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inkykeiji · 1 month

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⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + dressing you in white

character: alastor warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, heavy pet/master dynamic, toxic relationship (condescension), blood + blood eating, slight gore, fem!reader words: 1.8k

alastor exclusively dresses you, his precious little pet, in white—white linen dresses, white silk pjs, white cotton undies—and you’ve finally figured out why.

“Alright, uh,” Charlie’s finger flicks the worn cardboard spinner in her hands, watching as the arrow lands on a splotch of colour. “Right hand, red!”

You’re in the parlour when it happens—a sudden, sharp pain that sears through your ribs as you bend over, a reactive hiss spit from between gritted teeth.

“Whats’a matter?” Angel teases, panting slightly. “Too short to reach your colour?”

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Angel’s long limbs easily twist to obey the most recent order, both of his right hands finding red circles on the crinkled plastic mat.

“No, I just—”

“Holy shit!” his gasp cuts you off, all amusement eradicated from his face, dissolved by concerned shock. “You’re bleeding!”

“What?”

Glimpsing down at your body, your eyes are drawn toward the rapidly developing blot of scarlet, steadily seeping through white linen—a gruesome petal, irregular edges spreading, slow but ceaseless, eating away at the fabric.

A gurgle of disquiet sounds from the couch, voices tangling together, dulled to your ears as your gaze finds your Master’s.

But he doesn’t meet your stare.

Unblinking crimson eyes are focused on the flowering patch of blood, beginning to mottle as specks bloom around it. His chest rises and falls with even little huffs of air, ebony pupils gnawing at his irises as they devour the sight, his fingers twitching on his knee. Your gaze drifts back to the smeared blemish, the softest whimper dripping from your lips.

It’s beautiful.

Alastor was right; your blood does look ravishing against the crisp bright fabric—stark but artful, a miniature abstract piece being painted in real time as the substance transudes the linen, created by your body and his, together.

Now you understand; there is a reason why Alastor always dresses you in white. Especially when the abrasions he leaves have a nasty tendency to split and spill out.

Entranced, your fingers press around the sensitive flesh, feeling the open wound hollowed by your dress and staining your skin with a glittering crimson, a sharp breath sucked through the gaps of your teeth, flashes of speared agony radiating through the surrounding flesh.

Your sound of pain seems to snap Alastor from his revere, blinking twice as he comes back to himself, smile stretching wider with something sinister, worming between razored teeth.

“All right,” Alastor’s saying as he stands from the couch, bravado ringing strong and clear and firm over the chatter. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Are you sure? That looks, uh—”

“Why is she bleeding in the first place?”

“Alastor, maybe we should—”

“Come, pet.” Alastor disregards the chorus of concerned comments without sparing them a glance, holding an arm out to you in invitation.

Then you’re scampering to his side, instant, instinctive, allowing him to curve around you protectively, guiding you away from a collection of worried faces with a palm plastered over the injury.

“I told you not to play,” Alastor admonishes in a singsong while he guides you through the threshold of his bedroom

Leaning into him, you nestle your cheek against his ribs, catlike, hiding the blurry disappointment nipping at your eyes.

“But I wanted to.”

“You should’ve known better,” he chides, but his voice is tender, fingers rubbing soothing circles into your shoulder as he ushers you into his bathroom, depositing you on the rim of the clawfoot tub. “Your injuries are not fully healed yet.”

Your injuries are never fully healed, you want to point out. He is constantly engraving new cuts, scrapes, slashes, bites into you; there is never a moment where your body is not stained with Alastor in some way.

“I thought they’d be okay,” you say instead, forehead scrunched in petulance.

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“Who knew a game of Twister could be so strenuous,” you mutter to yourself, bottom lip wavering on the edge of a pout.

He snorts out a titter, mean and scoffing as his fingers pick through the first aid kit. “For such a smart little girl, you can be really stupid sometimes, can’t you?”

“What?”

But he refuses to elaborate, continuing on as if you hadn’t spoken at all.

“Clearly, Master cannot allow you to make decisions for yourself,” he teases, but his tone holds a twinge of sincerity, a vow of certainty.

This is the last time you’ll be making a decision on your own for a long time.

“Arms up.”

Immediately, you comply, arms held straight over your head, Alastor’s hands curling in the hem of your dress and pulling it from your body in one swift, fluid motion.

It stings, the linen of the dress ripped harshly from the steadily weeping wound it had been clinging to, a yelp cracking in your throat.

A halfhearted hush falls from your Master’s lips as he carefully drapes the soiled dress over the rim of the tub, taking a moment to admire the stain. A finger traces around the blotch almost affectionately, a tender sigh exhaled out his nose. Then his palms are finding your legs, pushing them apart and sinking to his knees, wedging himself between your spread thighs.

“All right, let Master see,” he murmurs, shoulders hunched a little as he becomes eye level with the gash, your spine straightening to present the tear to him.

Hesitant fingers prod at the surrounding flesh, now smeared with dried blood, inspecting the damage.

“You ripped open every single stitch,” Alastor chuckles quietly, his fingers tugging at the bordering skin and watching with macabre awe as the wound gapes open beneath the pressure, a thick torrent of blood oozing out.

A whine that sounds suspiciously close to his title sticks in your throat, half-stifled by your clenched teeth, and he looks up at you, sadistic amusement glimmering in his eyes.

“Does that hurt, sweetheart?” His fingertips press down on the tender flesh, now slick with blood, and shove together, completely sealing the wound, another cascade of crimson spilling past the seam.

“Master!” you cry out, fingers clamping over his shoulders to steady yourself, nails scraping against cotton.

The force of his touch increases, claws nearly sinking into the torn slash. “Answer my question.”

“Yes!” you choke out, head nodding in quick little motions. “Yes, it hurts.”

A soft hum vibrates at the back of his throat, sharp teeth hidden behind a wide, close-lipped smile. Leaning forward, he plants his tarnished hands on your thighs for stability, then runs his nose along the top of the cut, inhaling one deep breath, his entire ribcage expanding as his chest swells with it.

He stops, holds the scent in his lungs for a moment, lets it ferment into something sick and foul, lets it steep in the tissues and infuses them with you, before finally exhaling, the rush of air frigid against the bleeding gash.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, rubbing his mouth into the blood. “So fucking delicious.”

Tongue unfurling from his mouth, he traces, slow and cautious, around the edges of the wound with the tip, turning rusted blood watery and faded, grotesque streaks painted across your flesh. A noise claws at his throat, desperate to get out as he shoves it back down, tongue flattening over the slit and dragging, measured and meticulous, slick muscle soaking up the percolating blood.

“Alastor,” you nearly moan, dainty fingers curling around his antlers, the sudden touch evoking a growl from deep within his chest.

“Let your Owner clean it,” he spits against the injury, lips brushing it again, voice muffled by your skin.

And so, you do—because you’re nothing if not an obedient little pet girlfriend for your Owner, back arching as you press your ribs into his mouth, offering yourself up to him.

He laves over the laceration three more times, glazing it in a protective layer of his saliva, glimmering in the light with each of your shallow breaths.

“Better,” he breathes, the word nothing more than a wisp of air against the wet cut, chills skittering across your flesh.

“Th-Thank you, Master,” you whisper, fingers tugging on his antlers a little, desperate to get him closer. “I—It felt nice.”

Crimson eyes flick up, his gaze veiled by heavy lids as he laps at his lips, cleaning them of excess blood, some of it streaked along his chin.

And, oh, how breathtakingly beautiful he looks coloured in strokes of you.

Hips twitching a little, your thighs tense around his torso, and he looks down again, eyes honing in on the drenched lace between your legs, panties molding to your cunt and accentuating every dip, every bump, every contour.

He chuckles at the sight—something dark, something decadent, something demeaning melting on his tongue.

“Well,” he pants softly to himself, pride tweaking the edges of his smile. “Would you look at that.”

A finger traces the outline of your cunt—over your hood, along your lips, circling your hole and just barely pressing into it, watching with a morbid fascination the way it flutters against his finger, delicate material dipping, trying to siphon his finger into you.

“You would like that, you nasty little girl.”

But he’s aroused, too, his cock straining eagerly against his trousers, a direct result of your sweet blood still tinging his tongue, your precious yelps of pain still ringing in his ears. Saliva pools in the dips of your mouth as you stare at it, thighs flexing on either side of him again, another gush of warmth flooding the apex of your legs.

“Master, you’re—” you begin in a stringy, needy whine, swallowing thickly. “You—You’re…Can we…”

“Can we what?”

A knuckle finds your chin, drawing your eyes back to his, a thumb gripping the point, inhibiting you from fleeing his invasive stare.

“Come now, it’s rude not to finish your sentence.”

Pricks of embarrassment erupt across your face, eyes teetering on a wince as you force the stubborn words from your tongue, question trembling.

“Can we fuck?”

Crimson searches your face, pupils pulsing with a vile sort of voracity, consuming his irises bit by bit as he contemplates. His gaze is cutting, slicing into you as it torturously pulls apart your features and examines them one by one.

And you—you let him, open and willing and vulnerable and raw as you bear your soul to him, as you rip yourself open for him, as your fingers dig through meat and blood and bone to get to your core, offering it to him wholeheartedly.

“Perhaps,” he finally responds, reaching for his surgical needle and thread. “I’m going to re-stitch this now,” he tells you, voice a touch huskier than before. “If you are well behaved as I tend to the wound—no squirming, no complaining—I might just give you what you want.”

His stare holds your own, an eyebrow raising, imbued with inquiry.

Are you ready to play?

Oh, he isn’t going to make it easy for you, but you’re up for the challenge.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #alastor smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #tw:blood

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bandgie · 7 days

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stray kids as tattoo artists? I read a fic on AO3 once where Jisung Chan and Felix all owned a tattoo parlour (called Red Lights hehe) and reader worked there and got brought into their OT8 poly relationship and it lives rent free in my brain.

But anyway, what do you think they would be like as tattoo artists? Who would tattoo what body parts? Who would fuck you in the chair, who would give you head/let you suck them off, and who would force themselves to remain professional even though you can see they're hard?

wait I so need the fic if you have it plzzz

MDNI 18+ under the cut

fucking you

lee know - you have such a shy yet aroused look the moment you're in the chair. he'd touch you lightly at first, knuckles bumping against your breasts to clean the skin for the tattoo. your breath would hitch, your eyes would stare into his and you'd bite your lip. all it takes is a little nod from your end and he's undoing his belt

hyunjin - no because he never really does this. he's usually so professional, even with the hungry eyes staring at him, but there's just something so sexy about you. maybe it's the tattoos you already have, slightly faded and in need of a touch up. once he establishes that you are, in fact, wanting him the same way he wants you, he'd go to the front door of his shop and flip the sign to 'closed'

Seungmin - you'd have to beg him for it ngl. you're a regular at his parlor and he just loves how flustered you get. Seungmin doesn't mind teasing you for your session, but you just cant take it anymore. you'd make him move the stencil over and over again just under your boobs because 'its just not right' and you'd offer to take off your shirt so it's easier for him. that's the last straw for him and he'd waste no time in getting you on his cock

oral sex

changbin - he's giving you head, no questions asked. he's shaving the inner part of your thigh and your legs just look so good in shorts. he's gulping, eyes wide and briefly looking at your crotch. you notice though, and you'd gently place your hand over his and push the razor away, opening your legs so he can get a better look. he might panic at first, claiming he didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, but you shush him and grab the back of his head to guide him to your cunt.

han - you're on your tummy, feeling han prep you for a back tattoo. honestly, if he wasn't so nervous he'd fuck you just like that, but you start giving him innocent compliments that lead to you not-so-innocently sitting him on the laid out chair and getting on your knees. he's just so cute whimpering and biting into his hand while his thighs tremble around your face

professional

chan - this honestly shouldn't be a surprise. he takes his job very seriously, and no matter how many times your hand accidentally brushes against his cock or how prettily you bat your eyelashes, he will not do anything out of line. but ofc you can see the strain, and tent in his jeans that must be so uncomfortable. he's got a red blush on his ears, but he's so keen on making sure he's professional throughout the session. maybe you just need to make another appointment

felix - I think he likes knowing that you know he's horny, if that makes sense. it's the yearning that really turns him on, the longing stares, the lip bite he does when his touches linger. even if it makes his cock throb, he just loves teasing you too much to do anything. still, I do think he'd grind his front against your body 'accidentally' and he wouldn't say no if you start palming him while he shaves your arm to clean to area

jeongin - is just nervous. he really isn't sure if you're flirting with him or not. a lot of girls try to do favors in getting out of paying, but you're just so persistent you tip very good after each session. he's thought about taking things a step further, but he really isn't sure how to. if he's doing a chest tattoo, his hand will find purchase on your tit, a small blush on his face saying it helps in keeping him anchored. you don't push him, a sweet smile on your face as you tell him you don't mind, that it feels good. he gulps, cock hardening in his sweats and he prays he doesn't have to stand for a while

not proofread lmao

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readingcoco · 3 months

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Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 3444 words

Ao3 Link

Summary: When a new sandy-haired Deputy Sheriff arrives in town, you can't figure out why he gives you and the other Working Girls so little attention. It becomes your mission to figure him out and hopefully make some money along the way.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, eventual smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honor Arthur Morgan, angst, mutual pining, Deputy Callahan.

Thanks to @rivetingrosie4, @redwritr & @shootybangbang for all your help on this story and for being dreamy angels.

Chapter One - The Deputy

[chapter 2]

“Guess who’s downstairs!” a voice interrupts from behind your door.

The autumn sun sits heavy in the sky, casting a warm pink haze that spills in through your bedroom window. You were supposed to start your shift an hour ago, but instead, you are here, sprawled out on your bed, hair undone, counting the money from the evening before. Muffled notes from the piano downstairs drift softly into your room. You inhale deeply on your cigarette, resenting all things that pull you away from these precious sleepy moments before you have to head downstairs. Make conversation. Smile. Perform.

Timekeeping has never been your strong suit, and you have lost count of the times Lulu had threatened to dock your tips for tardiness. These were empty threats, of course. You knew your position was secure - Even if Lulu liked to kick up a fuss in front of the other girls.

Brow furrowed, you take another drag from your cigarette. $15. $75 total from the week so far. Money hadn’t been flowing as freely as it had done seasons past. The drought had hit everyone hard, and you knew, sure enough, if the boys were feeling it in the tobacco fields, it wouldn’t be long till you were feeling it in the cat house, too. Seemed everyone was praying for rain. Still, Saturday meant full pay packets and men eager to let loose after the working week - something you were more than happy to help them with.

“Who!?” you call out, just as Minnie peeps her head around your door.

“Christ! You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge ass backwards! Lulu’s been askin' after you?”

You hum in response, dragging a comb through the bird's nest atop your head sweeping it up into a loose bun. “Who's got you all giddy? Surely not some John?”

“That new Deputy’s back!”

You roll your eyes. “How big’s the pot now?”

“$5. $5.25, if you still fancy your chances”, Minnie smirks, perching herself at the foot of your bed, watching as you put the last of your face on. “but Ida says she’s out. She don’t wanna waste more time on a Trick who don’t want tricking.”

“Tricks always want to be tricked,” you say, rooting through the collection of bills and coins laid out haphazardly across your bed, handing Minnie 25¢, which she slips into her coin purse.

Men were mostly the same. Sure, some might pretend to be respectable in the streets with their wives or taking their mothers to church on a Sunday, but you’d had every colour and creed between your legs. This deputy would be no different, and you were going to relish claiming the prize pot for yourself.

With a final drag of your cigarette, you smooth out your skirts and collect the pile of money on your bed, stashing it in your linen drawer - making a mental note to deposit it in the parlour safe before the night was out. Keeping that much money in your room is foolish, and if you were more sensible, you would deposit your tips between each John. But then you’d miss out on watching the pile grow. Evidence of your labour, your time, your craft. It wasn't like you worried you wouldn’t get it back as soon as requested - Lulu’d always been good about things like that, but to hand it over before you’d even had the chance to feel the paper fully in your palm seemed like it would make it less real somehow.

You turn to Minnie-

“You ready?”

“Girl, I’ve been waiting on you!”

“Let’s give that deputy the night of his life.”

Although the sun is yet to set in the sky, the house is already live with music and laughter, the mezzanine balcony providing the perfect vantage point to assess what the evening might have in store. There are men fresh from the fields playing Faro, Lemoyne Raiders several whiskeys deep, a few of the younger, more boisterous Grays and the creepy gunsmith, Mister Feeney. Not amazing pickings, but not dire either. Then you spot him, sitting quietly on the table closest to the door, hat pulled low, scribbling something furiously into some book. An odd sight, all considered. You weren’t sure most of the men in this town could read, let alone write.

Minnie squeezes your arm before descending the spiralled staircase, the Deputy firmly in her sights. You lean back to watch as she glides effortlessly across the room—a vision in teal silk taffeta.

As you settle onto your hip, the fine hairs on your neck abruptly stand to attention as the air pressure changes behind you.

“So kind of you to grace us with your presence.” Lulu’s voice drips thick with syrupy disdain. Smile remaining tight. Never in front of the guests.

“Punctuality is a virtue of the bored, Miss Lulu.” You smile sweetly.

She’s not impressed.

“Just get to work. Make Some Money.”

As you look back down to the floor below, a dispirited Minnie is walking away from the Deputy, his nose still firmly in his book. You bristle slightly. Did this man think himself better than the women who worked here? Sure, he was paying for drinks, but a man could drink at home if he was looking for solitude. In a parlour house, it was polite, proper even, to tip the girls, whether you require our services or not. And if the deputy didn’t know this etiquette, you were more than happy to educate him. Prize pot be damned.

It was your turn to make the night’s debut down the curve of the parlour’s stairs, something that on an ordinary night, you liked to draw out for as long as possible. Feel the eyes of each man gaze up at your form like they were watching a goddess descending from heaven, blessing them with your time. True power. But tonight, it takes everything in you not to stomp down the last few steps onto the floor.

That cad still isn’t paying you a lick of attention.

“Deputy.” Your voice comes out curter than you intend as you reach him. You hope Lulu isn’t close enough to overhear.

“Maybe another time, Darlin” " the man responds without looking up.

Make conversation.

“Deputy” You try again. “Are you aware of the price on your head?”

The sound of pencil scratching comes to a halt as he turns to face you. To your surprise, you notice that he was drawing rather than writing as he snaps the leather-bound book shut—the sound startling your gaze upwards to meet his own. And for the first time, you take in the scale of the man. Built like an Ox with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, upon which the words ‘Deputy Sheriff’ shine out from his silver badge. From this proximity, he looks unlike any lawman you’ve seen.

He watches you intently as though trying to predict your next move - eyes a piercing shade of azure blue, locked dangerously onto your own. You have his full attention, but now you’re unsure if you want it.

“Excuse me?”

You swallow and try to make your next words lighter in tone.

Smile.

“Nearly five and a half dollars, in fact.”

His shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Eyes still on you but less predacious, perhaps even the suggestion of a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his mouth.

“Five and a half dollars? That’s some bounty. What I do, rob a bank?”

“Worse,”

He rubs his jaw.

“Oh?”

“You got five whores questioning our faculties. There’s a sweep on which lucky lady’s gonna be the first to get you upstairs, but so far, no one’s got as far as your name.”

A low rasp of a laugh passes the Deputy’s lips, and you feel a sense of relief as the danger in the air dissipates. Bluntness- this man responds to bluntness. And you wonder if you can hold his attention long enough to work your magic.

Perform.

“There are normally two reasons a man mightn’t want to lay with a girl like me…”

You pause for effect, starting to have fun now.

“He’s broke. Though that don’t stop most from pushin’ their luck. Or they’re queer.”

The Deputy straightens and clears his throat. There is something delightful about making a man like this squirm, and you can’t help but sense that he may be enjoying it too.

“So which is it, Deputy?”

You give him your most innocent of smiles. Hand finding purchase upon the swell of his shoulder, knowing full well that its removal could signal the latter of your accusations. You are being cruel now.

There is a moment of hesitation before the man can find the words to respond. Your unassuming smile not giving him an inch of wiggle room. Thumb beginning to make slow circles atop his shirt.

“I-It’s just not really my thing. Payin' for it, I mean. Not that I can’t, or - or-”

“Oh? There’s some third thing I ain’t privy to? A sweetheart somewhere you’re keeping true for?”

“Not really, no.”

A hint of regret in his voice.

“Then why deny yourself a bit of company?”

You notice the tips of his ears turn pink and leave his lack of an answer to hang in the air for a moment before taking pity-

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasin’, but you ought to know it’s customary to buy a girl a drink, even if you ain’t planning on laying with her. We all have to make a living, Deputy, and this is my house.”

And you're not sure if it’s out of a sense of gratitude at you relenting your line of questioning or because he has started to enjoy the warmth from your hand on his shoulder, but that’s when he motions for the barkeeper to bring two drinks over to the table.

Your eyes dart over to Minnie, who is sat between two Grays. She throws you an encouraging wink, and you become keenly aware of the four other sets of eyes watching too. This is the furthest any of you has got with this man, and a wave of responsibility washes over you. You are going to earn that $5.25 plus the additional $5 when he fucks you. You feel foolish for ever doubting your ability in the first place. A man is a man, is a man.

“Ethel White”, you hold out your hand “but call me Ettie.”

“Arthur Callahan.”

Arthur.

He nods to the chair across from him as he removes the leather book from the table and puts it away in his satchel. You pull out the chair next to him instead, purposefully pinning him between you and the wall.

“Christ woman, you ain’t coy, are you?” he laughs, removing his hat, revealing a sandy crop of hair.

Without his hat, you are better able to take in the details of his face: the strong brow, the crook of a nose broken one too many times, a smattering of sunspots across his crown. Quite handsome, you think to yourself, a welcome change from the interchangeable looks of the Grays or Braithwaites who make up the bulk of your clientele.

“Not at all,” you smirk. “Besides, I want to take a look at what you were scribbling away at in that book. Must be awfully interesting to hold your attention so well.” You glance down at the journal now peeking out the top of his satchel. “Is that watercolour paper?”

“Huh?”

“Watercolour paper, you know, to stop the paint seeping through and spoiling the rest of the pages? I saw you were drawing and-”

He looks at you then, and you can see a slight flicker of shame cross his face momentarily. The feeling of someone pointing out the unfamiliar to a previously known thing, changing it somehow, making it less your own. You feel guilty. Watching him squirm was fun, but you never intended to make him feel foolish.

“I don’t paint. It’s for sketching mostly, keepin' track of the people and places I’ve been.”

“You do a lot of travelling, Deputy?”

“A bit.”

That instinct again, that there is more to this man than meets the eye. The lawman artist a walking contradiction.

“What do you paint then?”

His question catches you off guard. Men like to be asked about themselves. They rarely ever show interest in you. A prick of heat flushes across your cheeks, and you hope the rouge of false abashment covers its authentic companion. It’s you who is in control here - not him, goddammit. But his face is filled with genuine curiosity, like he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t interested, and that’s what puzzles you further.

“Um, landscapes mostly, but I prefer painting people.” The words spill out before a filter of allurement or double entendre can be applied. “It’s just difficult to get people to sit for any length of time. Though I’ve painted all the girls here at some point or another.”

“Where’d ya learn?”

And that is a question too far.

You’d been gifted a great many things over the years, some thoughtful, most not, and learned the hard way how easily something given could be taken away. You’re art though, no one could take that. You wondered sometimes if that had been an oversight when you’d been promised lessons. The techniques acquired the only remaining thing worth a damn apart from your horse. Leftovers from another life.

“Don’t change the subject, Deputy. Are you going to show me your sketches or not?” Before you can stop yourself, you are leaning over him to grab at his satchel, totally aware that the danger this man displayed to you only moments earlier still lies just below the surface. With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabs the wrist of your right hand, firm in his warning. Do not push me, girl. But you have never been one to know when to stop. Your eyes are locked onto him as your breath comes in quick and heavy to your chest; You notice his start to slow. He’s read you like a book. Left hand spearing from under the table to meet your secondary attack, pinning it against his thigh.

You look down at your fingers splayed out under the weight of his own. Knuckles scarred and calloused from a lifetime of work not typically required by law enforcement. The warmth from his thigh radiates beneath your palm, and it takes everything in you not to edge your fingers closer to the source of his heat.

He meets you with an expression you struggle to place. Not anger - though you couldn’t blame him if it was. Amusement maybe?

“Think careful about your next move now, Miss. I wouldn't want to have to arrest you for larceny.”

You give him your widest of smiles and look carefully over your shoulder behind you. And as though suddenly clocking the inference of your shared position, Arthur lowers your right hand so it rests on the table rather than in the air. The grip still firm.

“If I let you go, will you behave?”

“Will you show me your drawings?”

“Woman-” But he doesn’t say no.

“I’ll behave.”

He looks at you, trying to figure out whether he trusts you.

“I promise.”

Gaze still set, he experiments loosening the grip on your wrist and then shadows the hand on his thigh - awaiting any sudden movements. You hold still. And for a moment, you see him grapple with himself as though he can’t quite believe what he is about to do. He releases you fully, and you take back your right hand, leaving your left firmly in place.

“Now, if I show you, you gotta promise not to go grabbin'? There’s stuff a man should be able to keep private.”

You nod.

He grins as he bucks his thigh, dislodging your rooted palm.

“Hands behind your back.”

With a playful huff you acquiesce, putting both arms behind you as though bound and look back at him coquettishly. And although he feigns disinterest at the way this new position pushes forward the peak of your chest, you catch his eyes dart across them, guilty in their haste.

He removes the leather-bound journal from his satchel, smoothing open two pages carefully on the table.

“Here. But that’s your lot.”

Spread across both pages is a beautifully rendered sketch of the parlour’s exterior, and you don’t know how to react. He stiffens slightly beside you.

“Just a silly doodle,” he says, moving to close the book. Clearly reading your quietness for disappointment, disgust, something else?

“Wait-”

To see the parlour captured in such effortless detail; The ornate carvings of the porch where you take your morning coffee, the Virginia Creeper that had to be cut back for fear it’d engulf the entire house, the hanging baskets of petunias that Lulu so lovingly tended to - feels exposing in a way you’d not expected. What other unnoticed minutiae had his perceptive eyes picked up on?

“It’s beautiful. You’ve captured it just right.” You half-whisper.

“Ain’t as good as a paintin’.”

“Different thing entirely, but if you can draw like this, I’m sure you’d make a fine painter.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles as you catch sight of Lulu’s permeating glare as she sweeps down the central staircase. You are on the clock. If he’s not biting, move on. And you remember you are not here to discuss painting or art unless it serves your more explicit purpose.

“See that top window at the back?” You make sure to graze his arm as you remove one hand from behind your back, bringing it slowly to the open page.

“That’s my bedroom.”

“Oh?”

“Might you like to come up and see some of my work?”

You can see him contemplating the thought over in his mind, and you start to wonder if there really is some poor woman he is betrothed to… or perhaps your prior insinuation was correct, for you have never met a man so ill at ease at being in close proximity to a woman-

“Mister Callahan!”

You are both pulled away from each other's gaze as you turn to face your intruder. Sheriff Gray. And you are up and on your feet in an instant. Eyes twinkling with faux excitement to welcome this invader of fun, spoiler of all things delightful and new. Arthur straightens to attention.

“I see you’ve met Ettie. Ain’t she a peach? I hope she’s been treatin’ you with all the hospitality we here at Rhodes can offer.” As he slurs his words, it is clear he’s already halfway soaked and once again, you feel Lulu’s watchful eyes on the back of your neck. You have a responsibility to your house, and Sheriff Gray isn’t any regular John. To keep him placated is to keep the house protected, and it is your duty to ensure the Sheriff remains happy and drunk, coddled and empty.

“Oh, stop it!” You coo in his ear, wrapping your arm up tightly in his. Voice layered thick with honey.

The shine on his breath hits like a train, bringing tears to your eyes that you mask by nuzzling your head to his shoulder. He sags heavy on your hip, oblivious.

“You didn’t tell me you’d hired such a handsome new Deputy-''

Arthur shifts in his seat, and you wonder what detail of your performance his observant eyes have picked up on.

“You keepin’ secrets from me, Sheriff? Or do you just want me all to yourself?”

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” Sheriff Gray hiccups and turns to face Arthur. “Do you mind if I accompany the lady upstairs?”

Arthur stands, towering over the Sheriff by quite some measure and places his hat back atop his head.

“Course not. You both enjoy your evening. I’ve to be headin' back anyway.”

For a second, your eyes meet Arthur’s, but his expression is impenetrable. The Sheriff speaks again.

“Safe travels, Deputy. Rhodes is honoured to have such honest men like you and Mr Mackintosh about. Your work rootin’ out that shine is already being felt around the county.”

Arthur nods. The effects of the shine are certainly being felt.

He hiccups again. “Don’t be a stranger, now.”

“Don’t be a stranger.” You repeat, all traces of the sickly sweet affect gone from your voice. You yip as the Sheriff swats your backside, but you keep your head high, eyes still held on this curious lawman artist.

Don’t be a stranger.

“Miss.” Deputy Callahan touches the brim of his hat as you lead Sheriff Gray upstairs to your room.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x fem!reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 smut #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x oc #painted red

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ham1lton · 8 days

Text

summer came like cinnamon (so sweet)

pairing(s): logan sargeant x reader. oscar piastri x reader.

warnings: mentions of mental health, dieting, fractured friendships and constant mention of jim’s ice cream parlour. also different povs, it goes through the minds of all three of the main characters.

summary: after their rookie season, in a bid to repair their friendship, the two drivers decide to take their new paycheques and go explore the sun, sea and sands of greece. what they didn’t anticipate was to bump into you.

wordcount: 5.6k

author’s note: this is my first semi-interactive fic, please give it some love <3 any major issues in travelling and stuff like in terms of logistics? please ignore. also let me know who you’re planning on choosing. team oscar or team logan?

— wanna be updated on the next parts? join my taglist! —

— part one of the summer lovin’ series. —

[ i ain’t a kid no more / we’ll never be those kids again ]

logan didn’t know why he was so overwhelmed with anxiety, when he knocked on oscar’s door on that rainy thursday night.

this was his oscar, the oscar that had practically grown up with him. the one who knew how he liked his toast and that he was fond of a burger with all the extras. that he had a scar on his left ankle from when he was a kid and wrestled with his brother after watching too much wwe.

ever since he had signed to williams and oscar had been a mclaren driver, they had hardly talked in comparison to their pre-formula one days. when he had crashed out during a race, he half expected oscar to text him or come knocking on his hotel door.

he didn’t. logan pretended he wasn’t surprised.

fuck it. bite the bullet. he lifted his hand high and knocked on the door. three quick taps in succession.

“one moment!” oscar called from inside. logan would wait, even if that old lady from room 135 kept looking at him like he was an intruder. maybe he was. he hadn’t been in oscar’s room for a while.

oscar opened the door with messy hair and a shirt that had been clearly shoved on before he opened the door.

“logan? hi.” oscar swallowed. the awkwardness in the space between the two of them felt heavy. “you okay mate?”

“yeah! yeah.” logan fake laughed, rubbing his sweaty palms against his jeans. “just wanted to come see you.”

“i’m here.” oscar grinned, with no teeth, at his own joke. “wanna come in?”

“sure. kinda awkward talking in the hallway anyways. that old lady is about five minutes from calling the cops on me.”

“oh that’s just brenda.” oscar said after leaning out and getting a glance at the woman, who waved at him. he waved back. “she’s harmless.”

logan followed oscar into his room. it was bigger than his and he didn’t know if feeling jealous was appropriate. he had felt many emotions when it came to oscar; happy, sad, angry, and others. he didn’t want jealousy to join the list.

“sorry, my room is a mess. i wasn’t expecting company.” oscar laughed with no heart behind it as he sat down on his unmade bed. “take a seat logan, you’re giving me anxiety just standing around.”

logan immediately sits down on the desk chair.

“so, what are your plans for the summer?”

“mine?” oscar thinks to himself. “probably just to go see my family and my friends back home.”

“i was thinking maybe we could, i don’t know.” logan bites his lip anxiously. “do something together?”

“like what?” oscar is curious now, his eyes focused.

“maybe go on that european holiday we always talked about? we have the money now and no parents to tell us no like last time.” logan speaks in a rush. “but obviously if you say no, dude that’s totally fine.”

logan looks at oscar, who’s actually considering it? he thinks to himself for a moment before turning to logan.

“how many days?”

“as long as you’d like.”

“where would we go?”

“anywhere you’d want.”

“make a decision, logan. i’ll say yes or no.”

“we always wanted to go to greece? how about there? maybe for three weeks?”

“we should go for a month. we can travel.”

wait. so that means? oscar’s face is still impassive. he doesn’t say yes or no, but he is still considering it. that’s a positive.

“that’s fine. i’m flexible.”

“i’ll plan it.” oscar nods.

“so is that a yes?”

“obviously.” oscar finally smiles, open and dazzling. logan grins too, allowing himself to bask in the approval. he was almost 67% sure that oscar would say no. he’d already done the maths, but it wasn’t his strongest subject anyways.

“i’ll text you the details.” oscar nods and logan gets up, running a hand through his hair. giddy with happiness that he’ll finally win his best friend back. this’ll be the trip that heals them. that heals him.

-❀-

oscar gets stressed when he’s not in charge. everything has to go through him. the plans, the schedule and especially the driving. he’s never liked being in the passenger seat. his hands get fidgety and he doesn’t know how to calm them down.

he’s lucky that logan is all too happy to sit in it, his eyes focused on making the perfect road trip playlist. for some reason, they’d decided to drive from london all the way down to munich.

they’d already driven down from london and through the eurotunnel and took a break sightseeing in france - which oscar had already scheduled for. they ate their weight in croissants. they ate steak and frites. logan had bought them matching ‘i ♥︎ paris’ t-shirts and oscar rolled his eyes but packed it neatly in his suitcase anyways.

they hadn’t talked about anything other than surface level topics. logan talking about his favourite sports teams, them both discussing the grid and plans for the upcoming season and the usual small talk about their family’s wellbeings.

they didn’t talk about how they ignored each other unless a camera necessitated a conversation. they didn’t talk about logan’s bad season. they stayed up till stupid hours watching badly dubbed french movies and ordering takeout.

they drove to germany, dropped off their rental car and then got a plane from munich to athens. it wasn’t very long at all but logan still curled up against the window and tried to sleep. they were both connected to the spotify account on logan’s phone - logan using his headphones and oscar with his airpods. their road trip playlist still playing.

oscar didn’t know why he didn’t take them out, even when the playlist inevitably repeated itself.

-❀-

they’d been in athens all of two days when they met you. logan had gone an insanely bright red when he’d forgotten his sunscreen had ran out. oscar laughed at first but then ran to the nearest pharmacy to grab emergency sunscreen and aloe vera for the both of them.

after slathering themselves, they’d decided to seek refuge in a small ice cream store. despite the hot weather, the store was almost completely empty besides the two of them and you. you were fiddling with your phone in the corner as you attempted to hook it up to the speakers.

“fuck’s sake!” you shout quietly, frustratingly trying to make it work. “i can’t do this shift without any music. my thoughts’ll drive me insane.”

“um?” oscar breaks the awkward silence. you jump and turn around. the first thing that they both notice is that you’re pretty. really pretty. even in the unflattering oversized neon green work t-shirt.

“sorry! sorry! i apologise. i didn’t think anyone was in the shop. please forgive me.” you look flustered as you move to quickly wash your hands and dry them. “what would you both like today?”

to be honest, logan hadn’t been thinking about the ice cream. oscar didn’t need to think, he was going to get his usual order.

“can i get two scoops of mint chocolate chip?”

“oh that’s disgusting. i forgot that you eat that.” logan shakes his head in shock.

“it’s good. you’re just a hater.” oscar rolls his eyes. “stick to your boring vanilla.”

“it’s a classic!” logan turns to you and asks for two scoops of vanilla and one scoop of mango. you smile and begin to start their orders.

“you guys aren’t from around here, are you?” you ask.

“nah. the accents give it away?” logan laughs as he slings an arm around oscar’s shoulder. oscar rolls his eyes again but makes no move to push him away.

“yeah. a little bit.” you pinch your fingers together as you say it. “i’m not really from here either.”

“no?” oscar replies this time, curious.

“international student. this was one of the few places that’d hire me with my insane schedule. i’m lucky i have the next month off, thankfully.”

“aren’t you going back home?”

“i could if i wasn’t scheduled to work here practically every day for the next month.” you finish logan’s order and move on to oscar’s. you shrug. “and i need the money. the job could be worse really, i just wish the speaker fucking worked and the air conditioning. luckily i stand close to the ice cream.”

“what do you study?”

“archaeology.”

“best place for that is probably here.”

“yes. i don’t know why but ever since i was a little girl i knew i wanted to come to greece and study here. this is the less glamorous side of it but i’m here doing what i love.”

“that’s all that matters right?” logan chimes in. you nod as you scan their orders into your till.

“that’ll be €7.62.” you say. “cash or card?”

“cash.” oscar says as he pulls out his wallet. he’s infinitely glad he’d prepared and went to the cash exchange in london before he’d left. logan doesn’t even bother to offer, he picks up his ice cream and starts to eat it.

oscar hands you the cash as logan moves to a booth right by the open door to take advantage of the breeze. you count back the change and place it right in his hand. his heart doubles a beat as your hands touch for a moment but the moment is broken as your phone suddenly decides that now is the time to work.

the speakers start blaring natasha bedingfield’s ‘pocketful of sunshine’. you curse, close the till with your hip and turn to fiddle with the playlist.

oscar thinks he’s a little in love.

-❀-

logan knows that oscar likes you, which is a problem because he likes you too.

this road trip was supposed to be about finding themselves, not finding you. yet, when they find themselves back in your ice cream store the next few days, it’s no coincidence.

“you’re back again! the american and australian.” on day four, you’re not alone this time. you have a colleague, a girl who’s slightly older than you. she smirks at the two of them like she knows a secret they don’t know. “i’m not the only international one here!”

the speakers seem to work normally today, playing elton john as you hum along with it. your colleague decides that it’s time to take her lunch break, slipping off her apron and leaving the three of you to it.

“same thing as every day? or are we changing it up?”

“what do you recommend?” logan asks earnestly. he’s not losing oscar to you, maybe if he charms you enough, you’ll pick him. he doubts you will.

“everything is good here but if you really want my opinion? the chocolate fudge is a real crowd pleaser.”

“i’ll take two scoops of that and oscar’ll just have mint chocolate.” logan pulls out his wallet, opens it to find a mix of euros in there. he takes a moment to pick at the right change when you shake your head at him.

“no, it’s fine. it’s on the house today. i’m in a good mood.”

“why?”

“a lot of reasons. you know what? i forgot that i didn’t even introduce myself. i’m y/n.”

“we know.” oscar is amused.

“how? are you psychic? i used to know a psychic once and i also watched that’s so raven. great show.”

“your name badge.” logan nods at your shirt as he eats a spoonful of ice cream. you were right, it’s amazing. not too sickly but just the right amount of chocolate.

“oh.” you bite your lip in embarrassment as oscar takes his ice cream.

“i’m oscar and the american is logan.” logan smiles and waves his free hand at you. “is the shop always this empty?”

“no. it’s really busy after school and at peak times. you just always come quite early. lucky. it’s hell in here when it’s busy.” you seem relieved for the topic change. “you both here on holiday?”

“yeah. a break from our jobs.”

“lucky. my best friend is back home and i wish she was with me. she’s planning on coming up at some point thankfully. i hate being here without all my friends.”

“i can be your friend.” logan says. then he immediately regrets it. what if you think that he’s a weirdo? but when your face lights up, he realises that regret was a fleeting feeling.

“i’d love that. let me take your number. one of the guys from my class is hosting a beach party tonight if you both wanna come.”

logan looks at oscar who shrugs as if to say ‘i don’t mind if you don’t’. logan turns back to you, who is the middle of unlocking your phone and grins.

“we’ll be there.”

he types his number in your phone and sends a message to himself to save yours.

“i’ll text you the details.”

the speaker interrupts the moment that you have as it starts to malfunction. you curse again and throw your hands up in annoyance.

“stupid fucking speaker! so stupid!”

-❀-

the party is already well underway, when oscar and logan arrive. logan didn’t bother with buttoning up his shirt. he wasn’t necessarily the most confident man in the world but he was comfortable with his nakedness in a way that oscar didn’t think he’d ever be. oscar was in a undershirt with a loose overshirt.

you finally make your way over to them, panting slightly. you’re wearing a plain white bikini with an open oversized orange and yellow patterned hawaiian shirt. your hair is free from the bun they’ve seen you in work with. you smile, easy and happy.

“my two favourite customers!” you sling an arm around the two of them, hugging them so close that they can smell your perfume. “come on, let me introduce you to the five other people i know.”

you lead them down to the bonfire, where three girls and two other guys are crowded around. they cheer when you arrive with the two of them.

“guys, this is oscar and logan.” they wave politely. “oscar and logan, this is anya, jerome, alex, sienna and jaya.”

the group all cheer and welcome the two guys. it’s clear that everyone is already buzzed. oscar has never really been a big drinker so he declines a beer when offered. logan shotguns it, the residue dripping down his face. you laugh and attempt to wipe it off his face. logan goes lax in your touch and oscar can’t watch anymore.

the speaker that someone played is playing shakira as the two of you giggle in your own little world. oscar turns to jerome? or was it alex? and starts a conversation. talking about some footy game that they were watching earlier. oscar is about as into football as the next guy, but he really needs to focus on something else besides the two of you.

oscar knew that logan had always harboured some sort of inferiority complex when it came to the two of them, but logan had something that oscar doesn’t think he’d ever have - being genuinely likeable.

oscar knew he’d have to win because no one would support him as a loser. logan is just likeable regardless of what position he’s in - an underdog if he loses and a force of nature when he wins.

likeable gets the girl.

-❀-

you decide to walk the two of them to the end of the beach. the night is inky black and the only light is the remnants of the bonfire you’d lit earlier. logan is buzzed, oscar is distant and you’re still vibrating from the fact that logan made the two of you run into the cold water with him in the middle of the night.

“tonight was fun! i’m glad you were both able to make it!” you lean in and hug them both goodbye. logan swears you’d lingered a little longer while hugging him. “i’ll see you both at jim’s ice cream?”

“what is that?” logan asks bluntly. oscar elbows him lightly, not hard enough to cause damage but just enough to wind him slightly.

“the ice cream parlour she works at dumbass.” he turns to you. “we’ll see you there”

“well, i do work there. so yeah.” you laugh. all twinkly and bright. then you’re waving and jogging back to your friends. oscar watches logan look at you and sighs.

“come on man, let’s get you back.”

-❀-

logan wakes up with a hangover the next morning. oscar is a good friend and runs to the continental free breakfast and sneaks him out some waffles, croissants and eggs. he walks to the pharmacy again, paying for some ibuprofen (at least he hopes that’s what it is) with his cash and runs to the corner store to grab some extra snacks.

logan’s eyes are wide with both joy and disbelief. joy that something is there for his splitting headache and disbelief that oscar would do that for him. oscar feels a little ball of guilt unravelling inside. how bad had he let their friendship become?

they spend the day inside for the most part. watching television together. then they go outside to the pool, logan immediately jumps in but oscar sits on the side. he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the texts that he’s been ignoring. the ones from some friends, his mum, and you?

it’s not a coincidence right? that you spent the whole evening with logan and text him the next day?

he holds the phone close to his chest. he doesn’t want logan seeing this. he doesn’t know why that is. he quickly texts you back. then logan shouts.

“hey oscar! come in! the water is gorgeous.”

oscar grins and slips into the water, keeping his shirt on.

-❀-

the two of them end up at the steak restaurant together that night. they’re both dressed as nicely as possible. oscar in a nice sweater and logan in a dress shirt. the maître d’ smiled knowingly at the two of them and led them to their table.

“he thinks we’re together.” oscar whispers to logan.

“are we not?”

“we are in the literal sense. i meant in the romantic, relationship sort of sense.” logan laughs and bats his eyelashes all coy.

“oh no! oscar are you breaking up with me?”

“obviously. i’m leaving you for my secretary.” oscar’s deadpan voice just makes logan laugh harder.

“i knew it, that skank! i’ll get him fired.” oscar laughs too, breaking out into an easy smile that comes easily when logan’s around.

the sounds of the restaurant move around the two of them as they peruse the menu for a long time. it’s been a while with no conversation when oscar bites the bullet and brings it up.

“hey.” logan looks up. “i’m sorry.”

“for the secretary? don’t be. i’m running away with the pool boy.” oscar shakes his head, smiling.

“no.” oscar says. “for what happened. letting our friendship fall to the sidelines. i didn’t mean it but it didn’t excuse it. i really do like being your friend logan. i wouldn’t jeopardise that.”

logan is silent. oscar wonders if he’s crossed some unspoken line. he bites the inside of his cheek and looks at the wall of the restaurant’s decor. it’s all dark in here. would it kill them to buy some light bulbs? he understands its for ‘ambiance’ and that shit but he’s worried that he won’t be able to find his steak in the darkness.

“i was gonna say i was sorry. i thought it was my fault. that you didn’t want to be friends with,” he cuts himself off, laughing awkwardly. “a loser.”

“no. that wasn’t it. you’re not a loser, not to me.”

“i am. that’s a fact. it’s okay. you’re very nice for that but, it’s just not true.” logan swallows thickly. “now, should i get potatoes or fries as my sides?”

oscar doesn’t comment on logan’s facial expression, that he looks like he’s holding it together by a thread. he knew emotional vulnerability took a lot out of him but it was harder on the person who admitted failure.

“potatoes.” logan grins and nods before calling over the waiter.

-❀-

the next time you saw the two guys was two days after the bonfire party. they came in laughing at a joke that had happened way before they had even walked in. you find yourself standing up as soon as they enter.

“hi! y/n!” logan’s smile is always wide and happy to see you. oscar’s smile is muted but it’s still sweet. “what would you recommend for me? i liked the chocolate fudge.”

“hmm,” you think, running your hand along the counter. “we have a new flavour, chocolate covered raspberry? it’s quite popular. i think you’d like it.”

“i trust your judgement, ice cream girl.”

you crack a smile at the nickname, the smile so big that it momentarily hurts your face for a moment. you turn to oscar.

“and what about you?”

“same as usual, two scoops of vanilla.”

you nod, getting to work on the ice creams. you even offer to pay for them but they argue, threatening to shove it all in the tip jar anyway. oscar pays and when your back is turned, logan shoves twice the amount into the tip jar.

“wanna sit with us in the booth today y/n?” logan asks, taking a spoonful of his ice cream. “it’s not like anyones here.”

oscar looks up at you with his wide eyes, not really eating his ice cream. he just swirls it, until it turns into a sort of thick soup. you shrug and slide into the booth across from the two of them. you don’t have anything else to do and if a customer does decide to walk in? well, you’ll just slide back behind the counter.

“so, what’s your plan for the future?” logan grins. “and i know it’s the worst possible question to ask any young person but i’m curious. what’s the goal? is there one? it’s okay if there isn’t.”

“dream is to become an archeologist and backup plan? i don’t know. work in an office or something? maybe teaching. i haven’t thought that far ahead just yet.” you bite your lip and look out the window for a second. the day is hot, and you’re stuck inside. “what about you two? what do you do?”

“we uh, we drive.” logan looks at oscar.

“oh like uber? cool.”

“yeah, isn’t it?” oscar smiles at you.

“i still haven’t gotten my licence just yet. taxis aren’t too expensive and public transport is decent. also everywhere i need to be is pretty much walkable.” you smile at them. “have you visited all the touristy places yet?”

“not everywhere but we’re here for a while. we’re going to travel to santorini, mykonos and corfu. i’ve already planned them out.” oscar swallows his bite of ice cream. “scheduled to the exact moment we get there and get back.”

“an exotic european vacation.” you grin, waggling your eyebrows. logan laughs despite the joke not being very funny. “i’m jealous.”

“you could come with us.” oscar blurts out, his cheeks pinkening. “you’re probably busy though right? don’t worry about it. it’s weird.”

“no, no. it’s not. it’s very sweet and tempting.” you look outside the window again. “i’m not free for the whole time, but, definitely i could join you for a week? jim won’t care.”

“jim’s a real person?” logan asks, eyes wide. you laugh.

“yeah! he’s british actually. came over here when he retired and bought this place. he was one of the few people that’d hire me. my mum’s british.” you nod. “it’s a pretty decent job. if you ignore these hideous uniforms.”

you pull on the neon jim’s ice cream parlour shirt, face crumpling in disgust.

“you look good.” logan says, shyly, as he tongues the last of his ice cream. “this is good too. the ice cream. i knew i trusted you for a reason.”

-❀-

santorini is exactly like the instagram photos. well, despite being slightly too hot, a little less vibrant and he’s here with you and logan. logan has kept his shirt on this time, a loose linen blue one with a pair of shorts and flip flops. you’re dressed in a white skirt, a cropped tank top with a massive handbag.

oscar wants to do something crazy, like reach out and hold your hand or put his arm around your shoulders. he doesn’t because he’s not insane but he thinks about it for a solid moment. thinks about the way you’d curl into him or the way your shampoo would smell. he shakes his head.

“you don’t like it?” the two of you turn to look at him. fantastic. now he looks weird. his eyes widen.

“no, no! i love it. it’s lovely.” he reaches into his pocket, shaking hands grabbing his phone as he takes a picture. “i was thinking about the best angle to take this picture for my mum.”

“i’ll take a photo of you against the backdrop? maybe the both of you. your mum might like that. logan said you two were childhood best friends right?”

oscar nods. at least you bought his story. he stands against the barrier and smiles, awkwardly. he’s sure that all the other tourists are looking at him and thinking ‘what a weirdo, his crush on her is so obvious. she wants his best friend clearly, why even try?’

after a moment, logan stands next to him. logan dissipates the awkwardness with a wave of his hand and the two of them fall into an easy grin. when logan leans in and tells a joke, oscar finds himself laughing loudly with the click of your camera as background noise.

he sends it to his mother later on, when he’s in his hotel room with logan snoring in the room across from him. she texts him back quickly.

-❀-

— from mum.

well, it looks like you’re having fun honey!

— to mum.

yeah, i am.

-❀-

it doesn’t even feel like a lie when he messages her back in the cooling heat.

-❀-

it’s three days into the trip and two weeks into knowing the guys that you realise that you have a crush. it’s only a small inkling but you know it’s serious because no matter how much you try to dissuade it, it keeps popping up.

when you’re eating, when you’re brushing your teeth and even when you’re picking your outfit with him in mind. does he like blue? is he more of a yellow guy? or is it pink that’ll catch his eye?

the three of you head to a restaurant that night. it’s a seafood place, the three of you laughing and joking about something you’d seen earlier. they look good. smell good too. they even argue over who’s going to pay for the meal and look at you like you’ve got three heads when you offer to pay.

“it’s fine y/n, you’re a student.” oscar says, smiling as logan gives up. he pays quickly, all cash with no fuss. “we can get it.”

“ubering must make you a lot of money.”

“yeah. something like that.” he smiles again. this time with no teeth as he gets the receipt.

-❀-

logan goes to bed early that night, citing something about his family being desperate to check up on him. it leaves just the two of you outside in the corfu evening air.

“want to go for a walk?” you ask, looking at him earnestly.

“yeah. sure.” he’s trying not to be too eager. not to scare you off. the two of you start walking down the street.

“i always like to go for a slow walk after a big dinner. i feel like it probably helps with digestion.” you speak quietly, as if not to disturb the silence of the street. he likes your voice and is willing to listen at any volume you decide.

“i think it does. i try not to eat too much.” oscar responds, shoving a jittery hand in his pocket. “i can’t gain any weight for my job.”

“yeah, logan said. that’s weird. what kind of uber driver has a weight limit?” he shrugs and smiles. “do you miss australia?”

“sometimes. i’m used to travelling though. i’ve done it for so long.” he looks at you. “what about you? do you miss your home?”

“eh, i wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. i wanted to remake myself. i was gonna do it all y’know? a name change and everything.” you look up at the stars for a moment. “i didn’t go through with it. even if i changed my name, i’d still be y/n really. inside.”

“i get that. i think.” oscar looks at the gorgeous landscape in front of him. he ignores all the people milling around the two of you. to him it’s just you, him and the view. “so, y/n-“

your phone interrupts him. a loud, obnoxious ringing noise. you mouth an apology at him when you look at the caller id.

“sorry, it’s my best friend. she wouldn’t call me if it wasn’t important. she’s more of a texter anyways. do you mind?” you point at your phone. he shakes his head with a smile. you disappear to take your call and he finds a bench to sit on. he leans back, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

what was he thinking? asking you out? thank god the world or fate or god or whoever is in charge, stopped him before he made the biggest mistake of his life. you liked logan and he didn’t blame you. he really, truly didn’t.

when you come back, you ask him what he was going to ask. he shrugs. it wasn’t important anyways, he says. he asks what happened with your friend and listens you chatter all the way back about your friend’s current work drama.

-❀-

the next morning, logan and you head down to breakfast together. it’s a continental breakfast that the hotel offer. it’s good, with a wide spread of toast, pancakes, omelettes, cereal, fruit and sausages. you load up your plate, happy to get food for free even though technically you paid for it.

logan’s plate is smaller. you think about what they said earlier about weight limits and feel a pang of sympathy. i mean, your job was not very well paid but at least it gave you freedom in your spare time to do and eat whatever you want.

“is oscar not coming?” you ask, forking a fluffy piece of omelette and hash browns in your mouth. it’s gorgeous and you’re hungry.

“nah. he’s not feeling too good. i’ll bring him some breakfast in a bit.” logan methodically goes through his breakfast. slow, small bites and chews it for as long as possible. “wanna go for a swim later? it’s hot as hell outside. i feel my skin melting off.”

“you are going a little red.” you tease. he smiles again, shyly. his face does go red when you lean forward and press your cold cup against his cheek. “a little better?”

“it’d be better if you’d go swimming with me.” he smiles.

“of course i will. can’t leave you by yourself. who knows what’ll happen.” he laughs this time. “now wanna try some of this omelette?”

he sits politely as you lean over and feed him a forkful of the spinach and cheese omelette. for a moment, the two of you look into each other's eyes as you feed him. he turns away as soon as it’s okay and chews the bite.

“good?”

“yeah. yeah. it’s good.” he smiles at you. “let me just get some more water for us, be back in a moment.”

“is it getting too hot for you?” you tease.

“a little.” he sheepishly grins again. “let me cool down.”

-❀-

it’s your last day with the two of the guys before they drop you back off at the bus stop to go back to athens. your heart is still pinching at the thought of leaving, but you decide your last day can’t be in vain. they’ll be going home soon so it’ll be the best time to admit what you already knew. what you had known for the whole time.

you’d been on the phone with your best friend who had helped you to write a pros and cons list.

— pros - you could be a girlfriend to a great guy. you would be happy. you would have a rich boyfriend (your bff added that). you could touch them in any way they’d let you. you could sleep together. you could also sleep together (bff again). you would have a great time. you would have fun. would it improve your life? potentially.

— cons - they could say no and you’d have to jump off a cliff. they could be dating each other and you’d be embarrassed that you didn’t figure it out. they could laugh at you. they could be disgusted. they could be nice about it and gently let you down. they’re not even from anywhere close to greece. it’d be a long distance relationship. could you even deal with that?

you shake your head and lift your hand up to his bedroom door. the wood is cold under your knuckles. the world still moves around you, tourists laughing in their rooms and people walking around. their voices murmuring.

as your hand hovered there, you thought for a moment. about how this could change everything. was it too soon? too risky? then you remembered, it’s now or never.

take the plunge and with that, you knock.

liked by anyaaaa, alexjohnson and 183 others.

yourusername: this summer is going well. made two new friends, spent half of my savings and made some new memories and isn’t that what life is all about?

anyaaaa: when are you coming back? miss u girl!!

-> yourusername: soon! i just need to figure something out first.

-> anyaaaa: you’ll figure it out. you always do. can’t wait till you come back <33

taglist: @decafmickey @nichmeddar @casperlikej @purplephantomwolf @cuteskz @booksandflowrs @mxdi0 @alexmarie29 @luckyladycreator2 @23victoria @molten-m122 @evie-119 (want to be removed? or wondering why you weren’t tagged? check your tag settings or send me an ask!)

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goldustwomun · 22 days

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slipping through my fingers (s.b.)

pairing: sirius black x younger potter!reader

summary: something about your relationship with sirius black had never sit quite right with you, and now that he's back after two years of travelling the world, you're beginning to think that you'll soon find out what'll happens if the two of you finally fall over the edge of whatever precipice you've been teetering close to all these years. plus, you've got to work with him all summer, so what's the worst that could happen?

warnings: allusions to sex (minors dni!!!), swearing, more of a miserable sirius this time, reader is self-deprecating and talks about not feeling 'enough' (you are babes x), loads of miscommunication or rather inability to say what you mean (it's me I'M READER), i love drama at a dinner a party sooo

wc: 3.3k+

note: somewhat proud of this so help a girl out by reblogging x

pt i. / pt ii.

The rest of the week flew by much the same. You opened up the shop, shoving the collection of Dickens to stop the door from slamming into you, Sirius crashed in late everyday, so much so that you told him to not even bother apologising (that being said, he hadn’t apologised in the first place). When the two of you spoke, you tried your best to not catch his eye too often.

Instead, you busied yourself with picking up a novel for you to read inbetween the morning and late-afternoon rush. There were always a few stragglers that ventured through the door in between peak hours, and it was only after the third or fourth go-around of a gaggle of teenagers that had stumbled in, giggling and hiding their grins behind their palms, that you realised they were more of a ‘Sirius Black’ fan club as opposed to actual customers.

You let them have at him considering the few moments of peace it gave you.

And maybe if you put down your book or halted your busy hands whilst counting the cash or checking the inventory for the fourth time that day, you might just notice how much it bothered you.

Growing up and finding Sirius in your midst more often than you'd have liked meant countless friendships made and lost over someone or the other wanting just a glimpse of his attention. Anytime you pass the ice cream parlour down the road from your house, you’re reminded of Macy Adams – a pretty thing with pin-straight, jet black hair and pouty lips to complete the look – using you to get to him.

He never let anything go further than an odd flirty comment here and there with your friends (which you’ll admit was kind of him to do considering he was a hormonal teenager at the time), but you were frankly sick of it.

Because you’d never understand why.

Why him? And why you?

You’d never shared that same rose-coloured view of Sirius, never felt the same burst of butterflies from your first teenage crush being him.

Or maybe you had and it was just easier to hate him than it was to like, let alone love, him.

So, yes. It was really starting to get on your nerves, if you were being honest. More than you’d ever care to admit.

What’s worse is that his words from days ago wouldn’t stop playing over in your head, like that one Pink Floyd tape you'd gotten stuck in the receiver and no matter or banging or prodding would get it loose.

And you had that he was right about it all -- that, in many ways, you were miserable about life and love (or lack thereof). Maybe forcing those around you to share those same feelings alleviated some of the pains and aches.

'Cause yes, you were cranky and grouchy and frankly, a bit of a brat more often than not. You blamed it on being the baby of the family, call it youngest child syndrome, but damn it– you had been twelve and mourning your childhood, and now at twenty-something, those aches had yet to subside.

Yet you couldn’t stop it. The hate and the anger and the frustration at a world that had left you behind. Your stomach lurched at the sudden bites of sadness when a day had gone by and you’d not accomplished anything.

So when Sirius flaunts into your kitchen with a hangover and a few hickies down his neck, and your parents pat him on the back, congratulating him for his very existence (at least, you assume that's it) -- it stings. You've hated him for it, always have, but maybe you also loved hi–

No. You couldn’t.

One day, Sirius was scolding James for tugging at your pigtails, and the next, he was pulling them himself.

It didn’t matter anyway. Sirius Black would never be a pivotal part of your life. You’d keep him waiting on the sidelines, only to occasionally bump into him on holidays and during family gatherings. Sure, you you both tossed petty insults at each other every now and again, but other than that, you needn’t see him.

Outside of your nine-to-five at the bookstore, of course.

You returned to the words of the book you’d chosen, pleading with your mind to focus once more. You’d changed the sleeve, not wanting Sirius to see what you were reading so intently.

Was it really so bad? A young girl – nay, a youthful girl, with interests, needs and desires that were essentially unmet for the time being. It was normal to want to read about whirlwind fictional romances, fantasise about having someone close, kissing you, touching you, being yours and no one else’s.

You weren’t about to add to Sirius’ list of things to tease you for by clueing him in on the fact that you were sitting right next to him, reading filthy, irredeemable smut with not a single suitor lined up to help you out.

He was sat behind the counter with you, the store empty, with a journal and fountain pen in hand as he scribbled away about something or the other. You were convinced he was writing angsty poetry about the blonde who’d left him to travel around Amsterdam (yes, the same one he’d met only a week earlier), but something about the furrow between his brows had you questioning such a dismissive assumption.

Sirius peered over at you. You only knew because you’d grown accustomed to the sensation of his eyes watching your every week for the past week. Other than polite exchanges and a question every now and again about the dewey decimal system, you’d not spoken a word to each other.

You weren’t sure if the ceaseless, stabbing pain in your chest was relief or something worse.

Regret?

You were on the verge of telling him off for staring when the door jingled announcing someone’s arrival. Looking up from the blurring words on the page, you were met with the scheming grin of your brother, James.

“Hullo there lovely, lovely, people!” he hollered with only a smidge too much of enthusiasm. You worried his face might get stuck with how wide (and forced?) his smile seemed to be.

“Why are you so happy?” you questioned abruptly, brow raised with suspicion.

“My sweet, innocent, little sister. Is your life so miserable that a singular smile makes you uncomfortable?” he teased in that boyish way of his.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, reminded of the very similar accusations Sirius had thrown at you last time you two had dared to face each other head on.

You could see– no, feel him straighten next to you at James’ words, arm brushing against yours enough that you tried to discreetly move away.

He looked almost upset when you did finally turn to look at him, but he quickly snapped his attention back to James instead. “Don’t be a dick to your sister, James,” he scolded, and James must not have thought much of the uncharacteristic chide because he continued unperturbed.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway. I’ve entered your humble store to invite the two of you to a dinner party tonight at ours’. Mum and Dad have offered to take Harry for the night, so a soiree of our first night back on the ‘scene’ since becoming parents seemed in order,” he explained, all flourishing hands and expectant smiles.

“So, can I take it that I'll be seeing the two of you later?”

Sirius nodded immediately but you struggled for an excuse reasonable enough to get out of it.

“I don't know, James. I have so much to do here and– you know– Dad wants the inventory done and all that. It’s really just– yeah. I don’t think so...” You cringed at how you'd managed to stumble over just about every word, hoping, praying, neither James nor Sirius would call you out on your barely concealed attempts to avoid Sirius for at least a few more days.

It was Sirius’ turn to tease you, despite having restrained himself from doing so all week.

“Well shit, mini Potter. You’ve managed to say so much and yet so little at the same,” he pointed out, nudging your side.

You scoffed at him in return, crossing your arms out of protest. “And I saw you do inventory already. In fact, I saw you do it, then do it again, then again and– ah, yes. Again.”

You aimed a glare right at him, and his only response was a hesistant smile.

James stepped in once more with an– “Alright-y then, I will be seeing you both tonight. 7:30pm. Bring a bottle because we don’t have any and Lily is dying for a glass now that she’s not breastfeeding.” He walked the short distance towards the door, called out– “don’t be late” –then disappeared into the bustle on the street.

It took all of two seconds of James being gone before you spun to face Sirius, clouds swarming behind your eyes. “What’d you do that for, Sirius?” you questioned indignantly.

“Well, you see, you were lying and I corrected you. Now you’re going to your brother’s ‘soiree’. Really, I don’t think it’s that complicated, love,” he answered matter-of-factly. “It's not like theere's a genuine reason to not want to go, other than, let's say... avoiding me?" he asked, cautious as if worried you'd bite.

“Well– yes– but– I mean, no that's not it--”

“So I’m right. Right?” he cut in, standing up from the stool with a loud scrape against the floor. He squeezed your shoulder once as he moved out from behind the counter and headed for the aisles of books. “Great, so I’ll see you tonight.”

Well, fuck.

You were reluctant when you stuffed your feet into your shoes and reluctant when you apparated to the (other) Potter’s doorstep, and reluctant, once more, when you knocked on the front door. Only seconds later was Remus swinging the door open. You offered him a shy smile– finding him to be both the most chivalrous and kind of your brother’s friends – before stepping inside and hanging your coat on the peg.

It was only 7:45 but there must have been at least twenty or so people hanging around the living room, glasses in hand with the crackling stereo speakers switching between the Beatles and Slade and the odd Blondie track you were sure Lily had threatened James to include.

“Quite a crowd already,” you noted, hanging back, stiff and awkward, and feeling utterly out of place with your brother’s friends. They were all parents and spouses and had jobs that afforded them a house of their own. They were only a few years older yet miles ahead of where you were, and it was only seeing all of their faces in one room that you realised your own predicament.

“Yeah, I think we all realised it’s been a hot minute since anyone’s thrown any kind of party, so in our eagerness we all showed up about thirty minutes early,” he mused. “Lily was livid. Her hair was still in those curling contraptions.”

“You mean... curlers?” you pointed out, charmed.

“Ah, yes. Curlers,” he teased back.

It was only then that you realised you hadn’t quite had a proper conversation with Remus since, well, ever. And it was nice, normal, and not nearly as infuriating as just about every conversation you’d had with Sirius.

You could feel him staring at you from the corner of your eye, so when he offered to get you a drink – “A raspberry cider, please. Lily keeps them in the cabinet in the kitchen for me,” – you accepted, taking a moment to internally scold yourself for instinctively thinking of him every time something happened to you.

While you waited for Remus to return, you ventured into the hall in search of James. You figured you better make yourself known so he doesn’t accuse you of skiving your own brother’s party.

You only managed a step or two past the threshold when a hand reached for your own, tugging you into the closet.

It was pitch black and you’d been on the verge of letting out a blood-curdling scream before a dim, orange glow bathed the cramped room.

Your vision focused, first, on the hanging tether of the light, and then Sirius’ face behind it. He looked to be somewhere between panicked and restless, and really, it was appropriate considering the beating you were pondering laying out on him.

And you hated to even think it but he looked good. All scruff and unruly hair like he couldn't stop combing his fingers through the strands, and he smelled of pine and wood and books and--

“Sirius?!"

"I can explain--" he began but you held up your hand to silence him. He must have noticed the murderous rage brewing behind your irises because, for once, he did, in fact, stop talking.

"I'm not just-- you can't just-- what the fuck are you doing pulling oblivious girls into closets, you fucking weirdo!” you scolded, your voice coming out as more of a whisper than a shout so as not to alert anyone of your current situation.

“No, Potter, you see, I just wanted to--” and it was amusing, really, to see him struggle for once. Tripping over vowels and consonants like he'd had you (you'd never tell him that though) and every other girl to enter within a metre's radius of him doing so.

“You just what?” you bit out, growing impatient as the seconds passed by.

You wondered if Remus was looking for you now, or if he’d grown bored and moved onto the brunette you knew he had pined after for years.

“Look– if you want to lecture me again about how I’m a miserable, terrible, fucking horrible, even, person– save it. I get it. I know. I’ve heard it from you and James and I’m pretty sure Mum said it to Aunt Ca–”

“No, love, no,” he cut you off, again.

You tried to ignore how that was twice, now, that he’d referred to you so endearingly, so out of character. It bugged you but not for reasons you were willing to admit.

“I mean– yes, I want to talk about that but not to lecture you. Not now. I wanted to apologise,” he continued, forgetting to breathe between words and phrases but it seemed he had set himself in-motion and couldn’t be stopped. “I’ve been a dick, I realise that. And maybe it was a fun little bit between us when we were younger and more stupid–” you frowned at that but let him continue anyway.

“-- But I think we’ve gotten carried away ‘cause, I mean, I sure think Ihave. I said some horrible, untrue things to you that I don’t, not one bit, mean or believe in anyway. And I should have apologised earlier but things were so, so, painfully awkward and you’ve been buried in that book of yours so I just–” he breathed, finally, “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry, love.”

You weren’t sure how to respond or if you were meant to, even, but he was staring all doe-eyed and expectant and freaking cologne of his was all you could smell and really, you blame the prospect of the cider and the scandalous books you’d been reading because you didn’t mean to tug the light off or lean forward and collide with him.

It just happened.

It was dark and quiet and you could feel him go stiff and your own heartbeat droning on in your ears, but it was only when you began to pull away that he surged forward, too.

Pushing, scrambling, gasping into your mouth before shoving the pair of you into the opposite wall, his large palm covering the back of your head so that even whilst he was devouring you in every sense of the word, your heart raced at his tenderness.

Your arms clung to his shoulders, pulling him in in in, until there was not an atom’s worth of space between you. The hand not currently cushioning your head moved to hook your leg around his waist, and you opened willingly, pleadingly, melting the moment he slid, firm, against you.

You sighed into his mouth with every caress of his tongue against your own, and questioned your sanity for following through with the very thoughts you’d fantasised about for weeks, months, maybe even years.

Just as you were reluctant to attend the party in the first place, you were reluctant to pull back even just to breathe but he must have felt the air leaving your lungs as well because he moved to place open-mouthed, wet and searching kisses against your neck and collarbones– biting, sucking, nipping in all the ways he knew how.

Fuck everyone who got him before you’d ever had the chance, but thank God for the skill he had acquired in the meantime.

“Potter,” he groaned against the dampness of your neck, sounding every bit in pain as you were. The coarse hair of his moustache scratched at your skin with every movement of his mouth, and you couldn't help but tangle your fingers into his long strands, holding him in place. “Fuck– I’ve thought about this–” and he never managed to finish before he grew impatient of even himself and returned his mouth to you.

“I– Me too– Oh fuck!” He bit, hard, into your sensitive skin before soothing the sting over with his tongue, planting a final kiss to the spot before moving to cradle your face in his palms. He kissed you, once, twice, a third time for luck you assumed, before you managed to resist for long enough to get your words out.

It took a second for the electricity thrumming inside of you to subside enough for your thoughts to order themselves once more.

You stared at him, pupils dilated, mouth wide in shock, and looking every bit of the mess you felt.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” and they came out before you’d given yourself time to even really process what had just happened, or what you wanted your reaction to be.

You’d seen Sirius defeated, though only ever over the mundane and menial. A stubbed toe on the step he always forgot about that lead into your parents' kitchen, his favourite team losing a Quidditch match, or when the wrong order arriving from the chippy.

But the way his face fell-- sure it was dark but you could just tell.

He froze momentarily, before he stepped away, abrupt and robotic and so not-Sirius in every way you had come to know.

“Sirius I didn't–” you began, but he’d already tugged the light back on and with it, reality came crashing in, occupying the space he had only seconds ago.

“No, no. You’re right, Potter,” he said, sounding every bit as lifeless as he looked now that you could actually see him.

He wouldn’t raise his gaze to meet your own, to see you pleading, silent, but pleading, that no, I lied, it wasn’t a mistake, in fact I want to do just that, more and more. And unlike every other moment in your life, for once, you couldn’t get the words out past your lips.

At least, not the right ones.

“I’m sorry,” you tried, gentle. You mourned the return of that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as your chest threatened to cave in on itself.

How was it that you felt worse than when you’d first gotten here?

Only this time it was no one’s fault but your own.

“No need to apologise, love.” He paused for a beat, glancing at the door before following through on the thoughts telling him to leave it at that before things got worse, and slipped out of the door.

The light was still on and you noticed the shoes lined up neatly on one of the racks. Coats and jackets and umbrellas hung on the rod in front of you. Above it, there was a shelf with helmets, badminton rackets and a netball.

There were things all around you, but you’d never felt so lonely.

You could feel the cold seeping into the space around you, one that was filled with his body heat only moments earlier.

It took everything in you to not break down right then and there.

Instead, you stepped out into the hall and plastered a smile on your face, hoping you’d make it to your room before the dam broke.

I have a rough plan of the final two chapters but eee i hope y'all enjoyed this :))

#sirius black #marauders #marauders era #the marauders #the marauders era #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black angst #sirius black fluff #sirius black smut #sirius black imagine

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six-of-ravens · 2 years

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also: if you see dead/dying plants in my photos...I know. I know. I am going to throw out the dead ones (rip ivy). Also my parlour palm and spider plant are Going Thru It so pls be kind to them 🥺

#the parlour palm in particular has had a Time #had its pot smashed got repotted twice and then got spider mites in the span of like a month #so it's very Baby right now bc i finally pulled off all the dead/dying leaves but it's growing a new leaf so i hope it survives!!!

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lostsunlight · 9 months

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✧ TO NEGOTIATE WITH A GOD AND A HARBINGER

Childe x Zhongli x Reader ✧ wc: 2.8k

CW: nsfw, threesome, overstimulation, oral (giving and receiving), praise, teasing, switch reader and childe, dom zhongli, anal, brief after care

Synopsis: After you end up involved in what could only be described as diplomatic nightmare between The 11th Fatui Harbinger, Tartaglia and Wangsheng Funeral Parlour's consultant Zhongli, you finally organise a meeting to question the two. The meeting however, doesn't go as expected.

masterlist ✧ ao3

The Fatui were causing a diplomatic headache to state it lightly. Ningguang had you working to the bone trying to prevent a war between Liyue and Snezhnaya. You could pin the blame on two individuals Tartaglia, The 11th Fatui Harbinger and Zhongli, the consultant for Wangsheng Funeral Parlour.

Childe’s unpredictable actions had you changing your approach every day, carefully thinking through plans just for them to be thrown to the wayside upon hearing the news that Childe had gone and done another stupid thing. The attitude of the Snezhnayan diplomats didn't help at all.

Despite being intimately involved with The Harbinger before it led to nothing but dead ends, both being content to use each other for a night. With that strategy crossed off you would have to try a new technique.

Zhongli on the other hand had a particular talent of giving non-answers to any questions asked of him, especially when it came to ties to the Fatui. For some reason Master Hu had palmed the Qixing off to him for questioning.

Hopefully today the mess would be resolved, you had finally managed to organise a meeting between the three of you on behalf of Ningguang. You had every faith that Zhongli would show up, Childe however? You could only hope.

You sat behind your desk, arms crossed, you were nearly fed up with the two men sitting before you. After what felt like hours of questioning you had circled back to where you had started, not a single answer had been given to you. At this point it was clear as day that Childe was scheming and Zhongli seemed none the wiser.

What was even worse is that Childe had seemingly been flirting with you the entire meeting. You had made every effort to not respond to his advances, just wanting an end to this diplomatic nightmare.

As you stood up to dismiss them from your office Zhongli and Childe gave each other a look.

“Y/N…” Childe said, placing his hands on your desk

“Hm?” you look at him and raise an eyebrow, eyes flitting to Zhongli

“I’ve been thinking”

“That must be new” you snarked, you didn't miss a small laugh from Zhongli

“Funny. I was going to say I’ve been thinking about that night”

“Zhongli is right there Tartaglia” you said, shock weaved into your voice

“Zhongli and I were thinking you could join us for a night” He continued on as if you hadn't just spoken

“Sorry?”

“You heard me” He stared right at you, smirk tugging at his lips

You looked away, blush gracing your cheeks. You looked back to Childe and then to Zhongli. They were both attractive, maybe a night with them might relieve some of the stress they’ve caused you. What did you have to lose?

You walked around the desk to where Zhongli was standing and traced a finger along his jaw, he grabs your wrist and gives your hand a kiss.

“It was I who proposed the idea, Childe told me how good you were”

“Is that so?” You looked up at him through your lashes

Without a second thought you kissed Zhongli, hands reaching up to bury themselves in his brown hair. The kiss was soft and sweet, the exact opposite of what Childe had given you. You moaned a little and Zhongli took the opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth. His hands remained gripping your waist ever the gentleman.

The two of you break apart for air and Zhongli takes the opportunity to bury his face in your neck, you tilt it a bit to give him better access and he kisses up the column of your neck. You let out a small whimper. Your eyes fly open to see Childe staring daggers at you and Zhongli.

“Jealous?” You breathe out, eyes half lidded with lust

“Hardly” he replies, despite him trying to hide it you could hear the strain in his voice.

He slips off his grey jacket and disappears from your line of sight. A moment later you feel him behind you, hard cock grinding against your ass. You bite your lip to prevent another moan, not wanting to give him any satisfaction. One hand joining with Zhongli’s at your waist and the other snaking around your torso.

Zhongli pulls away from your neck and draws Childe in for a kiss, much like with you he was rough. The hand wrapped around your torso moves up to your neck and he pulls you closer to him.

Zhongli pulls away from the kiss and steps back to let Childe have you for a bit. He seats himself down, happy to watch. Childe backs you onto your desk, you clear the surface, papers fluttering down to the floor. You jump up onto the desk. His hands tangle in your hair, angling your head to his liking as he kisses you, tongue pushing into your mouth.

Your hands move to unbutton his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Your hands skirt down his abdomen, littered with scars. You stop at his clothed cock, gripping it you hear him sharply inhale.

You pull away “Just a little kissing and your already this hard” you tease

He doesn't give you a reply, drawing a finger up your soaked underwear. You bit back a whimper, not wanting to give him any satisfaction.

“You’re one to talk” He slides your underwear to the side and presses on your clit. Slowly he presses one finger into you and curls it. Your body betrays you and you moan. He presses in another finger, stretching you out.

You pull him closer, lips ghosting his “You would look much better on your knees you know”

Childe chuckles “Why would I do that, you already look so pretty like this”

“I thought you would be the type to return the favour” You give his hair a tug and push him onto his knees by his shoulders. He doesn't complain as he hooks his fingers around the sides of your underwear and pulls it down revealing your glistening cunt.

You hear him swear in Snezhnayan under his breath. You hook your legs over his shoulders and he grabs your hips, fingers digging in hard enough that there would be bruises tomorrow. He kisses the inside of your thighs before moving onto your pussy. He licks a firm stripe up your cunt and kisses your clit.

You arch your back, one hand buried in his rusty locks the other on the desk to support yourself, head canted back in pleasure. He presses two fingers into you again, curling them to reach the spot that makes you breathless. You let out a long drawn out moan as his tongue circles your clit.

You tilt your head down, drawing closer to your high. Your eyes meet with Zhongli’s golden gaze, fixed on you and Childe. Slowly he gets up and draws a finger along your jaw, forcing your head up to look at him. He laces his fingers in the back of Childe’s hair. You hear him moan as Zhongli gives it a firm tug, pushing him further into your cunt.

“You’re doing so well” he rumbles out, you weren't sure if he was referring to you or Childe, maybe both. He pulls you in for another kiss. Childe pumps his fingers faster, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Zhongli pulls away and forces you to look down at Childe.

“Look at him when you cum, he’s being so good for you” Childe whines again at the words, pulling his tongue away from your clit he replaces it with his thumb, resting his head on on the plush of your thigh. You were so close.

“Stop being such a tease xiangsheng ”

With one final swipe of his thumb across your sensitive clit you came, following Zhongli’s order to look at Childe. You let out a long drawn out moan as Childe keeps on going as you ride out your orgasm.

“A-Ah stop its too much”

“Not a chance girlie. Look at you, so desperate for us” You whine at his words

“Oh you like it when we talk?”

“H-Hahh” you were unable to form a proper sentence, let alone a thought. So lost in the haze of lust and overstimulation.

You look at Zhongli, still fully clothed for help. Much to your surprise he pulls on Childe’s hair drawing his head back. He grabs his hand that was just playing with your cunt and licks the two fingers.

“You taste divine darling” His gloves fingers go to your pussy and slides up it. He places a thumb on your lower lip, you open your mouth and let him place his slick covered fingers in. You suck, mewling at the sweet taste.

Zhongli withdraws his fingers and draws them down your chin down to your clavicle. He begins to strip off his many layers, you pull your shirt over your head and unclasp your bra leaving you bare. Childe traces his knuckle along the side of your breasts.

Zhongli stalks behind Childe just as he unclasps his belt, letting his pants fall to the floor. You reach out instinctively to grab his cock. It was long and slender, a tight fit last time. You give it a few pumps, Childe grabs your wrist to stop you.

Zhongli grabs Childe’s hips and moves them towards him. You catch a glimpse of Zhongli’s dick, if Childes was big his was huge. He was not only girthy but long. Zhongli slides his palm down the plane of Childe’s back stopping at his ass. He gently presses one finger in. Childe mewls at the feeling, letting go of your wrist and falling forward extending his arms on either side of you to support himself.

You grab his jaw, other hand resuming the slow pumping of his cock “Look who's desperate for us now” you say in a slightly condescending tone, trailing your thumb over his lower lip.

Childe’s response was cut short by another moan as Zhongli adds a second finger, your hand trails down his neck to his chest. You give one nipple a pinch while you increase the pace you were pumping his cock, thumb swiping over the slit, gathering the precum at tip.

“I like you better like this” you continue to tease him

“Childe” Zhongli said in a calm tone withdrawing his fingers from his ass, he leans in to whisper in his ear.

“Be a good boy and fuck her” his breath ghosted the shell of his ear. Childe didn’t need any other encouragement. He swats your hand away from his dick and pushes you down so you’re lying flat on the desk. His hands dance up from your hips along your torso, kissing your breasts, sucking hard enough to leave marks. He moves up to your neck, giving it a quick bite.

“Ready?” he asks, cock already teasing your entrance, sliding up and down to gather your pooling slick.

“Yes” you breathe out. Without another moment he shoves his cock into you, burying himself up to the hilt. You let out a loud moan at the intrusion. Eyes rolling back as he gives your neck a squeeze and begins to set a rough pace, fucking you as he pleases.

You see Childe be pushed down a little by Zhongli so he's now resting on his elbows above you. Zhongli gives his cock a few pumps and then pushes his dick into Childes ass, Childe buries his head in your neck to muffle the cry. He gives his ass a slap and then begins to fuck him roughly. His movements making Childe thrust into you.

You began to feel your orgasm on the horizon, one of your hands moving down to circle your clit. Childe was too gone, too lost in pleasure to even think straight, he finally had his fantasy of being between you and Zhongli.

Zhongli increases the pace, making it more and more brutal, unlike Childe he's not very vocal, only letting out small huffs as grunts. He looks at you, you look so fucked out, eyes clenched shut a small sliver of drool across your chin.

“Good boy, taking us both like this” Zhongli grunted, he wrapped his arms around Childe’s torso and pulls him up against his chest. You feel yourself getting more and more hazy.

“F-Fuck I’m gonna cum hahh” You whine, arching your back off the table, breasts meeting Childes scarred chest.

With one final swipe of your clit you cum, squeezing around Childe’s cock, he thrusts through your orgasm, intensifying it.

This in combination with Zhongli hitting that spot inside of him over and over again Childe cums. He lets out a drawn out moan, eyes flying open. Thick white ropes painting your insides.

“How disappointing” Zhongli comments and he slides out of Childe’s ass, he whines at the loss of his cock filling him so well.

Zhongli bends over and picks up white tie, he ties it around Childe’s wrists and forces him to sit in the nearby chair, cock half-hard covered in your mixed releases. He then turns to you, sitting back up, Childe’s cum leaking out of your pussy.

“Turn around” You obey, jumping off the desk and leaning over it

“It’ll be a tight fit darling, I’ll go slowly” he whispers in your ear, planting a kiss between your shoulder blades

“Well see about that” you turn your head to look at him, raising a brow.

He doesn’t dignify you with a response, simply pressing his fat head in. You whine at the feeling as he pushes deeper into you, using Childe’s cum mixed with yours as lube.

“What was that you were saying?”

You whine in response, Zhongli grabs your hair and pulls your head back like he had done for Childe as he bottoms out, refusing to move.

“Use your words darling” he demands

“I-I’m sorry, just please fuck me” you plead

He gives one short thrust

“Please, Zhongli! I’ll be good for you”

Satisfied with you begging he lets go of your hair and presses a hand into the centre of your back and pushes you down against the desk. He fucks you like he had just fucked Childe, hard, fast rough. From this angle everything felt more intense, you were losing it quickly.

Childe stares at the display, cock already hard watching the two of you. He struggles against Zhongli’s expensive tie, desperately wanting release again. After a few seconds he frees himself from the simple restraint. He gives himself a few strokes and then walks around to the other side of the desk.

Zhongli looks up at him and quirks his eyebrow, not expecting to see Childe there. You look up at Childe as well, you let out a mewl as Zhongli thrusts into particularly roughly. Childe, tired of not being in control of the night, takes advantage of one of your moans to press his cock against your lips.

Without hesitation you lick the slit, tasting his salty precum on your tongue. He presses deeper into your mouth and grabs your hair, he begins to fuck you in tandem with Zhongli’s thrusts. You’re completely gone at this point, a mess between the two men. Without much warning another orgasm hits you, you squeeze harshly against Zhongli's cock, he stills his thrusts a little.

Childe continues to fuck your throat, admiring the tears begging to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck, look at you, looking so fucked out for us” You moan around his cock at his words, bringing Childe closer to the edge. After a few more rough thrusts into your throat Childe’s hips still and he cums down your hot throat, you taste the salt. You open your mouth to show him you swallowed it all.

“Good Girl” he praises you, tucking piece of hair behind you ear

You grab his hands to support yourself as Zhongli thrusts into you with reckless abandon, using you to desperately chase his own release. After a few more minutes he grabs your hips with bruising force. Pumping your hot cum into you. He pulls out, letting it slide down your thighs.

You lie there for a second, collecting your thoughts after what just happened.

“Come, lets get cleaned up” Childe says, Zhongli helps you off the desk. You begin to haphazardly pull your clothes back on with Childe and Zhongli.

“There's a bathroom just down the hall, it's late enough that everyone would be gone but be careful anyways”

With some luck the three of you make the way to the luxurious bathroom that only the Jade Chamber would have. You clean yourselves up and make your way to the terrace floating high above Liyue

“Until the next negotiation” You give them a nod and they descend together.

You scold yourself internally for not getting answers, hopefully next time you would get more.

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juuuulez · 2 months

Note

plsssssss do the oneshot with Carl and one of Negan’s wives i am on my hands and knees begging

info: Carl Grimes x Reader, minor Negan x Reader, you’re Negan’s wife, Carl is 18 and you are 19, canon episode: ‘Sing Me A Song’, NSFW, blowjob, cum eating, dom reader/sub Carl.

summary: Negan gives Carl a tour of the Sanctuary, where his youngest wife grows quite the interest for the boy.

WOOOWWWW you guys really wanted this so i delivered! beginning to think i have a real fascination with the idea of ownership/belonging to someone.. not even necessarily in a sexual way (however yes!) considering there are themes of this in a few of my fics now LOL

“You’re gonna want to look at their titties. It’s cool. I won’t mind. They won’t mind. Knock yourself out.”

You watch as the boy looks down, averting both the eyes of Negan and everyone else in the room. It can be intimidating, you suppose, considering the parlour appears to be a scene ripped straight out of Playboy magazine.

6 women, all clad in the barest-minimum of fabric that can be classed as a dress. Skimpy black numbers, designed to cling to every curve and divot. Negan saunters away, leaving the boy to his own devices, discussing something private with Sherry.

You’re posed over one of the long leather couches, resting your head over the arm. It’s not uncommon for Negan to bring others into the parlour, usually as some sort of twisted power-play, though this is different. It seems almost torturous, to place a boy in this situation, and you fear he’ll combust on the spot out of embarrassment.

Negan passes once more, manoeuvring the boy’s hand upwards to clutch his beer. This is it. As your husband turns his back, you can strike.

“Psst.”

After catching his attention, you wave the boy over, who appears to grow increasingly nervous at the proposal. His gaze flickers back over to Negan, then to the other girls in the room. You know that Sherry must be watching you with a look of disapproval.

Nonetheless, he obeys, filling your chest with a sick sense of excitement. You lean forward over the edge of the couch, and when he’s within arms-reach, you snatch the cold beer from his grip.

Taking a generous swig, you size him up in a less than subtle manner. He isn’t exactly very tall, and his clothes are all dusty. But there’s something enticing about that stoic look on his face, trying to seem confident, assured.

“What’s your name?” You ask, though it comes out more like a demand. You’ve always been rather blunt, not willing to beat around the bush, especially when you want something.

He looks back over to Negan, then to the floor, as if he’s reluctant to meet your gaze. “Carl.” The boy answers.

You nod, taking another deep sip from the beer before quirking your head. “Grimes?”

Carl doesn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching and eyes narrowing into something close to a glare. It provides all the answer you need, a wide grin on your face.

“We learn a lot during pillowtalk.” You justify, a statement that only serves to make Carl more uncomfortable. How proudly you boast we only implies you’re more than comfortable living amongst 6 other women, which makes his gut twist in confusion.

Like a cat with a mouse, you continue to toy with him. “Drink much?” You ask him, offering the bottle forward.

Carl can’t help but feel this is all some sort of trick. That he’ll slip up, do or say the wrong thing, and be scolded for it. After all, you’re only an extension of Negan, so he tries to be wary.

Despite shaking his head, he accepts the bottle anyway, holding it awkwardly in his palm. Your gaze is expectant, unwavering, almost to the point of being unsettling. Yet, Carl doesn’t falter, and he doesn’t dare drink the beer.

“Good boy.” You quip, shuffling to kneel up on the couch. Even in this position, he’s a good head taller than you.

You take the bottle back, to which Carl feels a minor bout of relief. Taking another sip, you continue to shamelessly inspect him. “You shoot that gun?”

Carl manages to nod, attempting to look anywhere but directly at your chest, which is temptingly presented to him. “Maybe.” He confirms.

“Sounded like a machine gun.” You point out instantly, not allowing a single lull in the conversation.

Biting down on his lip, Carl nods again. “You’d be correct.”

With his cooperation, you smile widely, wanting to see how much further you could string this along. “Do I make you nervous?” You ask in an innocent tone, though Carl knows it’s anything but.

When he answers, he isn’t looking at you. His gaze is up, a little to the right. “No.” Carl says rather quickly.

You take another swig from the bottle, before it’s lifted up and out of your hands. A noise of protest builds in the back of your throat, before Negan’s large hand cups over your neck, guiding your head to look at him.

“Stealing from me?” He accuses, a wicked grin on his lips as he keeps the beer just out of reach. You lick the remaining residue from your bottom lip, sinking back down to sit on the couch rather than kneel.

“No, sir,” You reply in that equally sweet tone. “Just getting acquainted with my new friend.”

Carl steels his gaze at Negan, refusing to look down at your obedient form. He catches another woman watching them, seemingly disapproving of your attitude.

“Of course you are, sweetheart.” Negan drawls, sweeping his thumb over your cheek.

There’s an anxious feeling settled into Carl’s nerves, unsure whether or not he’s even allowed to be speaking with this girl. But you’d called him over, after all. In a way, he was just following orders.

Whatever mental debate was stirring didn’t matter, for the door to the parlour opened once more, with Dwight leading a beat-up looking Daryl. It stole Carl’s attention away, focused on the growing tension in the room.

Knowing your little game was over, you retreat further into the room, fishing out a cold wine bottle to replace the confiscated beer. You don’t bother listening to their conversation, though as Negan leads Carl away, your gaze remains trained on his retreating figure.

The sparkling liquid sloshes into the glass, foaming up against the sides. You raise it, taking a swift sip, savouring the pungent taste. As you do, Carl takes one more glance into the room, a grin growing on your features as you lock eyes.

Now, you knew very well that cheating was forbidden. It’s what had Amber in such a tizzy, still crying softly over on one of the couches. This was going to be a hard play, but you were always one for a challenge.

You also always got what you wanted.

So, you begged Negan to take you to Alexandria. He immediately said no, of course, yet thankfully you’d been strategic about it. You wore a tiny black nightgown, and with the absence of heels, you leant on your tippy toes in order to press a kiss to his cheek with a long-winded pleeaassseee.

It worked.

What better way to consolidate power than with some arm-candy, Negan would later justify.

You were amazed to discover just how big Alexandria really was. The Sanctuary was sort of a massive factory, after all, but this place looked like a regular neighbourhood. Negan claimed he needed to settle business elsewhere, so he left you with a kiss, and you were permitted to explore.

Of course, you had a specific task to attend to. A need that required fulfilling. Maybe you just liked the challenge, wanting to push that boundary, see if you could really do it.

Though you greatly enjoyed being taken care of, not having to lift a finger at the Sanctuary, you missed that control you’d relented in favour of protection. Before meeting Negan, you’d been fairly well-off, and knew how to manipulate a situation in your favour.

Or, a person. Need be.

“We meet again, cowboy.”

Your pleasant chirp and upturned smile catches Carl off guard, who’d been carrying out a menial maintenance task towards the back of Alexandria. It was a secluded area, private, which immediately put him on edge.

“You’re here with Negan?” He asks, obviously sceptical. There’s a small box of nails in his hands, as it appears he’d been repairing a hole in the fence. Or, trying to, at least, given he’d made little to no progress so far.

You aren’t offended by his hesitance, knowing your presence can be intimidating. As usual, you wore a lacy black dress that left little to the imagination, dipping low in the front and ending around mid-thigh. “Of course.” You confirmed shamelessly.

Only to be met with silence, you rolled your eyes. “C’mon, I’m not his dog. He isn’t around.” You assured Carl, trying to get the boy to loosen up a little.

It seemed to have the intended effect, as he put down the supplies he was working with, offering his full attention. There was a critical look on his face, something near judgemental, which lit a fire in your belly.

“Why are you with him?” Carl asked, finally inquiring into what’s been playing on his mind.

You raise a brow, biting at the bait. “Why not?”

His expression twists once more, a molten well of determination in his veins. “Are you serious?” Carl urged, not understanding how you’d be so.. complacent. “I mean, you’re, what? 20?”

“19.” You corrected with a sly smile, the word uttered with an inkling of pride, as if it was something to brag about. Only 19, and you’d acquired a husband who’d give you anything.

But you, somehow, still wanted more.

Shaking his head, Carl echoed your sentiment. “19.” He sounded disapproving, critical of your position. Maybe it was a tone intended to make you back off, but it had the opposite effect, as you found that you wanted him more.

It looked like he was about to say something else, further comment on the situation. So you stepped forward, intruding on his personal space. His brows furrowed, confused, as he backed a little further into the fence.

“What-..” He begun talking, though was quickly quelled by your finger, tapping gently over his lips. Each nail was perfectly manicured, painted a soft pink colour, drawing his eyes downwards to the appendage.

You looked up slightly to meet his gaze, though thankfully the heels gave you some leverage. “Are you not into me, or something?” You asked, the words tainted with feigned sadness.

It elicited the intended reaction, for Carl shook his head almost immediately, words coming out hurried and confused. “What? No. You’re… beautiful, obviously.”

The smile returned within an instant, a sly grin that manifested much too quick for the previous emotion to be genuine. Carl was beginning to catch on, starting to understand that you had a better hold on his feelings than he did.

It was like playing with a Venus flytrap. You were a minx, a siren. Each word was sticky, coated in a honey-like sweetness that caused him to fold, bending to your every desire.

Instead of answering verbally, you slid to your knees, finding purchase in the gravelly earth. Soft skin became slightly dirtied, though you paid no mind to it, gaze still firmly locked on Carl.

He swallowed, hard, appearing in slight disbelief. Those manicured fingernails gently scraped the fabric of his flannel, trailing down, down, to the denim of his jeans.

“This is.. we shouldn’t do this,” Carl whispered, sounding both breathless and slightly panicked. “You shouldn’t do this.”

“But you want it.” You interjected, and as if to make a point, traced a pointed fingernail over the crotch of his jeans. They were slightly tented, causing Carl’s face to flush with embarrassment, looking towards the sky to avoid gazing directly down the exposed portion of your chest.

Fostering his attention back, you gave a chaste pinch to his side, causing Carl to yelp and look back down at you. His silence caused you to grow stern, that soft allure gone, replaced by an air of dominance. “Say it. Say you want it.” You commanded.

As if on command, Carl was nodding, forcing the words from his throat. “I do.”

“Really?” You inquired, stretching out the tension, which only ebbed on the throbbing feeling in Carl’s pants. It had been hard enough to remain composed in front of Negan, but without the looming threat, his mind found that it wanted you more than he’d like to admit.

“Yes. Please, I want you.” He finally uttered, those few words delivered in a tone of desperation, laced with a hint of shame. This was wrong. So wrong.

The smile returned once more, conforming back to that sweet, soft look. You appeared proud, content, happy to have gotten your way. “Good boy.” You cooed, and in that instance, Carl believed it was all worth it.

You finally worked at his jeans, unbuttoning the fly and slowly pulling the zipper down. Despite being near the back fence of Alexandria, anyone could walk past, which added to your excitement and Carl’s anxiety.

Fisting him in your hand, you licked your lips, savouring the way his breath would hitch. His cock was hard in your palm, the tip red and strained from all the teasing. It was slender, curved slightly, and you wondered how it would feel in your throat.

“Did you like the dress?” You asked him, hot breath hitting his exposed cock as you spoke, “I wore it for you.”

Carl’s gaze was drawn down, back to the exposed cleavage in the silky black dress. He found himself nodding, having to force the words out, still in somewhat of a state of disbelief.

“Yes, I did,” He replied, voice cracking as your palm tightened its hold. “I do.”

Finally, finally, you poked your tongue out, flattening it to lick a generous strip from base to tip. You swirled it around the top, collecting the salty precum, before suctioning your lips onto his heated member.

Trying not to make too much noise, Carl’s hands fumbled, holding onto the fence behind him. His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, barely holding in a ragged moan as you slide down his clock, wet mouth enveloping him to the hilt. It was no surprise you were this good.

You looked up at him, lashes slightly wet with the stretch, as you held your place. One hand rested over his hip, whilst the other reached out to take Carl’s hand in your own, leading it to the back of your head.

He was nervous, clearly, trying not to hurt you. But then you swallowed around him, tight throat restricting, allowing him to feel every ridge, and Carl couldn’t help himself. His hips nudged forward, shallowly thrusting deeper into your channel, with a stuttered gasp.

Encouraging the movement, you dipped your head back for air, before swallowing him whole once again. Carl seemed to get the message, his hand gently fisting your hair, as he worked up a steady motion that allowed him to fuck into your throat.

The pressure of a tight, wet heat was unlike anything he’d had before, and Carl found himself unable to be silent. His moans were quiet and breathy, moving up a pitch whenever you swirled your tongue around the tip on the up-stroke.

You reached up, forcing your palm over his mouth, trying to keep him from making too much noise. It serves to muffle the sound, along with enhancing that arousing feeling of control, revelling in the fact that he’s at your mercy.

Feeling him twitch in your throat, you pull away. It elicits a whine from Carl, strung out and desperate to have you in any way possible. Keeping him at that edge, you build up firm strokes over his cock, now slick with your saliva, as you hurriedly pull down the bust of your dress.

It exposes your breasts to the cool air, giving a firm yank on your bra to free them. The sight causes Carl to gasp, squirming in your hold as you tighten your fist, finally milking sticky strings of cum that land right on your skin, spilling all over your tits.

With practised motions, you slow down, not wanting to overstimulate the boy. His head falls back, leaning against the fence, trying to catch his breath. You shake your hand out, relieving it of the slight cramp from how dedicated you’d jerked him off.

As planned, your breasts were coated in his release, though luckily it hadn’t soiled your dress nor bra.

You brush the dirt from your knees as you stand, finding them to be slightly scraped due to the gravel. Carl’s attention falls on you once more, after he’s readjusted his jeans, rendered speechless by your appearance.

The silence fills the space between you, though you have an expectant look on your face, once Carl doesn’t quite understand. A raised brow, you glance down to your chest, before back up at him.

“Gonna clean up your mess?” You ask him.

He blinks once, twice, before catching on. “You mean… with a towel?”

You purse your lips, a manicured finger swiping across the swell of your breast. It picks up a glob of cum, pearly white on the tip, which you deposited into your mouth.

Carl seems to get the hint, a nervous look on his face. He’s never… eaten his own cum before, the idea making his face scrunch up in mild disgust, though you seem to do it effortlessly. His hands settle on your hips, hesitantly, still standing there in consideration.

“Unless you want Negan to see?” You prompt once more, the vague threat working to kick him into gear, understanding the severity of the situation.

It was his mess, after all.

His head dips down, licking a tentative stripe over your exposed breast. The taste is unique, salty and distinct, though not exactly unpleasant. Carl tightens his grip on your waist, as you gently thread a hand through his hair, guiding his face as he cleans you up.

The action has your nipples hardening, a tingly sensation growing between your thighs, though you’d wait until later to satisfy yourself. When he pulls up, there’s a smug look on your face, gleaming with pride.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You whisper, leaning close to deposit a grateful kiss over Carl’s lips, tasting him on his tongue once more.

His face is red, flustered and slightly embarrassed over what you’d made him do. You tug your bra back into place, along with adjusting the hem of your dress, smoothing it down to reestablish that perfect appearance.

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” You announce, giving the boy a small wink before prancing back into Alexandria’s centre. There’s a breathless stammer behind you, though you pay it no mind, willing to let Carl simmer in his feelings before your eventual return.

Of course, you managed to clean up a little more before reuniting with Negan, who was speaking to a Saviour at the front gate. He greeted you with a chaste kiss to the cheek, arm wrapping around your waist.

“What happened to your knees, baby?” He rumbled, concern furrowing in over his brow.

You looked down, noticing how they were slightly scraped. “Heels on gravel.” You shrug, offering it as a minute explanation, though of course, it’s far from the truth.

For now, Carl would remain your little secret.

#carl grimes x reader #the walking dead x reader #twd x reader #twd x you #carl grimes #carl grimes x you #negan smith x reader #the walking dead #negan smith

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howyouloveyourdragon · 10 months

Text

Pearls

pairing: sugar mommy rhaenyra x reader x alicent age warning: 18+ only! interactions alternate universe: modern au, sugar mommy au summary: Three women, two purses and one whirlwind affair behind your best friend's back. It was never supposed to go past your uni accommodation but suddenly a set of pearls look very appealing...will you bite the bait? warnings & kinks: edging, mommy kink, cunnilingus, light bondage, strap-on pronouns: she/her anatomy: afab parts: 1, 2, 3 /? dividers by: cafekitsune wordcount: 3,354

A/N: okay i know this is probably a lot later than you expected but it's here! i feel kinda nervous about posting again since it's been quite a long while since i posted a finished one-shot so interaction is very welcome and i hope you enjoy 😭 ♡ okay also the feather won't entirely make sense unless you have seen what it is based on which is this

do not interact if you are under 18

It’s not anxiety that twists in her gut as Rhaenyra Targaryen sits in the parlour. She sighs and swishes the deep red wine in her mouth. It runs over her tongue like the embodiment of wet desire. She relishes the slight bitterness but anticipation is stirring in her gut. She pouts childishly at the crystal glass cup while she listens (barely) to Alicent rearranging her cupboards in the kitchen. “–it blatantly does not make sense for your mugs to be in the same place as Joffrey’s cereal. We do not want to give him another excuse to try his coffee versus milk experiment. I don’t even want to comprehend where Daemon has put hi–” “She’s not here yet.” Rhaenyra interrupts with a whine and tosses her head back. Alicent rolls her eyes and checks her watch. 18:45 pm. She scoffs at her jittery lover. “It isn’t even seven yet. What university students do you know that are on-time? Certainly not Jacaerys and definitely not Aegon! I’m lucky that Daeron is taking an apprenticeship.” “But she is always early, it’s one of the things I like about her.” Alicent raises her brows. “That she is early?” “Yes!” Alicent’s hands rest on her hips and she sighs. “Because she is early, you want to drag those little screams out of her?” Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, which is the moment her girlfriend begins to pounce. Alicent leans closer to the aristocrat, the run of her cleavage following her. “Because she is early, your fingers slither up her thighs?” “Yes!” Rhaenyra’s eyes make contact with Alicent’s bosom as she exclaims her answer. Silence pitters before a snort escapes the woman with chestnut hair and Rhaenyra begins to smirk in amusement. Alicent slowly cups her lover’s face, tilting it upward. A teasing grin tilts Rhaenyra’s lips. “I love you.” She says slowly. “I love you too.” The Targaryen returns the sentiment with a lilt before Alicent dips down to kiss her pink lips. Alicent’s long nails glide up Rhaenyra’s jaw. “Good.” She breathes into her mouth, tongue preparing to slip past the seam of her lips but then just as she is teetering the edge, a familiar bell sounds. Instead of lessening the tension, it encourages it. The grin transfers. “I believe we have a guest.” She then sighs, rubbing a slow circle on Rhaenyra’s jaw as her silver haired companion slides a palm up her waist. “I believe we do.” She agrees.

You stand outside the large building, eyes scanning up, scaling the walls and anticipating the tension. You were reluctant to wear the clothes delivered to your apartment just four days prior; the pink dress pressing against your body like a second skin, a white fur jacket and kitten heels because in truth you hadn’t expected your relationship with the CEO of Iron Throne Industries, your best friend’s mother, to progress so far. For her to begin utterly spoiling you. This made the ‘your mama’ jokes from first year so much worse. You shake your head at the thought and swallow, digging your opal teeth into your lower lip. Then the door swings open and your head snaps to it. Your eyes are wide as you take in the sight. Rhaenyra is smiling that sly grin, her palm perched on the long doorway, the other cupping a wine glass while her body is wrapped in scarlet and coal. The dark and rouge velvet of her blazer washes over her shoulders like gushing water and you bite down harder. Sharp pain shoots through the flesh beneath your teeth but you don’t care because your stomach is twisting in ribbons of lust. The outline of her crimson lipstick sticks to her glass. “Good evening.” She greets, eyes carnivorous and tempting through thin slits. Your sights track along her ruby nails then blink the distraction away to stutter back. “Good evening, mommy.” You near-gulp as tingles shoot across your flesh. She tilts her head, all too aware of the effect she wields over you as skilled as a swordsman. “Why don’t you come inside?” She suggests, letting her tongue run over her lips as she tempts you with glistening eyes. Hesitation grapples your weak ankles for a moment but you both know you are far too deep to stop now and why would you want to? The fun is only beginning…

Alicent is slung across a plush black armchair, her legs winding at the arm of it. Your eyes instantly widen and you step back in surprise, your back hitting your girlfriend’s chest. She slowly creeps her hands onto your hips. “Miss Hightower!” You exclaim but she only chuckles at you while Rhaenyra hangs your coat. She has a long, shining pearl necklace that dips between her breasts. “Hello, dear.” Alicent’s sultry voice slithers off her tongue. “I was hoping you would be joining us tonight, one of us was starting to get a little impatient.” Her eyes cut to Rhaenyra as her lips twitch up into a winding smirk. Your face washes in rouge. “Well who could blame me?” She retorts, gravel in her throat as the intensity grows. The chestnut vixen raises her brows, amusement smooth across her expression. A pink hue washes over your face, it feels as though you are a sliver of fabric between them. Alicent stands, gracefully as ever, and approaches with a long smirk. Her cinnamon eyes flicker over your face, her hand also rising to cup your cheek. She turns it in her grasp. “My love was right, you are definitely the prettiest of Jacaerys’ friends.” You swallow at the mention of him, tensing. “Don’t worry.” She coos, leaning to kiss your cheek. “You would much rather one of us take care of you, wouldn’t you?” Her sweet, lilting voice almost distracts you from Rhaenyra’s hand which is sliding up your thigh. Her nails catch on the soft pink fabric of your short dress. “Is this the one that I bought for you?” She asks, grinning as her breath teases deliciously at your ear. Her words are mere whispers but they send a tremble over your flesh. “I told you that she was a good girl, didn’t I?” Alicent hums in agreement, on her palms laying to rest atop your hip. She squeezes it gently. “You like that do you?” Alicent tests with a purr, her wicked grin extending across her face. “Being our good girl? Our sweet, gorgeous girl? Gonna be so good for us?” You can’t speak, the breath catching in your throat so you just nod, eyes falling shut as easily as an autumn leaf. “Oh you like that do you?” Rhaenyra chuckles, stopping her hand cruelly just short of your core.

A gentle whine passes your lips petulantly as Rhaenyra’s fingers rub slow teasing circles and Alicent begins playing with the skin-tight fabric at your side. “Do you like Paris?” ALicent asks, delighting in the mewl you emit. “Be a good girl for us and we’ll take you there. We have a work trip coming up, don’t we, dearest?” Rhaenyra nods, nibbling at your neck and finally driving her fingers up to swirl over the thin pad of underwear beneath your cunt. A mewl of approval drips from your tongue. “You can be a good girl, can’t you?” Another nod tips your head but this time, Alicent’ hand reaches up into your hair and tugs it back. A gasp hitches from you and a pleasant tingle runs up your neck as Rhaenyra presses wet lips to the soft flesh. She sucks a deep maroon mark while your hands fumble at thin air for support. Alicent moves her hand away from your side to grasp one of yours, she squeezes it with a chuckle rumbling through her throat. “We could visit the Louvre,” Alicent coos, brushing back your hair and playing with the strands. “Have breakfast outside the Eiffel Tower, perhaps attend our events in the evening–” “Though you might struggle to escape me.” Rhaenyra purrs. “There is nothing I’d like better than to bend you over some pretty little railing looking out at the stars.” Alicent chuckles at the shiver that runs down your spine. “I knew you would like that idea.” Alicent pulls away only briefly but it flutters your eyes open all the same.

When you see her approach again, a familiar glass stamped with crimson lipstick is greeting you with the temptation of a sly snake. “Drink.” She demands, Rhaenyra taking it between her fingers to dip it between your plush lips. Alicent slowly slithers her hand up your thigh. “And to think this almost went to waste.” Rhaenyra tuts, watching as your throat bobs. There is something else that she would much rather you drink. She strokes your cheek and it isn’t long until your back is being pressed into the winding sofa, The soft velvet runs goosebumps along your warm skin, Rhaenyra’s hands squeeze your thighs, parting them with ease while Alicent kisses up your neck, your jaw, your cheek–anything she can reach. Her hot breath flows over you, tingles shoot up your spine. Lips kiss up your thigh and suddenly a chuckle bursts from your lover’s lips. “I knew you would be wet for me.” She purrs, tongue dipping out to glide over the slick greeting her. When she sees it invading your thin black thong, her index flicks under the fabric. She pulls it down, licking her lips at the sight of your mound. Alicent moves down to straddle your stomach, hands framing your face as Rhaenyra plays with you. A gasp parts your lips, her fingers are slightly cold from the glass and it tickles up your skin. Alicent chuckles and leans down to press your lips together. Just as your fingers are itching to line up her waits, a mewl slips from you. Rhaenyra tongue treads up your core.

Alicent tuts slowly. “I thought you were our good girl but you’re being so loud.” A smirk creeps over her face. “Here, sweet girl, we wouldn’t want to get you in trouble…” She removes her hand to unwind the pearl necklace from her neck, dipping her finger between her breasts to fish it out. It swings in the air with the gentleness of a breeze but she doesn't give it much time before letting it fall in a line into your mouth. Your breath hitches as your teeth latch onto them. “We simply must get you more of these.” Alicent chuckles before diving back to lay her lips against your neck, the pink marks blossoming. Rhaenyra’s patience wears thin and so her hands are quick to snatch either side of your dress and roll it up–just past your hips. Her fingers snap the opposing fabric of your thong and discard it with the ease of tossing old garbage. She supposes you will not be needing such things anymore anyway. Her lips lock around your clit, suck at the pearl but her tongue manages to slip inside your throbbing cunt. It teases with gentle ease, much like testing the limits of a new toy.

Your fists clench at the fabric of Alicent’s silk dress, your brows furrow as your lover plays with you and you feel. Your back arches, A needy whine rips through your lips, Alicent chuckling at your neediness. The pearls jangle as your teeth bite down harder on the connecting chain. Slowly Alicent begins to rock her hips back and forth, a pearl of her own rubbing against your stomach with unkempt eagerness. “Keep making those sounds and a punishment will be in order.” She warns, smirking, but the words barely shoot through your ears. Your nipples pebble in sensitivity, almost resembling the sharp jewels that your girlfriend adorns so commonly along her fingers. Rhaenyra’s tongue and Alicent’s hips move in tandem. Pink lips continue to kiss up your neck, a trail of wetness in the marks she leaves behind. Her palms glide up your middle until they can trace up your arms. Tingles shoot along your skin as her nails trip on your goosebumps. Eventually her hands come up to clasp your hands above your head, she locks them and kisses along your jaw. Rhaenyra’s tongue tickles up your slit slowly, becoming gentle when she hears Alicent’s mewls begin to stutter. A whine threads through your mouth. “Don’t be greedy, pet.” She chastises with a chuckle. Alicent’s lips stop on your jaw to let out a high preening moan against your lips. Her intense russet eyes meet your own half-lidded sights which only pulls her higher up to her peak. Her teeth clamp down on her lower lip but she releases a yelp as a short resounding smack echoes around you. Rhaenyra tuts as she moves away from your heat and soothes Alicent’s backside with slow strokes of her palm. “That’s better.” She sings and kisses up the length of your new lover’s back until finally turning her neck in her hand to kiss against her lips with rough care. Slowly Alicent peels off your body and is followed by Rhaenya, their lips beginning to clash for dominance.

Rhaenyra’s palms lock hard on Alicent’s hips and Alicent’s tangle like beasts into the river of Rhaenyra’s silver streaming hair. Your dazed gaze lands on them as their tongues dance in eagerness to argue despite no words. Instead, their lips smack and their teeth clash like swords…but when a soft whine leaves your lips, their shields come down. Their battle ceases long enough for their eyes to turn on you. Rhaenyra’s sharp eyes snap to you with an uncontrolled grace while Alicent’s glance over your face like a kitten exploring the jungle of her ancestors. “Don’t worry, pet.” She utters, a deep rumbling of gravel in her throat. “We haven’t forgotten about you just yet.” Rhaenyra’s body twists, her shoulders dropping and head tilting down so that her sights are almost predatory as they flit over your rumpled form. Your dress is hitched up and exposing the sensitivity between your legs, your lipstick is smeared and what once was matte is now wet and waiting. “And I hope you haven’t forgotten about this either.” You gasp as a long feather teases at your opening. Alicent chuckles and retorts. “How much was this again, sweetheart?” You tuck the lower of your lip between your teeth, the pearls begin to dribble down your form. She licks a stripe along her own as they do. “£110.” Rhaenyra answers smoothly, running the tickle up and down your tender flesh. A laugh escapes. “For that?” Alicent asks, almost aghast. “She claimed it ‘brightens the room’, almost refused to leave without it, my bratty girl.” Rhaenyra tuts and runs it down your body. “It might as well do something.”

Like a tiger she creeps forward, Alicent wandering to the side, her hands plant on either side of the sofa and peel your legs back apart. A whimper leaves you but she doesn’t react, instead she slowly pries the pearls from your plump lips and skips them down from your cleavage to your core until they hit at your clit. A gasp hitches your breath and your thighs flinch. She leans forward to look at the dripping mess you have become and runs the necklace along it. “Do you know how long I was waiting for you and this pretty pussy?” She purrs as she toys with you, teasing up your slick slit. She lifts her other hand to slap it. You yelp with a start but she is quick to soothe the hit with her tongue. Her eye contact never strays–she knows your body better than you do. Then out of the corner of your eye you can see a familiar Rhaenyra turns her head with a devilish smirk and when your eyes follow her direction you almost gasp. In her hands is a long and thick crimson strap-on within her hands. She grins with temptation. Rhaenyra’s hand glides to take it from her and lower to strap it around herself. Alicent’s movements are slow and smooth as she wraps around you from behind. Her hands dip to reclaim the pearls but this time instead of pushing them into your mouth, she takes your wrists and latches them together. You swallow. “You gonna be good for mommy?” Rhaenyra asks with high brows but you can see the tinge of apprehension. You had done everything with her but not this and it was safe to say that rarely does Rhaenyra start small. And yet, much like how this affair started, you surprise yourself. It isn’t hesitation that tenses your body, it’s excitement. You nod, you nod with eager eyes and even more eager lust. Her eyes darken again and a smirk lifts her lips. “I knew you were my good girl.” She praises while Alicent’s lips descend onto your neck.

Slowly, she plunges inside, the head of her cock running through your folds and tickling at your insides. Overwhelming fullness clenches your cunt and drinks the plastic in. A high moan is quickly swallowed as Alicent cranes your neck to slam her warm lips on yours. Her kiss is the opposite of delicate as her tongue pokes your mouth but there is a gentleness in her hand as it cups your face. Your legs ache as Rhaenyra pushes them further apart to give her access. She thrusts with animalistic fervour, as if in heat and desperate to probe even deeper. Alicent’s thumb lowers to rub at your pleading bud and delights in the breath that drives your lips into that beautiful shape. “Good girl,” Alicent coos as Rhaenyra pushes you closer and closer…Your head tosses behind you as intensity begs at you. Your bound hands lead your squirming to increase but when Alicent releases your face, she clutches at the side of your dress. It curls in her grasp as she squeezes the fabric. Rhaenyra’s hips rock back and forth, letting euphoria churn desperately. It is as though she is tying a knot in your lower stomach, tugging at every thrust but willing it to snap. To splinter, to break, to release. She wants to be the one who pushes you into your peak. The wet slapping of your cunt swallowing her in, doesn’t cease even as your slick splatters across your thighs. You can feel your binds even tighter on your skin. You can feel your resolve to keep quiet beginning to fracture.

Finally the hold is too tight to deny and Rhaenyra grins down at you, her fingers hiking your knee up to fall over her shoulder. She presses forward to kiss along your collarbone. It is an understatement to say that you are stained in their lipstick kisses and claimant marks. “Release for me.” She breathes into your ear and finally it snaps. The tie breaks in time with the pearls which scatter across the floor with the sounds of loose change. Your arms fly apart as a tornado of euphoria sweeps you inside. “That’s it.” Alicent purrs as you tremble against her body. “That’s it.” Pleasure wraps around you as tight as a vine but it isn’t constricting; instead it carries the same comfort of her arms which sweep around you as Rhaenyra gently glides out of your glistening core. Your head turns as pleasurable shivers overwhelm your body. Your sights travel over the scattered pearls while Rhaenyra winds you between herself and Alicent, sandwiching you. Alicent squirms so that she can wrap her arms around your waist as if you are a teddy bear. “Oh sweet one, I hope you don’t think this was only a one time thing...” She coos. Her breath flutters over your collarbone which only reminds you of your endeavours. Her fingers carefully slink into yours and she squeezes your hand lightly. She finds a pearl strewn in the space between your fingers. She tuts. “We’ll have to get you some of your own, pet.” Your eyes don’t have the willpower to stay open as you nestle back into Alicent’s warm arms. With the scent of Chanel and Byredo thick in your nose, you finally rest.

any and all interaction such as reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡♡♡

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