, that silent communication once again passing between them. The men nod briefly at each other, wicked smiles growing on both their faces.

Bradley moves first, shifting his hips and grabbing his dick in one hand, guiding it from between your messy thighs to between your ass cheeks. He rubs himself between your cheeks for a moment, lubing your tight hole with the slick mixture he’d coated himself in between your legs a moment ago. The head of his cock, wet with his precum, gently nudges against your hole, causing a low moan to lodge in your throat. His warm brown eyes flick up to meet your gaze, silently checking in with you a final time. You nod once, pushing your forehead against his, a tiny ‘please’ passing your parted lips. Bradley tilts his head to press his lips against yours briefly just before he finally, slowly and gently, pushes inside you.

Your mouth hangs open, your breathing ragged as you feel the dull ache of him stretching your tight hole. Bradley moves slowly, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. He takes his time as he steadily sinks inside you, letting you adjust to his size. 

“That’s it baby, you can take him. You’re doing so well,” Jake hums quietly as he kisses your neck lightly. “Such a good girl for us,” he mumbles against your skin. 

Your breath hitches in your throat, your chest rising and falling heavily as Bradley bottoms out, pushing as deep as possible into you. He hums gentle shushing noises as he kisses your face delicately. 

“You feeling okay, baby?” He whispers against your lips, his forehead still pressed against yours. 

You nod, again not trusting your voice. The dull ache was still there, but it wasn’t exactly painful. In fact, it felt good, a delicious throbbing that made you feel spectacularly full.

“Good,” Bradley hums in satisfaction. 

Just then Jake starts to move his hips again, pushing up higher this time. He rubs his dick through your folds, his head nudging against your clit, causing you to jerk towards his touch, your ass moving slightly along Bradley’s cock. Bradley keeps your face turned towards him, his fingers still cupping your chin. 

“Ready to take Jake now?” He murmurs quietly, his moustache tickling your skin as his lips lightly brush against your own. 

You nod silently again.

“Good girl,” he hums, his eyes briefly shifting to Jake’s, as if giving him permission to finally make his move, to finally slot himself inside your aching cunt.

Bradley releases your chin and you’re quick to whip your head back round to face Jake in front of you. Jake's hand, the one that wasn’t pinned underneath him on the bed, moved so his hand could cup your cheek. He thumbs your lips, tugging on your bottom lip, keeping your head in place so he could keep his gaze on your face as he moved to sink himself inside you.

Jake moves just as slowly and gently as Bradley had done, steadily pushing into you, giving you that time to adjust as he stretched you out even more. You hiss lightly at the slight burn, the sensation of being so full. Jake moves cautiously, watching your face the entire time, admiring the way it contorted with a mixture of pleasure and pain, the way your mouth hung open lightly. 

With a final shift of his hips Jake bottoms out inside you, causing moans to escape the both of you as clench already just at the feeling of them both filling you up. 

“Fuck,” he croaks, his voice sounding strained, laced with a strangled groan, “you’re still so tight.”

You mewl pathetically, nuzzling your nose against his neck as you revel in the look on his face; tightened with restraint, as if he was completely overcome with how good it felt to be inside you. 

“Feel how she’s clenching already, Seresin? We haven’t even started fucking her yet,” Bradley hums darkly beside your ear, his voice coated in a taunting chuckle.

You moan pathetically at his taunt, your body involuntarily clenching around them again, causing both men to snigger lightly. You pout pitifully as they taunt you, batting your eyelashes up at Jake as he looked down at you. But he just smirks before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He kisses you hard, messily, hungrily. His tongue and teeth collide with yours just as he starts to gently rock his hips, his cock slowly starting to drag in and out of you. A shiver runs down your body at the sensation, your body reacting on instinct, jerking against him.

Consequently, your ass moves against Bradley, the feeling of his cock dragging within you simultaneously causing your body to wrack with the sensations. Both men groan, almost in sync, as they both start to set a steady rhythm of thrusting into you. They both keep their pace gentle for now, still giving you that time to adjust. But you didn’t need any more time. Their slow pace was only serving to drive you wild with the need for them fuck you faster, fuck you harder. You mewl and whimper pitifully, your body moving frantically, trying to find a rhythm between them, a bit more speed, struggling to move your hips against both men simultaneously.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Bradley hums against your ear, his hand giving your hip a quick squeeze. “Let us do all the work. You just relax, angel,” he coos, gently coaxing your body to stay still as they both keep working to fuck you. 

“But I… I want… I need…,” you whimper between heavy pants.

“Mmm, what do you need sweetheart?” Jake hums in a breathy whisper, his head dipping to kiss your chest, his lips moving towards the valley of your breasts. 

“Use your words angel,” Bradley taunts, his warm breath caressing the shell of your ear, sending another shiver through your body. 

“Please... move faster. Harder,” you pant desperately, as you close your eyes and let your head drop onto the pillow beneath you.

You can practically feel their smirks, the wicked gleam in their eyes. They don’t need to answer you verbally; they let their bodies do the talking for them. Your eyes snap open, a gasp flying from your mouth as both men start to pick up the pace, fucking you a bit harder, a bit faster. Your entire body seems to tighten and convulse as pleasure already starts to sear through you. Bradley keeps one hand on your hip, helping to pull you back against him as he fucks your tight asshole. Jake lets his hand roam the curves of your torso, caressing your side, occasionally moving to knead at your tits before travelling your body again. 

Your upper body had fallen onto the mattress beneath, practically letting the boys use you as they pleased, almost limp in between them. 

Both Jake and Bradley, however, kept their torsos sat up slightly, leaning on their respective elbows as their hips moved against yours. You twist your head slightly to look up and see the men practically glaring at each other as they fucked you. Their rhythms pick up even more, their hips slamming against yours, squashing you between them, each thrust of their hips sending you jolting against the other. A tiny, knowing smile twitches at your lips as you quickly realise what was going on. As was typical between these two usual rivals, they were competing; competing over who could fuck you harder, fuck you better.

The boys’ grunts seem to get louder and louder as they stare each other down, their hips seem to slam into you with more fervour. You roll your eyes despite how hot the scene was; you knew it’d be even hotter if they’d just put their egos aside for a while and let it happen. You sigh deeply as you lean your head back and to the side, letting it fall against the pillow, giving the boys even more space as they glared at each other.

“Will you two cut the shit and just make out already?” You huff finally, gripping their necks and practically pushing them together. 

Bradley just smirks, clearly game for it, inviting Jake in, enjoying the small flare of panic that paints Jake’s face for a second. Jake looks to you momentarily, his eyes wide, just before Bradley’s mouth is on his. Jake sputters for a second, his entire body tensing, hips faltering. But it’s only for a moment, and then he’s melting into the kiss, his eyes closing, lips starting to move with Bradley’s.

You moan loudly, almost exaggeratively, as you watch the two of them. Your pussy clenches at the sight, eliciting synchronous groans from both men as you squeeze them. They continue to make-out, the kiss getting more and more heated, their bodies starting to move in time with each other, rocking against you, sending pleasure coursing through your body. The sight of them of together, their tongues dancing in the heated kiss, it was enough to almost have you cumming sooner than intended.

You can’t help as your body arches, pushing against them, almost involuntarily fighting for their attention to come back to you as a whimper passes your lips. Your nails dig into the back of Jake’s neck as you grip him tightly, pulling him towards you. Jake pulls his mouth off Bradley’s with a sinful pop, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he looks down at you. 

“Something wrong, princess?” Jake taunts, an equally wicked chuckle sounding from Bradley behind you. 

You whimper and pout as you lean to reach for his lips. Jake’s chuckle reverberates against your lips as his mouth attaches to yours again, still curved with his signature smirk. You’d only been kissing Jake for a second before you mouth goes limp, losing focus on the kiss, your lips hanging open as pleasure surges through you, taking over your mind, your body. 

“F-fuck,” you croak as your back arches, your toes curling. “You both feel… feel so fucking good. Sh- shit… I- I’m close. I’m gonna-,” you’re cut off with a pathetic squeak, unable to finish your sentence as your body tenses, reaching the precipice of pleasure. 

“Let go for us baby,” Bradley coos against your ear. “Give us everything, let us feel it,” he whispers huskily. 

With a final strained gasp you obey Bradley’s instruction, letting the build-up of pleasure crash over you. Your body shakes and convulses, rocking between the two boys as your orgasm wrecks through you, your pussy and asshole clenching, squeezing both boys as they continues to fuck you carefully. Jake curses incoherently as you clench over him, his hips losing rhythm just as he ducks his head into your chest, his hot breath fanning the valley between your breasts. A strain groaned is muffled against your skin as Jake’s hips finally still, his cock twitching and pulsing inside you as he reaches his own climax. 

“Fuck,” he groans in a dragged-out sigh, “feels incredible, doesn’t she Bradshaw?” Jake hums as he rocks his hips gently, fucking out the last of both his and your highs. 

Behind you, Bradley’s pace quickens, his thrusts getting sloppy and messy in rhythm as he chases his high.

“Y-yes, so good,” he sighs just before a loud groan falls from his lips, his hips stilling as he pushes deeply into you, pressing you tight against Jake’s chest again. 

Bradley groans deeply, almost laughing with his pleasure as his orgasm rushes through him. The room is full of the sounds of heavy breathing as you all slowly rock together, drawing out each other’s highs, bringing yourselves down slowly as the men fuck you gently.

The only other sound in the room is the wetness of the boys still moving slowly inside you, fucking their own cum out of you. The sounds were filthy. Sinful. Far from befitting your callsign and costume. Outside the room you could still hear the steady thrum of the music from the party, the chatter of all the guests. But that wasn’t of concern right now. 

All that existed for now, in this moment, was Jake and Bradley as you lay in between them coming down slowly from your highs.

Yale was definitely gonna kill you guys for the mess on the sheets though…

A/N: I have to admit I don’t think this is my finest work tbh but I was in a rush to finish it bc I worked a 14 hr shift today and I had to scramble to finish this yesterday so yeah sorry if it’s not the greatest piece of writing but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless!

Main Masterlist // Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

#kinktober 2022 #stranger nightmare #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin smut #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x y/n #jake seresin x bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x jake seresin #top gun smut #hangman smut #rooster smut

[bidisasterevankinard]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Some sentence of this fic (as a sorry for last day angst and because i should end it cause it's almost done)

Buck takes his time with Eddie’s body leaving the hickey on glimmering in the lights of the street tan skin, continuing to rub himself over Eddie’s bulge, smearing some pre-come all over his panties and skin of Eddie’s abs. Then he kisses his way all over Eddie’s body, kneeling in front of his gorgeous man.

He does not forget to play with pretty little nipples, knowing how sensitive Eddie is here. He just never can be so heartless to leave those pretty bumps without his attention.

Being satisfied with a big dark hickey on the pelvic bone right near the line of Eddie’s boxer’s, Buck then takes it off, staying for some seconds between Eddie’s thighs tracing the soft skin with edges of the hat, loving every gasp and moan Eddie tries hard to control.

“You have such a big cowboy kink,” blue-eyed chuckles and comes back to sit on Eddie's lap, kissing him again.

“Look, who's talking,” Eddie slaps his ass, taking his lips only millimeters away to say it before grabbing Buck's jaw with one hand to kiss him hard as he likes.

tagging @hippolotamus @daffi-990 @wikiangela @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @pirrusstuff @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @rainbow-nerdss @rogerzsteven @the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @anakinfallen @spaceprincessem @spotsandsocks @spagheddiediaz @devirnis @fortheloveofbuddie @giddyupbuck @ghostscowboys @heartshapedvows @honestlydarkprincess @honestlyeddie @hoodie-buck @housewifebuck @jeeyuns @jesuisici33 @lover-of-mine @callmenewbie @bigfootsmom @bekkachaos @buddierights @loserdiaz @mandzuking17 @monsterrae1 @malewifediaz @jamespearce9-1-1 @transboybuckley @steadfastsaturnsrings @ladydorian05 and anyone who wants to share

#it's going to be like 2k pwp #thank god #my wips #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #evan buck buckley

[carlgrimesenthusiast]

keep judith safe for me || carl grimes x reader

warnings: pure angst, one kiss, guns, dead body, death.

everything was going alright. that’s what you thought.

you and carl knew each other from when him and his group had came to alexandria, ever since then you became closer and eventually started dating. you shared all your ‘firsts’ together. you were both happy, no matter what would happen to everyone else and everything going on around you, both of you found a glimmer of joy between you. whenever you were with each other you had the biggest smiles on earth, smiling from ear to ear. like any couple, you had your ups and downs but eventually got over them.

now here you were, tears nonstop falling from your eyes. you removed carl’s hat and placed it beside him. michonne and rick had already said their goodbye. rick left, he couldn’t stay in there anymore knowing that his son had to kill himself. michonne left to give you both your last moments together.

your hands intertwined with his whilst it stayed laid on his chest. he took his right hand and reached other to your face, wiping your tears away. you couldn’t hold it in anymore, you let out a big sob. carl told you not to cry, he doesn’t want the last thing for him to see is his girl balling her eyes out.

“i’ll never forget you.” you sniffled.

“never.” he whispered, loud enough for you to hear. hearing his voice made everything worse, you didn’t want to cry but you couldn’t control yourself.

he smiled. even though he was about to die in any moment, he smiled. “make sure to give judith my hat.” he looked over to the cowboy hat that laid next to you.

“i won’t.” you giggled, you used your thumb to wipe off carls remaining tears.

“keep judith safe for me, please.” he begged, he couldn’t let his dad lose both of his kids.

“i will protect her with my life.” you promised, this will be that one promise you always sworn to.

“y/n.” you turned your head to see michonne standing, “it’s time.” she muttered.

“carl-“ you had began to say, but was paused by carl as he brought his right hand up to the back of your head and pulled you down onto his lips. your hand held his face as you kissed him deeper. this would be your last kiss.

you forced yourself to pull back, if you could, you would spend eternity on his lips. but not in this lifetime. you removed your hands from his embrace and replaced it with a gun. you shuffled backwards, taking the hat with you.

“aren’t you going to leave?” he stared blankly at you, you shook your head.

he took a deep breath, he bought the gun up to his temple. if you wanted to, you would’ve left, but you didn’t. you wanted to stay, even if he was dead on the floor, just looking at him bought solace to you. he locked the bullet in.

bang.

you gasped. there he was, peacefully on the floor. head turned to your direction, eyes closed. the moon shimmered through the mirror and reflected on his face. michonne frozed by the door. she saw you just staring at carls dead body. you gulped, standing up, carls hat in your hand. you took one look at his body before turning and walking through the door. michonne moved for you to get out, she walked to carls body one last time and draped a white cloth over his body. she picked up the gun that carl used, she placed it in her gun holster.

you, rick and michonne reached back to alexandria. you walked straight back to your house, you didn’t want to see anyone. as you entered yours and carls shared bedroom, you placed his hat onto the bed and picked up the letter that was placed on the shared bed. it read, ‘y/n’ with a big heart next to it. you opened the letter and pulled it out of the envelope. you read it over and over again, just imagining carl reading it to you.

the last words.

‘i will love you in every lifetime, love from carl.’

you decided to give carls hat to judith in the morning, even though it wouldn’t fit her head yet, you still wanted to gift it to her.

you laid in yours and carls bed, his letter on the bedside table. the space on the bed next to you was cold, you felt cold. carls embrace would warm you instantly, but he wasn’t here to do that anymore. you tried to imagine him holding you, but it wasn’t the same.

your love didn’t work out in this life, but it will in your next.

not proofread!! sorry!!

#carl grimes x reader #carl grimes angst #the walking dead #carl grimes #rick grimes #michonne grimes

[fallout-fallen-knight]

Telling Apart Fallout Protagonists: a Discerning Wastelander’s Guide

Vault Dweller: a Vault Dweller will typically be wearing the Vault 13 jumpsuit, but given the prominence of the Vault through the Interplay-Obsidian games, it’s not a guarantee. Look for the scrungliest teen you can find or - due to the sheer bulk and limited graphics of the game’s default protagonist - a man with the widest tits known to man.

Chosen One: it can be hard to discern Chosen Ones, as they are the least drawn Fallout protagonists. Often, the Chosen One will be clad in armor made from vault suits, power armor, or other series staples. The presence of the Highwayman is a dead giveaway.

Lone Wanderer: Lone Wanderers will often be difficult to parse from Vault Dwellers; always check the Vault number when identifying if possible. Like the Vault Dweller, Lone Wanderers are teenagers, but the Lone Wanderer has a softer, more cherubic side than the Vault Dweller’s harder edge. They may use this soft side to lure in unsuspecting enemies, or they have gone through enough for it to have been worn off - but glimmers of it remain.

Courier 6: there are three dominant subspecies of Courier 6 - the Cowboy, the Ranger, and the Dogtooth (so named for the pattern of their “borrowed” suit jacket). Other variants, such as the Khan or the Ghoul, are less common.

Sole Survivor: unlike other protagonists, the Sole Survivor can often be found in pre-war clothing - if not their main outfit, than an “in town” plumage. The Minuteman General is a common type, but a surprisingly persistent subspecies is the Stepford. Overwhelmingly female, the Stepford can be identified by their blond hair, blue eyes, uneasy smile. Be careful around the Stepford, though: those red splotches on her dress aren’t flowers, and that’s not jewelry glinting behind her black.

Reclaimer: extremely uncommon and hard to identify.

#queue #fallout 1 #fallout 2 #fallout 3 #fallout new vegas #fallout 4 #fallout 76 #vault dweller #chosen one #lone wanderer #courier 6 #sole survivor #falloutfun