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omitea · 2 months

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𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓

. synopsis. a halloween night that was supposed to be fun, quickly turned into a bloody mess in a small town named shibuya. one different path leading home and you come to face horror itself in the form of something undoubtedly inhuman. fortunately or unfortunately for you, your fate resides in the hands of the unknown before you.

. ft. vampire! choso x f! reader

. content. 2.9k words, vampire! au, mention of death, description of mild-gore, set in the 1890s (not too detailed), implied stalking, biting, mention of blood, choking, making out in the woods, grinding, palming, just overall highly suggestive.

it was a yearly tradition for the folks of shibuya to celebrate this specific holiday. halloween, is what they named it. suitable for the cold and spooky season. the noisy creaks of wooden carriage wheels sounded throughout the small town that was hosting a halloween festival. innocent children screeching as they reached the scary decorated vendors of boutique stores for trick or treat– often with their parents trailing right behind them.

most of them being occupied by the delicious pastries that some elders were selling on the streets. though it was frequently celebrated by wearing intriguing costumes, that not all preferred to. some think about it as time consuming, including a waste of their hard-earned money. while the rest found comfort in wearing clothes that fit their own selves. and you were amongst those people.

you were adorned in a traditional kimono printed with cherry blossom flowers that complimented your skin tone. along with a neatly wrapped bun, which allowed the fresh night air to brush against the apple of your cheeks. you hummed as you walked down the path where the festival was held. it should be starting soon, you think.

and as if on queue, your ears start picking up the booming music in the distance. music that the folks created with their own home-made instruments. precisely carved with metal and wooden tools that men ought to search for during their times in the country-side. a hard working man always seemed to sweep a lady right off her feet. and you were to agree– but unfortunately in this small town, some men were only thinking with their ‘manhood’, which is what you liked to tell them.

your feet carried you further into town, politely declining the nice elders that attempted to convince you into buying their sweet delicacies. with small bows and a few bumps into strangers, you finally managed to arrive at your destination. the view you had from this spot was perfect.

there was so much to see, such as; dressed up men walking on stilts, horses that carried carriages, and behind those– was a larger group of people. dancing their way up the front, engaging with the crowd and some of them were horrifying, along with a dash of makeup on their faces.

you felt a shiver traveling down the length of you spine– unable to shake off the uneasy feeling. you weren’t a big fan of halloween, but yet you found yourself drawn to the feeling of being scared. maybe it was the thrill or even the anticipation for what could happen next. although it was quite strange to mold the specific sensation into words.

suddenly, an eerie sounding scream could be heard; which caused you to snap out of your thoughts. the group of people who were dancing just now, running for what seems like their lives. the horses that once carried the carriages were neighing out of panic– just like the town folks. people were going haywire.

an awfully carved pumpkin made its way rolling towards your planted feet before being trampled on by a passerby that was running right past you. feeling partially confused and partially curious, you stood on your toes and peeked over the crowd. but to no luck, your view was mostly blocked. this caused you to push your way over; squeezing in between costumed bodies with a mix of alcohol and sweat. some being scented by the strong smell of nicotine.

after a few push throughs, you made it to the center. and in that exact moment you felt something beyond fear. you loved the color red. but this wasn’t the color red that tinted your lips, nor was it the color red that was polished on your nails. this was the color of blood. you felt your heartbeat racing as you stared at the disturbing sight in front of you.

someone, who you could make out as a woman, was laying as still as a stone on the pebbled ground. in her own blood. the dark red fluid seemed to be gushing out of her neck in spurts. chunks of clotted blood stained the tiny rocks, including the shoe soles and the clothes of the people who were too close. and if you’re about to move an inch more, you too, will become unfortunate.

you took a closer look at her white painted skin, meant to represent a ghost. well, she practically is now, you thought. your face turned into one of disgust as your eyes took in the wound on her neck. it looked as if something got caught on the piece of flesh and tugged on it with a harsh force. almost inhuman.

you felt a throbbing pain in your head– causing your vision to blur the slightest. i should go home, you think. trying to forget the image of a bloody crime scene, you took the long road home. you had to take your mind off things. at least for now. and a breath of fresh air should do the trick. maybe pour some delicious hot chamomile tea in your tea cup when you get home.

the cold gust of wind caused the leaves in the trees to rustle back and forth. it was quiet, almost too quiet for your liking if you must say. your footsteps sounded heavy on the brownish fall leaves, making them crunch and wither under your weight.

a small cloud of smoke escapes your parted lips when you let out a sigh you weren’t conscious of holding. still, it didn’t lift a single ounce of the weight that took place on your chest moments ago.

it made you feel sick to the stomach, worse than the stomach flu that comes around once in a while. the frightening screams, the sound of blood gushing out, the warnings parents gave their children to not look. it was all too much. maybe that’s why you weren’t fond of the holiday all along.

a snap of a twig made you halt. you felt the small hairs raise on the back of your neck, including on your arms. this is not what you needed after the night you just had. the woman’s death still seemed unreal– there was absolutely nothing insight that could’ve caused such a tragic death like hers.

you swallowed the saliva that was building up inside your mouth and took a step forward. you’ve heard about certain people’s stories of them getting stalked at night. and as sad as it may seem, you prepared in case the day would come. one punch in the sacks or boobs and you can flee. that’s what you always tried to convince yourself of.

another snap of a twig made you forget all the things you’ve taught yourself. so you ran. your eyes didn’t keep track of your surroundings, and soon, you found yourself in the woods. never go in the direction people won’t find you. especially at night.

heavy rain started to pour like a downfall. beads of water landing on the tree leaves and cascaded down towards the forming puddle of mud below. legs trembling in fear caused you to slow down your pace, but you pushed it aside and tried running faster.

you didn’t see the figure standing eerily still a few feet away and in just a few seconds, you felt a piercing pain and the familiar throbbing against your skull. salty tears mixed with the saltiness of the rain and flowing down to your chin. whether it was the cold that got you shaken up– or the fear, it didn’t matter. you had to get away.

pressing two palms against your temples did anything but soothe the pain. only making you hiss as the ache worsens. you froze when a pair of boots clouded your vision.

no. no, no, no.

not daring to look up, your eyes suddenly found the muddy ground more intriguing than the stranger that stood before you. it felt hard to swallow– to breathe and your hands came up to wrap softly around your neck. ‘’i apologize if i have scared you in some way, miss,’’ a deep voice cuts the silence in the air– most certainly belonging to no one else, other than this person.

and before you knew it, your eyes traveled up out of curiosity– landing on his figure. the sight before you could almost easily replace the one of horror earlier. how come you haven’t seen such a tall handsome man up until now. it should be against the rules of this town.

the said man was wearing a light tan robe that hung loosely on his body, along with a purple vest and a scarf. you could still make out that he had a muscular form, but you shouldn't think twice about it. that wouldn't be very lady-like, after all. his dark hair complemented his pale, almost white skin tone– including the questioning mark he had on his pointy nose.

your eyes regained focus from zoning out on the stranger and they immediately widened. the voice in your head basically yelled at you to pick up your feet and get the hell out of here. and indeed, you should be running away right now– but something feels off about him and it's trying to pull you in like a kinetic magnet. so you stay put. you don’t know where this suddenly came from, although the man in front of you doesn’t seem the slightest bit fazed. he probably has women at his feet all the time, you thought to yourself.

he took a big step forward which made you back away, but you flinched when you felt your back hit the trunk of a tree. he was so close, you could almost feel the coldness of his breath against your cheek. your breath hitched in your throat the moment you held his gaze. “please-,’’ you said– just below a whisper, “i have to go home.’’

he hummed, as if in thought. “are you certain this is the right way?” at that, you felt your eyes almost fall out of their sockets. “what…?’’ you trailed off. “right way? of course it is.”

no. please.

you internally started panicking as a train of million thoughts went through your mind; he knows where you live, he knows your every move, he knew you would take this path, he was waiting for the right time…

he took notice of your state and inched his face closer. from this proximity, you could make out the way his dark eyelashes curled, the bow of his lips and oh— the stench of blood. it was strong. at each breath you took, it felt like the smell was burning through your nose and settling in your throat. but there was no speck of blood to be seen. his eyes darted from your face to your neck, making him part his plush lips the slightest. and that’s when you see it– sharp canines that stick out amongst the rest of his teeth.

a human has never been seen with such sharp teeth. it looked sharper than a blade, as if it could cut through layers and layers of flesh.

you tried to speak, to scream, but to no avail– not even a little sound managed to squeak out. shock and purely terrified topped all the things you were feeling.

his large veiny hand wrapped around your throat– squeezing it slightly only for his breath to shudder just by feeling your blood pulsing through your veins. dark eyes filled with lust the moment he looked at your desperate, teary eyes. shaking with fear, your smaller hands tried to pry his from around your neck, but it only caused him to put a little bit more pressure on your windpipe.

this caused a gasp to escape your throat, which made him quickly shut you up by placing his thumb between your lips. the action caused you to squeeze your thighs together– suddenly aware of the heat that started pooling between them. your chest felt hot– heaving up and down in anticipation. why did you like this.

maybe it’s because you’ve never let a man come this close before, or the inappropriate thoughts of the undoubtedly inhuman being before you.

that doesn’t matter. what you did know for sure, was that you had to go home to do something about the throbbing pain in your panties. but seemingly, the man had other plans for his night. he inhaled your scent in the crook of your neck, closing his eyes when he felt the uncomfortable feeling of something growing behind his robe. not now.

it was supposed to be a quick search for his next victim– but fuck you were too enticing. the bleary look you gave him as you silently begged for him to let you go– but behind those silent pleas, he could see, you too, were getting aroused. poor sweet thing.

you almost squirmed at the feeling of his fangs grazing the sensitive skin on your neck. so you subconsciously tilted your neck back to give him more access– to which he hummed in satisfaction.

a painful whine made its way past your red tinted lips as an indescribable sharp pain shot through your body along with two sharp teeth sinking in. your knees almost gave out, but his grip on you tightened. the vision of trees soon started to become blurry and your eyes felt heavy. you were for sure you were gonna pass out.

but what jumped you out of your dizzy state, was his wet tongue darting across the slope of your neck– cleaning up the warm iron-flavored fluid that cascaded downwards. a small moan sounded throughout the woods when you felt him suck and nibble on the bitten spot. he tilted his head up, heavy lidded eyes asking if you wanted this, if you wanted more. and like a desperate human being, you nod. almost too eagerly.

so he does just that. he presses you harder against the trunk and presses his knee between your thighs. fuck, not being able to feel you soaked through your kimono was torture. his lips meet yours and nothing could have prepared you for the feeling.

it starts a little clumsily from not having too much experience– but you quickly get the hang of it which leads to the kiss getting more heated. you felt his tongue peek out and swipe across your bottom lip. your small gasp gave it the chance to slip through your lips. just as the muscle explored the sweet taste, your eyebrows furrowed in grimace– tasting the iron from your own blood that still lingered on his tongue.

you tried to touch him anywhere you could reach. hands traveling from his chest down to his fully hardened bulge. this elicited a deep groan from the back of his throat. he didn’t expect you to start palming him, thinking you accidentally touched the spot.

he bucked his hips and your ears picked up his pretty moans the more effort you put into palming him. the rain that poured, almost drowned out the sounds that escaped his lips– which were still entangled with yours.

not having enough, you lazily started grinding against his knee that was in between your thighs. your eyes almost rolled in the back of your head– panting softly when he pressed into you deeper. “shit,” he sighed, pulling away and hiding his flushed face against the side of your head while his legs started to shake .

everything felt so good, he felt so close– that was until he heard a group of people coming. it was a few meters away, so he couldn’t risk it. not now, not ever. he got what he wanted and should’ve left minutes ago. yet you made it hard for him to leave. he had to taste you more than your blood. places he has never got to taste before.

he pulled away completely, making you whine at the lack of contact. you followed the direction his eyes were looking– taking note of the people making their way towards the depths of the woods. you turned back, brows furrowing in confusion at the sight in front of you.

he was gone, just like that.

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and placed it on your neck afterwards. your fingers lingered on the two dots he left behind, and everything soon began to sink in. if someone were to ever say you'll end up almost having sex in the woods with a stranger– you would’ve laughed in their faces and called them crazy. especially if that particular stranger almost sucked the life out of you.

you shook your head and started heading home– something you were supposed to do the moment you saw that woman’s neck sliced open.

and as you’re walking down the path leading towards your loving home, you can’t help but think; was he the one who murdered that defenseless woman.

but that was another thought– as for now, you still have to take care of the soaking mess he left you with.

@satorisoup @kiitoru @seneon @sugurustattoo @saturvue @xstom @lapin0u

©𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐀. please refrain from stealing my works !

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arcielee · 1 year

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Silver Coins

Summary: You are paid to be a pleasure for the baby monk. Paring: Osferth x Female!Reader Word Count: 2374 Warnings: Smutty smut, inexperienced Osferth, oral sex (m and f), p in v. Minors DNI. Author's Note: This is for @eddiemadmunson ♥ I agree there is not enough Osferth fics and there should be more. Here’s just some smutty fluff one shot for your ask. ♥ Also, my Osferth is book canon. Update: Link for part 2! Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy

Osferth was tall and lean, with an awkward grace to his movement as he sat himself into one of the chairs within your chambers. He kept his feet on the cobblestone and his large palms gripped onto his thighs.

You thought him to be handsome in a way that was so uniquely his own. What made you agree to this had been when you first saw his eyes. They were a brilliant blue that held no judgment when you spoke to him earlier that night, how they shone with a kindness that you could not recall ever seeing in the gaze of a man before.

“I am looking to bed one of Uhtred’s men,” your tone was purposefully coy and you relished in the pink that dusted his cheeks.

Oh, the word barely left his bow lips and your touch was gentle to take his hand; his palm was calloused and warm, with long, slender fingers that wrapped around your own in response. He allowed you to pull him away from the crowd, which included the grinning fools that were Sihtric and Finan, and you led him to your room below the tavern.

This was where he now sat, so uncertain as to what to do with his hands.

You reach for the knot of your wrap dress, removing the layer to reveal a satin chemise you wore beneath. It was soft and fell to your curves, your nipples pebble beneath from the cool air.

His eyes are wide at the sight of you, his pupils swallowing the beautiful blue and his tongue wet his lips. “My lady,” his voice almost a whisper, “I must admit to you, I have not bed a woman before.”

You were already aware of this, but chose to tease him, moving closer towards him. “Are you not the same man who slain Sigefrid?”

He nods with the tousle of his dirty blonde hair, his gaze shyly cast downwards.

You are now in front of him, your finger curling beneath his chin to bring his eyes to meet with your own. “Well, I admit that I have never killed a man before, so may I suggest a fair trade,” you continue with a smile. “You can share with me how you killed Sigefried and I will share with you the secrets of my trade.”

You lean closer and his exhale fans your cheeks, his eyes still wide as he processes your words. “But, my lord, I insist you remove your boots first.”

“Yes, my apologies,” he stammers and you step back with your smile, watching as he is quick to unlace and remove them. His long legs brought him across to place them by the door, then turning to face you again.

Your smile renews at the sight of his bare feet, pale against the grey cobblestone, and you move towards him. He is watchful of how the satin breathes against your curves with your every step closer until you can place your hands, gentle to the touch, on his chest. His breath draws as you come up to your toes and press your lips against his own.

Osferth seems to balk against your mouth, his lips pressing together and stilting in response, his arms stiff at his sides.

You pull back, your brow quirks as you see his blue eyes still wide and nervous. “Osferth,” you honey your tone, a gentle smile to your lips. You reach to touch his hands and they relax against your own, following your pull to rest them against the small of your waist. “Do not think, just kiss me.”

His gaze falls to your mouth and he tilts his head, his lips soft and warm against your own. Your mouth opens slightly, your tongue touching his bottom lip and you can feel him smile. His hands grow bold, pulling you closer against his chest, meeting with the tempo you set. You open your mouth more to deepen the kiss, his tongue following the languid pacing of your own; you nip at his bottom lip and he groans in your mouth.

The sound melts you against his hard chest, enjoying as his large palms trace the curves of your hips and cradle the small of your back. You wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers move to comb through his golden locks.

He steps and turns you to press your backside against the door, pressing against you and a moan spills from your kiss-swollen lips when you feel his hard length push against your stomach.

“Osferth,” you whisper and he looks pained as you pull away, until you reach for the belt knotted around his slender waist that holds his albe in place. He helps remove the layers until he is bare waist up, his muscles taut and there is a patch of hair across his chest.

Your eyes admire the planes of his abdomen and the lines that dip below where his trousers hung. Your mouth waters at the bold outline of his crotch against the fabric.

Baby monk, you think, incredulous, to yourself and you reach to slip your fingers in the waist and pull him to the bed edge. Your fingers work to unlace and his trousers puddle at his feet; he steps out and backwards until he touches the bed and sits down, watchful and waiting for your lead.

The sight of him bare leaves you almost timid, there is a growing anticipation combined with the warmth wet from his kisses, his touch, between your thighs. You exhale slowly through your open lips, stepping forward and kneeling before him.

He is resting on his elbows, unaware of your slight trepidation to his size, his gaze curious as your hand reaches to curl around his member. A blush returns to his cheeks, the rose color matching his tip and your thumbs wipes the bead of precum, rubbing beneath which elicits a groan that rumbles from the back of his throat.

Embolden, you move to bring your tongue flat to the underside and follow until your lips wrap around the head, your tongue tasting the hint of him. He groans again when your head begins to move in tandem with your hand, up and down his length to coat him with your saliva.

You pull back and he watches as you lift your chemise over your head to bare yourself, his jaw slightly slack as his eyes drink in your figure. Your cheeks grow warm with the adoration of his gaze, stepping closer to straddle him and he sighs sweetly with your warmth pressing against his cock.

He groans when you slowly rock your hips, your silken folds smooth with your spit, sliding the length of his member before your hand reaches to line him with your entrance.

You are slow to lower yourself, in part to savor the delicious stretch as he fills you, another to try and adjust to his size. Your nails bite into his shoulders and his arms are gentle when they wrap the small of your waist, pulling you flush against him, his chest hair tickling your breasts, and he buries his face into your neck. You gasp when his tongue tastes you, clenching in response, and he groans louder.

“I need but a moment,” your voice is small with the confession.

“My lady, take as long as you need,” he breathes into your neck and your skin rises from the touch of his lips. “We may stay like this all night, if it pleases you.”

You pull back to look into his eyes, how they shine with an earnestness, and you find his mouth, your kiss slow and searching. He sighs and you begin again to rock your hips into him; you can feel his hold relax, the warmth of his palms as they settle onto your hips and pull you against him.

The motion allows him to reach deep within you. You rest your palms onto his chest and push him to lay back on the bed, your hands bracing as you quicken your rhythm. A soft moan spills from your lips and another groan escapes the back of his throat when your cunt begins to flutter around him.

You slow your pace, wet lewd noises filling the intimate space. “Please,” he begs. “Show me how to touch you.”

He bites his bottom lip when you take his hand, bringing his thumb to your mouth. He sighs again when your tongue curls the digit, enclosing your lips around and then pulling it back, a line of spittle from your mouth that breaks and falls to your chin. You lower his palm to fit against the inside of your thigh, pressing his thumb into the bloom above where his cock continues the pace, in and out.

Your moan starts soft. “It’s…it is that, can you feel…” your voice mewls with his guided touch.

“I, yes,” there is a sheen of sweat to his features, his focus drawn and torn between admiring the curves of your movement and where his hand now rests. “Right…here?”

His touch coils the passion in your lower abdomen. “Yes,” your cries wanton and it gives him a confidence to his touch, also quickening his upwards thrusts to meet with your motion. Stars dance in front of your eyes and he moans as your climax rolls in waves, clenching at him for his own release.

“Oh, God,” he cries out and you feel him pulsating within your velvet walls with his own peak.

You fall and curl against him, he brings you to the side and waits until your heart rate settles. He is reluctant to let you go, but you give him a kiss, moving to the basin and pouring from the pitcher, grabbing a cloth to wet and wring. You clean yourself before grabbing another, returning to him. “It will be cool,” you warn, your touch gentle.

Osferth hums his pleasure, “Allow me to stay and we can warm beneath the furs.”

“That was my plan already, lord,” you reply and he smiles with your words.

Curled beneath the furs, he is on his side with one arm holding his head up and his other palm resting beneath your breasts, his eyes watching them rise and fall with your steady breaths. He shares the truth of Sigefried, how he climbed the wall while the men fought, and confronted the Dane and plunged his dagger into his stomach.

“Were you frightened?” You shiver with your question, turning your head to look at him.

He smiles and you see his cheeks line with dimples. “I admit, in the moment, I did not have the time to dwell on fear, but I can recall that my hands were shaking.”

You touch his hand, yours so small in comparison to his own. “You did what was needed,” you say and bring his fingertips to your lips.

He leans forward to find your lips once again, another sweet kiss. “Would you allow me…” his voice trails off, a blush to his features as he hems for the words that will allow his hand to move lower.

You touch his cheek to hold his gaze. “Osferth, I am yours tonight.”

There is the added sweetness of your expressed consent, his willingness to listen to your soft hums of guidance as he nestles between your thighs. His lips are so soft, his breath warm on your cunt, and he is quick to understand and match his ministrations with your soft sighs. The curl of his finger within you was sinful, that begins as a gentle prod until you mewl his name and he continues without complaint until he feels you clenching your release.

The morning comes too soon and you begrudgingly leave the monk, who is sound asleep on his stomach and bare next to you. You dress quickly, fasten your cloak and your fingers check the pocket’s contents before you come to the bedside with a gentle kiss to wake him.

His brow quirks when he realizes you are already dressed. “Where are you going?” His voice husky with sleep.

“I am going to the kitchens to have something prepared for you,” you kiss him again and he hums at your touch. “Dress and come meet me upstairs?”

He nods sleepily and you move to leave, your cloak billows with your steps as you walk the corridor and take the stairs up, two steps at a time.

The tavern is empty and smells of spilt ale from the night before, mixed with the spices that waft from the kitchen. You fill two plates and return to place them on an empty table, when the door opens and the silhouettes of Finan and Sihtric fill the door frame.

“We’re closed,” you call to them, a smile to your lips. You move towards them, reaching into your pocket and tossing the felt pouch that hits Finan’s chest.

His brow furrows but he catches it, the soft jingle of the coins it held. “This silver was for you to bed the baby monk,” he says.

“Yes,” you reply, your eyes narrowing onto him. “I am returning it to you, no coin spent.”

Before another word can be said, his dark eyes look past you and you turn to see Osferth surfacing. His hands pat his locks down, a smile on his face when he catches sight of you.

You move towards him, leaving the Irishman and the Dane, and move to wrap your arms around his neck, bringing his lips to your own one last time.

He responds without the embarrassment from last night, softening against your touch and you smile when you pull back. “Do you have time for break fast?”

There is a beat of silence, with Osferth blushing from your affection and Sihtric dumbstruck, before Finan finally speaks. “Afraid not, missus. Lord Uhtred requires us to ride out. We have much to discuss today,” he moves forward to clasp a hand on Osferth’s shoulder, pulling him towards the door.

You sit down on the bench, picking at one of the plates and watch them tuck the monk between, grinning fools and arms draped around his shoulders, pushing through the door and into the morning light.

arcie’s masterlist

#osferth #the last kingdom #osferth fanfic #smut and fluff #osferth x you #osferth x female!reader #osferth x reader #ask arcie #silver coins #osferth fluff

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lipglossanon · 1 day

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𝔒𝔫𝔢

• A Dozen Roses • Fairy Tale AU •

Warnings: MDNI, mention of a past death

Magic.

Such a simple word conveying the complete opposite. There are many in the castle who think your mother was a forest witch; how else did she ensnare the soon to be King? Her simple upbringing and lack of dowry only meant that she must have tricked the handsome prince into a marriage bed.

Most of these came from the wagging tongues of the spurned gentry, whose daughters weren’t even looked at twice once your mother came into the picture. Your father never speaks of her in your presence which means everything you’ve ever gleaned about her is third or fourth hand from those around you.

As a child, you loved hearing the stories of their unexpected love. How much your father doted upon her, how she breathed new life in this cold, desolate place. After such tales, you’d seek out the favored portrait where the King is wont to linger. He never said anything, but he acknowledged your presence by stepping to the side so you could stand next to him and gaze at her likeness.

You believe your mother to be a forest witch even though the nurse maid tries to dissuade you of the notion. It explains the strangeness you feel inside you, especially near your father. He seems to be the only one who can sense this otherness in you and yet he still keeps his silence. He’s also the only one to witness you using magic— the rejuvenation of the dead bouquet of lilies beneath the ever benign gaze on the frozen face of your mother’s portrait.

That’s the first time you see him smile in all of your eighteen summers. It changes his entire demeanor and you see the boy your mother fell in love with, the one she fled the small cottage of her family to gift him her eternal devotion. His long fingers graze the stems of the flowers before his gaze drifts, not to the portrait but to you standing to the side.

“You’ve grown up,” he states, serious blue eyes taking in your simple gown before meeting your surprised expression.

You nod dumbly and before you can reply a lady-in-waiting enters to guide you to your embroidery lesson. His eyes trail after you; you only notice because you catch his gaze when you turn back as you round the stone entryway. His face is serious and blank, but it still sends a slight shiver down your spine.

After that moment, the suitors begin in earnest. There were only two a year once your monthly blood began; your father didn’t seem interested in seeking out alliances with the neighboring kingdoms so you were never pressed to choose. The gentleman who came to call on you were much too old— older than your father, even. They made you uncomfortable with their spotted hands and leering mouths. The King made sure they knew their place at his table, making sure they left never to return.

Now, your father has put forth a creed that only a worthy man will be allowed your hand in marriage. Worthy of him. Your opinion doesn’t matter at the whims of the King. You’re just a silly girl. He’s the one who shall choose the one to be your king consort, the one who will one day take his place on the throne and rule over the Kingdom bequeathed unto him by his bloodline.

The first Prince to make the journey for your hand in marriage is a large dark haired man. Prince Redfield, your lady-in-waiting whispers to you as you look down from your window, seeing the Prince’s entourage unloading the wagon. He stands apart from his size alone, a knight honed by battle you think to yourself. A servant enters your quarters and states that you have been summoned by the King to be introduced to this stranger.

Meeting Prince Redfield is actually quite pleasant. He’s cordial and polite, if a little stilted in conversation. He’s as old as your father, you realize, hearing them discuss old crusades from their youth and battles fought together; it seems more of a social call than an actual interest in marrying you. The men talk long into the evening, countless cups of mead has the Prince slurring and clapping your father on the back good naturedly.

“Aye she’s a fine lass,” he nods to you, brown eyes soft as his smile, “she reminds me of Claire.”

“How is your sister?” Your father asks, tipping more drink into Prince Redfield’s goblet.

“She’s to be wed when I return,” he laughs happily, “a young Lord who fought bravely in our last scrimmage against the band of heretics from the mountains.”

The King nods along, “We are fortunate to live so far from such turmoil.”

“I’ll toast to that,” the Prince tips his drink to your father and downs the entire cup, “I think I shall call it a night, sir.”

“It is quite late and you leave early,” the King nods, “thank you for the visit, friend.”

“Twas no hardship,” he grins, standing up to bow; he kisses the back of your hand, “the man to wed you will be quite lucky indeed, my fair lady.”

“Thank you,” you duck your head shyly as you drop into a curtsy, “I bid thee a good night, Prince.”

When you raise your head, he’s staring at you in contemplative shock.

“She could be her,” he whispers, eyes darting to your father, “do you—”

“I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

The King rises from his seat and grasps the Prince’s arm; his blue eyes turn to you and you press your lips together to stop any questions.

“Goodnight, daughter.”

You curtsy once more, “Goodnight, father.”

You watch in slight confusion as the two men make their way out of the room at the same time your lady comes to guide you to your quarters. She fusses over you as your other ladies help you undress from your stifling dress and corset, helping you into bed and placing more wood on the fire to keep the chill at bay. You gaze into the hearth of the fireplace and wonder what the Prince was going to ask before your father cut him off.

Drifting to sleep, you don’t notice the vase of roses blooming to life—unnaturally red and vibrant, their perfume strangely compelling. The next morning, you sneak from your room early, intending to see Prince Redfield off and maybe ask him what he meant the night before. However, when you enter the great hall you see your father walking from the castle entrance.

“Prince Chris has already left,” he informs you, “he sends his regards and apologizes he did not stay to say goodbye.”

Disappointment sits in your chest, but you smile and thank him before making your way back to your room. The servants hush when you enter your quarters, quickly changing out the strange flowers on your bedside table and rushing from the room. Your lady-in-waiting waves off your questions and easily diverts your attention to your lessons.

It’s the last time you know peace and quiet.

#a dozen roses #fairy tale au #chapter fic #dead dove do not eat #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n

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dingochef · 3 months

Text

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Protected P in V, oral (female and male receiving), age gap, CougarOFC!, mentions only of mommy and daddy kink, mentions of cheating

Summary: A chance encounter at a bar with a man on the young side leads to a delightful night.

Masterlist

Word Count: 4.5k

On the Prowl

You saddle up to the bar, sighing as you try to expel the frustrations from stupid negotiations you've had to deal with today. You were trying to make a deal between your aerospace company and another to be the exclusive suppliers of the next versions of the F-whatever fighter for the Navy. You order a Manhattan hoping the sweet burn of the vermouth and whiskey will sooth away your frustration.

The bartender has barely slid your drink across on its coaster to you when a man approaches, about your age. You snort internally to yourself, there is nothing about your overall air and appearance that makes you approachable. Your hair is frazzled, your giant laptop bag is slung on the stool next to you, and you're pretty sure your residual resting bitch face is dialed up to an 11. Still, the prospect for a possible quick romp in the sheets and the slim possibility of an orgasm, makes you turn ever so slightly as he sits down next to you.

“Tough day?” he offers to you, after ordering a drink.

“You could say that,” you humm, noncommittally and take a sip of your drink.

“Well, I'm all ears if you want to talk about it,” the man replies, offering his hand,

“I'm Mike, and you are?”

You take his hand and tell him your name.

“Pretty name for a pretty lady,” Mike responds. You stifle your eye roll at the cheesy line. The drinks arrive and you fall into a light if stilted conversation of small talk. The usual topics are covered the weather, why you're both in town, and a few sports references. You're pondering if you want another drink when Mike leans closer to you,

“So this bad day. You want to talk about it,” he says as his hand sliding out to catch your wrist, “Or do something about it?”

He rubs his thumb over yours and you catch the glint of a wedding ring that you had missed earlier. Any thoughts you had of maybe seeing where this could go are immediately stopped.

“You're married,” you state, flatly.

“It's complicated,” he counters.

You let out a long exhale,

“Not complicated enough that you didn't even go through the smallest bit of effort to hide the fact. I'm not interested in being the other woman. A little too recent experience from the other end of “it's complicated.”

Mike nods, properly chastised and walks away with his drink.

You sigh and lean down on the bar with both elbows, letting your head hang down as you feel more frustrated, the possibility of some distractioning sex long gone now. A disappointing thought forms in your brain as you remember that you did indeed forget to pack your vibrator. But somehow you remembered condoms and lube, ever the optimist. Not a hopeless situation, but would have been better with some “assistance.”

You're brought out of your pity party by a slight southern twang delivering this line,

“A woman so beautiful deserves to have a smile on your face and I'm just the man to do it.”

The line is accompanied by the dazzling smile of a very handsome blonde man, definitely younger than you and with memorable green eyes.

“Has that line ever worked?” you ask, your patience strained by your interaction with Mike the Adulterer, as you survey the man in front of you.

“You tell me,” he replies smoothly, the corner of his mouth tugging up into an endearing smirk. He's gorgeous but young enough it's a little beyond your usual range in men. Tired by the evening so far, you take a harsher tack back.

“You're out past your bedtime, baby boy,” you volley back, drinking the last bit of your drink and chewing on the cherry.

“Baby boy? I assure you I'm all man, I could be the man of your dreams if you let me,” he counters, smirk still firmly in place. You contemplate your next move as you chew on the cherry from your drink.

“What do you want with me? I'm sure Addison or Kayla and her other twenty something friends would be more than willing to be wooed by a cheesy line and nice smile,” you say, flicking your head towards the gaggle of giggling coeds at a high top table near the windows. He looks over and shrugs,

“There's a difference between women of quantity,” he tips his head towards the giggling girls, “And a woman of quality,” he waves his hand at you.

You laugh,

“Okay, that's smooth. What's your name baby boy?”

“Jake, Lieutenant Jake Seresin,” he extends his hand, “And you are?”

“Y/n,” you reply, setting your hand in his.

“Nice to meet you, y/n, can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure, why not,” you shrug.

The bartender comes over and you order,

“Manhattan with rye, please.”

Jake nods and says,

“The same.”

The bartender walks away to make the drinks and you consider Jake.

“So, what's your game here, Jake? I'm a little old for you if you haven't noticed,” you state.

“You're beautiful and you're not that old. What 35, 38 tops?” he replies.

You laugh,

“Try 45, I use sunscreen. What are you, like 28 maybe? Can you even rent a car?”

Jake laughs in response,

“32, I use sunscreen.”

His parroting response makes you laugh. He slides his hand into yours, running a soothing circle with his big thumb on the pulse point of your wrist in an understated gesture.

“And my game is that, you are gorgeous and everything about you screams that you're in control. The tailored business suit, the designer bag, expensive shoes, and a watch probably worth more than my first car,” he pauses for a second,

“Let me guess, you're an upper level executive in a high stress industry in town for a conference, because I for sure would have remembered you if you've been here before. So, here's my bet, you're either a woman who knows exactly what she wants in bed and leads the way or….,” he leans in closer, “Needs someone to boss you around and take control, so you can let go.”

He leans back and gives you a brilliant smile.

“Either way I know I'll have a hell of a night.”

Before you can answer, the bartender reappears with your drinks. You take a sip and consider your response, Jake doing the same with a quirked eyebrow in question.

“You're a confident little shit, I'll give you that.”

He smiles, wide and bright.

“And yes, I'm in San Diego for business. Yes, I'm a COO for an aerospace firm. As for the other question, that's something you'll have to figure out.”

“I'm up to the challenge,” he replies.

You take a moment to consider the man before you. He's tall, broad shoulders, dark blonde hair, and a delicious amount of stubble that you can already conjure up the feeling of on your inner thigh. He's wearing a dark brown leather jacket over a navy blue button, dark jeans, and charmingly, cowboy boots. All in all he is gorgeous.

“Allright, Jake, I'm game,” you say, leaning into him, close enough you can smell his aftershave, a cedar wood smelling aroma. He grins and takes another sip of his drink.

“A few deal breakers to get out of the way. Married?”

“No. You?

“Recently paroled.”

“Congrats on your newfound freedom.”

“Girlfriend, or other romantic entanglement, such as it's complicated?”

He laughs,

“Nope, I don't have anyone or anything tying me down. I don't even own a houseplant.”

“Good, protection is required. I have some in my room.”

“Agreed.”

“I give what I get, if you want me to suck your dick, you'll need to eat me out first, and be good at it.”

“Don't think that's going to be a problem, sweetheart. I'm a man of many talents.”

“And finally, you will not call me mommy or any other similar derivative. If that's an itch you need scratched, then maybe Addison and her friends would be happy to call you daddy.”

He laughs,

“Not my cup of tea, darling. So where's this hotel of yours?”

“Right across the street,”

“Then by all means lead the way,” he says, as he pulls a fifty out of his wallet and leaves it in the bar.

Jake offers his hand to you as you step down from the stool. He grabs your laptop bag and easily slings it over his shoulder as his other hand finds the small of your back. The walk to your hotel is quick, Jake has pulled you close to him.

The lobby is relatively empty and the echo of your heels clicking across the marble floor fills the space. Once you're In the elevator, Jake sets your bag down and pulls you close for a kiss. It starts out soft, he is almost tentative, a surprising contrast to his unmatched confidence earlier. But now you crave a different energy tonight; after a day of frustration you're going to get what you want.

You run your hands through his perfect hair and lick at the seam of his lips, begging for entrance as you press your whole body against his. You back him up to the wall of the elevator. A heavy roll of your hips against his makes him moan and your tongue slides in next to his, finally.

His hand slides from the chaste placement at your waist and grabs a firm handful of your ass as he shoves his tongue down your throat. The heat between you escalates but before you start fucking in the elevator the bell dings announcing your floor.

You step back and appreciate your work.

Hair askew, your dark cherry lipstick smeared across his mouth, Jake looks ready to fuck.

“You look good like that. It's a great color for you,” you tease stepping out of the elevator with a quick glance over your shoulder

Jake snaps out of his lust induced trance grabbing your bag and trotting quickly to catch up with you. He places a trail of kisses down your neck as you press the key card to the handle, a warm hand kneading at your waist.

The door opens and you almost tumble in,

Jake is quick to drop your bag as you lock the deadbolt.

When you turn he closes in on you and backs you up against the door. He initiates another kiss that you eagerly return. The same heat from the elevator returns and burns brighter as you start to pluck at each other's clothes.

You push Jake's jacket off and start to work at the buttons of his shirt. Lips never leaving each other finally he is shirtless in front of you and it is a glorious sight. All hard planes of pure muscle with a delicious amount of chest hair.

“Aren't you just the prettiest?” you coo, obviously checking him out, manicured hand running down his sternum and teasing at his belt buckle

He simultaneously preens and blushes at the praise.

“On your knees,” you order and he quickly complies, one eyebrow raised in question, just enough attitude to make it interesting. He looks up at you while you unbutton your blouse and drop it to the floor, revealing your black lace La Perla bra. He kisses the hem of your skirt, green eyes blown with lust watching your every move. You raise your left foot and put your Louboutin on his denim clad thigh and ask him,

“Help me out of these heels, sweetheart.”

The last word is said with a little bit of mocking, a bit of manufactured twang. Jake smirks at your teasing and unbuckles your shoe, setting it aside. You switch sides and he repeats the motions.

He thumbs tentatively at your skirt awaiting your permission

“Go on. Let's see those skills, pretty boy,” you taunt. He slides your skirt up and groans when he sees the matching garter belt and stockings to your bra and no underwear,

“Fancy lingerie, too,” he says, his mouth close enough to your bare mound you can feel the gentle puffs of air against your skin.

“Enough talking, get to it,” you order, the earlier frustration of your day seeping back into your mood.

He nods and places a firm hand on your stomach to anchor you to the door. His other hand slides along the seam of your stocking clad leg starting at your ankle gently lifting your leg up to rest your thigh on his shoulder, granting him even more access to your glistening cunt.

“You smell so good, I bet you taste even better, sweets,” he coos.

Before you can implore him to hurry the fuck up he dives in, parting your folds with his tongue to begin his attack on your clit. The intensity knocking your breath out of you. There is no warm up, just all the way to 100 right away. Your heartbeat speeds up to match the fast strumming of his tongue against your clit. You card your fingers through his hair to ground yourself just as he teases your slit with his finger.

Jake circles around your opening with his thick finger, a mischievous look in his eyes as he looks up at you, tongue never ceasing on your clit. You roll your eyes and push your hips down desperate to get his finger inside you just as he relents and slides his finger in quickly followed by another. The stretch is more than you've had in awhile, no thanks to your ex and busy schedule that makes dating difficult, but it is exactly what you need right now. And then Jake curls his fingers just right and sparks blur the sides of your vision. He earns the privilege of having you pull harder on his hair and moan a breathy,

“Fuck, that's good.”

He raises his eyebrows down below you, smugness apparent even when his mouth is full of your pussy.

“Don't let it go to your head,” you say back, lacking the bite you had hoped for.

He laughs into your cunt, but continues his mission. Fingers pumping away at you. The band inside of you starts to pull taut, that exquisite build up to release starting to form deep in your belly.

“You better not fucking stop! Fuck, right there,” you shout. Looking down you catch Jake's eyes and his gaze is as unwavering as his rhythm is steady. He continues his assault on your clit and cunt, the sounds of your arousal and his tongue obscene in the quiet darkness of your hotel room. You've always been loud when you come and tonight is no exception, the words rolling off your tongue,

“Fuck, so good. I'm close, Jake. Make me come, pretty boy.”

He responds by thrusting his hand harder and faster and lapping at your clit at even higher speed. He just grazes his teeth on your clit and you're gone.

“Fucking God, I'm coming, don't stop. More,” you shout as the bliss breaks over you, grabbing Jake's hair and holding him to you. The pleasure is so much that you go up on the balls of your feet before you come back down and continue to grind your pussy on Jake's face. Jake complies and keeps up the intensity and soon another climax is barrelling down on you. This one is so intense that when it crests, you practically collapse over Jake, your knees having gone weak as the pleasure ebbs through you. He catches your hips and guides you down to his lap. He holds you as you catch your breath, sweetly kissing your temple as your chest heaves.

Breaking the silence he asks,

“Did I earn that blow job?”

He earns a dry chuckle from you as you turn to straddle his thighs.

“I think that was at least adequate,” you mumble as you lean down to kiss Jake, licking the taste of yourself from his chin. He deftly unclasps your bra from behind and drops it to the floor.

“Been wanting to see these beauties since I saw you at the bar,” he murmurs as he slips your nipple into his mouth, his rough hands cupping your breasts. Your hands again find themselves in his hair, pushing him harder into your chest, your tits heavy and full with desire. As much as you enjoy Jake's efforts, the marble floor of your hotel suite is cold against your overheated skin.

“Get on the bed and get naked,” you command Jake after harshly pulling him away from your chest by his hair. You notice the wave of pleasure wash across his face from the pain. Confidently, you get up and walk over to your bag, making sure to sway your hips in an enticing way. A quick search of the bag and you find the condoms you're seeking.

When you turn back Jake is on the bed, on his back completely naked. He is gently stroking his hard cock as he watches you stalk towards him. Throwing the condoms on the nightstand you lower yourself to the bed near his feet. Like a lioness on the prowl, you crawl up the bed towards him.

“I knew you'd have a big dick. No one is that confident without one,” you say as you get even with him. He grins in response, his hand slowly stroking his cock as he watches you approach. You settle yourself so your wet cunt is on his abs, achingly close to his dick but so far away at the same time.

“I know my assets,” he says, reaching up to pull you down for a kiss. You slide your lips along his jaw, trailing a path of kisses down his neck and across his chest. You lap at the hard buds of his nipples as you grind yourself on his rock hard abs. Jake lets out a whine as you continue your efforts. You stop all your movement and look up to Jake where he is clenching his jaw.

“You want something, pretty boy?” You taunt, sliding your pussy just a bit lower. The movement occupies the last two brain cells he has available and his words come out in choppy mess,

“Want–need your mouth. On me, suck me please. Fuck, please.”

You laugh condescendingly as you pretend to ponder his request,

“I did say I give as good as I get and you did get me off. I suppose I could be nice and return the favor.”

He visibly relaxes, the worry flowing out of his face. He pushes himself up on the bed so he is in a sitting position, primed to watch your every move.

You position yourself so you are kneeling between his legs, his delicious cock standing proudly at attention.

With the faintest of touches you let your fingers trail up and down his dick. Surprisingly he stays stock still, waiting for you to move at your pace, his dick twitching at your feather light touches.

“Look at you, pretty boy. So ready for it, hmm?” you ask as you grip him a little bit harder. His eyes roll back as you start to stroke him, the throbbing veins in his cock gliding along your palm.

When you lean over and start to kitten lick the ruddy tip and Jake snaps open his eyes, not wanting to miss the splendid sight in front of him. The groan you pull from him when you spit to aid the glide of your hand is one of the best things you've ever heard. Your grip gets firmer as you slide your hand up and down, increasing your pace. On the next downstroke you follow your hand with your mouth, lips matched with your fingers.

It doesn't take much for Jake to hit the back of your throat and you relax to take him down your throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Jake pants as you work to diligently suck his cock. Your eyes locked with Jake's as the pleasure rolls over him.

“So good, you look so good sucking my cock,” he drawls, his accent getting a bit thicker with arousal. You're about to change up your technique when Jake cups your chin and pulls you up to him for a kiss.

“As much as I would like to come in your mouth. That pretty pussy needs to be fucked,” he says, flipping you on your back as he reaches for a condom. He quickly rips the wrapper and rolls the condom down on his hard cock.

“You ready for this?” he asks, gliding his tip along your clit.

“Yes, just fuck me aleady,” you answer, a little exasperated.

When he finally slides home, you're glad that you had the little warm up with his fingers against the door. He's huge, probably the biggest you've ever had and it is amazing. He goes slow, dragging out the experience, a low moan escaping his mouth when he bottoms out. A gentle rhythm forms between the two of you as he starts to thrust and you roll your pelvis to meet him each time.

“Fuck, you're so tight,” he grunts.

You laugh,

“Thank my pencil dicked cheating ex-husband. Didn't give it to me for over a year.”

“What a fucking tragedy, this beautiful pussy needs to worshipped,” he agrees, thrusting particularly hard into you causing you to cry out.

“Give it to me good, pretty boy,” you scream, wrapping your legs around his waist as he sinks deeper into. Every thrust hitting deeper and deeper.

“Harder! Jake, harder,” you cry out.

“If you want harder, you'll get it, sweets,” he pants.

He pins your hips to the bed as he pulls out earning a discontented squeal from you. Before you can express the thought, Jake flips you over with ease and you land on your stomach. He is quick to grab your hips and pulls you flush to him as he kneels on the bed.

“Hold on, sweetheart,” he grunts as he slides back into your warmth. His strong grip on your hips the right side of too much, you clench around him at the thought of bruises tomorrow, aching slightly as you sit through hours of meetings and negotiations. He slams into you and bottoms out quickly. His pace is relentless as he pounds into you. The exquisite way your pussy flutters around his cock is pushing you closer to the edge. Each slap of skin from his strong thighs against your bare ass ratcheting up the growing tightness in your belly.

“Can feel you getting close, darling. Just when I thought this pussy couldn't get any tighter, you're strangling my cock,” he grunts out between harder and harder thrusts.

“Less talking, more fucking,” you volley back, meeting each of his thrusts with your own. Jake lets out a low chuckle,

“As you wish, sweetheart.”

On his next thrust he extends his hand to wrap around your shoulder pulling you against him abruptly, your back to his chest.

“Fuck,” you pant, this new angle hitting all the right spots deep inside you. A strong arm wraps around your waist as Jake's free hand snakes over your garter belt and parts your folds. When his rough finger contacts your clit you cry out, arms and hands scrambling for something to hold onto. Jake guides your arms up and arounds his neck, your hands tangling themselves in hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he grunts in your ear, “So fucking tight, can't wait to feel you come on my cock.”

All you can do is moan in agreement as he circles your clit with practiced and precise motions.

“What a beautiful pussy,” Jake pants, his ability to speak now impressive,

“And fuck I'm glad you gave the me the sweet, sweet privilege of fucking you tonight.”

He pinches your clit and the building wave inside you crests as you come apart clenching hard on his cock.

“Oh fuck, fuck, I'm coming,” you scream, definitely loud enough to be heard by your neighbors.

“That's it, give it to me. Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts.

He maintains his rhythm as he fucks you through your orgasm intensfying each aftershock. Jake is holding you up as writhe in pleasure seeking his own, hips pistoning away. You tug hard on his hair as you command him,

“Come for me, Jake. Come for me.”

All of it comes together and Jake holds you hard against him as he spills inside the condom, a long low groan rattling up from his chest. Your mutual rhythm slows like a swing coming to rest and you fall to bed, Jake following, flopping on his back next to you.

The silence after is filled with yours and Jake's heavy breaths, willing your heartbeat to slow down. Jake is lying with his forearm over his eyes, a light sheen of sweat on his chest.

You roll over and pull his arm down, and ask,

“Did you figure out your answer?”

His brow furrows as he contemplates your question,

“That I lead or let go in bed?”

He laughs,

“You're definitely in charge and I'd let you lead me anywhere,” he replies, laughter in his voice. He gives you a quick peck and slides out of bed to take care of the condom. You stretch and sit up and start taking off your stockings. Jake is picking up his clothes and watches you shimmy out of your garter belt. He puts his clothes back on as you get ready for bed, starting with removing your makeup.

He comes to stand behind you as you swipe the cloth over your face, his full clothing a nice contrast to your naked skin. He kisses your shoulder gently,

“As much as I'd like to stay for another round, I'm due at base early tomorrow.”

“No hard feelings, pretty boy. Thanks for a good night,” you reply, turning around for one last kiss.

He sighs when your lips part and gives you a kiss on the cheek as he breaks away. Turning back to your nighttime preparations, the sound of the door opening and closing filtering from the main room, you smile to yourself. As you slide into bed, you see the note on the hotel pad,

“Call me if you want some more company.

–Jake.”

A phone number is written under the note.

The next morning finds you holding a latte and being shown around hangar after hangar at North Island. What this is supposed to do for your negotiations, you don't know but it beats sitting in a stuffy conference room. Admiral Simpson is droning on about the fighter weapons school when he catches the eye of someone behind you.

“Ahh, here is one of the test pilots for the new F-series,” he says as you turn around and meet some now familiar green eyes,

“Y/n, meet Lieutenant Jake Seresin, call sign Hangman.”

That goddamn smirk is firmly in place as he shakes your hand.

@kmc1989

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mamachasesmayhem

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

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@midnightmagpiemama

@mygyn

#top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #hangman #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin x you #top gun smut #jake seresin smut #jake seresin #hangman smut

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waitingforthet · 1 year

Text

This comic is, as is usual for Wednesday’s comics, chosen by my Patrons. Speaking of…

Check my Patreon out if you’d like to support the comic, even a little bit helps. Or just to check out the reward tiers, there’s some neat bonus stuff and I tried to make them fun: https://www.patreon.com/waitingforthet

#Araña #spider girl #anya corazon #lady stilt man

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rae-gar-targaryen · 2 years

Note

Why yes, your Honour, I would like to lick Jake Seresin’s abs. Each and every one of them. Trace them with my tongue. If that’s a crime throw me in jail.

Well, congratulations, lovely anon. You've inspired something that no one ever thought possible -- Rae writing for a BLONDE MAN, of all people. Pls enjoy this little blurb. Even though it's probably not the greatest thing I've ever written --

your name (on that coffee cup)

warnings: none, just bad flirting.

pairing: jake jortles "hangman" seresin x fem!civilian reader

word count: 2.3k (you've gotta be fucking kidding me) of sweet, if not stilted, flirtation and whatever the fuck this is...

Reblogs make the world go 'round! 🌿💜

The coffee shop was more crowded than usual today. You supposed it might have something to do with the fact that today, the weather gods had decided that it would be the one, annual rainy day, forcing commuters to seek shelter indoors from the "deluge" (but what you considered to be, at most, a decent sprinkle). Southern Californians were decidedly not built for the rain.

You casually observed the casuals and regulars alike filtering in and out from your chosen table adjacent to the pickup counter. Your usual table, from where you'd set up shop, plinking away at your novel with your playlist and the welcome, muffled bustle of customers as backdrop busy-noise that filtered through your headphones for company.

People-watching was uniquely inspirational whenever you were facing a bit of writer's block, so you had opted for leaving the relative coziness of your nearby apartment – content to perch on at this table and allow the quirks of strangers to serve as fodder for your novel.

Except that today, it was more overstuffed than your favorite blue-velvet chair in your apartment. The queue of bodies waiting for their cups of caffeine and their matcha lattes causing the already-warm interior of the shop to fog the windows.

You'd just finished a particularly troublesome paragraph – How your two stubborn protagonists were ever going to set aside their differences as they made their way through the enchanted wood, you weren't one hundred percent clear on. But sometimes it was best to skip the mental obfuscation and jump straight into a part you were excited to write … their eventual love scene was beckoning you.

You worried your drink's straw between your teeth, eyes unfocused, pondering how to get Ser Marcus out of his shirt and beneath Lady Lucy, when he walked in.

Him.

The tall drink of water with broad shoulders and dirty-blonde hair. With a million-watt smile he graced to whichever barista happened to be handing him his coffee that day.

He looked like a Ken-doll, if you were honest. But not in a bad (junkless) way. More of an All-American, conventionally attractive way, if he'd asked you. Not that he had. You had certainly seen him here before. But you weren't sure the same could be said of him.

You watched idly as he breezed past you to place his order in a damp shirt that was veritably plastered to his torso, and running shoes that squeaked with rainwater, the noise making its way over the dull din of the shop.

Perhaps he'd been out for a run when the rain had started.

He spoke to Monica the barista at the counter, out of earshot, though the easy way he leaned against the counter and smiled at her made it clear he didn't mind his own state of dress. The sort of easy handsome of an Eastwood.

You had turned back to the blinking cursor of your doc, thoughts buzzing with handsomely tanned skin and wet clothes, when the unmistakable shadow of a person loomed over you.

You glanced up, only to be simultaneously thankful for your screen protector and greeted with –

"Hi there," he breezed.

It was Ken. In the perfect plastic flesh.

And, really, it was the fact that his torso was directly in your seated eyeline (and no other reason, you swear) that allowed you to notice (appreciate) that his already-rainwet and plastered shirt hugged his torso in such a way that allowed you to observe (appreciate) that you could see the outline of every. single. one. of his abdominal muscles, as though his shirt was made of flimsy tissue paper that might tear away beneath your touch.

No, this was fine.

"Uhhh." You were articulate, you swear. "Hi."

"Would it be alright if I sat with you while I wait?" He gestured over his shoulder with a pointed thumb vaguely in the direction of the pickup counter. "It's a little crowded in here today, and this is the only open seat."

Ah. An arrangement of convenience, and not that he wanted to sit with you.

You bit down your disappointment long enough to ease your lips into what you hoped resembled a smile, gesturing openly to the seat.

"By all means."

He shot a grateful–if not cheeky– wink your way as he pulled the seat out, angling himself to maintain eye contact with you, while still keeping one ear open for his name.

"Thank you, ma'am," he conceded politely, voice still warm and easy, as though no one had ever refused him a paltry request in his life. (And maybe they hadn't.) "I didn't exactly want to stand there in my wet clothes."

"No," you agreed. "Sitting in wet clothes is much more pleasant. Especially in those tight, Baby Gap-sized t-shirts. Everyone knows that."

"Everyone," he agreed, eyes twinkling and allowing you to appreciate just how green they were, glimmering, verdant and mossy, like the forest bedecked with fresh rainfall. How fortuitous, then, that he'd choose to sit with you on San Diego's one rainy day per year. "Teacher? Grading?" He nodded at your laptop, gem eyes flitting over the fading, curled stickers slapped onto the back.

You couldn't help yourself. You giggled.

"No," you shook your head. "Novelist."

"Ah," he conceded. "So whatcha writing?"

And as you made to open your mouth to tell him that he shouldn't really ask a writer those types of question, he perked, and held up a finger as if to say "hold that thought," as he shot up to retrieve his beverage from the counter.

He must've heard his name. Ah well, it was nice while it lasted. You tried not to feel disappointed that your one encounter with hot coffee shop guy had come and gone in the blink of an eye. And tried not to beat yourself up that you hadn't caught the name when it had been called…

To your surprise, he turned back and plopped himself back into the seat opposite you, expectant eyes awaiting your answer as he blew into the small hole at the lid of his coffee cup.

"Ehm," you continued. "It's… a … novel," you finished, lamely. Flushed with the prospect of having to admit to this guy that you wrote high-fantasy erotica for a living, your self-preservation instincts kicking in before you admitted something you wouldn't necessarily have the chance to come back from if he decided to make fun of you for.

And he was ridiculously handsome. The sort of guy who looked like he belonged on the cover of the type of book you were writing, billowing unbuttoned shirt, and all... Maybe he'd pose if you asked?

If he was annoyed or put off by your evasiveness, Ken-doll didn't show it, that million-watt grin easing its way back onto his very pleasing face, prominent jaw and white teeth on full display as he played along.

"I might've guessed," he said. "I'm Jake, by the way."

He held out his hand for you to shake. You responded in kind, allowing his hand to envelop yours with both size and warmth as you pumped your arm in a firm, decided handshake.

"I might've guessed," you parroted.

He shot you a quizzical look; brows furrowed.

"It's on your cup," you nodded in the direction of the cup clutched in his other hand, the corner of your mouth titling into a smile.

"A dead giveaway," he agreed, pleased that you had thought to make the observation. Maybe you were this way with everyone, he thought. All sweet smiles and starry, foxlike eyes, discerning but decidedly available. Selfishly, perhaps — he hoped that wasn't the case.

"Unless of course they had gotten the wrong name, and it's really, like, Jack, or James, or something," the fizzling pleasure of his hand on yours and the swelter of this coffee shop was really doing a number on your head, because now you were rambling. "Then if I had called you Jake based on the cup, I would've been both presumptuous and stupid. Like a 'Mark-with-a-C situation… Cark," you finished, unhelpfully.

"Now that's just unlikely, sweetheart," he disagreed. "You're clearly too sharp for that… Bridget." He squinted at your cup, greeting you with a name that was not your own.

"Oh, no…" you laughed, the pleased sound meeting his ears despite the relative staticky-din of the late-morning rush around him, "My name isn't Bridget," you explained, sheepish about the relative silliness of the game of being friends with one of the workers. "Uh, Monica likes to give me a new name every day I come in. Sort of to mock me for how often I come, I guess? We've known each other awhile. So, she's allowed."

If Jake thought it was childish or silly, he didn't let on, instead nodding and smiling at your explanation, still incomprehensibly interested in what you had to say…

"So that's why I see you in here so often," he conceded. "A novelist who writes in a coffee shop, where she knows everyone. Cute."

Out of any other mouth, it might have sounded condescending. But there was no hint of condescension in his honey-smooth voice. Only the facile twang of Southern charm and genuine earnestness.

But all you heard was that he'd seen you before. He had seen you.

And you must've asked this out loud, because the next thing you knew, he was all smooth laughter and glimmering teeth,

"Yeah, I've seen you," he agreed. "You always look so concentrated, I never want to interrupt. My mama raised me better than that. But today I actually had the chance to say hello. So, uh, thank the rain, I guess…" he eased.

And you'd really hoped that the pleased warmth of flirtatious embarrassment wasn't inclined to show itself in any way, across your face or the exposed skin of your shoulders. Because you were certain those sparkling eyes of his were shrewd enough to tell. And how could a guy like this not be aware of his effect on women? So, you pressed on, closing your laptop lid, the better to focus on him with.

"And what do you do, Jake? If you're out for a run in the rain, you're clearly committed. Let me guess," you tapped your chin in mock-consternation, voice trailing in thought. "Model? Please say no because that would be a lot for me."

Jake barked a laugh at this. And perhaps you'd incidentally, dangerously boosted what was already a high ego. But he continued in good humor –

"No, sweetheart. Not a model. Naval aviator," and he'd actually shrugged at that, like it was no big deal. "I'm at the base down the way. So, yeah, I guess you can say I'm dedicated."

You groaned, teasingly, fucking your head into your arms, "Oh fuck, no. So just a civil servant who looks like a model. You can get the fuck outta here with that." You leaned across the table to teasingly shove one of his (ridiculously sculpted) shoulders, pleased at the feel of him beneath your fingertips.

"It's my honor to serve you, ma'am," he straightened in his seat, taking on his best "official" voice. (Oh, god, this was doing a number on you.) He continued,

"In fact, I think you should let me take you to dinner…?" He trailed off, perhaps in realization that he still didn't know your name.

You twisted in your seat to pluck a pen from the messenger bag hanging from the back of your chair, turning back to pluck his cup from his very hands in a move so cheeky you would swear you were having some kind of out-of-body experience. You were never this bold.

But the attentions of this, okay, let's be real… this veritable Adonis before you was likely doing something dangerous to your own ego, never mind his. Your head was somewhere in the clouds (a place he was clearly comfortable, being a "naval aviator, ma'am," and all)..

You tugged the pen cap off with your teeth, your attention fixed on the label.

Huh. Vanilla soy latte.

You didn't comment on his drink of choice, choosing instead to strike through his name with the pen, and ink your own, your phone number printed clearly and neatly beneath it. Handing the cup back to him when you'd finished, recapping the pen as he twirled the cup in his hands to read what you'd put on the label.

He parroted your name back to you, the way his mouth worked out the letters an image you'd likely think about for a little too long, ya know, later... and the sound of it from his throat ringing in your ears.

"I'll text you," he assured, winking at you as he made to stand, rapping his knuckles on the corner of your table before mock-saluting you with two fingers to his forehead and an easy, charming grin on his lips. "I look forward to hearing about that novel over dinner, ma'am."

With that, he walked out of the shop, taking with him the air in your lungs and your certainty that that had actually just happened, and leaving you with the faintly buzzing feeling of lofty flirtation and the blooming promise of a fucking date!

Eager to capitalize on the fizzy feelings, you opened your laptop lid and turned back to your unfinished section now, wan smile borne of fresh flirtation affixed to your lips, your thoughts swimming in a seafoam green ocean of emerald eyes, breezy flirtation, and, yeah, tight t-shirts...

"It was then that Lady Lucy swung her leg astride Ser Marcus, devilish fingers peeling his tunic from his toned stomach. With a smirk painted across her features, she dipped her head, allowing herself to trace her tongue along the ridges and planes of her lover's stomach, reveling in the feel of each prominent abdominal muscle beneath her tongue. Greeted with the delightful sound of her beloved's surprised gasps, manifestations of pleasure at her attentions…"

And no, you reasoned with yourself as you typed. You totally weren't thinking of green-eyed, handsome Jake as you wrote. These desires were your character's, not yours – you swear.

And no, your thoughts also were definitely not on his promised text message, either, that lit up your phone as you glanced at it. Greeted with the proposition of "Dinner Thursday?" No, you totally weren't thinking of him…

It's life that imitates art, after all... (Or was it the other way around?) And you hadn't had the chance to taste those abs for yourself. (But hope springs eternal...)

Tagging: @withahappyrefrain @thegirlwhowritesfics @xbamboowishesx @friendly-neighborhood-blondie @abibliophobiaa @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @thematthewmurdock @mrshipsmcgee @p3mybeloved @decadentpaperduck @letmeplaytheliontoo @vestrangel @moonlight-prose @aphrogeneias @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @2clones-1kamino @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @shakira-sasha @siriusfahey @joaquinwhorres @jakexfmc @the-navistar-carol @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid @maxmayfield @drew-garfi @eagerforthesky

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake 'hangman' seresin x reader #hangman x reader #hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake 'hangman' seresin x you #my writing #tgm fic #top gun maverick fic #jake seresin imagine #glen powell #glen powell x reader #lovely anons #hangman fluff #jake seresin fluff #isn't it just like me to write for the white boy of the month several months too late #flopcity usa here we come #pls reblog

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teaboot · 8 months

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alrighty my interest is piqued, could you please talk about the traveling hitchhiker who knew juggling and Romanian?

one day I was working on the farm and a lady came up to me out of nowhere with a 4 gallon bucket and said "this is a weird question but would you be comfortable peeing in a bucket?". I told her I was not but asked what was up and she said she was just hired for the summer and was working on some kind of garden thing and for some reason needed piss for it??? Super weird. Anyhow she turned out to to super cool, she hitchhiked everywhere from Europe and worked for food and saw a help wanted sign for our place. Showed me how to use the busses and introduced me to trade-in book stores. First adult I'd met who agreed my dad was a controlling dickhead. Taught me how to kinda-juggle (she knew a bunch of circus stuff, walking on stilts, devil sticks, that sorta thing) and offered to teach me Romanian but I was already working on French. I made her a costume for Burning Man and last I heard she was on her way there next. I wanna be like her someday. Except maybe the piss bucket thing

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ohanny · 3 months

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my take on what happened to kenta after canon and how he grew to love himself (and kim)

after it’s all over, kenta gets into some legal trouble. pete, of course, bails him out of it and gives him a job in his company but it very quickly becomes evident neither one of them is doing well. they have this weird dynamic where there is just too much water under the bridge for a fresh start. pete is way too distracted with his own angst to accommodate all of kenta’s needs and kenta is walking a tight-rope of needing to be good and useful to pete but not wanting to turn pete into another tony-figure.

they’re too awkward and can't communicate properly and one evening pete just pulls out a bottle of whiskey and they sit down and drink. they both get shit wasted and neither one of them knows who leans in first but then they're kissing. it’s… bad. neither one of them truly wants it and when pete pulls back, kenta gets up and walks away.

if they were struggling to work together before, they start downright avoiding each other after. one day, in an effort to get kenta out of the office, pete sends him over to the x-hunter garage to bring alan some papers to sign and that’s when kenta runs into kim again. their eyes meet and that familiar tension is back but this time kenta breaks first, looking down at his feet. “not gonna lie, i thought i would feel some kind of way about this,” kim says, “but man… you look like shit.” kenta huffs out a laugh and looks at kim out from under his bangs and okay, kim thinks, he is kind of cute. and he did finally shish kebab the right person.

so kim agrees to show kenta where alan is working and their stilted attempt at small talk goes a little like:

kim: so you work for pete now?

kenta: yes.

kim: you don’t sound too happy about it.

kenta: it’s something to do.

kim: some friendly, unsolicited advice? You look like you need a break. and like you need to figure yourself out.

kim walks away but what he said sticks with kenta even after he's handed alan the papers and gotten the signatures he needs. he is tired. him and pete can barely look each other in the eye and every time it happens, he gets this familiar sense of doom and anxiety in the pit of his stomach, feeling like he's done something wrong and is about to get punished for it. so when he returns to the office, the first thing he does is ask pete for a leave of absence.

pete agrees immediately, handing kenta a credit card and telling him to take as long as he needs. so in the first selfish act in possibly forever, kenta packs his meager belongings and books a one way ticket to japan for the very next morning. he lands in tokyo and spends the first few days walking around but leaves the city pretty quick, taking a train and then a bus to a village he has no memory of but was listed on his birth certificate.

he works on his rusty japanese. he eats the food. he rents a small bungalow from an elderly lady and settles in. then one evening as he's watching the sun set on his back porch, he texts pete asking for kim’s number and after receiving it (with a question mark he does not answer), sends kim a picture of the said sunset with a simple “thanks for the advice.”

kenta doesn't mean for it to lead anywhere but they start texting. it starts out slow but as the days pass, the messages increase in number. kenta mostly sends pictures of his every day life with short captions because he still struggles with expressing himself. kim tells him about the new racing season and the ongoing saga of north and sonic dancing around each other, about how they’re finally getting their acts together but are so uncertain and awkward about it that both of them constantly keep asking him to third wheel.

and it's easy and safe and kenta never feels pressured so when at the end of the season kim mentions having some time off to travel, kenta doesn't hesitate to offer his services as a tour guide. they meet again at the airport where kenta drove to pick kim up and yes, it is a bit weird at first but then kim rolls his eyes and asks “so are we going to kiss or not?” and kenta laughs. kim’s never heard him do that before and he sounds so happy and looks so pretty that kim doesn't eve wait for an answer and dives in because they only have ten days and he is not going to northsonic this. (yes, kim would use that as a verb.)

they spend their time glued to each other, living in this happy bubble, but all good things must come to an end. kim is flying back and on the final day before his departure, he asks kenta to return with him. “if only for a visit. people care about you, you know? you’re still family to them.” when kenta says he doesn't know if he'd like to stay kim says it doesn't matter. “you don't have to. but you can't hide here forever either.”

and that's how kim ends up coming home from his hush-hush vacation with kenta in tow. this kenta is different than the one that left bangkok nearly a year ago. he looks healthier, has some color to his skin and walks with his back straight and head held high. still, he's nervous as hell as he walks into the x-hunter garage.

he's barely set a foot inside when jeff steps up and pulls him into a hug, telling him how happy he is to see kenta doing so well. babe is the next one up, looking kenta up and down and going “if this is what taking a break does, i might need one too.” (meanwhile sonic approaches kim, wiggles his eyebrows at kenta and goes “... nice,” offering a totally unsubtle high five that kim gladly accepts.)

kenta knows eventually he’ll need to go see pete as well and kim offers to go with him but he knows it's something he has to do alone. so he shows up at the office, near closing time, and knocks on pete’s door with a “you have some time for your brother or do i need to make an appointment?”

pete looks up from his paperwork and sees kenta. and fuck if he doesn't feel an enormous amount of relief? because kenta looks good. because kenta called him his brother. because in that moment he feels like he can have his old friend back without the baggage of the muddled feelings of adolescent love and sense of betrayal. pete needs that desperately. ever since way, he's buried himself i work to cope and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't close to his breaking point.

kenta: you know, a smart man once told me i needed to take a break and go figure myself out.

pete: and is the smart man in the room with us?

kenta: no. but he’s probably bothering your secretary downstairs even though i clearly instructed him to wait in the car.

kenta sounds so stupidly fond when he says this and it's very clear to pete exactly why he was asked for kim’s number all those months ago. but after that brief moment of kenta letting the simp shine through, he does get back into pointing out how pete looks pretty ragged and should rest, if only for a week. pete asks him if kenta would be willing to hold down the fort for that week but kenta just laughs, telling him he's shit out of luck. “i think i’m done doing business with you. or anyone for that matter.”

he explains how, while staying in japan, he started teaching basic martial arts and kendo to the neighborhood kids and he really likes it. that he's good at it and it makes him sleep better at night, knowing he’s helping kids defend themselves. he also hands pete his credit card back with a sly little “i don't think kim and his sponsor money approve me having two sugar daddies” and then says he really should go, that he has plans for the evening.

“are you free tomorrow?” pete asks as they stand up to say their goodbyes. “we could get dinner. as old friends.” “sounds good. i’ll call you?” and this time when kenta walks out of the office, he does it with the final weight off his shoulders. he goes downstairs where kim is, in fact, bothering the secretary, fingers nervously tapping against the counter. he looks so pretty in the late afternoon sun and kenta is struck by the sudden joy of just… being alive to experience this.

he takes kim’s hand in his and walks them out, knowing he’s going to be okay.

do i want to write this out as a proper fic? yes. is it likely i will create something i feel confident posting? no. so take this extremely self indulgent offering in the meantime?

#pit babe the series #kentakim #kimkenta #welcome to my delusions #if i'm not getting an epilogue i will make one up #i am so normal about these two

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