#you know what's difficult? finding the damn trees

[sophieshyacinthgarden]

Damsel in Distress

Relationships: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Anthony Bridgerton decides to play hero after you get stuck in the rain but little does he know you don’t need saving.

Warnings: Foul Language, Bickering, Anthony and Reader fighting like children, Smut, Fingering, P in V, Unprotected Sex (Wrap it before you tap it)

The forest around Aubrey Hall was rather peaceful and that was exactly what you had been looking for since you arrived at the beginning of the summer. You were a close family friend of the Bridgertons and had been invited to stay the summer before going on the marriage mart in hope of finding a match. This summer was supposed to be your last chance of relaxation, but so far it’s been anything but relaxing.

It’s not as though the Bridgertons treated you unfairly, on the contrary they treated you as part of the family. At least all of them did except for one, Mr. Viscount Bridgerton himself. He had a habit of bickering with you non-stop, criticizing you on random habits, constantly saying that at this rate you would never find a husband. Due to his behavior, you have taken a rather dislike to the young man. For who was he to critique you on anything?

The trees swayed gently to the tune of a light breeze giving the forest a comforting atmosphere. You sat atop of your horse and slowly rode closer to the lake attempting to get a better view. Small fish in hues of orange and gold swam in the crystal blue waters helping ease your mind. They swam circles around each other making you wish you could be as carefree as them. Your brown stead slowly began to shake his head, you stormed his mane,”Shhhh, my darling calm down.”

You looked up and saw the clouds had began to cover up the once so cheerful sky. The golden sun had faded from view as silver clouds hid it. The air had become thicker and you could feel suddenly colder. You knew that deep down a storm was a coming and it was coming soon. You grabbed the reins of your horse and slowly moved it backwards urging for him to move away from the lake and to make his way back on the path.

Obediently your horse followed your command and made his away from the lake. Out of no where you hear a brash sound causing your horse to rear its head. You patted his head urging him to calm down. Like on clock work the rain began to fall. Instead of falling as a drizzle it fell down in buckets completely drenching you head to toe. You attempted to get your horse back on track but it was difficult due to the growing amount of mud causing a slippery track.

The rain had almost completely carried away your path. Despite this you tried to retrace your steps to get back to the hall but your plans were to no avail. The more you attempted to find your way out the more you became lost. It was as though the rain had messed with your sense of direction for you could no longer find the difference between left and right. Every turn you took seemed the same, every tree, every rock, nothing helped you realize the exact location of where you were. “Damn it!” you exclaimed.

A clunk was heard from behind you and you turned quickly to investigate the sound. Sitting atop of his horse acting all high and mighty was none other than Anthony Bridgerton. His hair clung to his face due to the mass amount of water that was falling, he looked like a mess if you were being honest, an attractive mess. He smirked when he made eye contact with you, a triumphant look on his face.

“I see you’re in need of some assistance, love,” Anthony told you rather smugly.

You frowned,”On the contrary I don’t need assurance, for I know exactly where I’m off to.” In all retrospect, you had no idea where you were going but he didn’t need to know that. You were a complete disaster.

“Oh?" Anthony raises an eyebrow at your words. He is amused by your reply. He looks at you intently for a moment, studying your expression. Then he nods towards where he is,”Then you'd best take shelter out of this rain. Perhaps in the hunting cabin since you know where you’re going.”

That no good cocky bastard, you thought. He clearly knew you had no idea where the hunting cabin was so he gestured for you to follow him. You followed him around in the rain for a good solid five minutes until you realized that he was as lost as you were. You rolled your eyes at his idiotic behavior. Why was he portraying himself on such a high horse if he was a fool as well.

“Allow me to take the honors of leading us to safety, since you’re doing such a wonderful job,” you told him sarcastically. He scoffed and told you to lead the way.

You remembered that Colin and Anthony had taken Gregory out to go hunting yesterday. You also remembered that all three boys are rather disorganized, so naturally they must have left some kind of evidence of their stay somewhere. The rain poured down even harder and your patience was wearing thin. You studied every rock formation every tree in hope of something, some kind of clue. And that’s when you found it, a series of discarded arrows stuck in trees or littered around floor. Thank goodness for Gregory’s bad aim.

Anthony followed you as you made your way weaving through trees into you finally fell upon a wooden cabin. The pair of you quickly hitched the horses into the attached stables to keep them well taken care of. After that job was done, you two ran into the cabin desperately awaiting the warmth and shelter.

The cabin was warm and kept you be safe from the harsh weather conditions outdoors. The interior was comfortable, well-appointed, and spacious. Anthony took off his coat and reached for yours to hang them up on the coat rack. You obliged and sat by the fire attempting to regain your strength. “I told you I knew where I was going,” you stated matter of factually.

“Of course you did,” he said, as he sits down next to you. The rain was now drumming on the roof, providing a gentle backdrop to your situation.

You rolled your eyes once more,”What were you doing in the rain?”

Anthony smirks, his eyes twinkling with amusement,”I could ask the same of you." He looks casually out at the rain pouring outside, his voice a low rumble.

“That’s still not giving me an answer,” you scold him.

He sighs,” I couldn't sleep this morning, so I decided to take an early morning ride. I didn't think I'd be playing the part of a savior for a young damsel in distress along the way."

You look at him with a look that can only described as disgust,”I am no damsel in distress.”

Anthony laughs at your words. "Ah, but are you not? You're out here alone, lost in the pouring rain, with no idea where you were, no less. If that's not damsel in distress material, I'm not sure what is."

You look at him,” As for you? You’re quite the same, you’re situation is identical to mine. So by your rules, does that not make you a damsel in distress?”

Anthony's eyes darken. He laughs, the sound sending a strange stirring through your body. He shakes his head at your words,”Oh, I assure you, love. I am no damsel. I am not lost, nor am I helpless. I am a man who knows when to take control and seize what he wants. And I do not shy away from a little rain."

“Oh sure! You cowered away from the rain the same way I did! And you have no idea what you truly want no matter how much you say do!” you exclaim. He studies you and narrows his eyes. Slowly he leans into your face until they’re almost touching, your breath hitches in your throat. You had never had a chance to appreciate how gorgeous his brown eyes are or how perfect his jawline seemed. Now you couldn’t help but seem mesmerized by his features, you wanted to blame it on the weather yet you couldn’t find the heart to.

He leans in even closer, his eyes meet yours with a smoldering intensity. His voice is low and seductive as he replies, "I know what I want, my love. Power. Control. Pleasure. And in this very moment, I find myself wanting you."

You shake your head in disbelief,” You cannot be serious, Anthony.” Your face begins to flush as you meet his gaze.

He looks at you intently, his gaze searching yours. His eyes hold a mixture of desire and sincerity. "I am being serious, my dear. I find myself drawn to you, in this moment and always. You are a woman of wit and strength, and I find that I want nothing more than to have you by my side. My heart desires you, and I do not lie when it comes to matters of the heart."

Anthony's eyes soften at your response. He leans in, his hand reaching out to lightly touch your cheek. He leans even closer, his face just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "I wish to kiss you, my dear. May I?"

Your face turns red at his word, pathetically you mutter out the words,”Of course you can.”

Anthony's eyes darkened with desire at your consent. He leans in and gently captures your lips in a deep, yet passionate kiss. His kiss is possessive yet tender, his lips devouring yours with an intoxicating mix of need and desire. The rain continued to fall outside, but in this moment, there is only the two of you and the fierce chemistry that ignites between you.

Slowly Anthony begins to make his way on top of you, having you lay back first on the carpet. His fingers tantalizingly move between the vast layers of fabric of your skirt and begin to make their way up. Your breath hitches as his hands move, he takes notice of this,”Can I pleasure you, my love? I understand if you’re not comfortable with this, you are a lady after all and I am a gentleman.”

You sit up and cup his face between your hands,”I’ve never been more comfortable with anything. Go ahead and do to me whatever you please.”

Anthony's hands roamed up your body, pulling you closer to him as he deepened the kiss. His tongue danced with yours, exploring your mouth with a possessive and determined hunger. The air between you became thick with desire, and Anthony's lips were like fire against yours.

He decides hands to grab hold of your body, and he pulls you into his lap, his lips never breaking contact with yours. His kisses become more urgent, his tongue demanding entry into your mouth, claiming you as his own. He pulls you flush against his chest, pinning you against him as he deepened the kiss even further.

His fingers move underneath all the fabrics and he finally reaches your clit. He begins to massage your nub, making you moan at the friction. His fingers tease your wet folds and he plunges his middle finger into your entrance. You had never felt this kind of sensation before, it was exhilarating. He curls his finger inside of your sensitive walls. Anthony leans into your ear as you began to moan,”Who knew you’d be such a little whore? You’re supposed to be a promising young lady, yet you moan like a bitch in a whorehouse.”

You buck your hips towards him, at his vulgar words,” You like that don’t you?” Anthony asks, as he pushes another finger inside of you and begins to stretch out your walls,” You like it when I call you out for being the slut you are.” With not an ounce of shame you nod along like the pathetic, little slut you were.

“I’m a slut, but only for you Anthony,” you look up at him your glossed over doe eyes.

Anthony laughs at your hopeless state. He moves his fingers in and out of your tight cunt, getting a proper pace. He curled his fingers in a way that made you see stars. His fingers maneuvered your pussy as though it was made for him. Soon you felt a knot growing in your stomach, a feeling you couldn’t explain. You began to whine,”Anthony! I feel like I’m going to pee! Please let me up!”

He doesn’t stop fingering you, if anything he goes even faster. You begin to panic, you didn’t want to piss on him… but his fingers felt so good. His fingers plunged in and out. You felt your orgasm wash over you like a wave. It felt so amazing you couldn’t even explain it, slowly Anthony pulled his fingers out of your pussy. He put his digits in his mouth and he began to lick off your juices. He rolled his tongue around them and sucked them erotically.

Anthony reached down to his pants and carefully began to unbutton them. You were unsure of what he was trying to do, yet you went along with him anyway. He turned over to you and practically ripped your dress off of you, of course with your permission first. You were left bare in front of him, instinctively you wanted to cover yourself up but his hands stopped you. “You’re gorgeous my darling, don’t hide yourself from me,” he said tucking your hair behind your ear.

You nodded and felt comforted by his words; he leaned down and placed a kiss on your breast. Anthony then unbuttoned his collar, as he took off his apparel. Your eyes study his bare, toned body, your hands instinctively go straight to his chest. You feel his heartbeat quicken beneath your touch. He looks down and you notice something hard poking you from underneath. It’s coming from his breachers.

Swiftly he pulls them down and his cock is sprung free. Your eyes widen in shock, for you have never seen something so thick and long before. His tip is slightly curved and is a light pink color. His balls lay at the top, heavy and full. His happy trail makes a perfect path from his v-line to his dick. At first you’re unsure what he’s going to with it. He wraps his hand around his shaft and gives it a few pumps before picking you up.

Anthony slowly spreads open your folds, as he carefully inserts his erect cock into your tight little pussy. You slowly sit onto it and he bottoms out inside of you. Both of you let out a long moan as the tip of his dick hits your sweet spot. “Now I’m going to start moving if that’s okay?” he tells you, and you nod.

He lifts his hips and carefully moves himself in and out of your wet cunt. His tip hits the same spongy spot of your insides that causes your eyes to roll back into your head. You begin to meet his hips as well, bouncing on his dick helplessly. “Oh god, you feel so good,” he tells you as your walls squeeze and his shaft. You moan as you ride his dick, tears swelling up in your eyes. You keep searching for that release from earlier desperately.

Anthony keeps moving inside of you, moaning uncontrollably. Soon that knot that you once felt, began to grow again. Anthony’s hips began to stutter so you assumed he had reached some kind of a high as well. You two continued your pace, until you two reached your climax. Your warm cum began to ooze around the ring of his base making a white circle. The mere sight of it had Anthony shooting his load into your pussy. Your walls grew warm as they were coated by the white strings of his cum. Soon your fluids mixed and you had a mixture of both of your climaxes leaking out of you.

Carefully Anthony pulled out and laid you down onto the carpet. With his finger he pushed the mixture of your cum back into your gaping hole that was now clenching around the lack of space. He got up and grabbed a warm towel to clean the both of you up a little as well as a blanket. He began to spoon you and wrapped his arms around you body. You both laid underneath the blanket exhausted.

“I don’t believe you’re going to have to go through the obstacles of navigating the marriage mart this year,” he sighs into your hair.

You laugh at what he was insinuating,”I sure I hope I don’t.”

He studies his eyes full of complete love and adoration,” Maybe I should come to your rescue more often.”

You shake your head,”I am not a damsel in distress.” The pair of you cuddled while the fire roared, out looking the soft rain, deciding that it would be for the best to stick out the rain inside.

The pair of you both knew that when you arrived home the Bridgertons would be worried sick; they would most likely scold Anthony for not bringing you back in time. You also both knew that what had happened in this cabin will change your relationship forever. Who knows? Maybe by the end of the summer you’ll leave Aubrey Hall with a new title and your loving husband by your side.

#fanfic #delulu #x reader #bridgerton #netflix #new season #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #eloise x penelope #eloise x cressida #penelope featherington #carriage scene #kate sharma #queen charlotte #king george bridgerton #smut

[fractalabomination]

Manifold garden is a beautifully terrifying game about not knowing where the fuck you are at any given moment.

#i'll be honest none of the mechanics are actually that difficult for me #you know what's difficult? finding the damn trees #my file had a bug where a tree straight up didn't spawn #making it impossible #had to reload until it fixed itself #anyways. lovely game 9/10 you should play it if you love liminal spaces and escher #manifold garden #iompaeoe

[hirsheyskisses]

When You're Sober.

RORONOA ZORO x READER (short)

Summary: Being Roronoa's childhood friend, he's declared for the world to hear how one day, he's going to make you his wife. As adults, you had assumed he moved on, but as it stands..

A/N: I've had this in my head for AHH so long. So I'm writing it before I go back to requests 🤣

"..are you going to stay this time?"

Child Zoro questioned you. You sighed softly, seeing the tears pricking at his eyes pulled your heart strings in ways the young swordsman couldn't even begin to comprehend. Kuina's funeral had just ended, and Zoro had immediately sought you out. You were a slightly older swordsman pupil, by 2 years to be exact, and Zoro had latched onto you recently, with Kuina jokingly teasing you of how much he liked you. Sure, 11 and 13 weren't too big, but to a kid, it was all the difference. Still though, you couldn't help but care for him.

"..no. I'll be staying at the dojo." You replied, watching him smile, just a bit. You were both still sad after Kuina's death, and you weren't about to leave the mossball all on his lonesome- and you'd grown to like this dojo, as had your father. You were certain you could convince him to stay, rather than travel to another.

"Good! 'Cause I'm gonna marry you one day, so I can't have you leaving!" Zoro declared tearfully, through his shit eating grin, and you quickly angled your head away and growled, "we're not getting married!"

It didn't matter how many times you defended yourself, he wouldn't let up. If flustered and enraged you to no end. No matter how many battles you raged against him, no matter how many times you had him panting and defeated, holding your wooden sword to his throat, no, none of it scared Zoro.

"I'm gonna marry you one day, (Name)!"

Sometimes, Zoro would even sneak into your bed. You realized they were mostly driven by nightmares. You'd hear him slowly open the door, sniffling from tears, and walk over to you. He'd prod your side before diving under the covers with you, snuggling as close to your side as possible. "I know.. you're awake." He'd mumble, wrapping his arms around you. You'd give in, wrapping one around him. "Yeah. Hard not to when ya sneak into my bed." Zoro snuggled a bit closer. "Wanna be close. That's all." You knew it was more. He trusted you. He even began to tell you about the nightmares, and despite yourself, You'd comfort him. Hold him until he fell asleep.

It grew increasingly difficult for you to be mad at him, especially not seeing as it had become almost a game- plus his wholesome and innocent smile was so damn adorable. You figured he'd grow out of it eventually, popping out of nowhere to declare his undying love. Until then, you grew accustomed to him popping out of closets, around trees and doors, and through windows and met his confessions through the clashes of your blades.

As it turns out, Zoro did grow out of it. The two of you had long since left the dojo together, became bounty hunters, and then became pirates on Luffy's crew. Around 16, and you being 18 is when Zoro had began to stop asking, the questions growing less and less often until they had halted altogether, his mind set on fulfilling his promise to Kuina, to become the world's strongest and carry his name to the heavens, where yours was to find the world's wonders, and the blades of your dreams. In fact, the last time he'd done so..

..Zoro had grown. He knew that, you knew that. He'd never let you live down that you're shorter than him, much to your dismay. You both had barely left the dojo, and Zoro had decided the first thing he wanted to do was drink for the first time. So that's what he did. You chose to stay sober, just in case.

What you hasn't anticipated was just how clingy he'd get when he was wasted.

"Hey.." you were leading him back to the hotel, when without any warning, he'd pulled you into an alley and pushed you gently against the wall. Zoro stared intently into your eyes and pressed himself a bit closer, you could smell the alcohol from his breath. "Fuckin- Zoro! What're ya doin?!"

"So cute.." he'd lean in and smell your hair, his earrings glinting in the moonlight, arms keeping you caged against the wall. "I've waited.. s'long. M' even of age now."

He pulled back a bit, towering over you, and you could feel yourself becoming a furious, blushing mess. Zoro himself was flushed, panting softly, lips parted ever so slightly.

"Wanna marry ya. Wanna marry ya s'bad.."

He slurred, and you flushed a deeper shade of red. His hand reached up to tuck some hair behind your ear, and you were frozen for a long moment. Until you finally came back to your senses.

Shoving his face away, you grabbed his arm and began storming to the hotel,

"Stupid mossball! Ask me again when you're sober!"

He never did.

Sometimes you missed it, how close you and Zoro used to be. Sure, you still had complete trust in one another, and always had each other's backs in battle, but it was as though you'd both spoken so much, that you no longer spoke. You'd still train, sometimes even nap in the others presence, but words had become rarer, instead communicating through looks more often than not, quick and brief. You were beginning to miss his voice.

"(Nameeeeeee).. hey. 'chu doin' all alone?"

Speaking of Zoro- he'd joined you on the rail of the Sunny. On the beach, the rest of the straw hats were celebrating with the locals, and said locals had given Zoro an alcohol like no other. Zoro, believing his tolerance was high enough to take it, decided to drink it during a drinking contest. For the first time in a long while, he was wasted. Again.

"Relaxing. It was quite the battle today." You responded, smiling at the swordsman. His swords rested at his side, and your two rested st your side.

"It was.. f'sure." Zoro agreed, leaning against the railing, "you handled yerself good out there." He placed a hand at the small of your back, smiling at you. "Saw the new technique.. should use it against me sometime."

You awkwardly moved away from his hand, laughing softly. "Yeah, sure, when you're sober." His smile fell ever so slightly, and you tilted your head in confusion. "Ya good there, Zoro?"

"No. I'm not."

He responded, and with little warning, he had you in his arms, practically squishing you against him in a fiercsome hug. "Ack! Zoro! Can't breathe!" You yelped, laughing breathily as you struggled to escape his wrath, deciding to worry about him after you could breathe again.

"....why ya talk ta Sanji s'much?"

Zoro growled, loosening his grip and grabbing you by your shoulders, suddenly pushing you away but still holding you, at arms length. "HAH? Fuck you mean?" "It means.. exactly what I'm askin'. You even ditched training the other day.. ta' talk to that damn cook. Why?" He sounded hurt, and you grew even more confused. "'Cause he's my friend? Plus, I've been taking some cooking lessons from him to help out." Zoro scowled, clenching his teeth and flat glaring at you. His grip was tightening to the point it hurt, and you tried not to wince, instead meeting his glare with one of your own. "What's your problem, Roronoa?! They put angry juice in your damn booze?" You placed emphasis on his last name, which only caused his grip to tighten more. You watched as he opened his mouth, then closed it again, struggling to find the right words to say.

"My problem is, is I wanna fuckin' marry ya, and seein ya with that damn cook pisses me off."

His voice was low, and he loosened his grip, instead opting to massage your shoulders. Yet again, you'd frozen, watching Zoro's glare turn into a pout as he dropped his head.

"I know I know.. ya dont feel the same.. but.. damn it, atleast choose someone better than him."

To say you were shocked was an understatement. You'd never seen Zoro look so defeated, watching him turn his head away. He hasn't given up, but he was about to. Your heart shattered in more ways than one. As his hands dropped from your shoulders, you knew one thing: it was now or never.. but what if these were just..

You reached out and grabbed his hand, staring at the ground. You couldn't look at him- not when he looked like a kicked puppy. "Zoro.."

"...yea?"

"Ask me again. When you're sober. I'll answer you."

Then, you jumped over the edge of the ship, landing on the beach, and ran to join the others, face beet red and guilt boiling deep in your gut.

He didn't. The next day you both went on as if nothing happened. However, after breakfast, Zoro vanished off the ship, alongside Nami. You'd decided to think nothing of it, however, part of you wished, so badly, that you'd just told him. But you had also decided that if Zoro couldn't tell you when he was sober, then it just wouldn't work.

I've loved him for years.. I thought he'd forgotten. God.. I wish I could turn back time, and accept him. I'm a fool.

"(Name)-chan? You're looking gloomy. That damn Marimo do something to you?! I swear I'll-"

Sanji had approached you, and you cut him off with a wave of your hand. "Its.. just a childhood subject came up. It's touchy." You responded, finally removing your gaze from the table to meet his gaze. Sanji sat across from you, "Wanna talk about it?"

"...not sure what good it'll do." You huffed, fidgeting with your hands. For a long moment, Sanji was silent. Which was odd, seeing as he was usually swooning over you, or whisking you away to teach you a new cooking technique.

"..things will work out between you two. Don't worry. He may be a lumbering fool, but he isn't a total idiot." Sanji said, a twinkle in his eyes. You glanced at him, "whatddya mean by that?" "I mean exactly what I said, darling."

You spent the rest of the day wondering what Sanji could've possibly meant. Working around the ship and making sure everything was ready to set sail in the morning, Chopper dancing around your feet as he helped and rambled about medical knowledge.

As time rolled around for dinner, you were moving to the kitchen with the others, laughing with Usopp at Luffy's antics, when all of a sudden,

"(NAME)! hol.. hold on." Zoro came running up behind you, with something held in his hands. Nami wasn't far behind, but she maneuvered around the two of you to stand with the others.

"Fuck.. never doin that again." He grumbled, dropping to one knee and staring up at you, chest heaving, as he pulled out a small box.

"..zoro?-"

"You.. you told me to ask again when I'm sober. So I am."

"Marry me."

He opened the box to reveal a beautiful black and gold ring. You froze, staring at it, and then at the swordsman, who was staring up at you, just as still as you.

He..

"...fuckin' hell Zoro. Yes, I'll marry you."

The grin that erupted on Zoro's face was beautiful as tears spilled from your eye, and your crewmates cheered behind you both as Zoro pulled you into his arms, slipping the ring on your finger.

"SUPPPPER! finally!" "Yohohohoho! I should play some music!" "Damn marimo.. You'd better take care of her!" Their congratulations fell on deaf ears as Zoro held you, burying his face into your shoulder. The growing wet feeling on your shoulder told you one thing: he was crying, too.

"..I love you. So much.. please, stay at my side for the rest of eternity." He whispered, voice raspy, and you melted into his hold,

"Always, and forever. I've always been yours, Zoro."

#one piece roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #one piece zoro #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #straw hats x reader

[mysticwolfshadows]

I see a lot of Arthur making Merlin Court Sorcerer after learning about his magic (and forgiving him for the lies). But I want to see more of... Arthur just not realizing how powerful Merlin is. Like, Arthur finds out, and then realizes that Merlin uses it for chores and dropping tree branches on bandits. He doesn't know about him being a dragonlord, or about Nimueh, or about the prophecy. So Arthur thinks Merlin is just another sorcerer.

So then, when the laws are changed and they're talking about getting a Court Sorcerer, Merlin isn't brought up at all. Merlin doesn't care, either, since he doesn't want a title. So they try one person, and they turn out to be shit, Gaius refuses because god damn he just wants to retire, and there may have been a few assassination attempts during interviews.

So Camelot doesn't have a Court Sorcerer forever, but they have sorcerers everywhere, and Arthur needs advice on magic, so he asks Gaius and Merlin, the only sorcers that he knows. So they teach him about what they know. Like warlocks being rare people with inate magic power. And how being able to cast spells without incantations is extremely difficult and only done by the most powerful of warlocks.

And then, almost a year into not hqving an offical Court Sorcerer, they're preparing for the 1 year celebration feast of the ban lifting, when an assassin shows up out of nowhere. And Merlin, tired and working overtime to get this feast ready, just shoots the assassin a look, and the man crumbles to the ground.

The knights and Arthur are just... so confused. And poke the motionless on the floor. And then look at Merlin, who is still smoothing out fancy linen tablecloths. Andd Arthur just kinda points and asks, "did you...?"

And Merlin just glances over and nods. And Arthur looses it.

"You used magic. Without an incantation. And you never told me you could?!"

Merlin just blinks. "Didn't think I had to?"

That night, at the feast, Arthur anounces Merlin as Court Sorcerer, much to Merlin's horror.

#merlin #merthur

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Finally

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Spy!Reader

Plot: Bucky and you have a hard time staying away from each other. And though you try to push him away, every time he finds you again, the universe finds a new way to pull you apart.

Warnings: 18+. Smut, fluff and angst.

Words: 9,1OO

A/N: Recently I’ve been trying to understand what it is people want to read of my works and I have no idea, so here is my brain in scrambled pieces. I'm so sorry it’s so long, I swear it's worth it!

Romania.

It isn’t often you agree to such an extensive trip to meet up with one of your clients, but apparently this particular one can’t be seen in the more supervised countries. Besides, you’ve never been to Bucharest before, so you’re quite enjoying your drink at the small picturesque café.

You’ve done your research and know damn well who you’re meeting up with. A small part of you is screaming at you not to agree to do business with him or back out now, but your curiosity overrules any common sense. Last you heard, Hydra had lost their favourite asset and you can confidently say you were relieved to hear it. It had been a few too many times that specific organisation had made your job more difficult than it had to be.

A many number of things could have happened to the Winter Soldier. He could’ve been killed, corrupted by another organisation, fled to live as a hermit– You really want to know. It’s the spy in you that enjoys knowing the ins and outs of the criminal world. He’d tried not to mention who he is, but you had a few offers on the table, he needed some leverage to get you to agree to meet him. Safe to say, you were surprised he’d told you he was the Winter Soldier. Big chance you will now be the only person to know about the asset’s current whereabouts. That is, if you live to tell it of course…

Every hair in your neck stands up straight, despite the comfortable weather and the easy going crowd roaming the street. The sudden change in atmosphere has your spy senses stand on alert. Your spine stiffens and you casually look around, slightly discouraged at the way your body has never responded to anything in this particular manner.

You cross your legs and turn to look behind you, scanning every face in the crowd. When you turn back, the seat next to yours is taken, only a rickety metal table separating you from the large man sat in the other chair. Your breath halts in your throat and you look him up and down, instantly recognising the buff man as the Winter Soldier. How? You’re not sure, you’d never really seen a picture.

You check his hands. Gloves. With this weather? To cover up. You check his build and take a particularly long time to do so, because God, this man is broad. He’s all sturdy flesh and muscle, firm and casual. His thighs look like tree trunks and you know the man is fast, despite his build. You force the deliberate sweep of your eyes over his body to appear more nonchalant and confident than you feel.

Then your eyes reach his face and the breath gets knocked out of you. There is nothing in that face that hints towards a stone cold killer. Dark blue, deep set eyes, freckles pattered over his nose and cheeks, lips bitten raw from contemplation and an expression on his face that almost looks like… Nerves?

“Hello,” you start carefully, unable to keep your surprise from your tone, but sounding relatively cool to your own relief.

“Hi,” he says and the tone of his voice is deep, but rough, like he hasn’t spoken in ages. You think that maybe he hasn’t.

“Should I refer to you as the Winter Soldier?” you ask, composing your cool nature entirely now. “Or would you say that is a bit on the nose?”

He huffs a laugh and you smile, feeling the overwhelming urge to make him do that again. “James will do, thanks.”

“Alright James,” you say, taking your time to let your mouth get acquainted with his name, “what is it you need my services for?”

“I hear you’re a spy,” he starts and searches your face. “A good one– the best one.”

“Well now, I’d hate to disappoint,” you purr. “What do you need?”

“It’s not so much a document or one piece of information,” he mumbles and his face hardens as he collects himself. You sit upright and frown as you study him. “I need you as a partner for an assignment.”

You instantly shake your head, “Absolutely not. I’m not working for Hydra, that organisation is–”

“Not Hydra,” he quickly cuts in. “Just me. It’s a personal assignment.”

You wait for him to continue, not appreciating his vague communication if he wants to become partners on whatever this is.

He sighs, “I– I have a lot of… gaps. Things I don’t remember, things I can’t quite place. Years of information. The things I did for Hydra– I wasn’t there for most of it. Neither were a lot of people. So I need someone with access to some dark shit to help me figure it out.”

Chewing your lip, you process the information he gives you and empathy clenches your heart together. James gives you the time you need to put the pieces together. You’d heard of Hydra’s experiments with brainwashing and had already sort of assumed some of their soldiers had only worked for them because of that reason, had stayed far away from the organisation’s shit to steer clear from that danger.

But it’s so different to see it in real life, or what is left of it, you suppose. Many things aren’t quite clear to you just yet. However, you slowly start nodding your head. Your brain starts running a million miles an hour, all the gears turning to form a plan, the way you always do before you agree to a job.

“Can you pay me for the service?” you ask, already wondering to yourself if you’d help the clearly hopeless and damaged man for free, and to be honest, just for kicks. The things you’d dig up from everything he’ll give you– Selfishly, you’d kill for it. Anyone would kill for it.

He gives you a tight-lipped, apologetic smile, “Not that much. But I can save up more.”

You think. Your gut tells you he won’t kill you after he gets what he wants, even though he could. And though you will always keep a close eye on him and everything he’s capable of, your gut feeling has never disappointed you.

So you sigh and shake your head. “That’s okay. I’ll do all of it for free, and you can pay me what little you have to insure that I stay quiet. Sound fair?”

His eyes narrow with a twinkle that you hadn’t expected from a man like him and he says, “Deal.”

“Alright,” you say and finish your coffee before clearing your throat. “First order of business: tell me your full name.”

He shakes his head with a faint smile, “James Buchanan Barnes.”

Oh shit.

You do know him.

Germany.

Relief seeps into your bones as you cross the threshold of your building and you slip into your routine of coming home. Tired feet drag you through your building and to your apartment, and muscle memory unlocks your door. After the week you’ve had, you are ready to turn off your brain and settle down.

You enjoy being this tired though, revel in it. Exhausting yourself with a normal person job and the way it puts your usually restless body to sleep at night is exactly what you wanted for your life.

One step into your own hallway, however, makes your daydream of a quiet night in crumble to your feet. Something is off. You can blame your trained senses for being so instantly on edge, but the apartment you just stepped into isn’t a place that has been vacated for the past nine hours. This apartment isn’t empty.

An even older routine settles into your bones this time and you creep into your home on light feet. The air is warm and the space is completely quiet. You’ve been alive long enough, seen enough, to know quiet is never good.

You don’t turn on any lights and let your eyes adjust to the dark. Ears perked and muscles at the ready to spring into action, you slowly make your way further into your home. And when you slip around the corner and look into your darkened living room, you let out a frustrated sigh at the dark figure lounging on your couch.

“How did you find me here,” you grumble and it is hardly a question.

You can feel him sit up and tune in to your presence. You couldn’t explain it if your life depended on it, but you instantly knew who it was. The dark figure in the dark apartment, waiting patiently for someone to catch him. After all, he will deny it until his dying day, but he does have an awful lot of dramatic flair for someone so stoic.

“Better question is: why are you here?” he counters and you drop your bag onto one of your dining chairs, shooting him an unimpressed glare. “Trying to stay off the radar, are you?”

“And failing, clearly,” you say before he can say it for you. “How did you find me here, James?”

Your eyes are finally fully adjusted and you see the smirk forming on his face. You haven’t seen that smirk in five years. “I have my ways,” he says and pushes off the couch, adjusting his leather jacket. “Now, what are you doing in this abandoned town?”

“It’s not abandoned,” you counter and slip off your coat, deciding to just go about your old routine and ignore his presence as much as you can. Maybe then he’ll go away.

“It’s a shit town and you know it.” He cocks his head at you, eyes tracking all of your movements.

You notice his puzzled look. He’s genuinely wondering what is left of his old ally and you can’t quite blame him. Perhaps he can easily see your lame attempt at finding a normal life for yourself. He has probably tried a thousand times himself to escape the roaring life of saving the world, has probably failed every time, too. But you’re determined to make it work – make yourself normal and live a full life.

And that is all you were to him anyway, just an ally. The entire time, you’d felt that he paid a little too much attention to you, but you supplied critical information and occasionally wiped someone off the map. A spy. Nothing more, nothing less. However, for the infamous Winter Soldier to need your alliance again, you cannot help but feel wary.

After the first time he approached you, you’d spent months together. It was an effort not to grow too close – too much effort. Because you had. It was impossible not to, helping someone literally piece their life together through intimate and awful memories. Digging through protective walls and coping mechanisms to help him rebuild some of his life again. With a lot of reluctance from both of you.

Yes, you’d grown close then. Grown close enough that you fell asleep slumped over the kitchen counter in his awful Romanian apartment, your face sticking to the countless research papers. You’d woken up hours later on his poorly constructed bed on the floor with a blanket thrown over your frame. Close enough that you’d eventually asked him to assist you on your missions. Ones that required a different skillset than your own. Close enough that you cooked for each other, sometimes shared clothes, roasted one another for the mental health issues that lead you both to your current occupations.

After a while, you couldn’t describe your relation to Barnes in any other way than a partnership. Partners. Who had kissed once. Maybe twice. After some bad Vodka.

You sigh and turn to him, “Why are you here, James?”

“I need to lay low for a while.” A wider smirk, his eyes narrowing at you. “I remembered I know someone who is very good at that.”

“Careful,” you warn and roll your eyes. “You just gave me a compliment.”

His smirk turns to a smile and he shrugs off his own jacket, instantly making himself at home in your apartment. A strange thing when it comes to Bucky, since you don’t recall that man feeling at home anywhere. Then, he did always have this incessant cocky streak around you and he is awfully good at getting on your nerves, so he probably sees the perfect opportunity to be a pain in the ass.

“If you so much as sneeze on anything, I swear–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts in, his tone unimpressed. “You’ll skin me alive. You’re always so weird about your stuff.”

You give him a tiny proud smile and decide to make yourself something quick to eat, only to feel him peer at you from the edge of your kitchen. He’s met with a confused frown before you raise your brows at him to make him spit it out.

“What’s the catch?” he asks warily.

You smile and look down at the sandwich you’re making. “Nothing. Just fix your shit and get out of my hair as quickly as possible.”

He winces slightly and you turn to him fully now, slowly taking a bite.

“What.”

Bucky sucks in a short breath and gives you an apologetic look before he speaks, “It might be a while…”

Your brows drop, “What did you do?”

“Nothing, I–”

“Bucky.” You cut him another look, one shaped by many, many instances of working together. “What. Did. You. Do.”

“It’s not important. I’ll make it quick, I promise.”

You open your mouth to continue arguing with him, but decide against it, already done with his shit. Yes, he is doing better and supposedly now qualifies as a good person. But you know the man before you and the soldier cannot stop himself from lying about pretty much everything. He has damaged tendencies. Give him an inch and he will take a mile, show him a weakness and he will exploit it. You genuinely think he doesn’t know how to be different, how to not abuse those effortless skills he trained all those years working for Hydra and surviving it.

“It’s my weekend off,” you tell him instead. “If you get between me and my plans, I will change the locks.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You think I can’t get through a simple lock?”

Another glare is his answer and he raises his hands in surrender. You walk around him and toe off your own shoes, grabbing everything to take a shower as you shove the rest of your sandwich in your mouth. Bucky slowly strolls through your place and examines everything that belongs to you.

“Can you not pretend like you haven’t completely scanned the place already before I got home?” you ask him as you make way for the bathroom.

“It can’t hurt to have a second look,” he mumbles, but you have already closed the door and move take the shower you’ve been looking forward to the entire day.

You should probably work harder to get him out, should probably make an escape plan and move somewhere else. But you know arguing with him is futile and the best approach with him is to patiently wait for him to move on. Bucky doesn’t get attached and doesn’t nest, so he’ll be gone soon enough.

As the scalding water trickles down your scalp and spine, you realise how much more alert you should have been when you noticed someone was in your home. Especially with all of those loose ends and enemies you have scattered across this planet (and others). Yet, somehow you think your body knew it was Bucky waiting for you. After all, it isn’t the first time he’s pulled this shit, waiting up for you. Usually because you kept something from him, he found out and would start ambushing you to fess up.

And even though technically, you haven’t exactly kept anything from him this time, you can’t ignore the dreadful feeling that explaining your current situation will be the hardest thing to ever speak up about. How pathetic, to try and live a normal life when you’re ‘extraordinary’. Ugh, you hate that word. You’re trained well and you refuse to be anything but good at what you put your mind at.

Now, Bucky. He is extraordinary. He has potential to make a difference. You have always felt that. Hated working with him because of that. Not because of him – he never made you feel less than him at all. But–

The water turns cold and you groan audibly, time having slipped away from you as you got lost in thought. Stepping out and drying yourself off, you get ready to walk out of the bathroom. You’re met with Bucky sitting on your couch, reading one of your books.

“Let me guess, warm water’s gone?” he asks, not looking up from the book.

You walk to your bedroom and shrug, “Cold showers are good for you, I heard.”

“I suppose I’ll take the couch then?” he asks, finally looking up from the book.

You turn back and peek through your doorway at him. “You can take the floor if that’s more comfortable for you.”

“We’ve shared a bed before.”

“Not by choice.”

He smirks, “You liked it.”

“You snore.”

“Sleep tight, sweetheart.” He grins at you.

You make to get to bed when you pause and turn back to him once more with a slight frown. “Why are you so cheerful? Aren’t there people after you?”

“Well,” he says, casual as always, “these may very well be my last days, so I might as well be in a good mood.”

You find yourself swallowing hard and desperately search his face for any intel on how true his statement is, without giving away that you might just care a little bit about his well-being. But his grin stays firm in place and he raises his brows in wait for you to call it a night.

Without another word, you close the door between you and crawl into your comfortable bed. And you wonder why it is that you can’t quite get comfortable this time.

…

A powerful jolt rips through your body as you lift out of layers of sleep. You’re too tired for whatever made you wake up so suddenly. It’s too goddamn late for this shit.

But as you gain more and more of your consciousness, your senses start perking up and you realise you might very well be in danger. The gentle and calm voice calling your name with a warm stroke of a hand down your arm, confirms that for you. That specific type of calm in Bucky’s voice sends your body into overdrive.

“We’ve got to go, sweetheart,” he murmurs and is already throwing clothes onto your bed. “Now.”

You sit up and rub your eyes and it dawns on you after a week of Bucky staying at your place. This man wasn’t going to leave you until he got chased out of your apartment. And that day has come.

“Bucky,” you start with a hoarse voice as you climb out of your warm bed and quickly throw on the clothes he picked for you, “who the fuck is after you?”

He takes his time to answer, pulling two fully packed backpacks from the corner of your room that you surprisingly didn’t know he hid there. Oh, this man is going to get an ear full about this bullshit.

“Some weird underground cartel that deals in tech or something,” he grumbles and throws you a pack. You are nearly too slow to catch it before you sling it onto your back. You gape at him after his answer and his face stays solemn as he pushes a hand gun into your hands. “Let’s go.”

“Bucky.”

He stops and turns to you fully. “It’s bad, okay? I’ll tell you later.”

“No. Tell me now.”

He groans out your name, peeking outside while he impatiently chews on his lip. “Don’t do this right now. You can be pissed at me later!”

“I will be pissed at you now,” you seethe, “and later. How about that?!”

He sighs and then grabs your arm, giving you a boyish grin before shooting two bullets through your window, breaking the glass, slinging an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him and jumping out of the fucking window with you clinging to him. It’s only when you fly about five stories down, that you realise the two of you are attached to a bungee rope that eases your descent. His feet touch the ground first, yours following. He cuts the rope and grabs your hand before he starts running towards the parking lot beneath your building.

“Bucky, you piece of shit!” you yell at him as you run, hearing the faint sound of gun fire behind you over the sound of your ragged breathing.

“I’ll make it up to you!” he simply yells back.

You can hear the smile in his voice. And the worst thing? You feel yourself smiling as well when you realise how easily you’ve slipped back into being his partner in crime.

…

Bucky checks one more time, his gleaming metal hand pulling the sheer curtain aside to peer out onto the dark streets. You hear some shouting coming from outside and still feel your heart pounding, even when you know you have definitely outrun those people coming after you. You hate how out of practice you are. And how much you missed the adrenaline of being on the run with Bucky.

He turns back to you and finds you with your arms crossed, glaring at him. Oh, you know the perfect way to let out this adrenaline. There might be actual steam coming out of your ears.

Bucky cringes and slowly strolls over, already reaching out his hands to use his irresistible charm on you. Like the time he dropped the cake you made one afternoon and tried to make it up to you. Or that time he left some very important documents in one of the buildings he set on fire. Or the time he accidentally deleted your recordings off the TV when you had been looking forward to watching the next episode for two weeks.

However, your burning eyes stop him dead in his tracks and he opens his mouth to say something, then decides against it and closes his mouth again. A second later, he tries again, “Okay. Give it to me.”

You give him a satisfied, albeit sadistic smile, at his willingness to take your scolding and then, you start yelling. You have no idea what words specifically are rolling off your tongue, but your speech starts somewhere during that first meeting in Bucharest, drifts to your entire time together as partners, how you drifted apart, only for him to show up whenever he pleased, and you continue to how he stood at your door a little over a week ago, to him terrorising your happy little life in Germany… To now.

Your voice rises with every instance you tell him about, fire burning in your core and hands flailing to give your story that much more power (even though you couldn’t stop your conviction if you tried). As the grin on his face grows through your rambling, a metal hand pressing to his lips to stop it from showing too much, you burn even brighter with fury.

Then you stop, breathing heavily. You give him a withering look to get him to start speaking up, because let’s be honest, all the two of you really needed was only just a look.

His shoulders slowly stop shaking and he drops his hand, eyes sparkling like a glass of Prosecco in the light. Devious asshole. “I just– I haven’t seen you this alive in a while. It looks fantastic on you.”

You gape at him like a fish and you wonder if the warmth in your face still belongs to your anger. Though you fear it belongs to quite the opposite. Either way, this man certainly knows how to make you passionate. And you realise he knows what you have been trying to do with your fake little life here in Germany.

“I don’t think you–”

“I’m sorry,” he says and steps forward, his large hands cupping your face as he looks down at you with earnest eyes. “I’m sorry for making your life so goddamn miserable. So tell me how to make it up to you.”

And for all the world, you can tell he means it. Can tell that he will do anything to make it up to you. You can almost feel the squeeze of pain in your own heart when you see the disappointment in his eyes after he realises you didn’t enjoy this as much as he had.

But the worst part is, is that you did. You’ve never felt more alive than with him. Never felt more like you. You wouldn’t necessarily call him an adventurer, maybe he is just a magnet for trouble. But whenever you’re with Bucky, you’ll drop anything for him and you’ll burn like an inferno doing so. He makes you into the best version of yourself and he makes you love the parts about yourself that you have been conditioned to feel guilty about.

You sigh, “I don’t know. Never mind.”

He doesn’t let go though and searches your eyes, his own narrowing in suspicion. “I’m going to make it up to you, you know.”

You cross your arms and give him an unimpressed look. “Yeah? How?”

He smirks and your knees weaken. “I could kiss it better.”

“Shameless flirt,” you huff and roll your eyes as an excuse to break his intense stare on you.

“You’re just too proud to admit that my kisses would make you forgive me,” he prods and your eyes snap back to his. He’s right, that is pride surging in your chest to lunge at him.

“You’ve grown too cocky for your own good,” you sneer at him.

“You like it.”

“I assure you, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

“Manipulator.”

He feigns hurt, “Ouch.”

You huff a laugh with a roll of your eyes, “Such a fragile ego.”

He smirks again and you swallow as you fight to look at his lips. So close to your own. “Now you have to kiss me for forgiveness.”

You can’t help but truly laugh this time, your face still safely tucked in his palms and his brows raise with intrigue at the sound of your laughter.

You tell him, “You are so full of shit.”

His smile fades, his eyes large with earnest and all of a sudden, it’s the man standing before you that sat next to you in that Romanian café. Stripped down, bare, rough, and perhaps a bit vulnerable.

“Let me kiss you,” he says in merely a whisper now.

You fight for your life not to falter to that genuine request and the way he said it. “It won’t make me forgive you,” you say softly, but barely hear your own voice over the increased pounding of your heart in your throat.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs. “Just want to kiss you.”

He doesn’t wait for your permission either, because quite frankly, you most likely gave him a look of permission instantly at that request. His soft lips slot over yours and you could’ve never predicted the depraved moan that resounded in the back of your throat as your mouths meet. Your hands instantly slip into his hair as Bucky’s hands slide around your waist to pull you closer, fingers digging into your flesh possessively.

The kiss deepens when his tongue meets yours and he lets out a groan of his own, a sound so addicting that you instinctively tug on his hair to hear it again. The laugh against your lips is rough as he hauls you closer and changes the kiss. Something more desperate and impatient. Something hot and sweaty and slightly messy. You might be walking as Bucky finds something to press you up against or lay you down on, and you almost squawk in surprise as you fall back onto the double, motel bed.

Though before you can say anything else, Bucky is on you again, his mouth demanding and greedy against yours. His hands feel and grab and squeeze every inch of you and you grind your hips upward for his weight. You want his heaviness between your hips and on your stomach and against your chest.

Growing impatient, convinced that Bucky’s brain might no longer be working, you lock your ankles around his hips and pull him down between your legs, sighing a groan of relief at the feeling of him tucked against you so warmly.

“God dammit,” he grunts and gives one luxurious roll of his hips against yours, making you whine as your pulse hammers down in your core.

His mouth grazes against your neck now and you can hardly breathe, panting as if you’ve run a marathon. The pressure between your hips leaves as he moves further down and you buck your hips at the ache he leaves.

“Bucky,” you whimper and look down, heart slamming in your throat at the sight of him. He messily yet gently makes his way down your body. Hands roughly pushing up your shirt as his lips find the plane of your stomach, kissing from your bra, down to your hips that you can’t seem to keep still.

Your body feels so heavy, yet so light without him on top of you and you can’t remember any moment before this kiss. Before five minutes ago. Everything is solidified. Your entire history with him. And Bucky presses a kiss just below your navel that confirms that feeling, his hands peeling off your jeans. That is until he speaks.

“Listen to me,” he orders and you freeze at the sound of him. He’s only sounded like that during missions where either of you might die. So serious and detrimental. “Don’t ever try to build a life without me again.”

“Bucky–”

“No,” he snaps and you close your mouth. “Don’t ever pretend like we don’t exist. Like you and I aren’t supposed to do this shit together, like you are better off without me, like I am better off without you. That’s bullshit.” You give him a questioning look. Where is this coming from? “I’m going to kiss you and you are going to forgive me. And then I am going to kiss you some more.”

He waits then. For you to answer, to process what it is he is saying exactly. It’s a lot of words with a lot of meaning, yet you’re not sure if this is the declaration you didn’t know you were waiting for.

So you speak from your gut and let out a breath, “Finally.”

Bucky smiles at that and surges upward, clearly happy with that intuitive answer. His lips claim yours once again and then you feel his fingers inching up your thigh.

You whine softly against his lips and you feel him smile as his fingers reach your drenched core. Two fingers slip through your folds to explore your wetness and Bucky drops his head into the crook of you neck.

“Finally indeed,” he breathes and slips his middle finger into you, making you whimper and buck your hips.

The stretch against your swollen walls sends an ache through your abdomen that cries out for more. You cannot explain the desperation to have him, to have every empty pit of you filled with his essence. His finger curls up and you throw your head back, making Bucky raise his own head to look at you.

“There?”

You nod frantically and Bucky pushes in another finger, making you tense up around him. He curls that one too and you don’t recognise the sound spilling from your lips. You’re already so fucking full.

As Bucky teasingly darts his thumb over your swollen clit, he traces his tongue over your mouth and you gasp for air at the sensation.

“Bucky, fuck!” you cry and he pushes his mouth to yours in a claiming kiss, his fingers moving faster as his thumb rotates over your clit. You can barely kiss him back, overtaken by pleasure as he pumps his fingers over and over until you can hear your wetness surround his sinful fingers.

It is by far the hottest thing you have ever experienced. So much time has passed and now this beast of a man who tries everything to make you blush with his flirty persona, is bent over you with his fingers peeling your pleasure to the surface like his own fucking release depends on it.

His chest is heaving from watching you, brows pulled together, eyes dark as they rake over you hungrily, muscles flexing as his hand disappears between your legs.

His leg slips beneath your knee and pulls your leg up to finger you in a different angle and your nails bury themselves in the muscles of Bucky’s neck, abdomen flexing at the wave of pleasure that courses through you. “More. Oh my God, more!”

“I know, I can feel it,” he grunts and slows his fingers. “But I’ve waited ages for this. I refuse to let it be over so soon.”

Your brain is nothing but cinders and you shake your head violently, “No! No, please. You can have everything, just let me come. Please.”

Bucky pecks your lips. Once. Twice.

“You want to come all over my hand, pretty girl?” he murmurs in your ear and you can only gasp at the press of his fingers against your spot. “Can I lick you up after?”

You clench around him like a vice, his low voice making you drip onto his palm, his words incinerating what is left of your pride. You can only nod, so you do. And his hand starts moving again. Faster, deeper, more thorough. You keep nodding, your moans raising, your pleasure retreating like a snake ready to strike. Oh God, oh God, oh God–

“Come.”

Your hips fly to the ceiling when you come, thighs trembling and closing around his hand. Bucky keeps moving and thrusting and curling until he has wrung all of your pleasure from your body and you feel like you’re made of jelly. Your voice is hoarse from yelling your release and the sheets below are drenched with your desire.

Soft kisses are pressed to your face and that is how you return from whatever plane of existence you went to. His gentle laugh makes you shiver and you open your eyes to find him licking his fingers like there is caramel dripping from them. You swallow hard and zero in on that action, making his eyes sparkle.

But something changes when you reach up to stroke his hair and his eyes flutter. Your eyes rove over his face in admiration and your entire soul sighs at the sight of him. Bucky looks down at you curiously and cocks his head.

“What is it?” he asks and you chew your lip, trying to find the words.

“You and me, huh?” you murmur with something like wonder in your voice. Bucky can only nod. You continue, “Who would’ve thought…”

Bucky leans down and kisses you. Soft, slow, deep. It makes your body sing. And he shuffles back to make himself at home between your legs. Though as he does that, he remains his focus on kissing you. Deeper, more, desperate. Depraved. He moans and breathes and you swear you hear him whimper, his hips grinding over your oversensitive cunt as he gets lost in kissing you.

Raking your nails over his scalp, you once again wrap your legs around his hips and pull him down. And if Bucky hadn’t snapped his leash just yet, this does it. He turns wild and passionate and heavy. One hand of his and one hand of your own both reach down, messily working together to get rid of his jeans. He shimmies out of them, not bothering to get rid of them entirely, but bothering to at least take off his shirt.

Your fingers drag down his pecks and abdomen, trying to memorise every curve and edge with what little brain capacity you have left. You feel like no more than a flame, no more than passion and want and need. And when Bucky slides his bare cock through your folds to slicken himself, you shudder so violently, your breath shudders with it.

“Woman, you are going to kill me,” he breathes and nips at your lips.

You almost growl with impatience, “Then fuck me and die already.”

He laughs, bold and happy, before thrusting into you in a long stroke. Home. Oh fuck, he’s home. Both of you freeze, taking in the moment of being fused together before he slowly pulls out and out and out. And sliding back in with an agonizing thrust.

Something in you clicks. Something so vital, so necessary. And Bucky feels it too.

“Yes,” he groans and presses another kiss to your lips, like he can’t get enough. “This is it.”

You nod and close your eyes in pleasure. In relief. You shudder with emotion and clamp onto him. Bucky keeps pressing kisses to your skin. Your neck, your lips, your cheek, temple, forehead.

“This is it,” you choke out and Bucky smiles. “You’re it.”

Bucky breathes a sigh, as if he’s been waiting ages for you to admit it. “Finally.”

Infinity War.

Biting your lip and bouncing your leg, you try to let the rumble of the swift jet calm your nerves. Your eyes search the cabin and go over the confusing screens for the thousandth time.

“Nervous?” Natasha’s sensual voice sounds next to you and you force a smile.

“Why would I be nervous?” you ask and smirk at her. “We’re only stepping into a war with the probability of us winning being like…” Zero? Less than zero? You sigh, “I don’t want to think about that.”

She bites back her own smirk and raises her eyebrows. “Wasn’t talking about the war. Are you nervous about seeing him?”

Bucky.

You glare at her after quickly glancing around to see if anyone heard her, making Natasha try even harder to hold back a smile.

Yes, you were nervous to see him. So much had happened. So many aspects of your spy work had suddenly intermingled and now you are fighting along with the Avengers. Even after you were sure they had torn themselves apart over Bucky. Being caught in the middle of that had put you and Bucky’s relationship –if you could even call it that– so far to the back of both your minds, you barely had time to mention it to anyone until Steve shipped him off to Wakanda to get some real help.

You and Bucky were over before it even started and you think that maybe it’s for the better. Neither you nor Bucky are any good at that relationship shit anyway. It showed over and over.

Luckily enough, you’d found plenty of distraction being on the run with Sam, Natasha and Steve. No Bucky in sight, but knowing he was safe and taken care of. Private mission after mission with other people you cared about, people who didn’t know about you and Bucky, one of them eager to forget about Bucky himself.

You barely gave it any thought.

Except you thought of Bucky every day.

And now you get to see him again. However, if any time would make you reconsider any commitment at all, it would be now.

“No,” you answer and then turn serious. “I mean, I was. But now I’m just preparing myself for either grief, or death.”

“Are those our only options?” she asks with a displeased frown. “Why not prepare for victory or somethin’?”

Giving her a long and hard stare, you sigh deeply. “Yeah. You’re right. If I die, I might as well die hopeful.”

“That’s my girl,” she grins and you bump her shoulder with yours, finding your own smile breaking through.

That’s when Steve gives Sam the coordinates to fly through a barrier and show you the hidden – and beautiful – kingdom of Wakanda. So you ignore every jittery feeling you have in your stomach at possibly seeing Barnes again, and you channel it all into hope.

…

Natasha strokes her hand over your shoulder as you walk up to king T’Challa, who’s flanked by his closest guard and a palace that screams to get you on your knees to worship. You barely hear the conversation the king has with Steve, partly because you’re still in awe of the beautiful place around you.

Now this, this is a refuge.

“How are we lookin’?” Natasha asks from next to you and that’s when you start to pay attention. You’d need a hell of a lot of man-power to win this.

“You will have my Kings Guard,” T’Challa starts, “the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and…”

“A semi-stable hundred-year-old man,” finishes a voice that makes your entire system dysregulate. Oh God, it’s been so long since you’ve heard the warm timber of that voice.

You notice your hands have started shaking and clutch them behind your back, squeezing courage out of them to face your past, as Bucky Barnes walks up to hug Captain America.

“How’ve you been, Buck?” Steve asks and Bucky answers with a heart-stopping smile.

“Uh, not bad,” he answers, “for the end of the world.”

They share another warm look before Steve turns to everyone behind him and then to the king, “Should we prepare?”

A few minutes later, you’re following the king inside with all of his closest guards and your own team, which now includes Bucky. Focusing your eyes on everything around you, you barely notice the large hand slipping around your elbow and pulling you into another hallway.

You know better than to scream for help and you use the momentum to swing the person around and pin them to the nearest wall with a knife to their throat. But the air rushes from you when you stand face to face with Bucky.

“There she is,” he grins and slowly raises his hands in surrender.

You back away slowly and look at him like a gaping fish, your insides pounding and swirling and thrashing as your body heats with adrenaline. It’s him, it’s him, it’s him.

“New arm?” you ask him, your voice coming out surprisingly steady, and he glances at the appendage, flexing his hand between your faces.

“Yeah, you like it?” he asks and he almost sounds like a young boy, genuinely interested in what you think of it, of him.

And you calm. Everything inside of you settles and the heat turns to warmth. Your insides seem to melt with relief and you throw your arms around his neck, almost tipping over until Bucky’s arms automatically slide around your waist to pull your pliant body tightly against his. He’s so big and strong and warm.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he laughs softly and one hand starts to stroke your hair gently as you huff out a sob into his neck. “Oh, sweet girl. You’ve never been sad to see me before.”

You finally pull back and cup his face as he lets you survey him closely, him grinning widely at the worry in your every feature. You breathe, “You’re good. You’re safe.”

He nods and takes your hands, pressing a kiss to your palm. “So are you,” he whispers and you nod.

“Not for long,” you add, deflated.

He gives you a sad smile. “Now, who would we be if we didn’t go down fighting, hm?”

You smile slightly at that. “Back on the same team.”

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips and the planet stops turning.

“Finally.”

The Blip.

Another knock sounds and you roll your eyes, throwing on a quick cardigan as you hop over to your door. Unusual, for your quiet, lonely evenings to get interrupted like this. You’re ready to cash in what you can only assume is some complaining neighbour or your awful land lord when you open the door and are met with a familiar face that makes your heart squeeze together.

“Steve,” you breathe.

“Hey.”

You step aside to let him in and take a deep breath.

“Want something to drink?” you ask as you close the door behind him and let him venture into your home. Or, whatever you have tried to turn into your home. It had never been more than the latest home trends and some empty picture frames.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I found you?” he asks and you get a feeling of déjà vu.

But you shake your head with a forced smile, “I left a trace for Natasha to track for emergencies. I know how you found me.” You give him a pointed look and Steve actually has the decency to look slightly apologetic.

That look tells you enough about how much of an emergency this is and you wonder what prompted Natasha to decipher your code and hand your location to the Captain. Maybe he was the one breaking and could use a familiar face. Maybe something turned him awfully worried about you. Maybe-

No.

“Aren’t you mad that Natasha told me?” he asks unsurely and you give him a tight-lipped smile, taking a seat in one of your dining table chairs and ushering for him to do so as well.

“Would you believe me if I said that it’s actually quite nice to see a familiar face after five pretty lonely years?” you refute and he gives you a warm smile.

“It’s good to see you, too, Kid.”

A comfortable silence settles between you two and you fidget with your hands, staring at them intently before raising your face back to Steve. “Why are you here, Cap?”

He lets out a long sigh. “Ever since the Blip,” he starts and you can feel him debating whether to continue, “I never– I didn’t get to tell you how sorry I am about Bucky.”

You freeze and slowly turn your gaze to him. “Okay. Now I am pissed at her.”

“Natasha didn’t tell me,” he quickly assures and you raise a brow at him. “He did.”

You fall quiet at that. “Bucky told you about…”

“What,” he laughs. “Didn’t think you two were serious enough for him to tell his best friend about it?”

You reply with a humourless laugh of your own. “He um– He wasn’t a very committing guy. And I don’t blame him. Why commit to something if you might lose everything all over again?”

The pity in Steve’s gaze feels burning to your skin. “Well, if you’re that scared of losing something, it might be worth committing to,” he says and you find yourself agreeing with the wise bastard.

“Well, I committed and look where I am now,” you huff. “Turns out, he was right all along.”

“Kid–”

“Why are you here, Cap?” you try again, all of a sudden too eager to get rid of him.

It takes a while for him to answer and dread settles low in your belly. When he starts talking, you’ve already started shaking your head. “We have found a way to bring them all back.”

You still. And you stay like that. Seconds. Minutes. Maybe another five years have passed.

“Did you hear what I said?” he tries.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true. We figured out a way. Time travel.”

You bark a laugh and give him a pointed glare. However, your vision is already slightly impaired by the tears pooling at your waterline. “Don’t,” you stop him before he continues elaborating. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this in the past five years? That you, or Nat, or even Tony fucking Stark himself would stand at my door and tell me we figured it out? About a million times, Cap. And the more normal this delusional scenario became in my head, the more absurd it seemed to be. And now, you expect me to just believe that nearly five years on the dot, you have figured out a way to return everything to normal?!”

Steve can take it, the sudden outburst of your disbelief. He has definitely encountered a whole lot more scepticism in his life. But his heart breaks a little for you. Bucky had tried to be so casual when he finally told Steve about you, but Steve had caught the sparkle in those hundred-year-old eyes and he couldn’t describe the relief of Bucky having found someone, let alone you.

But now, to see you so far removed from Bucky – from hope. He hates it.

“I waited,” he almost whispers. “Until I was completely sure. We need you for this.”

You blink away your tears and one rolls down your cheek. Steve quickly reaches to catch it and cups your face. A touch normally so very unwelcome, but now you cannot help but bury your face in his palm.

“You’re sure?” you ask, voice breaking.

Steve pulls you in and up to his chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. “Time to bring our best friend back, Kid.”

Time Travel.

You cannot help but smile when you see the handsome brainiac hunched over a laptop near some high-tech stage that you can’t seem to look at too long without talking yourself out of this.

“Hey, Tony,” you say quietly as you walk up and his brown eyes light up when he hears your voice. Stepping away from the screen, he opens his arms wide and pulls you into a tight hug. Another comfortable embrace that you can only breathe in and cherish.

“My favourite spy,” he murmurs and pulls back.

“How are you doing?” you ask him.

He gives you a knowing look. “Oh, you know. Good. Until he showed up,” he sneers with a pointed look at Steve, who simply rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he has a way of interrupting peace.”

Tony snorts. “Now that, is what I call a paradox.”

You laugh and pat his shoulder, “Pepper and Morgan?”

“They’re wonderful.” He grins, but you can see the fear shining in his eyes and you give his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Thank you for doing this, Tony.”

He smirks in answer. “I swear, if you and Barnes don’t openly kiss after all I am about to sacrifice, I will find the stones and undo both of your existences.”

You shoot a thunderous glare to Steve, and to Natasha who is walking up behind the Captain. But Tony stops you before you can scold them on their horrible secret-keeping skills, “Pepper told me.”

You grit your teeth.

The Avengers are a bunch of gossips.

The Endgame.

You stumble backward, your sprained ankle and broken ribs somehow only a faint ache over the sight before you. You almost trip over debris, or a body, or just air and you keep blinking to see better or to make it all go away, you don’t know.

He did it. Tony did it. You’re sure you can still feel the snap of his fingers vibrate through your spine. And there he is. Slumped against more debris, half of his face cracked like burnt coal, his suit barely reflecting its original colours. The blue light at the centre of his chest is fading, shuttering and then… it goes dark. With Pepper’s hand over it.

Your own hand barely muffles the sob trying to break through and you stumble over and over again as you back away from that horrible, awful reality. He did it. But at what cost?

You turn around and start jogging. How? You’re not sure. Your body is in no state to hurry. But it’s incomplete. You were barely strong or extraordinary enough to be of any help during the fight, but you tried your best. Helping people in the field, some war medic patching up gushing wounds. You’d cashed some punches and kicks yourself. Dealt them, too.

It was all because you needed to be there. Because you needed to stay alive. Needed to stick around to see him again. And now… Now… You barely survived this, barely made it through. And Tony died. Tony Stark. The chance of him still being out there-

You start running faster. Hobbling and grunting from the pain.

“Bucky,” you voice is raw and frantic, it’s barely a sound as you cry out for him. “Bucky! Bucky!”

Head swinging from side to side, you hope the soldier reveals himself from behind one of the plumes of smoke. Further and further away, you flee from the horrifying scene of whatever is left after Thanos. You need to find him, but you can’t identify anything on this war ground.

If he’s dead. If Bucky is dead–

Your head whips around so fast, your neck might crack, when you’re sure you hear your name. Everything about you goes quiet and you hold your breath like it will make any difference. Slowly, you walk in the direction where you assume the sound came from, but you almost cringe at the idea that you might just be going insane. After all those explosions, your hearing can’t possibly be this sharp.

Though perhaps intuition is at play here, because you’ve always been able to feel him. Always knew it when it was him waiting up for you, or looking for you, or needing you.

“Bucky,” you croak again.

“Here…” It’s so quiet. But you hear it over everything else and follow the echo of the sound.

“Bucky,” you rasp out. “I’m coming!”

And there he is. On hands and knees, struggling to get up. You can only describe your approach as a dive, as you clash onto your wobbly knees and wrap your arms around him. His body instantly stops struggling and falls into your rib cage.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

“Yeah,” he groans. “’M right here.”

You had no idea you were sobbing it to him, but you don’t care as your hands grapple for a better hold of him. He does the same until both of you are kneeling in front of each other, cupping each others’ faces to check for injuries.

“You look pretty all roughed up,” he mutters and you smile through your tears.

“You look awful,” you reply and he chuckles before pulling you into his chest. “But you’re home.”

He shudders and you might actually hear him let out a sob of his own as he tightens his grip on you.

“Finally.”

#SLOW BURNNNN #I looove their dynamic okay #lots of dialogue which we all love #some action and fluff and passion adn efgedksbf i love them ok?! #PLease tell me what you think and if this is maybe too long... #it's a bit intimidating i get that but it's an easy read i promise #ok i love you guys #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #writing #bucky barnes fluff

[mandoalorian]

save a horse, ride a cowboy

pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

masterlist

warnings: EXPLICIT, no minors. m!masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism to some extent, riding, unprotected p in v. both so so touch starved. joel has a lot to teach the reader.

notes: 1000 notes on my last post— thank you. I haven’t written in a long time and get quite anxious to post new fics, but when the response is that great, how could I not? You make me feel way more confident with my writing and encourage me to post more often. I hope to soon get to a place where I can start accepting requests again and writing what you want me to.

Joel didn’t like you— that much was clear. He hadn’t spoken a word to you since daybreak, when he left Tess at the QZ to deal with ‘unfinished business’ and promised her to deliver you to the outskirts of Boston without Fedra knowing. It was a difficult journey with the soldiers scouting the area on every corner, but after around six hours of travelling on foot, you and Joel had reached the border of Cornwall, Canada, which is exactly where you needed to be.

Unbeknownst to Joel, you wanted to be in Canada because that’s where your parents were. Or so, where you last heard they were. You’d do anything to reunite with them and make sure they were safe but you weren’t exactly good with a gun and you weren’t a particularly fast runner either. You needed someone like Joel to smuggle you out of the Quarantine Zone. He was your protector.

“You haven’t said a word to me all day,” you acknowledged when you couldn’t sleep that night. You lay next to Joel in your own sleeping bag, framed by a roaring fire and underneath tall, forested shelter. “Why?”

Joel huffed out a sigh and rolled over onto his back, now looking up at the starry night sky.

He didn’t reply.

You gave him a few minutes and tried to gather your thoughts, hoping he’d eventually cave and tell you why he’d hated you all this time. Had you done something wrong? You didn’t think so. Hell, you’d only met him earlier in the day. You’d hardly had enough of an influence on him to hate you. You liked to think of yourself as big and strong and apathetic in regards to people’s opinion of you. In the world that you lived in, you couldn’t afford to give a damn. And yet, you did. You couldn’t help it, it was just who you were. You got anxious about it if you thought about it too long and so you would desperately try and find a distraction or think of something else to focus on. The trees— the stars— the fire— Joel.

He was the epitome of ‘grumpy old man’. You briefly wondered if he was this grumpy before the apocalypse. Why was he so highly strung? Sure, life wasn’t exactly good or easy for him— but it wasn’t good or easy for anyone.

“I didn’t tell you why I wanted to go to Canada,” you said slowly, figuring that if you could open up to the man, then maybe he could at least offer you a few words back. “My parents are there. I think they are anyway. My father sent a letter over to the QZ months ago but I only just got it on Tuesday. I don’t know if they’re still there but I need to check. My mom is sick and I just… need to be with them… and I couldn’t go alone. I wouldn’t last two seconds out there with infected. So I guess, what I’m trying to say is, tha—“

“Okay.” Joel cut you off abruptly. He didn’t want your ‘thank you’s’ or your tokens of gratitude. He was doing a job and he was only here to get paid.

“Where are you from?” you asked him quietly. He shuffled but didn’t reply, and so you were prompted to follow on further. “You got an accent. Southern, there’s no doubting that. Tennessee…—?”

“Texas.” Joel corrected and you smiled to yourself. He may have been a man of few words but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let you think he was from Tennessee.

“Texas huh?” you beamed brightly. Joel didn’t move his head, but he looked over to you and noticed your grin. “So you’re like, a cowboy.”

You giggled playfully and nudged his arm, but he only grunted and closed his eyes.

“You ever ride a horse?” you asked him.

“You’re annoying,” Joel sighed, rubbing his temples, but he supposed that— if he had to be honest with himself— he was somewhat amused by your plentiful questions. “But yeah. I’ve rode a horse.”

“I always wanted to ride a horse, but I don’t think I’d be any good at it,” you admitted sheepishly. “No co-ordination.”

“It’s all in the hips.” Joel explained and his interest in horses took you by surprise. This was the most he talked all day.

You pursed your lips together fighting back another smile. There was no denying the rush of blood that flushed to your cheeks as you felt them heat up over the thought of the Cowboy riding his horse. But then you remembered how he’d also just expressed his irritation with you and your abundance of pointless questions and you felt your heart drop in your chest slightly. A pang of guilt.

You told yourself that it was okay— no big deal— and it didn’t matter if he found you annoying. No, it didn’t matter that the extremely attractive Texan man who hadn’t uttered a single word to you all day, found you annoying.

You’d been so lonely recently. So lonely. You’d kill for a friend. A partner. Someone. And perhaps it was your fault for getting your hopes up when you met Joel. You figured that maybe you could finally have someone in your life who liked you back for you, and didn’t want to use you or hurt you in some kind of unexpected way.

“I— I don’t mean to be annoying, y’know. I just— I’m sorry,” you murmured, rolling over onto your side and facing the other way from Joel. “Uhm— good night.”

Joel wasn’t a heartless monster. He wasn’t as cold and calculating as he let off to be, but he sure as hell wasn’t innocent and pure-of-heart either. He was a broken shell of a man simply trying to get by, and the way he saw it, he couldn’t afford the time or effort to make friendships or have partners or even anything more than an acquaintance. It just wasn’t on his radar.

And although he was certainly taken aback with how beautiful you were, he just couldn’t bring himself to do anything he wouldn’t do with any other piece of cargo. This was a delivery, after all. A smuggle run. And he had to be professional about it.

But you were so— so beautiful. During the hours of hiking you and Joel did through the fields and forests, he often lagged behind you and consciously allowed you to take the lead when he thought it was safe to do so. Really though, he just liked to take a few seconds to admire you when you weren’t looking. You were funny and smart and although you couldn’t aim a gun to save your life, you might’ve been able to charm a Clicker away from you if you tried hard enough.

Joel enjoyed listening to you babble on, despite displaying no signs or signals to show that he had any interest in you. He couldn’t do that because he didn’t want to lead you on or give you the wrong impression. He really did like you, but if he dared to open his mouth, Joel was certain he’d slip up and say the wrong thing or embarrass himself. And so to him, it was better to not say anything at all. However, his heart would warm when you would get bored along the way and start humming— and eventually singing. You were in no way melidous, but still, you weren’t trying to be. Joel wondered what it would be like in another universe where your lives weren’t constantly at stake. Maybe then he’d grow the courage to actually have a decent conversation with you.

But this wasn’t another universe. This was reality and Joel had lost all hope in humankind a long time ago. Joel allowed himself to get lost in his own thoughts for a long time and by the time he’d snapped out of it, you were already fast asleep next to him, emitting light snores. He watched you, watched as your chest rose and fell with every breath. You looked so peaceful.

Truth was, Joel wasn’t entirely sure he could fall asleep here next to you. There was no way of telling if this forest was safe. Certainly he found it difficult to imagine there’d be signs of infected around but people? That was certainly plausible. Making sure his rifle was close enough to grab in case of an emergency, Joel took another glance towards you.

So goddamn pretty.

Joel didn’t know when, but at some point in the night, he’d gotten hard. Probably because he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off you all night. He felt like such a creep for watching you sleep, but even under the pearly white stars and the sunset orange embers bouncing from the campfire, you were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever saw. And he wanted you.

Now, Joel probably wasn’t as touch-starved as you were, but still, it had been a helluva long time since he last got laid. Without drawing his gaze away from you, he reached his hand down into his sleeping bag and dipped it into his boxer shorts began to pump at his already throbbing manhood. His eyes snapped shut at the shock of the thrill which raced through his body. There was something so erotic about doing this outside, with you laying next to him, unbeknownst to it all. Stifling a groan, with his free hand Joel gathered the material of his sleeping bag and squeezed it with pleasure.

The coarseness, roughness, of his hands was never ideal, but he had no trouble imagining the softness of yours. Your hands were a lot smaller than his, and your fingers were a lot thinner, and as he stroked his cock, his toes curled at the thought of you in between his legs, playing with him.

He hissed your name through his teeth as he begin to feel a knot tie in his lower stomach, indicating that he was close. God, he’d only been at himself for a few minutes and he was going crazy for you. You stirred slightly at the mention of your name but Joel wasn’t paying attention anymore. Now his eyes were shut and his entire body was tensed up as his hand movements became faster. He guessed it wouldn’t be so bad if he finished quick because the longer he touched himself, the more chance you’d wake up and discover him.

But for some reason, that only stirred Joel on even more. Of course, he wasn’t trying to wake you up, but there came a point where he was so enveloped in his own lustfilled thoughts, he didn’t even notice you whisper his name softly through the night.

“Joel?”

Briefly, Joel registered the sound of your voice but he thought nothing of it. So deep in thought— he was close. He moaned your name back.

You stilled, your eyes widening when your gaze dropped to his crotch and you noticed the movements of his hands underneath the thin material of the sleeping bag.

“Oh… Joel.” you mumbled, feeling your pussy clench around nothing as you nimbly slipped out of your sleeping bag and quietly crawled over to him.

He still hadn’t noticed you, but between the tinnitus in his right ear and being so lost in his own thoughts, you couldn’t blame him. On your knees and by his side, you placed the palm of your hand on his chest and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, alerting him immediately.

His movements stopped and his eyes snapped open in horror, only to be met by your wide smirk.

“Hey cowboy,” you teased, unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt.

“Shit.” Joel cursed, looking away from you. “I— you shouldn’t have saw me— I’m—“

You hushed him by placing a soft, chase kiss upon his lips. Joel froze and softened under you, completely feeling at ease under your touch. It has been years since he had been kissed. You hovered over him, finding his gaze in the dark before pressing a harder, more intimate kiss to his lips. Joel moaned underneath you and brought out his hand from under the sleeping bag, releasing his cock and bringing it to cradle the back of your head.

“Let’s get you out of here,” you giggled, unzipping Joel’s sleeping bag and bringing yours next to his, giving you both some kind of barrier between the grassy ground.

Joel’s belt was already undone and the zipper of his jeans pulled down.

Still beaming, you straddled Joel, positioning yourself over his lap and continued unbuttoning his shirt before before peeling it off his torso and discarding it into the corner.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Joel asked softly and his tone of voice took you by surprise.

“If I didn’t want to be doing this, I wouldn’t be grinding on you already, cowboy,” you giggled, thrusting your hips over the material of his jeans and getting a feel for his bulge.

Joel swallowed and nodded his head in agreement. Hastily, he brought his hands to your waist and guided you over his hips. You tossed back your head and let out a moan.

“Oh, I need you.” you whimpered, bringing Joel’s hands to your breasts and letting him feel the hard pebbles of your nipples under your t-shirt.

Growing impatient, Joel tugged on your shirt and you let him pull it off your body. He then smoothly unclipped your bra and let it fall off, before using his large, rough hands to cup and fondle your breasts.

“Joel,” you gasped, pushing back onto his legs and taking the hem off his jeans in your grip. “I need you,” you repeated. “Need you inside of me.”

Joel choked out a wanton groan at your words and nodded his head again. You took his signal as confirmation that he wanted this too, and tugged down his denim along with his underwear.

You removed your own pants and then sunk down ontop of him, sighing an air of relief when you felt the skin on skin contact. Joel adjusted himself and gave you a questioning look.

“I’m ready.” you whispered and leaned down, pressing your chest against Joel’s. Joel pushed himself inside of you and you tensed up, digging your nails into his shoulders as you adjusted to him. He was so big and thick, and yet he felt like he fit inside you perfectly. Like he was made for you.

Joel slowly thrusted upwards and into you, stretching you out. When you felt comfortable enough, you sat upright and rested your hands on his tummy.

“Show me how to ride, cowboy,” You urged. “You said earlier, it’s all in the hips? Show me.”

Joel looked up at you with wide eyes and extended his arms around you. He held onto you, and you felt like putty under his grip.

“Show me what you got, girl.” The handsome man demanded, his voice having dropped an octave.

You began to roll your hips over him, and Joel squeezed his eyes shut. “That feel good for you?” you taunted, letting a giggle escape your lips. Joel wordlessly nodded.

“Try— try circle your hips.” Joel requested, and immediately you changed your movements. You’d do anything to please him. You felt yourself get increasingly wet, making it easier and more comfortable to move freely. “That’s good.” he praised under his breaths.

“This is how you ride?” you enquired, raising an eyebrow as you continued to circle your hips.

“This is how you learn,” Joel corrected. “It’s all a process, baby girl. You go straight into the ridin’, you’ll get hurt.”

Joel leaned forward and pressed himself into you, the curve of his cock hitting you in just the right spot, You held onto him, gripping onto the broad of his back and this time, Joel kissed you. He yearned for your lips— for your affection. He dragged his tongue along your collarbone and planted sloppy kisses up your neck, along your jaw, and finally to your mouth. He slid his tongue along your lower lip, begging for entry, which you quickly granted him, and started to make out with you.

“Joel,” you whispered against his lips, and he pulled off you, allowing you to speak. “I need more.”

“Think you’re ready for your next lesson?” he quizzed, pressing his nose against yours.

“Mhm.” you replied. “Teach me.”

Joel leaned back again and brought his hands down to your hips. “I want you to bounce on my cock sweet girl, show me what you can do.”

You grinned with excitement and began to move yourself up and down, grinding on his cock so you could feel every ridge and vein against your walls.

You felt yourself clench around him, indicating that you were close.

“Shit, like this I won’t last long.” Joel admitted bashfully, his cheeks flushing pink.

“Me neither,” you replied, and began to speed up your movements. “Joel— please. Please cum inside of me.”

Joel panted, bringing his hands up to massage your tits. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, oh— please.” you begged him. “Please cowboy.”

With those two words, Joel spurted ropes of his warm seed inside of you, painting your walls a milky white. Feeling him fill you, you clenched one last time around his cock and let a blinding hot light envelope you as you rode out your own high.

You rolled off the man and laid next to him, catching your breath. “How was that? Did I pass the test?” you nudged him playfully.

Joel let out a laugh and you felt your heart flutter at the sound of him displaying genuine happiness. “You passed the test,” he chuckled. “But— there’s still plenty more for you to learn.”

“Well,” you shrugged. “You do make a pretty good teacher.”

Joel wrapped his arm around you and pulled you into his chest. “Sun will rise in a few hours, you should go back to sleep.” he hummed into your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You closed your eyes, still in sheer bliss, and smiled.

You couldn’t believe that just a few hours earlier, you were so sure that Joel hated you.

You’d never been so wrong.

——— Taglist: ———

(I’m working on rebuilding a brand new taglist ever since returning to Tumblr. Let me know if you want to be added!)

@pedrosprincess

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #smut #tlou #the last of us

[officialabortive]

Bull hybrid! Bakugou

x

Cow hybrid! reader

Bull!Bakugou had been gone for about an hour now. You hadn't seen him since earlier this morning, when he was being loaded in to the trailer. He had made quite the scene, haphazardly swinging his horns and kicking at the group of farmers that tried to get him in.

Usually you would be trying your best to get to the blond, aiding him to the best of your abilities. But not this time. As much as it hurt to see him struggling against the farmhands, it was best to stay put. Even though your mind was screaming at you to go and comfort Katsuki, knowing he despised being taken to "that fucking hell hole" as he called it, it was for his own good.

Thinking about it now, you slightly regretted not doing anything to help. Not even attempting to be at his side in the moment. But there was no sense in wallowing in the past.

The day prior, you had overhead some of the farmhands talking amongst themselves as they put out the cattle feed. They were going back and forth on who should "it". You didn't know what "it" was and weren't exactly interested in finding out. That was until one of them said "com'on man! I dont want'a take bakugou to the vet, you know how difficult he is to deal with!" Now that caught your attention. Should you share the news? As much as you hated hiding things from your beloved herd member, you didn't want to rile him up with the information. He would find out soon enough anyway.

Now, after waiting so long, the truck and trailer had finaly returned. You hurried over as they slowly pulled in to the pasture, being careful not to let any cattle out in the process.

Violent banging was heard from inside the trailer, so aggressive that it visibly shook.

Bakugou waisted no time getting out once the door swung open at long last, instantly bolting out onto the open grass. You took long strides in attempt to catch up.

Something was off. Usually, he would head toward the area most of the herd grazed upon to make sure no incidents occurred in his absence. He didn't even seem to notice you so eagerly in his pursuit, when at any other time would be well aware of any presence in the vicinity.

Only once he gradually comes to a stop, does Katsuki notice you panting behind him. His next moves were swift. Instantaneously wrapping a firm arm around you to - albeit not so gently - pull you down with him as he sat, forcing you to sit on his lap. Now both arms firmly wrapped themselves around your torso, squeezing the skin beneath his fingers. With your back pressed against him, you could feel the movement of his chest as he let out a huff.

"Did something happen at the vet?"

another huff

Recognizing he didn't want too talk, you both stayed silent. Relishing in the gentle breeze that swayed tree branches rich with luscious leaves, the birds whistling out for one another, and the warmth radiating off of your favorite bull on to your back as you leaned in to him. It was peaceful, calming.

"Turn your ass around"

"What?"

"I said fucking turn around "

You shift positions to do as he said, needing to tilt your head up to look up at him.

Oh

Smack dab in the center of his scowling face was a pristine new silver nose ring. It sat snugly in his septum, looking rather small on such a big bull.

"Ohh Katsuki..."

Chosing not to acknowledge your words, he angrily grumbled while glaring at the ground. It wouldn't be suprising if the grass burst into flames right then and there at the heat of his gaze. But looking at the ground rendered him unable to see the adoring look on your face.

"You look so handsome! Oh Katsuk, it suits you so well, I love it"

He went still in his spot at your words, too many thoughts going through his head at once. What? You like it? Are you just saying that to make him feel better?

"Don't even try fuck with me damn it!"

Now it all made sense, why he was so upset. He was suddenly given a piercing he didn't want out of the blue and was insecure about it. Dare you say, he was embarrassed.

"No, I'm serious" he finaly looked you in the eye. "It's quite nice on you. It actually... well, it makes you look even more assertive, powerful."

The few words of affirmation went right to his head. It's amazing how fast someone could go from sulking to smug as hell. He now wore a cocky smirk and slightly puffed his chest in pride.

'He's such a child'

Masterlist

#bull bakugou #bull!bakugou #cow/farm au #bakugou katsuki #bakugou Katsuki x reader #bakugou #bakugo #bakugou fluff #bakugo fluff #bakugo Katsuki #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #kacchan #Katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugou #bakugou drabble #bakugou x reader fluff #bakugou imagine #bkg #bkg x reader #Katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou comfort #bakugo katsuki #bakugo drabble #bakugo x you

[optimist-pine]

Mercy

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Animal death

Summary: Daryl watches you hunt and he's left with a question he can't answer.

Era: Season 2, the farm

A/n: Haha this was supposed to be fluff under the title Archer. It's flangst now... Whoopsie.

     Daryl doesn't know what drives him to do it. Maybe it's simply boredom. More likely though, it's his growing desire to learn - to study you, study your technique. Maybe he's already impressed and all that's left is to see you in action.

     That's how he finds himself following you into the woods on this freshly arrived morning. He keeps his distance but it's not very difficult to keep track of you, your pace and direction consistent and reliable. When you do stop he finds himself watching with rapt attention.

     The way you wait is as reverent as a prayer. Your stance never shifting, arms steady and strong, posture perfect. Images of those ancient marble sculptures cross his mind, their bodies crafted into fine-tuned instruments. If he didn't know better, he'd say that the forest has gone still; nothing - not even the breeze - makes a move. The world has gone quiet, like even the animals are holding their breath.

     Then your arrow flies and the earth returns to life in full force, that is, everything except for one rabbit who has become quite still. Your arrow has pierced its eye with extreme precision, but he's not surprised. Every piece of game you've ever brought back has been taken down that exact same way.

     You collect the rabbit, removing and cleaning your arrow before continuing on deeper into the woods. Daryl doesn't mean to follow, but something spurs him onward. He's never really cared much for art, but if that's what you are, call him a damn aficionado. He's fascinated. 

     It takes a little while, but you suddenly pause. He spots the reason why - a large gray squirrel clings to the bark of a nearby tree, tail twitching. You take aim, graceful and smooth. But then, like last time, you hold your stance for one breath, then a second, and suddenly the squirrel quirks its head and bolts. He expects you to show at least some disappointment, but you simply let down your bow and continue on.

     This happens a few more times; you find your prey, ready your bow, and then wait. Sometimes you loose your arrow and other times you practically allow the animal to get away. This time you have your aim trained on a rather large rabbit, probably a buck. It turns, ready to run, and Daryl can tell you aren't going to shoot this one, so he does. As soon as his bolt hits its target your entire body pivots.

     He immediately finds himself at the business end of your bow, but the sharpness of your glare currently feels like the larger threat. "Are you following me?" You ask, lowering your weapon. The glare remains, although it seems to be softening.

     You'll know he's lying if he says he isn't, but he doesn't want to admit that he is. "Why d'yuh wait, when ya got'um in your sights?" He blurts out.

     You place the arrow back in your quiver with a sigh. "You are following me."

     "Jus' curious." He shrugs.

     You look up to the sky. "Dunno... Don't like killing things." Your gaze lands on the dead rabbit laying a little ways away. "Figure I'll give 'em one last chance to keep on livin'."

     He lets out a snort. Hunting is a way to secure a meal, not some moralistic nonsense. "So, yer like a damn fairytale princess or somethin'?" He asks. "Bes' friends wi'the woodland creatures an'all that?" He waves his hands around for emphasis.

     Your face hardens. "It'd be different if we really needed the food." You say sternly, turning to stalk away, back towards the farm. He grabs the now-joined rabbit and bolt and jogs after you, but you're moving at a surprisingly quick clip, dodging branches and roots with ease.

     When he's nearly caught up, you stop suddenly and he barely avoids plowing straight into you. You whip around to face him and he instinctively takes a step back. But you're not angry, at least not in the way that he was expecting. He'd been prepared for a slap in the face, not the deep sadness in your eyes. "Feels like some sorta mercy I guess." You say quietly.

     He doesn't feel bad about what he said, but your answer catches him off guard. The world is as cruel and as harsh as it's ever been. It doesn't care who lives and who dies, and it sure as hell isn't handing out second chances. "Not much'a that goin' around righ' now." He replies solemnly.

     "I don't wanna turn into someone who loses that." Your voice is soft and almost pleading and it pulls at something buried within him.

     With a jolt he's thrown into his own past. He knows what that loss does to a person, how much of his life he's spent terrified of becoming that. You're beginning to make a little more sense now. "Yuh, won't." He assures.

---

     As time passes, when you do desperately need the food and mercy is barely a reality, Daryl finds himself fighting to protect yours. When the two of you hunt, he insists you take point, that you stick to the way you did things that day at the farm. He'll be right behind you, your backup, he'll do what you shouldn't have to. That part of you - that's something that can't afford to ever be lost. He'll do everything in his power to see to that.

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd season 2 #optimist pine

[my-castles-crumbling]

Remus and James gift shopping for Sirius and Regulus and vice versa

I took a few creative liberties but this was SO MUCH FUN!

“This is impossible,” Regulus murmured, very tempted to slam his head against a nearby wall.

“James will like whatever you get him,” Sirius complained, throwing his hands up. “Remus is impossible! He only likes sweaters and books and he has a million of both!”

“Remus saves every single tissue you blow into. He’ll treasure whatever you wrap up. James has more money than he knows what to do with. What am I supposed to get him that he doesn’t already have?” Regulus shot back.

They both stood in the Muggle street, back-to-back, staring around the stores. 

“Why the fuck did we go to a Muggle shopping area?” Regulus griped after a moment of silence. 

Sirius shrugged helplessly. “It was supposed to be cute,” he murmured. “Like…original, or something.”

Regulus scoffed. “Let’s go,” he ordered decisively, and started dragging Sirius away.

But Sirius froze and pointed towards a small, brightly-decorated shop that looked like the advertising was aimed towards five-year-olds. “Reg, look!”

“Sirius…absolutely not.”

“C’mon, Reggie! It’s cute! Festive!”

“No, Sirius, I-”

“If you don’t come with me, I’ll tell James about that sweater you have stashed under your bed. You know, the one you stole from him and now you cuddle with every-” Sirius threatened, a devilish grin on his face.

“Fine!” Regulus agreed, trying not to turn pale. Asshole.

-

Two identical packages lay under the tree Christmas morning. One addressed to Remus and the other addressed to James. 

Regulus tried not to stare at them.

“Alright, these are for you two!” Sirius said happily, gesturing to the two boxes and then to Remus and James.

Regulus tried not to hit him.

Paper was torn. Boxes opened. And inside…

“....Mugs?”

Regulus could see Remus’s lips quiver as he tried not to smile at his mug. 

“We painted them, Moony!” Sirius exclaimed, with the air of a child finally able to discuss a very thrilling secret. 

It was true. Sirius had blackmailed Regulus into painting mugs together in a small pottery painting shop. The experience had been rather tortuous for Regulus- to curb Sirius’s energy was difficult in a normal setting, let alone a place with so many breakable items. Indeed, Sirius was still washing paint out of his hair.

“It’s beautiful, Padfoot,” Remus grinned, looking over his mug.

Sirius immediately glowed and began pointing out all of the things he had crammed onto the mug- pictures of wolves and dogs and stars and moons and books and chocolate and so much more, all looking as though a toddler had fingerpainted it. 

Remus, of course, looked no less than thrilled, nodding along and asking appropriate questions as Sirius prattled on.

James, however, was examining his mug with a very different expression.

Regulus had gone for a somewhat different approach. He’d painted the mug a deep black and painstakingly plotted out each of the stars on the Leo constellation, then taken hours to illustrate the constellation with the smallest brush he could find. The only star that was not white was Regulus- the heart of Leo.

“It’s you…and me…” Regulus explained softly to James, feeling very self-conscious. James stayed silent, turning the mug over and over in his hand, still staring. Regulus felt pressured to continue. “I know you don’t drink a lot of tea or coffee but Sirius insisted that this was original and I thought maybe this was an okay idea because, you know, you’re like the lion…because of Gryffindor…and I’m, you know…Regulus. Heart…of the lion…”

But then James looked up at him, tears in his eyes, and he trailed off, his stomach like lead. Did James hate it that much? Had he fucked up that bad? Oh, gods, was James going to break up with him? Fuck, fuck, fuck-

“It’s perfect,” James whispered reverently.

And damn, he looked amazed. He looked at Regulus like he was…in love.

And before he knew it, Regulus felt himself pulled into a kiss.

Keep sending requests, guys! I love them!

#marauders #harry potter #marauders era #fanfic #harry potter marauders #marauders fandom #sirius black kinnie #regulus black kinnie #jegulus #wolfstar #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #the marauders #james fleamont potter #james potter #james x regulus #james & sirius #regulus arcturus black #regulus black #sirius and regulus #james and regulus #james loves regulus #regulus deserved better #sirius x lupin #remus x sirius #sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius x remus #remus loves sirius #remus lupin

[heartthrobin]

lovers, to bed: tis almost fairy time (4)

sam winchester x fairy!reader

wc: 4.0k

warnings: soulmate!au (partners share scars), fem!reader, limited use of y/n, implied age gap (reader is early 20's), angst, subby sam winchester (?), some smoking, canon warnings (child kidnapping, violence ect.)

an: i'm so sorry that this took so long, uni has put me in a really tough mental space at the moment and being creative has been so difficult. but i hope it was worth the wait! love you all endlessly

summary: yes, Sam Winchester was an idiot: but he would be damned if he was going to let his little fairy get away.

part one part two part three

The trunk clicked open, swinging up against the back window of the Impala.

Dean rummaged between the shotguns and the silver blades and the jugs of gasoline. His hand emerged with a wide set machete, holding it up to Sam.

"I've been dying to use this bad boy since Idaho." He grinned at his reflection in the steel blade.

Sam rolled his eyes, hair fluttering over his forehead where the evening wind was tugging on it. The Impala was parked up against the grass at the edge of the forest, the sun disappearing over the treetops in a way that sunk the town in a purple glow.

He reached in to grab a shotgun, a silver blade too: slipping it into his jacket pocket. "Right. Let's just get this over with."

His brother grinned, "So you can go see your little princess, hm?"

Sam didn't dignify him with a response. Mostly because he was right.

The weight of the truth draped over his shoulders like a truck. Stifling and making it hard to breath, let alone think.

Dean laughed at his lack of response, bumping his shoulder to his:

"Sammy's getting laid tonight." He sing-songed.

"Yeah, right. That's a great idea." He huffed, "Then she can see all my scars and realise I've been lying to her. Sounds fun."

Nudging the trunk closed, Dean groaned. "She's gonna find out either way."

"Not unless I don't tell her."

At that Dean paused. His eyes ran over Sam's figure where he was loading the shotgun.

"So when were done, we're just gonna leave town?"

Sam slammed the trunk shut with maybe a little too much force. "Can we drop it?"

Dean raised his hands in surrender. "Whatever. It's your problem, but I think she should know."

But Sam was already pacing towards the line of trees, huffing and trying to suffocate the guilt building in his chest.

The forest wasn't making it any easier. Dean was trailing behind him, every footstep crackling over the dry leaves and soft grass reminding him of your laugh. The dark bark of the black of your eyes, those eyes so wide and wet--

"Hey," Dean's voice cut through his thoughts. He motioned over between the trees. "Look."

There was the tree again. Glowing just like it had been the last time they'd ventured into the belly of the woods.

A crunch echoed around the space. Sam's head whipped over his shoulder, Dean reaching with a quickness that only came from experience for the gun in his holster:

"What was that?"

-

There was a teenager behind the counter when you plonked down a packet of sour worms and a tray of eggs in front of her.

She was usually the one who helped you when you'd stop in after work some days. She's cute in a sprightly way: piercings sticking out from every piece of skin she could get her hands on and she was one of the only people left in town who didn't scowl at you when you came in.

But she was looking at you funny just then, her hands still where they'd usually just reach to start scanning your things with a bored look on her young features.

"You've ... uh, got a ..." she'd motioned up to her own face, brushing a finger over her cheek.

Your hand came to pet your own face, drawing back with a palmful of blood. Shoulders sagging, you sigh. "Oh."

She leaned down under the counter, emerging with a handful of napkins and offering them to you. You smiled at her, "Thank you. It's, uhm, it's not mine."

The girl nodded like she already figured. She started to scan your eggs while you wiped down your cheek, napkins dissolving into a crimson lump. You wondered, for the millionth time, what your soulmate had gotten themselves into today.

There was a glass case enclosing some rotating hot dogs that you used to check your reflection: to probe gently at the thin cut you suspected was the work of a sharp blade, and when she handed you your bag, your face was mostly clean over where it was flush with embarrassment. Poor girl was already working late on a week night and you'd waltzed in looking like a scene from a horror movie.

You thanked her and she offered one last uninterested nod.

It was dark out already and you didn't feel as safe walking home as you once had but there was little option, and the corner store was less than a couple blocks from home.

The bag shuffled and your neck-full of crystals clinked as you walked. You hummed a song you'd had stuck in your head all afternoon, some playful tune you'd heard on the radio in the shop.

In the distance there was a crowd. The road overthrown with a flickering blue and red light from cop cars parked just further down and voices overlapped in loud chatter.

You frowned. "What ..."

As you neared your eyes find uniformed officers pushing back other curious onlookers. There was a news van parked there too: a man dressed in a smart suit speaking into a microphone at his chest and he's grinning-- "Yes, Arthur, I am here in Fernglade Washington with some amazing news for our viewers. Tonight, the town can rest a little easier--"

There was a loud sob that carries over heads and a woman was on her knees, jeans pressing into the concrete where she was clutching a child. She's shaking violently ... and she wasn't alone.

Behind her was another set of parents with a child ... and another, and another.

Your heart floated into your throat. There brewed a bubbling feeling in your chest, it's ... it's the children. The missing children.

You recognised Rachel and Georgia ... and Manny. Sure, they were a little dirty: with pale soil-ridden faces and torn Barbie t-shirts.

One, two, three -- you counted them with your eyes -- seven. They were all there.

The police had set up a barricade and you didn't even realise you'd dropped and crushed your eggs when you pressed against it. There's eyes on you, guilty eyes, and you could tell nearby officers were pretending not to look at you out the corner of their eyes.

But you couldn't be bothered with them, with the whispering crowd either, because you'd made out the outline of the Winchester brothers' backs talking down at a short police woman who was avidly writing against a tiny notebook.

You were grinning so hard it was hurting your cheeks and your eyes welled with the joy of the scene. They were all there. They were all okay, alive!

"Sam!' you leaned over the wooden barricade. It had to have been them, there was nobody else who believed you. Believed that the kids weren't locked up in the depths of a dungeon you didn't own.

A laugh was gurgling up from the depths of your throat and you felt where a tear slipped over the healing cut on your cheek. "Sam!"

Sam's head perked up, pausing mid-sentence when he turned those wide shoulders to the crowd, to you. His face lit up with shadows under the spectacle of coloured lights when his eyes found yours.

Your heart sunk from where it was sitting in your throat, slipping all the way to the deepest pit in your stomach.

Even under the harsh light and the cover of night it was impossible to miss the drying blood painting his face. Running down from a cut over his cheek. Your hand came to find your own jaw, eyes never leaving his, when you pressed up into the matching scar. It didn't hurt and even if it had, you wouldn't have felt it just then.

Sam's face was twisting with realisation. "Y/n--"

You tripped back over the edges of your skirt, knocking into the onlookers behind you-- "hey, watch it!"

Concrete reached up, scraping at your heels wedged into dainty sandals, but the hammering of your heart kept them moving. You broke out the crowd, oxygen leaning further and further out your grasp when you broke into a run.

"Y/n, wait!"

But you didn't stop.

Sam watched your silhouette shrink down the road, streetlights illuminating your escape. He gulped for breath, guilt choking him out: clogging his airways with thick sludgy shame.

"Sammy," a hand closed over his arm. "Come on--"

"Agent, we need to finish getting your statement."

Dean was leaning over his shoulder when he looked down. His eyes were sticky with sympathy.

The officer was lingering just a foot from him. She looked confused, gaze flickering between him and the now empty street.

"Dean ..." he turned to his only comfort. "She-- my face ..."

His brother nodded. "Yeah, I know. I know, Sammy."

He patted him. "Just give her some time to breath, okay? Let's finish here."

Every nerve-ending in his body was screaming at him to chase you down the street. To break through the nosy locals and crawl his way up your porch steps: beg on his knees for forgiveness.

Just give her some time. He didn't know if his mind was ringing or if Dean had said it again, but Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

The officer pressed her pen back to her little notebook. She nodded, "Okay so you guys followed the perpetrator into the forest. Male, blonde hair, you said?"

Dean made a grunt of agreement.

-

The night was so cold, Sam remembered.

A thin sheet of drizzle was patching up the sidewalk when his heavy footsteps crept up along it. Barely enough to dampen his hair, but his jacket felt impossibly heavy over his shoulders.

It was past midnight. The police had held them down: a trip to the station, a tower of signed documents and a sketch artist later there he finally was, standing feeling small for the first time in his life at the edge of your property.

Wind was twirling a thin line of smoke off your porch. He could see you through the darkness.

You said nothing. Eyes connected with his across your impeccably maintained grass.

It egged him forward.

His footsteps were loud clambering up the three wooden steps onto your porch.

You were leaned back into the arms of an ornate wooden rocking chair he'd noticed on his first trip up those same stairs. You weren't looking at him anymore: eyes drifting over the quiet street.

Sam was at least glad to find you bundled up in a blanket.

In your lap sat was the strangest-looking pipe he'd ever seen. An obnoxiously long chamber with a bulbous bowl at the end.

A string of purple smoke was curling out from between your lips. "You're here."

He couldn't tell if it was a question or not. Your face was as passionless as he'd ever seen it: offering him nothing.

"I promised I would be."

You nodded slowly, bringing the pipe up to your mouth and sucking on it steadily, still not looking at him. "How are the kids?"

Sam's hands bunched at his side. A dreadful burning viper was slithering between his organs. In this light he could see the smooth cut against your face, a misaimed throw of a blade from Dean when a tiny grotesque goblin had leapt up at him.

"They're ... they're fine. T-They're good."

"Did you know?"

You're looking at him now. It's the question he knew was coming but it knocks him breathless all the same.

He draws breath, mind spinning between the truth and an easier lie. "I--"

"Don't lie, Sam."

Your eyes are piercing him, like an arrow to the chest. He swallows hard. "Yes ... I did."

The pipe draws up to your mouth again, you let out a soft humourless laugh. It's followed out by another cloud of glittering smoke. The laugh so empty that it dries Sam's mouth.

"I ... the life I lead," he starts again, the snippets of a speech that he'd been stewing on his whole life for this exact moment coming out sounding more pathetic than he ever thought they could. "It's no life for you. For anyone, and I couldn't do that to someone I... I-I love. To tie you to me, I've done terrible things you don't know--"

"And you think I haven't?" You're rising from the chair now, pipe thudding to the floor. Your voice is prickled in a rising anger. "That I'm some jewel who could never imagine what life is like on the run? To kill and hurt for survival?"

The rain was coming down harder. Trees and bushes leaning against the push of the wind. Sam was so lost in the heat of your eyes that he didn't notice the creep of a thick-set branch crawling up the edge of the porch, down over the lip of the roof.

"Were you just gonna leave?" Your voice never rose but he flinched like you'd screamed it at him. The flush of fury setting your cheeks alight, illuminating the scar that put you both there. "You were, weren't you?"

The touch was wet and solid when it wrapped around his ankle, the branch wrenching him by both ankles back against the bannister of the porch. He gasped when the wood struck his back: another thick brown limb winding around his neck, not enough to hurt but enough to fix his head in your direction and stop him from toppling over.

It took a couple gulps of breath to realise that it was the tree. The one wrapped around your cottage, that it was you.

"This is a two way street, Sam." you pressed up against his chest, eyes alight with a power you'd never let show before. "You bang me up for years and years, and I sit and wait for you. And you were just gonna leave? Leave me to patch up all your bullet holes and your wolf bites?"

Shame drains his cheeks of warmth. He doesn't fight the tree's grip, purposefully ignores the sharpened blade that's still well within his reach. Sam shakes his head as well as he can: he doesn't know what to say. His whole pathetic speech meant nothing anymore and he didn't think this could hurt any harder until he realises that tears are streaming quietly down your perfect perfect face.

You're pressed up against him, your warmth seeping into his bones.

Forehead meeting his pectoral, you shake your head too. Tears wetting his shirt.

"I was scared." He finally lets out, it's pitiful. "I didn't know this is what it felt like. I didn't know love could feel like this."

"I'm scared too, you know." You whisper into him.

In a surge of bravery, or maybe just stupidity - he couldn't tell anymore, his hand finds your jaw: tipping it up to face him.

God, he never thought you could be more beautiful but you were blinking up at him with wet lashes and a trembling lip and he was ready to give up his whole fucking life for you. Lay down the gun and never pick it up again, let Dean drive alone out and far away from Fernglade.

It was all made more real when you leaned up onto your toes, nose brushing his and hands finding his neck.

You moved no closer, warm breath caressing the bow of his lip, but Sam would be damned if being hog-tied by some oak tree was gonna stop him from the taste of you so he wrapped a strong arm over your waist and tugged you just that little distance further.

The feeling of your lips crashing on his couldn't be any sweeter. He imagined that this is what a firework felt like when it leapt into the sky and burst.

Your mouth was desperate, like his, and your hands wrapped around the base of his shivering neck.

You tasted like sweet tea and tangy like whatever was in your magical pipe and if the tree wasn't holding him upright he'd have crashed to his knees. You whined lowly and it stoked the fire pit in Sam's stomach.

His tongue slipped past your lips, struggling against the hold of the oak tree to let his hands roam your back. Your mouth was wet hot and he knew he could kiss you forever, until his oxygen depleted and he was dead for the world.

But you stepped back, eyes wide like you'd been doused over with ice water. A hand wiped at your mouth, at the mix of his and your's saliva coating your lips.

"You ..." your voice trembled. "You should go."

You stumbled back down the porch, door creaking as it opened and banging as it shut.

The grip of the tree loosened and Sam watched it's branches creep back under the porch. It became still again, rain calming to a measly patter and bushes watching quietly.

"Fuck." he whispered.

-

Sam shut the car door obnoxiously loud after him. The leather of the Impala creaked loudly when Dean followed in suit, hands reaching up to the slick black wheel.

"You're sure?"

Without answering, Sam shifted to take one last look at the Pinecone Motel and it's chipping copper paint.

"Fine." Dean turned the key into the ignition, car rumbling to life beneath them.

In the backseat is his and Sam's rucksacks and duffle-bags jam-packed with their few worldly possesions. The same bags haphazardly zipped shut that same morning when Sam eventually busted through the door demanding that they left Fernglade right fucking now.

The sun was just barely creeping over the town and morning chill frosted the view through the windscreen. It's busy despite the time: open signs are flickering on and men in aprons are heaving crates of apples onto stands under fairylight-lit doorways.

Bad Moon Rising hummed through the crumbly speakers and Sam slammed the switch on the dash so it shut off.

"Hey!" Dean calls, "take it easy man. She's gentle."

He pat the dash softly where Sam has just knocked it. Still, his brother says nothing.

"Okay." He huffed, pulling the car into a spot near the sidewalk in front of a lifeless diner. Dean twists in his seat to face Sam: "you've barely said a word all morning."

Sam tugged his jacket closer over his frame. "I said I don't wanna talk about it."

"Yeah, yeah. You've been saying that all damn week." Dean's arm lifted to rest against the back of the seat. "But you're gonna talk now. This isn't some passing girl that you can just pack your bags and run away from. You're gonna have to go there and apologise."

Sam's expression curls in anger. "Yeah, Dean, I did that! And she tied me up with tree branches and kicked me off her porch--"

"Well, boo hoo!" Dean tightened his one-handed grip on the steering wheel. "Do it again! Do it until she forgives you."

"I don't need your advice, Dean. I've made up my mind, we're leaving."

A cat was scratching on a growing weed at the edge of the sidewalk, Sam focused on it to avoid his brother's eyes. They were hot and he could feel them burning a hole into the side of his face.

"Can we just go."

"What is it?" Dean spoke again, this time quieter. Cool fog followed the words out his mouth. "What are you scared of?"

Sam ran both hands through the tendrils of hair over his scalp. He sighed. "I'm ... she's not gonna be able to forgive me."

"Are you gonna be able to forgive yourself?"

There was a long quiet.

It was broken by a car passing noisily. It draws Dean's attention and he nodded quietly to himself. "Fine. Wisconsin?"

"Yeah." Sam agrees quietly.

The car started again, Dean went to turn to radio back up. "Will you grab my jacket, I left it in the trunk. It's fucking freezing in here."

Sam sighed again. "Fine."

"Thanks."

The door clicked open again. He's barely both feet out the car when it grumbles and swerves off the sidewalk, Sam tripped over the edge nearly onto the concrete, and by the time he's stabled himself: the Impala was racing down the main road.

"You'll thank me for this!" His brother's voice faded with the car's black silhouette.

Sam's hands returned to his hair again, "son of a bitch!"

An old lady across the street turned to him with an affronted look. He waves her off, kicking at the same weed the cat had abandoned in the flurry of commotion.

Above him, the diner sign flickers on: The Frothy Mug. He stopped.

It felt like years between when he was last standing under the same light of the sign. In front of the same three steps that he watched your eyes sparkle at him: your hand tucked warmly against his.

"Fucking ..." the expletives died on his tongue. He's right, that asshole.

"I'm a fucking idiot."

Sam's legs began moving before he even knew they were, chasing down the same route he'd meandered along with you three nights previous. He's sprinting, breathing a purposeless afterthought as the diner disappeared behind him.

Past the pharmacy, the laundromat, The Bloom Box. All the way to the end of town where your cottage and your trees and your flowers and you waited for him.

Sam panted clouded breaths as the sight came into view at the end of the road. The morning sunlight lit your garden a bright orangey eden. His steps were just as heavy as they were in the early hours of that same morning when he trudged up the same stone pathway.

He didn't let himself hesitate, bringing red, bruised knuckles up against the hardwood door. The knock rumbled through the house and shakes every bone in his body.

There was a long pause. Then a scuffle, a sniff and a "Goose, get back".

The door creaked and you stood in the doorway like you had the first day his feet found this porch.

While expected, Sam was taken aback by the sight of you. You're in a matching set of pajamas, green - unsurprisingly - and covered in little ladybugs. Your face was swollen with sleep, eyelashes kissing in the corner and lips puffy.

"Sam--" you sighed, but Sam's hands find your shoulders gently.

"I know it's early, but please listen. I'm an idiot." He sounded desperate, but couldn't find a way to help it.

"Yes." You nodded.

"And I'm sorry." He nodded along with you. "And it took Dean kicking me out the car to get me here because - like I said - huge idiot, but I'm sorry. I'm a sorry, sorry idiot who's so in love with you that he doesn't know what to do with himself."

Your eyebrow curls, "Dean kicked you out the car?"

Sam's eyes rolled. "Yes. I was going to leave, because I'm a coward too. A cowardly idiot who doesn't deserve forgiveness, but I'm asking for it anyways."

You shrugged, head dipping to almost rest against your shoulder. Your face almost, almost laced in amusement. "Begging always looks a little more convincing on your knees, Sam."

His knees knock loudly when they hit the wooden porch. Sam's hands slide down to find yours.

"I'm sorry." He said again, the only words his brain could formulate under the shine of you in your morning glory - the sight of a woman he wanted to see every morning until forever. "Please let me make it up to you?"

Your hands released his slowly, rising to run through his chestnut hair and settling at the base of his neck. You smile.

He thought he might be dreaming but you lean down and kiss him gently. A tinkle of bells rang through the air and Sam smiled against your mouth.

You brushed your nose against his: "I forgive you, Sam."

Sam's hands grip against your hips before floating back and brushing against the edge of the silken wings at your back.

"Really?"

"Yes. Now come in here and show me how sorry you are."

-

remember to comment and repost please!

taglist: @firstsnowdrop @writerofthewinds @aria1245 @nyx22-blogs @lucysaloser @britishscum @pookiesnatcher @music-keep-me-sane @cryptid-with-a-cane @sammys-concubine @i-live-for-fantasy @grimbunnie @crystalreedwifey @haileycannotcometothephonern @i-cant-write-for-shit @did-someone-change-my-name @1313ek @chlorine11 @ch33ze00 @random-fandom-gurl @melancholicandmessy @harley-quinns-girlfriend @cardigan-ns @charliethealpaccaso @crystalandphoebewifey @nonbinarycryptic @multitargaryen @darylsleathervest @aquatic-bread @ferrersbiggestfan @miles-stargirl @secretsuitcasegooplawyer @bxtchboy69 @devilslittlebabyxx @bucky-barnes-beloved @susyelectra @spilled-coffee-cup @ashdoctor @deamus-liv @rintheemolion @damonsalavatore-best @ilovetaquitosmmmm @itzdarling @mo-i-ra @saiacross @n7cje @flaming-chaos

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x you #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester drabble #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you

[astarion-approves]

Peeping Tav Astarion X Male Tav

A master at his kink, Tav found a new target of his dreams. The tall, pale, and handsome ‘Astarion.' A chef that works long hours, with a body built of marble, and a home filled with easily accessible windows. But Tav may have bitten off more than he can chew. Will he be able to see his target in all of his glory? Or will he become the one that's targeted? Part 1 of ?

NSFT, Peeping, Peeping Tom, Kinks, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Modern Era, Hand Jobs, flesh light, chef Astarion, Anal Fingering, POV First Person

Read below or read on Ao3

Hello, my name is Tav and I’m addicted to peeping. 

Most would agree that peeping is a disgusting habit, and they would be right. Call it what you want, Peeping Tom, Ogler, Rubberneck, Onlooker, Voyeur, and so on. I’ve tried to stop, many times, but it’s just so damn addictive. Watching a stranger undress, them unknowingly giving me a show while I jerk off right outside their window? 

There’s no better feeling.  

Just knowing that they have no idea I’m right there , hiding in a tree or crouching in some bushes, maybe even standing there with no coverage at all… and I’m hard as a rock, my free hand over my mouth as I cover any moans that may slip through as I pleasure myself to their naked body. Eyeing them up and down as they become comfortable in their home, a place that they consider safe but it’s anything but. 

And it wasn’t as if I was your ‘typical’ peeper. Normally I would just go out a few times a week, not every night like some of the guys I knew. On top of that; I wouldn’t upload my recordings online like some creep, that content was only meant to be enjoyed in my own home. Where, ironically enough, I close my blinds. Plus, I looked alright for the most part. My clothes fit well, I was in decent shape, and I’ve been told that I was good looking. Shaggy brown hair, light green eyes, and little dimples. What more could you love? Well… maybe minus the whole peeping part, but really, you’d never suspect me. Just look at me, friendly as ever, not a man that stands outside your window and jerks off! 

Right. Moving on... 

Peeping starts off simply enough. 

First, I find a target. Someone handsome, preferably in great shape with plenty of muscle, and a nice plump bottom. I could find them anywhere, at the store, the park, a movie theater, even just walking down the street. I keep myself open to new opportunities. 

I tend to obsess over one person at a time, which comes to my second step: learning their basic schedule. What time they wake up, when they have breakfast or head to work, if they’re single or dating someone, what they do in their spare time - and most of all; where they undress in their home . 

Thirdly, after doing my research, I plant myself outside their window and chase after the perfect orgasm. If their bedroom is on the second floor and they keep their blinds shut I’m shit out of luck. However , a single story home with plenty of windows is a real treat. 

The perfect man, the perfect schedule, and a perfect home - it can be extremely difficult to find all three at once… sometimes you just have to settle.  

But, god damn , if I haven’t found the most handsome man to follow these last few weeks. 

His name is Astarion, even his name rolls off my tongue like something to be savored. A professional chef that works long hours but makes sure to fit in a quick workout at the gym around 3 o’clock everyday before he goes to work. He would always wear thick, dark clothing, covering his entire body, before changing into a semi revealing pair of shorts and sneakers. And then he would begin his workout. 

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve followed him to the gym, I even went so far as to get a membership myself just to watch him. I would walk on the treadmill with him directly in my view, my cock tucked up and into the waistband of my shorts to disguise myself as I grew hard just from watching him. 

One day I'd have to thank him for helping me stay in shape.  

The man’s body was like marble, carefully carved, smooth, and flawless. It was almost like he didn’t need to work out, that he was naturally built to look like a god among men. Thick thighs, a thin waist, a great set of abs, a delicious ass, and features so handsome that he made anyone he encountered swoon. His hair was as a cool silver in color and his skin was as light as snow, like a dusting of snowflakes that would shimmer from sweat that I ached to lick off him. It would make my mouth water as I watched him lift weights with ease, Astarion grunting when he added more weight and pushed himself harder… and all I could imagine were those grunts happening because of me. 

It was becoming a fantasy of mine to straddle him as he worked out. To feel his length beneath my bottom, grinding on him as a reward for completing each and every set, then dragging him into the locker room to drop down onto my knees and finally get a taste of that hot, sweaty cock. 

A cock which I have yet to get a proper view of, try as I might. 

Astarion was a fan of speedy showers after his workout, ones that didn’t give me the opportunity to get a good look at anything besides his ass. Which, I’m not exactly complaining about. The desire to bury my face between those buns and have a full on feast was almost overwhelming. However, with his strength, his beauty, and his sweet soothing voice - I needed to see that dick. And his lightning fast showers in the gym showers weren't enough. 

Tonight… I was determined to finally get a peek. I had a plan. A… well, a simple plan that burned a small hole in my wallet but would hopefully work out in the end. 

At 5 o’clock in the afternoon Astarion would be heading to work. He wouldn’t return for a while, around eight to ten hours, depending how his shift went. He was a great chef by the way, always in control of his kitchen, serving delicate little dishes that cost almost a quarter of my rent. It was hard to believe that such strong hands could create such beautiful and delectable dishes… 

Anyway…

After work, anywhere between 1 o’clock and 3 o’clock in the morning, he would head directly back to his home, an adorable little one story brick house with seemingly more windows than walls and enough large bushes to conceal anyone. Perfect for me, not so perfect for him. Astarion would jump in the shower, or so I assumed as it was the only room in the entire house with a fogged window, then, and this was the best part, Astarion would stroll around his home completely nude. 

Did I mention how fucking gorgeous Astarion was? 

It wasn't something he had always done, a more recent development really. And fuck how I loved it. In the beginning he would get dressed in the bathroom, throwing on some pajamas and a towel over his shoulder to continue drying his hair. But as the weather grew warmer, he began waltzing out through his home with nothing on. Only the towel over his shoulder on top of his head. 

The only problem was, he never got close enough to the fucking window s. He was always moving, always doing something to prevent me from getting the view I so desired. I would film him night after night, hoping to record his dick up close and personal; but I was never so lucky. 

If he was lying on the couch in his living room? The coffee table hid him. 

Sitting in his kitchen with a cup of tea? His legs were crossed. 

Resting in bed while he scrolled through his phone? The towel was over his lap. 

It was torture. Slow, painful, blueballs for weeks: torture . 

At one point, I considered knocking on his door myself, hoping that he wouldn’t cover up and would just answer the door with his dick out. I quickly gave up on that idea when he received a late night delivery and threw on a pair of shorts. Which he kept on the rest of the night and I went home more frustrated than ever. 

A few other times he would have different women over at his place at random hours. Either bringing them home with him or they would show up just as the sun was beginning to rise. Seriously, who agrees to a one night stand at nearly six am? …. Okay , I would. With Astarion that is. Really… I’m just being jealous. 

Well, whenever they showed up, Astarion would always close the blinds, hiding their coupling from any possible prying eyes. Basically just me . And I would give up, not bothering to stick around to see them leave. I had no doubt they were leaving with wild sex hair and a blissed out ‘just fucked’ expression as they shuffled back home. 

Again. I was jealous . But I’ve spent weeks trailing after this target, the longest amount of time I’ve ever spent watching a single person, and I was damn close to giving up. I can only chase after someone for so long before I just become exhausted . Astarion was worth it, holy fuck was he worth it , but I was getting more and more impatient as each night passed. 

This entire time I’d never seen him jerk off. Which was… unusual . Most single men were taking any chance they got to take care of those urges. But not Astarion. Maybe it was because of the women he brought home? But even then that was only once or twice every few weeks... Or perhaps he was fulfilling those urges in the morning after I’d gone home for the night? Either way, I needed to see him, I needed to see him fuck his own hand and finish all over his stomach and fat pecs. 

So, a few days ago, I ordered a special delivery for Astarion and prayed that he would… partake in what I sent. Straight porn, gay porn, lesbian porn, videos and magazines, butt plugs, a fleshlight, flavored lube, regular lube, hell I even sent massage wands. Anything to get this man to touch himself with the blinds open and in a perfect view just for me . 

He saw the package on his door as soon as he got home that night, his brows dipping down in confusion as he read his own name on the label before carrying it inside. I was practically giddy as I watched him forgo his shower and unbox everything in his living room instead. He was confused as ever as he pulled out each item. He studied everything as they were revealed, even flipping through each magazine and shaking his head in disbelief as he did. 

I didn’t miss the small twitch of his thin lips when he flipped and paused through the gay magazine. He paused and kept looking through it! Score! 

And then out came the clear flesh light. 

The way his eyes lit up was one of the most adorable reactions I’ve ever seen. As if this was never an option for him, that he never even considered using a toy like this to pleasure himself. For a moment, it was like the heavens opened before me. A light shined through the window and embraced Astarion in a glow that could only be described as angelic as he began to remove his clothing. His strong arms gripping the bottom of his shirt and lifting it above his head and throwing it to the floor, his long and elegant fingers quickly unbuttoning his slacks as he yanked them down - 

And then. 

There it was. 

A dick worth waiting for. 

It hung gently against his thigh, soft and relaxed, a little darker than the rest of his body, a touch of pink at the tip like the most perfect rose - and it was everything that I imagined. Astarion sat back down onto his couch, directly in front of his window, and uncaring of any eyes that could see as he reached for his new toy and a bottle of one of the lubes. 

I chewed my lip and slipped my hand down to the waistband of my joggers and carefully pulled them down to expose myself to the cool night air. I was already hard, my cock sensitive to the touch from my own hand due to lack of use. But finally, finally , all of my work would pay off. 

Astarion poured a generous amount of lube over his shaft, pumping himself lightly until he came to full thickness. I found myself sneaking closer to the window, Astarion's eyes were pointed down and to the magazine beside him - if I stayed quiet and still out of his view… it would be easy to get away with. 

But I wasn't so sure I could hold back once Astarion slipped the flesh light down onto himself. 

He let his head drop back and let out a loud, needy moan; so loud I could hear it outside with his decorative bushes between us. Astarion moved his hand slowly, allowing himself to indulge wholly into the pleasure the toy could offer him. His grip would tighten around the toy as he worked it up and over the tip of his dick, and then loosen as he brought it back down to the base. 

The toy was too small for him, I learned this after Astarion began to fuck it with a little more desperation. As he brought it all the way down his length, the upper half would pop though the top, revealing his glistening tip which was now turning a deep red as he continued to jerk himself off. 

My own hand was moving to match Astarion's as he fucked into the toy, now with his eyes closed and no longer looking at the magazine. This was a moment that would be burned into my memory for the rest of my life… the most gorgeous man before me, gasping and moaning, his hips beginning to lift off the couch and fuck even harder into the toy I've provided for him - 

" Fuck ," I moaned, my voice quiet but I couldn't hold back any longer, it slipped out of me. I was so close to finishing, so close to shooting my load all over Astarion's bushes just outside his window, my first orgasm in weeks right there and ready to blow. For a moment, a quick brief second , I closed my eyes as I nearly finished– 

And when I looked back to where Astarion sat: he was gone. 

My hand stilled, fear enveloping my body as I frantically scanned the now empty living room in front of me. Astarion was nowhere to be seen. Even the fleshlight was missing, meaning he was in such a hurry he took it with him. 

My moan must have alerted Astarion, he most likely saw me outside his window with my dick out and about to apply a fresh layer of white to his house. I knew that Astarion was fast, and that more than likely he was sprinting for his cellphone and about to call the police. If I moved fast enough, I could have my pants jerked back up and get to my car before they arrived– 

"And what do we have here…?" 

I froze, my entire frame unable to move as a cool body pressed against my back. One hand appeared on my left hip before sliding under my shirt and coming to rest on my stomach. A warm breath cascaded down my throat as he spoke again. 

"Don't let me ruin your fun, darling. Keep going." 

Words were lost, the ability to move was gone, my breathing short and labored, everything inside of me telling me to run. But I couldn't. There was nothing I could do as my target stood behind me, teasing me, knowing that I was completely at Astarion’s mercy.  

There was no telling what his plan was. If I were to keep going would he drag me into the street and call me a pervert? Was he secretly recording me and planning on exposing my dirty kink to the world? 

"Relax," Astarion purred into my ear, chucking as he slowly slid his hand down my stomach and stopped just before my groin. "I won't bite." 

"I'm sor–" I tried to speak, to blurt out some kind of apology; but Astarion shushed me before anything could be said. 

"Hush. I think it's only fair I get to play with you now… wouldn't you agree?" Before I could register what was happening, Astarion was yanking my joggers down to the ground and slipping my dick into his used fleshlight. 

" Oh ." Astarion gave me no time to react, his right hand gently swiping the toy up and down over my cock while his free hand moved even lower to massage my balls as he jerked me off. 

"Feel good?" Astarion asked, his voice dipping lower, turned on, needy, almost out of breath and it was because of me. 

I nodded, my mouth hanging open but words still far, far away from me as I allowed Astarion to work my length with his skilled hands. He gave me pleasure the same way he had to himself, slow at first, focusing on my tip and applying careful, gentle pressure as he eased my cock in and out of the toy. 

"Such a pretty little human." Astarion's cock was hot and heavy resting against my back, although he was dressed now, I could feel his length pressing into my lower back as he forced me into his chest. 

Wait, 'human' ? 

Astarion peeled his left hand away from my balls, leaving me panting and missing the feeling of his hands massaging me there– 

And then his hand was on my ass, easing between my cheeks and pressing a single finger against my entrance. I almost buckled over, gasping as he softly caressed my hole with a slicked fingertip. 

"Oh, you dirty boy. You love that, don't you?" 

" Yes ," I hissed as he managed to slip the tip of his middle finger inside. It has been so long, far too long, since I've touched my own ass. And now Astarion, my perfect target of all people, was the first to touch me in months. 

"So… tight," Astarion spoke almost as if he was in disbelief. The back of my shirt was damp from his precum, only turning me on further as I felt his dick twitching and rubbing on his cool precum all over my back. 

I was close again. As much as I fought it… it was impossible to hold back any longer. I was trying to savor Astarion's touch as he worked my dick and fingered my ass, it was all too much. I was shaking in his arms, my hips weakly pushing forward and back, trying to get as much of Astarion's lubed finger up my ass and as much pressure over my cock head to finally cum. 

"Come on, cum for me," Astarion whispered into my ear, his lips bushing over my skin as he spoke. His middle finger reached as deeply as it could, titling up and pressing against the bundle of nerves that made me break. 

I threw my body back against him, my hips jerking wildly as I finished into the fleshlight. Cum spilled over the top of the toy and down the sides until it coated Astarion's fingers leaving a dirty mess behind. Astarion groaned alongside me, his head ducking into my neck and biting down harshly as my cum cascaded down his knuckles….

------

Let me know if we need a part two ;P

#astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x male reader #astarion x male tav #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #the pale elf #nsft #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion #baldur's gate #balders gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x mc #bg3

[prolix-yuy]

A Bearable Weight

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Summary: New Years Eve is the holiday of new beginnings, and you take a leap to see if Javi might be one of them.

Word Count: 3k

Story Warnings: T, plenty of sweetness, more ridiculousness because I can't help myself, some lightly spicy kisses. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ so MINORS DNI.

Notes: I had to get these two to New Years. They were just too cute to leave hanging. I hope each and every one of you reading this waves goodbye to anything that made your 2022 difficult and enters 2023 with open arms and excitement. Now let's see where the new year takes Javi and Conejita!

Cross-posted on AO3

The restaurant is smaller than you thought it might be, unassuming in a strip of businesses. The sign for it is understated, white lettering on a black rectangle with a thin gold border - Aperitif. You’ve been studying the sign, and the door below it, for well over ten minutes, the chill night air creeping up your bare legs. The new dress you bought for the occasion - black, tasteful but a little sexy, an amount you’re comfortable with - weaves around your knees when a breeze makes you shiver. You look down at your heels again, still torn between whether the glittery gold is too loud for your personality or loving that they make you feel festive. Your hair is styled, your makeup is perfect, everything is ready for you to go inside.

And you’re still rooted on the damn spot.

Javi texted you a few times since the first voice message. Every new phone alert made your heart jump, evolving to a flutter when it actually was from him. He sent you photos of his friends’ Christmas tree, their dog plopping her head in his lap, the snow outside a fogged up window. He also asked you things about yourself, some that you expected and others that made you stop and smile. 

What food will you eat if you’re having a bad day?

Best movies adapted from books?

Did your sister like the message?

Your sister did indeed, and after catching you grinning at your phone several times throughout the long weekend finally made you confess how you got it. Her elation over the serendipitous meeting was only eclipsed by your hesitation over seeing Javi again.

“Are you serious right now? Cute, funny, probably loaded, a dork, sweet, and definitely into you? I will drive you there and drop your ass on the sidewalk if you don’t do it yourself.”

So you accepted the invitation, which was accompanied by a string of excited texts filled with details and one that made you tingle from head to toe.

Thank you for accepting. I hope you will consider what I asked you in my first message. But only if you’re comfortable. I really like talking to you, no matter what.

A beat, then…

If you’d like to be mine, this year.

You did. Holy hell, you did. But you were also a classically trained overthinker, and the days leading up to New Years Eve were spent Googling and riding the rollercoaster of excitement and dread. The Gutierrez family had an online presence, and not all of it was good. Luckily it seemed like Javi wasn’t in the crosshairs, but the more you learned the more convinced you became that this was going to be a shitshow. Wealthy, influential, a lover of the arts and gorgeous in every photo you find, your hopes got buried a little deeper with each word.

He told you it was going to be a party, nothing large, but the idea of being in your department store dress among the elite of society made you want to cancel. Go out for coffee instead. Let yourself down gently when you realize how different your worlds are.

But then you find a voicemail - a missed call from Javi:

“Hi conejita, I hope all the texts have not been too much. I realize that you barely know me, and I am maybe moving a little too fast. I get…ah, well, I get excited. You have made me very excited, and I want to be, you know, ‘cool’ about it, but I am not so great at that. Anyways, I am…hah, yeah, excited to see you tomorrow. It will be a lot of fun. And, um…we don’t…I only want what you want, conejita. So let’s just…see where the night takes us. I know what I feel, but I…I only want you to…to know…agh! I am messing this all up. Sorry, this message is so long now. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m…I’m really happy to see you tomorrow. Okay, bye.”

What’s the harm, you thought after listening to the message three times. If it’s terrible you never have to see him again.

Another breeze ripples over your skin, finally making you move towards the door.

And if it’s amazing?

You smile to yourself and enter the warmth of the restaurant.

Aperitif looked small from the exterior, and the interior is about what you expected. It could maybe seat 30 fully booked, but the dining room has been cleared out in favor of buffet servers against the walls, the ivory bar lined with champagne glasses and eager bartenders shaking cocktails. The handful of people chatting inside don’t look like heiresses or oil barons. Your shoulders relax a fraction.

“Name?” the man at the door asks, a short list in his hand. You give yours and are ushered in, a drink immediately put in your hand and a string of metallic gold beads tossed over your head by a waitress.

“Happy New Year!” she says, taking your coat. You slip into the crowd looking for the only person you came here for - Javi. But his caramel curls and exuberant laugh haven’t reached you yet.

“I love what they’ve done with the decorations!” a cheery voice exclaims over your shoulder. You look around, then up to see a delicate web of black and gold streamers holding balloons precariously above you. One single streamer hangs to the floor behind the bar, which an olive-skinned hand points to. “I think at midnight they pull that.” You turn to see the woman speaking to you, and she’s...normal-looking. Peppy brunette with a sharply cut bob, sparkling brown eyes, and a glittery top with black slacks. Maybe you had nothing to worry about.

“That’s fun, I haven’t been out on New Years in ages,” you say, taking a sip of champagne. The bubbles tickle your tongue pleasantly. It’s good, much better than any champagne you’ve had at parties.

“Oh then you’ve come to the perfect place! Who invited you?” she asks, finishing off her glass and placing it on a waiter’s tray as it floats by. 

“Javi,” you say, a little shyly. He mentioned that he was hosting it, but you had no clue who the other guests were. How long could you keep up the facade?

“Of course! How do you know him? I’m a long-lost cousin myself, been out of the loop for a while, but it’s nice to see him again.” She waits expectantly, and if you didn’t feel like throwing up before you definitely do now.

“Uhhh, we met…on a flight…” you start to say, working through how the hell you were going to explain the circumstances of your meeting to a stranger, when her eyes light up.

“Oh my GOD, it’s you!” she gasps, grabbing on to both your shoulders. “Javi told me about the girl on the plane on his way here. That story, the way he tells it, it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard. And you’re here! Now! I have to find him, he’ll be so excited!” She squeezes your shoulders again with a little squeal before darting through the crowd, a nervous giggle smothered in your hand.

He told people about you. 

He told people about you in a way that made him sound happy.

You could burst, the light inside you is so expansive. 

You’re about to follow when a large palm circles your bicep, turning you gently around in the crowd.

“You came.”

Javi says it like a prayer, like he believed but never thought a miracle would grace him. His curls are swept back from his face in tantalizing waves. He’s in a gray blazer, a navy button-up with some abstract patterning hanging onto his broad chest for dear life. The top three buttons already gave up the fight, chest dewy with the humidity in the room. But it’s his face that melts your anxieties away. His eyes drape warmth over you, fondness in their depths that he only hinted at in his messages. His soft smile lashes your heart into a gallop, breaking into one of your own.

“Of course. How could I miss it?” you say, winking when his grin widens. He leans forward to place a chaste kiss on your cheek, hand spreading across your lower back. 

“I am so happy to see you, conejita,” he whispers, raising goosebumps along the nape of your neck. 

Oh, you’re in it deep now.

As the night continues more people file in, filling the small space with chattering conversation. You find the bubbly brunette again, who introduces herself as Julia, and get to talking about houseplant care and aggravations. She’s unpretentious, passionate, and makes you feel like you belong. Honestly, most of the people do. As the night wears on and you shake more hands and spark more conversations, it dawns on you why these people are all together tonight. This is Javi’s circle, people who understand him and bring him joy.

Bashful happiness that you might bring him joy settles in your chest.

Javi scoops you up every few minutes, guiding you to new groups or asking you if you’ve tried something. The upscale pigs in a blanket are your personal favorite, snagging a whole tray for yourself when a waiter walks by. You’re almost embarrassed, but Javi’s crinkled smile as he tries to steal one and gets his hand slapped is worth it.

A murmuring begins by the entrance, a flocking to the door. Javi comes to your elbow, leaning on one foot and placing his warm hand on your lower back. He’s been doing it to you all night, every time you stand beside him, but it’s never less thrilling.

“What’s that all about?” you ask, your third glass of champagne fizzing delightfully under your skin. He catches someone’s eye in the crowd, gesturing them over.

“Just a good friend who came to visit.”

You almost choke on your sip of bubbles.

“Nicolas. Fucking. Cage,” you scoff to Javi under your breath as the man himself emerges out of the crowd. He’s bee-lining your way but stops to shake hands and engage in polite conversation. His emerald velvet jacket contrasts the burgundy button-up underneath nicely, but the faded Dad jeans and white tennis shoes clash adorably with the ensemble. “You could have warned me!”

“Your reaction was well worth your annoyance,” Javi placates, pressing you forward as the crowd falls back.

“How are you doing Nic? How’s the family?” Javi asks, pulling the famous actor in for a hug. They give brief updates, you standing back a step awkwardly. Debating on slipping away, Javi introduces you to Nic and pulls you back into the conversation.

“The girl on the plane,” Nic says, and if you ever thought his speaking affect was fake you’re certain now it’s genuine. He takes your hand in both of his, shaking it earnestly. “I heard your sister is a big fan. I hope she liked the message, I know it was a little rushed but, last minute on the holidays, you know…” You shake your head, fighting back your sister’s scream in the back of your mind.

“She was over the moon. Thank you again for doing that, it was very kind of you,” you say, trading a secret smirk with Javi. It’s a harmless lie, but the fact that he’s perpetuating it makes you even giddier.

“Well next time you’re at one of Javi’s parties you should bring her. I love meeting fans,” Nic says, giving you a pat on the shoulder and peeling off to get himself a drink. Javi slides back to your side, the laughter you’d been suppressing squeaking out of the corners of your mouth.

“Clara’s gonna die. I’ll have to lie to her to get her in the same room as Nic,” you sputter, leaning into Javi’s side as he puts an arm around your shoulders. Frenetic energy dissipating, you savor the solid breadth of his chest, that delicious citrus bite of his scent. He holds you there, and after a moment his cheek presses against the side of your head. He inhales, your face burning when you realize he’s smelling you. 

“That’s it, you’re a wizard or something. No one can grant as many wishes as you,” you tease, twisting to look into Javi’s face. The crows feet and wrinkles smooth as he looks at you, eyes darting from your own to your lips and back again. “Thank you,” you finally say, letting him slide his arm down to pull you into his chest.

“It is I who should be thanking you, conejita. I’ve been living a full life, a better life in recent times, but it feels that much brighter when you’re close to me.” His touch is hesitant when his fingers graze your jaw, his hold loosening on your back. It’s all broadcasting only what you want. He would chase you if you let him, though if you stepped away now he’d let you. But in those touches are the longing to be more than acquaintances. And in this room you thought you’d never belong in, you feel safe, and seen.

Over the chatter and laughter swirling past, you talk. About Javi’s life, and your own. Your work and what you love to do. His love of movies, your love of old houses and national parks. Your mutual dislike of overused CGI elements and predictable jumpscares. He strokes your back, your arm, as you speak, sometimes needing to break away to say hello or answer a question, but unfailingly coming back to you. 

As the final minutes near, you voice the question burning in the back of your mind.

“Javi, you’re so…” you gesture at this posh, gorgeous man standing beside you. “You’re so far out of my league I can’t even see you. And I know I’m a catch,” you interject, gesturing at yourself now with amusement. “I’m a snack, I’m a whole meal, I don’t deny it. But I’m more like…Applebees than Wolfgang Puck.” You wave your hands, banishing the jumble away. “I guess I just don’t understand why…me. Here. Tonight.”

Javi’s brow furrows, his mouth tightening into a pout as he casts his gaze down. Waiting is torture, needing to know if this is just a little thank-you or something more. 

“One minute!” someone shouts, the excitement in the room ratcheting up another series of degrees as everyone gathers in the center of the restaurant. Javi leads you to the middle, the throng of people parting enough to give you some space inside it. Once your feet stop, he sweeps you into another embrace, this one firmer. His eyes roam your face, searching for something before he speaks. 

“As much as I love the old movies, I do not believe in love at first sight. I believe in attraction, and common interests, and support. I believe in two people finding each other in the most unusual way and taking it as a sign. And when the universe gives you another chance and it only makes you want that person more, well…” Javi trails off, one hand coming up to curl around your head, his thumb stroking the hinge of your parted jaw. Your eyes must be hopeful because he barrels on.

“Well, I am not one to overlook lightning striking twice. And you are…you are not an…apple bee?” he asks, confusion twisting the words. You shake your head and pat his chest.

“It’s a, like, chain restaurant. Sorry, doesn’t make a lot of sense if you haven’t heard of it,” you murmur, stroking a finger along his lapel. 

“But that’s just it, because I don’t agree with that. You are so much more than I wished. I feel like…not like a puzzle, but like…two rivers meeting. Both strong on their own, but together, mingled, are in harmony.”

“Okay everyone, get ready, on ten!”

“Javi, what are you…”

“Nine!”

“I want more of this, conejita. I want more of you. If you’ll have me too.”

“Eight!”

“I…do, but I just…it…it feels so…complicated.”

“Seven!”

“We do not need all of the answers now. Just one.”

“Six!”

“Which one is that?”

“Five!”

“Will you let me kiss you tomorrow?”

“Four!”

“Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

“Yes, Javi.”

The restaurant erupts in cheers of “Happy New Year!” as people hug and kiss and celebrate. One of the waiters pulls the crepe paper cord and balloons tumble from the ceiling, packets of foil confetti dumping and exploding over the crowd. If you were paying attention you’d laugh, reach your hands up to the ceiling and try to catch handfuls of the glittering shower, but you’re preoccupied with Javi’s gentle smile before he pulls your lips to his.

If this kiss was a precursor to how your next year would go, magical might be a good descriptor. Or explosive. Swoon-worthy maybe. But perfect might be the best. Javi’s first chaste press is followed by deeper kisses, his full lips covering your own with quiet little pants. When he pulls back enough to see your kiss-drunk face his whole demeanor lights up, lacing his fingers with yours and pulling you through the crowd.

Once tucked away on a bench in the back of the restaurant, he proceeds to kiss you with more fervor, tongue slipping against yours tentatively. He only interrupts the worshipful makeout with touches to your face like he still can’t believe you’re here. Covering his hands with your own, you tilt your head to one side.

“I feel like this is going to be a very good year.”

Javi’s sweet smile turns just a fraction devilish, and your heart flutters with it.

“Better than I could have wished for."

END

Part 3: A Gift of Light and Joy

#javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x f!reader #javi g x reader #javi g x f!reader #prolix fics

[wataksampingan]

Very long Chapter 96 feelings/thoughts below cut coz I saved my hard-earned Naver cookies for this and I'm going to react while it's fresh dammit.

Spoilers in every possible way, as always.

Oh my God its their first official date and of course it doesn't go Theo's way at all coz he's fighting a lost cause against an author with a sense of humour I share. Thank God his people love him

Nearly 100 chapters later and only now do we start steering towards Therdeo "My angel" Lapileon from the prologue (which I still find it difficult to fathom; the road is long and arduous from Therdeo 'Face as Red as My Eyes' Lapileon we see right now)

I have yet to translate the dialogue properly, but that last panel of him honestly unnerves me (and judging from Google Translated comments in Korean, I'm not the only one.) I'm not really one for the kind of ML who is madly obsessive over their love interest to extremely difficult extents coz I'm too old and cynical to see this as a good thing in a relationship, fictional or otherwise (This is purely a personal preference; no judgement if that's your jam and jelly)

But the thing is that it makes sense. Of course Theo would get dangerous over the first woman he's fallen in love with. Of course he'd do anything to keep her now that, yknow, she's actually made her feelings known. After 90+ chapters of angsting, literally watching her die a few times in front of him, holding such huge feelings of guilt for what his blood has done to her, quietly despairing over keeping anyone close to him coz he's a Lapileon and they succumb so often to death -- this overwhelming fear of losing her is understandable. The idea of her leaving now must be intolerable, like "not after every damn thing I've been through. Everything we have been through. Over my cold dead body".

...I've had the thought quite a few times that seungu succeeded in convincing me that Theo is scary, and this chapter - while also very sweet - is really laying that fact out again in no uncertain terms: Therdeo Lapileon really shouldn't be messed with.

The thing is, meta-wise, there is no end to cold, stern dukes of the frozen North with fearsome reputations, black/dark hair and red/dark eyes - it's one of the most longstanding fantasy romance tropes in manhwa after all. Throw a stone and you'll hit a milord with a chest so wide you can fit a full dresser sideways between his shoulders and a face so stony Medusa is taking notes. And of course, his grace is going to have the reputation of Ultimate Warrior and Sovereign of His Land, Tamer of the Terrain, Reviver of the Barren Soil Now Made Fertile under His Leadership, because only such a powerful man with a heart of ice and terror would have the wherewithal to bend the unyielding north to his will. He isn't emperor/king simply because of circumstances (TM), character and/or choice.

To name just a few: Prince (...kinda? Sorta? Its a long story) Killian from Like Wind on a Dry Branch, Hades from I Married the Main Lead's Dad, Riftan from Under the Oak Tree, Kandel from I Thought My Time Was Up, Milian from Karina's Last Days; heck, even the other Killian from Not Your Typical Reincarnation Story is about to inherit a territory that isn't so great but which he will no doubt develop into a thriving land coz he's Capable that way. If you remove the hair and eye colour conditions, there are even more examples. 99% of them are said to strike fear into the hearts of men just by being mentioned in a room.

...ngl, putting my gigantic bias aside, Theo truly is among my top three scariest ML. Not even Killian (Rieta's) gives me pause the way Theo does, and I have immense respect and admiration for the way Like Wind on A Dry Branch is told (and translated). I know Killian is a powerful man; I feel Theo is threatening. (Brief aside here to acknowledge that Killian has game for days, while Theo is....... look, he's trying.)

Take this opinion with many grains of salt, but few MLs that I've seen so far (and admittedly my repertoire is probably very limited compared to others) has come close to the time Theo plain snapped during Celphi's bullying arc, and when he nearly decapitated a wholeass princess in front of the entire court because she killed his wife (again. And yes, justifiable but still, in front of the EMPEROR HIMSELF.)

Also, the man looked like THIS when the servant who poisoned her begged him to "go back to the princess":

I say this with all love: Theo is not a balanced individual.

We already know this is a world where medieval torture is par for the course, but so far it's been reserved for Gen, who tortured and experimented on a child, and this dude who's been an accessory to Dodolea's crimes since the beginning. Theo does not give a single fuck about trivial things like consequences when it comes to Celphi and Perry's wellbeing. The world will burn if it must, just so he can find out who hurt them.

I said before that Saoirse is a true Lapileon, and Theo was the softest hearted of the siblings. I still maintain it's true, but with the addendum that Theo isn't far off in ruthlessness. You just need to make the mistake of hurting his wife or his son.

Granted, the obsession is only a problem if he restricts Perry just because she's "His". And she's proven a few times that she will Do Shit She Wants regardless of the Lapileons, Princess Dodolea or even herself (god, the way she second guessed herself so hard, only to bust back into the room with those shackles and physically FIGHT MIA OFF in ch 92 - Phineas owes her impulsiveness his life literally). I don't think the story can logically progress that way unless Perry has some sort of personality transplant. And I trust seungu too much for that. The fear is in more what he'll do behind her back (please don't Theo, we've been through this, you know what happened the last time you did things without telling her first - and even if other things went well (like suppressing ugly false stories in publications) that doesn't guarantee you're doing the right thing by not keeping her informed, you walnut.

...yes I know she also has the same bad habit of Not Telling You Her Business but she's LEARNING. I think.)

...also, tbf, Theo doesn't need his obsession to make him a danger to his own love life. Romance or not, he's still Socially Awkward and Fucked Up so lord only knows how many awkward mistakes he's going to make trying to actively court his wife 🥲

Then again, it's not like she's any better considering her last serious relationship was so awful, she literally died and went back in time. I'm not surprised, and in fact quite glad, it took her this long to admit to her finer feelings. However, now this is slightly uncharted territory, and this woman bottles up her feelings and lies to herself just about as much as Theo does. (Why are you so bothered Mia spent so much time around him? Why are you so upset that you can't do more to help him? Why are you so worried whenever he's seemingly avoiding you? Why do you look away each time he gives you puppy dog eyes, Pereshati? HMMM? WHY INDEED)

And now they have to return to the capital with all these revelations, and be within reach of the imperial family again and I AM AFRAID FOR THEM, PRECIOUS, I TRULY AM.

On a completely different tangent: I am truly not a fan of the novel ending where Theo ends up being crowned emperor. So if this manhwa ends with the coronation of His Imperial Majesty Emperor Therdeo Lapileon and Her Imperial Majesty Empress Pereshati Jahardt, I will be heartbroken. Like, I would have the same reaction to it the way Game of Thrones fans reacted to Season 8. That's how bad I would take it. I hope to all things good seungu deviates from there as well. It feels like the romance is following the novel just a smidge more - a soupçon if you will - in this season, so I'm a little trepidatious about what other aspects might follow. I remain a big fan of how different the manhwa direction is, so... GO SEUNGU!! FOLLOW YOUR STAR!!

P/S: my train of thought while reading ch 90:

Seungu is just bringing all of Phineas' personal trauma in full technicolor when he flashes back to his younger self witnessing his parents fight while his older brother sustains a severe eye injury, oh my god. This poor boy - no wonder he wanted to run so badly.

Oh god, Gloria having to try and save her children from this insane man.

Okay, so this cements that it was Theo's grandfather who was tyrannical as fuck and abused everyone including his youngest grandson? not Theo's father who also looks like he was just Trying His Best? But Gen's dialogue mentions "abeoji" (father)? Did Phineas' older brother neglect his kids or grow up into another abuser??? oh GOD THIS FAMILY

PPS: I cannot WAIT to see how the English translators handle that panel in ch95 when he finally finds enough braincells to return her embrace (that's not just any hug, cmon - that's a full on, no holds barred, literary Embrace)

I'm fairly sure she said "It's/I'm cold", but I also got overexcited because I thought she said "I like you" (???) It's easy to overlap/overhear either phrase as each other coz they sound fairly similar if you say it quickly (same energy like saying "suki" in Japanese but you need context to know if they mean they like a person or something else entirely).

Either way, it was definitely NOT "saranghae", which let's face it, IS FAR TOO DEEP for where they are right now. These two doofuses have only just begun to find out what their feelings mean, tho Theo may be too quick a study , eomma help.

PPPS: Ep 87 comes out in English tomorrow morning (for us in GMT+8 anyway) AND I WILL HAVE WORDS ABOUT THAT CONVERSATION, VJFHDJSKSKSL I CANNOT WAIT

PPPPS: it just occurred to me that all the examples I mentioned about the other comparable dukes of the North have more or less Definitively gotten together with their love interests, emotionally and/or physically. I mean if someone came up with a gantt chart/comparative timeline/line graph of when each duke finally kissed/tumbled into bed with their love interests to prove me wrong/right, that'd be fantastic but anyway

Theo has only just hugged her in ch 95.

They have shared a bed for over 90 chapters and it is ONLY JUST NOW that there is prolonged bodily contact apart from holding (often gloved) hands.

...I keep saying this because it's true: I love this slow burn so much.

#MILAOWM #my in laws are obsessed with me #my in-laws are obsessed with me #spoilers #so spoilers up in here #spoilers every which way everywhere all the time

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter seventeen

close to home | chapter seventeen

plot: the reader is on the run with Tyreese, Mika, Lizzie, and Judith. Meanwhile, Beth tries to get Daryl to talk about his grief and not give up hope

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,112 Warnings: violence, blood, loss, grief A/N: thanks for reading!

“We can’t be the only survivors,” Beth said, looking at the burning fire. The night air was hot, and the fire didn’t help. But they needed something to cook their dinner on. When she looked up at Daryl, he, too, was staring at the fire. She could see the sweat on his face, the dirt that coated it. The exhaustion and sorrow that were written across his face were enough to make her own heartache.

“We can’t be,” Beth said again, louder. In the distance, an owl hooted, and she looked over toward the sound for a moment, but it didn’t sound again. “Maggie, Glenn… (Y/N).” 

At the sound of your name, Daryl looked up. “She was in the quarantine cell block. It took a hit from the damn tank. She’s…” But he couldn’t finish his sentence. You were gone. Dead. And his heart was so heavy and so broken that it sat on his lungs, making each breath more difficult than the last. 

“You don’t know that. You don’t know anything,” Beth said. “I bet you that they’re all alive. And they’re lookin’ for us too.” 

Daryl didn’t respond and looked at the fire again. He didn’t need to argue with her. He knew the truth. You were gone. The prison was gone. Everyone and everything he loved was gone. He had nothing else to live for.

***

A mile south, you and Tyreese led the girls through the woods. You weren’t sure where you were going. You weren’t even sure where you were. You just knew that you had to keep moving. You had to find somewhere safe. Somewhere you could pull yourself together and continue on. No matter how hard it would be. 

“Look, grapes!” Mika suddenly yelled, running over to a huge bush. Tyreese stopped walking and turned back. You and Lizzie paused as well. “Can we eat them?”

You walked over to the plant and inspected the bush before nodding. “Yes, go ahead.”

Judith started fussing, and Tyreese bent down to change her while you kept watching around the group. The girls devoured as many grapes as possible and started to pull a bunch out and collect them. They offered some to Tora, but she deemed them unacceptable. 

Rustling in the bush caused Mika to scream, and she took off. 

“Shit,” You cursed, grabbing your machete and running after the young girl. 

Tyreese and Lizzie were soon on your trail, and you started panicking when Mika came out from behind a tree. You breathed a sigh of relief as Tyreese spoke to her in his gentle tone and looked around the area again. 

“Tyreese!” You yelled when you heard someone screaming, and the man ran over to you. 

“I’m going to go check it out,” He said, handing you Judith. 

“No-”

“It could be people from the prison, and you need to stay with the girls,” He said. Before you could say anything else, he took off. You sighed loudly, handed the baby to Lizzie, and then whistled for Tora. She was given to Mika, and you grabbed Lizzie’s gun, standing on guard. 

“(Y/N)!” Mika yelled when something rustled behind the bush. You cocked the gun and aimed, ready to fire. 

“Don’t shoot (Y/N). It’s me.”

You dropped the gun and sighed with relief when you saw it was Carol, and you took a few steps to hug her tightly. “Thank God. I didn’t know who got out. I couldn’t see anyone,” You said, giving her another squeeze before you let go. 

Both the girls gave Carol the best hug they could with their arms full, and both started asking her questions in overexcitement. But you spoke above them both. 

“Did anyone else make it?”

Looking sadly at you, Carol said, “I don’t know.” 

You nodded and blinked back a few tears. “We heard someone in trouble. We should go see if Tyreese needs help.” 

***

“What do you think?”

“I’m not sure….”

“Our people could see these signs,” You said, your finger anxiously playing with the string of your bow. “Daryl and Maggie and Beth and Uncle Hershel. Anyone could have.”

The three of you exchanged a look and then looked at the girls. They were all so young; Judith was only a baby. You knew the three of you could keep the safe, but for how long? There’s a reason there weren’t too many kids at the prison. 

You swallowed thickly and looked back at Tyreese and Carol. “We need to go. For them.”

***

Daryl wasn’t sure how long it had been since the prison fell. Two, maybe three? His days consisted of running and finding food. Beth was growing tired and only cared about having a drink. Every time he looked at her he could only think about you. The two of you shared blood, and your smiles were similar. He was thankful he was able to save your cousin, even if he couldn’t save you. 

The taste of moonshine was like ash in his mouth, but it made him feel better, and he kept drinking, even if the voice in his head told him no. 

“We should try and find a map of the area, like at a gas station or something,” Beth said, wiping her mouth with a dirty wrist. “We can x out areas we’ve been to.”

“What for?”

“To look. I want to look for Maggie and (Y/N).”

Daryl shook his head and took a drink. “They dead.”

“No, they ain’t and stop saying that. You don’t know it.” She said, watching the sorrow on his face. “What was even goin’ on between you and (Y/N) anyway. Everyone saw it.”

“Saw what?”

Beth shrugged, “The way you two look at each other, I guess.”

The alcohol in his system made it harder to picture your face, and anger and frustration flooded his veins. “It don’ matter. We’re never seein’ her again.”

***

Just past dawn, Daryl collapsed to his knees with Beth’s name unspoken on his lips. He had no idea how the night had turned so shitty and how he had lost her. He didn’t know which direction the car had taken her, and he didn’t know where to begin trying to find her. 

The asphalt bit at his knees as he slammed a fist to the ground, crying in desperation. He was utterly and pathetically alone. He’d failed to keep the prison safe and you safe and alive after promising to do just that, and now he lost your cousin. He had failed, and now he had nothing. 

#daryl x y/n #daryl x reader #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction

[virginsexgod69]

1| A Cabin in the Woods

summary Daryl comes across your cabin during a storm and ends up staying

pairing Daryl Dixon x f!Reader

cw use of guns, gunshot wounds, probably some medical inaccuracies

1.6k words

series masterlist

��The heavy rain soaked Daryl to the bone. He was shivering and in desperate need for shelter, at least until the rain stopped. The trees in the forest provided no protection from the elements and in these conditions, building a lean-to to sleep under for the night was out of the question. He continued to trudge through the mud, his crossbow at the ready as he watched out for walkers. Giving up wasn’t an option, although he did feel hopeless. His home was destroyed, he was separated from his friends, friends who he wasn’t even sure were still alive, and then on top of all that, Beth got taken. 

 He wasn’t sure if his mind was playing tricks on him, but he saw a dim light not too far ahead. With the rain heavily pouring, it was difficult for him to see any tracks, which would have been helpful for him to determine if he was about to approach a place where people were already residing. It was a dangerous risk to take, but it could reap worthwhile results, so he followed the light until it led him to a cabin. The only plausible reason for light to be coming from the cabin was that someone was inside. Other people were far too dangerous these days, he wasn’t going to risk it. However, the opportunity to change his mind was taken from him when he felt a searing pain in his upper thigh. He knew what it was immediately, the pain feeling all too familiar, he had been shot. 

“Drop your weapon,” he assumed the shooter said. He didn’t want to disarm himself, but he wasn’t even able to spot the person who shot him. He’d be at a disadvantage if he didn’t comply with the commands. He slowly lowered his crossbow to the ground and raised his hands in surrender. Finally, he was able to get a good look at you when you approached to take his weapon, your gun still pointed at him. Through the darkness and rain, he couldn’t get a good look at you, but he could feel the coldness of your piercing glare. 

“What’re you doing ‘round here?” Your tone demanded an answer and he didn’t feel like fucking around and finding out what would happen if he didn’t give you one. 

“Was lookin’ for shelter. Didn’ know anyone was out here til jus’ now,” he replied evenly. 

“Did I shoot you?” You asked. 

“No shit,” he replied, thinking your question was stupid. 

“Well, excuse me,” you snarked. “That was meant to be a warning shot, but it’s kinda hard to see in this rain.”  He felt a little relieved that you weren’t deliberately trying to harm him, but couldn’t fully relax while staring down the barrel of your gun. You uncocked it and put it in your belt. 

“You can stay in my cabin til the rain stops, but only if you surrender all your weapons.” 

“Fine.” He didn’t want to stay in this rain for a moment longer, especially since he was now injured. He followed you into the cabin, hobbling slightly due to his injury. Once he was inside the lit cabin, he was able to get a good look at you. Your gaze was cold and guarded, but he could tell you were remorseful, at least a little bit. He touched his wounded thigh and looked at his fingers, now covered in his blood. 

“Want me to take a look at that?” You asked. He didn’t like the irony of the person who shot him possibly being the one tending to his wound, so he refused. 

“Nah. I got it.” You raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, but didn’t insist on anything. “If you say so. I’ll go get some towels and my first aid kit. Don’t try anything funny or dirty my furniture while I’m gone.” He rolled his eyes once your back was turned, annoyed as to why anyone would care about keeping furniture clean during a damn apocalypse. When you came back, you were in different, dry clothes with a towel wrapped around your head. 

“Here.” You tossed a towel at him and he immediately used it to apply pressure to his bleeding wound. He could feel you intently watching him as he pressed the towel, now saturated with his blood, to his thigh. You tossed him another and he quickly switched them out. 

“You sure you don’t want me to take a look?” He hated the pity lacing your voice. You had some audacity to pity him as if you weren’t the one who put him in this situation in the first place. 

“You a damn doctor or somethin’?” He snapped, growing frustrated with your hovering. 

“Never mind, you got it.” You placed the first aid kit beside were he was sitting on the floor and sat down on your couch before opening a book and reading. He was grateful to finally be left alone and continued his attempt to stop the bleeding. He checked underneath the towel and saw that it stopped. Upon closer examination, he saw that it was just a graze. He opened the first aid kit and cleaned the wound with the alcohol wipe in there. It needed stitches, but because of where it was on his thigh, he’d be unable to do them himself. He glanced up at you and you were already looking at him from over your book, hiding a smug look. 

“Everything okay?” You asked. He just grunted in response, not wanting to ask for your help after he was so adamant on refusing it. Even though it would take more time, his wound would heal without stitches, so he just bandaged it as is. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you close your book and set it down. You grabbed his bloody towels, left, then came back with a few fresh ones. 

“Dry yourself off. Don’t need you catchin’ a cold.” You tossed him the towels and he caught them and began to dry himself. 

“You can sleep up here. I’ll give back your weapons when you leave.” You turned off the lights, but let the fire place burn, which Daryl appreciated since he needed to warm up. 

…

When you awoke in the morning, the rain was still harshly beating against your window. You slid out of bed and got dressed before walking into the living room. The sight of a man in dark clothing sitting on the floor of your cabin scared you. You had forgotten about what happened last night. He glanced in your direction, but didn’t say anything. He leaned against the hearth of the stone fireplace with a hand held to his injured leg. 

“How’s the leg?” You asked. You hoped he was doing better for the sake of him leaving soon, but you doubted it. The wound was pretty deep and you didn’t see him stitch it, so he’d be lucky if it didn’t start bleeding again at the slightest movement. You would’ve gladly helped him had he asked, but you felt he was being rude, so you refused to offer your services again that night. 

“Fine.” You could tell that wasn’t all true. His skin looked pale and his forehead glistened with sweat. 

“I’m no doctor, but you don’t look okay. Like at all.” You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged on the corners of your mouth as he frowned at you. 

“Lemme just take a look. I wouldn’t wanna wake up to some dead stranger wanderin’ around my house tryna eat me,” you joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. Today was a new day and the least you could do was help him out. After all, he wouldn’t even be here had you not shot him. You picked up the first aid kit from the floor where he left it yesterday and sat down beside him on his injured side. He extended his leg toward you and you gave him a small smile in return. The tear in his pants from the gunshot was large enough to where you didn’t need to remove any clothing. You took off the old bandage and examined the wound it was fairly deep. 

“This definitely needs stitches,” you informed him as you rummaged through the kit for sutures. He brought his thumb to his mouth and nibbled on the skin surrounding the nail, but nodded his head in approval anyway. You cleaned the wound and unpackaged the sutures. 

“What’s your name anyway?” You asked while threading the needle. 

“Daryl,” came his reply. In return, you told him your name. You pinched his skin together and stuck the needle through it. You weren’t sure how to sew an injured person’s flesh back together, so you just did what felt right. 

“How’d you find my cabin, Daryl?” You tied the thread, bringing together the two sides of the wound then cut it before starting the next suture. 

“Jus’ came across it yesterday.” You repeated the process and finished the second stitch before starting the third. 

“Why were you outside in a storm yesterday?” 

"This a damn interrogation or somethin'?" he hissed instead of answering the question. To tell the truth, you were interrogating him; one, because you wanted to find out more about the strange man in your home and two, to distract him from the pain of you sewing his skin. 

"I'm just making conversation," you told the half-truth. 

"Got separated from my group a while back. I was out lookin' for em and got caught up in the rain. S'that what you wanna know?"  You didn't respond and instead focused on tying the last knot. You placed a bandage over the stitched up wound and cleaned up your materials. 

"Looks like you'll be stuck with me for a little while longer," you commented as you watched the rain come down even harder than it was last night. His only reply came in the form of a displeased grunt. 

Next Chapter ►

yaay! thanks for reading =]

join the taglist?

Taglist

@eternalrose81 @the-dixon-effect @millybaby @daryldixmedown @theoraekenslover @aeriean

#the walking dead #fanfic #x reader #female reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl twd #twd daryl dixon #twd daryl #fic rec

[dreamingofbucky]

Inescapable

chapter two

summary: you followed miguel after work, or tried to. things are happening in nueva york and someone is starting to try to be a hero. you decide to get wine drunk and accidentally fantasize about miguel.

tags/warnings: more dick!miguel sorry, sex fantasy/dream, wine drunk, degradation kink, fang kink?, slight praise kink too if you squint, masturbation (f), more mutual hatred between miguel and reader but really it's just obvious pent up attraction and sexual tension 😏

wordcount: 2.6k

author's note: thank you for all the support and likes/reblogs! It means so much to me. Also thank you for 400 followers! That's a milestone for me, ily. fyi not beta read.

tag list: @yehet-moi-ohorat @127aliciia @keepingitlokiii @soseoulol @netey6m @miggyoharaswife @thesecretwriter @natthernandez

series masterlist

You wouldn’t call yourself a stalker, per se, but it would look like it from the outside. 

Your steps followed Miguel’s broad back a couple yards away as the both of you left work. 

He never came back to his desk, or at least during the time you spent standing there after finding that damn card. There wasn’t anything else for you to do but pick up the project packet and return to your own desk and start on it. The work wasn’t too difficult, but it kept you busy for the rest of the work day. 

Once you headed down to the lobby and was ready to make your trek through the campus, that’s when you saw him. You weren’t sure if you should talk to him again, ask about the card, so you kept your distance. But you were determined to follow him. 

Why? You didn’t know exactly why. A gut feeling, you suppose. 

So there you two were, walking yards away from each other on Alchemax campus. The grass was lush green and it was a grand contrast to the grass around Nueva York. Only some parks still have fresh, vibrant green grass to enjoy looking at. Majority of the city didn’t maintain the rest well enough. 

Another perk, you guessed, to moving to a slightly better part of town. Things were better maintained. 

You attempted to keep your steps light as you noticed you were gaining up on the giant. You didn’t want to get caught, so you had to shorten your stride. Even with his large frame and height, his steps seemed to slow. You even had to step to the side and hide behind a tree when you noticed he was turning his neck to look behind him. 

Now, you were definitely a stalker if you weren’t before. 

“Deep breaths, just talk to him,” you scolded yourself. You pressed your palms flat against your dress and obeyed your own orders. You breathed in deeply before exhaling. 

As you took a step to the right and began to swivel your body away from the tree, you crashed into a wide chest. You yelp at the sudden impact before looking up and eyes widening. 

“Were you following me?” Miguel’s eyes narrowed and a scowl was plastered over his features. 

“Wha—? Me? Definitely not. Just walking home!” You laughed in the least convincing tone. You lifted a hand to brush a strand of hair that fell in front of your face. His eyes stay on you and your heart continues to hammer against your chest. 

Why are his eyes so intense? They weren’t like this before…

“You sure?” 

His tone is monotone and it makes it even harder to think of a response. Your inside fills with dread and it’s nothing like how you used to feel with him whenever you bumped into him around town. 

Just ask him about the date and then leave, you told yourself. You take a deep breath and Miguel watches you intently. 

“I-uh, I did want to ask you something,” you start. 

A brow raises and he waits. The silence between you two fills and it only makes your palms sweat, your heart race even more, and your knees get wobbly. 

“Alright, well, you see… We were supposed to meet. And I just wanted to know what happened. And if everything was okay.” 

His brown eyes stay on you and you suddenly feel like a bunny under the gaze of a vulture in the sky. His demeanor didn’t shift as he glanced his eyes down to your chest and then back up again. You swallowed. 

“I forgot,” he plainly states. 

Of course, he did. That’s why he had that card on his desk…

“But the card on your desk—”

“You went through my things?” He bares his perfect teeth and a squeak comes out of your lips out of fright. You shake your head incessantly. 

“No, of course not! Well, actually, yes but just to see that tiny little card. I swear!” You were the worst liar and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fib in front of this man. 

His eyes narrow. “You shouldn’t be touching things that aren’t yours.” 

“Back to the card, it was about our dat—”

“I’m not sure what you saw, but it wasn’t anything important.” He places his hands on his hips and you feel dejected immediately. 

Wasn’t anything important.

“Of course, my apologies. It wasn’t important,” you hissed back. If he wanted to be a jerk, then you could too. 

“Good,” he states matter of factly. 

“Good!” You yelled back, a little too eagerly. You were even pressed up on your tiptoes to bring yourself a little closer to his leaning face. There’s a slight falter in his expression, a smile perhaps, at your reaction. 

“Don’t follow me, it’s not wise.” 

“Are you picking up your daughter?” You slip out. 

“My daughter? How did you know about her?” He was starting to retreat back before he presses closer to you and there’s nothing else you can do but back up into the tree. The bark brushes against your bare shoulders and even through the fabric of the dress that covered your back. 

“You told me about her! Why are you acting like you forgot? What’s going on?” You didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but your voice betrayed you. 

“I’ve got to go,” he shakes his head. “Don’t follow me, I’m serious.” 

“Okay, fine! You know I’m glad that date didn’t happen, you’re an ass.” You roll your eyes and then widen them, not believing you just said that out loud. It wasn’t like you to do this kind of stuff, stand up for yourself to pricks. You usually just walk away and forget about it. 

This new attitude of Miguel’s just seems to push every nerve ending of yours and makes you want to push back. He was infuriating in just a single day and you couldn’t believe you’d have to deal with him the rest of the month on this project. You really did hope he’d continue the deal where you can do the majority of the work and he’d do…whatever the hell he’d be doing. 

Distance would do you both some good. 

He laughs, breaking you from your thoughts. “You don’t know when to shut up.” 

“Fuck you,” you spit, getting the courage to take a step forward and brush your chest to his. You don’t miss the way his brown eyes gleam for whatever reason before he finally takes a step back. 

“Qué maravilla. Te encantaría, ¿no?,” he drawls sarcastically. 

You’d love to wouldn’t you, is what he basically spit back. You knew enough Spanish to understand the prick at least. 

“Argh!” You scream, wanting to pull your hair out because of this ass. “I’m going home! Definitely not following you anymore!” 

Before he could cage you in anymore than he already has, you brush past him, making sure your shoulder made impact with his chest before you walk away. You turn your head back once you’re far enough and he’s still there near the damn tree.

But his eyes are stuck on you and a scowl is back at his face. 

What the fuck is this man’s problem? He must’ve fallen and hit his head. Got a concussion or something and decided to wake up and be an ass. 

Whatever it was, you didn’t want it ruining your day anymore. You huffed and turned back to head out of the campus and get home as quickly as you could. 

You’d do your best to get rid of the image of Miguel O’Hara as best as you could tomorrow. You’d do your work and then leave. Simple.  

***

The news wasn’t exciting. When was it ever? 

It’s Friday night and you’re indulging in your second wine bottle and some chocolates. Well, the chocolates were eaten an hour ago, so you just had the wine. But your eyes continue to glance at the TV in your living room. 

There was some kind of disturbance a few neighborhoods away and it became a huge thing last night apparently. The news is just broadcasting updates from it. You didn’t get home in time to watch what happened on the big screen last night, so you’re just getting lame recaps. 

Apparently some kind of vigilante stepped in and helped out and saved the day. There wasn’t any film footage of the person, but it was obvious it wasn’t law enforcement. 

The Nueva York PD wasn’t exactly the best. They dipped their hands in shady shit and even were paid by big crime lords to not butt their heads in their work. No wonder your city was a never-ending shit hole. It’d never get better with this kind of shit. 

But it was home. You could leave, but you wouldn’t.

You fill your wine glass one more time before laying back on the couch. Your thoughts drift to earlier today when you saw Miguel again. You swore you’d keep your distance, but just like the many weeks of you bumping into him around town, you seemed to do the same at work now. 

He was walking down the same hallway on a different floor than your prospective offices. You were about to turn a corner when his eyes lifted to yours and caught your attention. It was brief, but there was an odd occurrence. 

He bared his teeth at you when you gave him a scowl when you both passed each other. And you swore you saw something sticking out in his mouth. 

Fangs.

But that was stupid. Who would wear fake fangs in their mouth, especially at work. Unless he was into that kind of freaky shit. 

Safe to say, you dodged a bullet with that one. You didn’t need to busy yourself trying to get attention from a fake vampire wannabe. 

But your wine drunk brain was itching for some fun time and since you were already thinking about Miguel, that’s where it started drifting toward. You close your eyes, letting the TV tune out in the background before you think of things you shouldn’t. 

Miguel seemed so kind and soft when you first met him. But something clearly changed. There’s a tenacity to him now and it’s even more commanding and it… kind of turned you on right now just thinking about it. You’d curse yourself tomorrow morning when you sober up and remember this dirty little fantasy about the prick, but your wine drunk self was content in this. 

So, you dived right in this fantasy. It wouldn’t hurt anyone, so why not. 

As your left hand kept the wine glass rooted on your chest, your right hand traveled to your pajama shorts. The waistband was stretchy and you had no trouble pushing your wrist down and under your panties as well. Your finger brushed ever so slightly against your sensitive bud and your hips bucked up. 

“Fuck” you mewled a little too loudly, but you didn’t care. Your string of thoughts lead you back to Miguel and how he’d touch you. 

Would he be gentle like you thought before? Or would he take charge? He basically pinned you against that damn tree yesterday, so you knew he had it in him. 

Would he whisper sweet nothings in your ear as he slammed his cock into you or would he degrade you? 

Your fingers slipped lower and your folds were drenched. Fuck, you guessed you liked that idea. If Miguel was a prick in daylight, what kind of filthy degradation would he say to you in the dark? 

Warmth pooled in your belly at the thought and a gasp left your lips as you stretched your lips before circling a finger over your entrance. You were soaking your panties already, it’d be too easy to fit two fingers in. So you did. 

You pretended it was Miguel’s. 

Such a fucking whore, taking my fingers so easily. Who else are you fucking, huh?

His voice filled your brain with your lustful thoughts and it felt like heaven. You never had a partner that would scream these obscenities at you, but you were enjoying this. Your cunt was enjoying it too, your fingers pumped in and out so easily. 

Fuck, you were going to come before you knew it. Your grip on the wine glass tightens as you continue through the fantasy. 

You pictured his dark tresses falling over your face as he leaned in before curling his fingers into you. Your fingers followed your thoughts and you moaned loudly, lifting your hips. The heel of your palm bumped into your clit and it felt oh so good. 

You pictured his fucking pretty face that you wanted to slap. Your fingers pumped even fast and your clit was being slapped so hard with your palm that you came without warning. You screamed and your left hand lost grip, the wine glass falling. 

“Fuck!” You wailed, not bothering to check the damage the wine had done to your new rug. You traveled your free hand to your chest and rubbed your breast through the tank top. With your nipples pebbled and sore, you moaned at the contact. 

See what you’re doing? Only fucking whores sound like this. You want my cock? You’re going to have to earn it, slut.

His words are loud as you continue to ride the high and even start to feel another orgasm coming. Everything tightens as you picture him adding a third finger, just as you do as well, and then increasing the pace. 

You even think of those stupid fake fangs you swore you saw on him. Would he wear them? Would he bite your neck for added sensations?

Of course you would like that, huh? Can’t even think straight with my fingers in your pussy, how would you ever survive my cock? Well, you wouldn’t. My dumb fucking whore.

“Miguel,” you whine. 

Your pussy clenches around your fingers and you’re coming violently again. Your hands are drenched and your release is dripping down your thighs and into your couch. But you can’t stop. You’re lost in this fantasy and you never want it to end. 

That’s until you hear something hit your window. You yelp, pulling your hand out of your pussy and look at your window. Your curtains were drawn open, you completely forgot. You weren’t in a sky rise by any means, but you weren’t on the first floor of your apartment building. There wasn’t another building nearby to creep into your window, so it must’ve been something else banging against the window. It had to be. 

You see though that your window is open slightly. You swore you closed it because it was forecasted to rain tonight. But there’s at least an inch open. Barely noticeable if you weren’t directly looking at it. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, sobering up already from the sex dream. You groaned even louder when you finally stood and saw the red stain on your, of course it had to be, white rug. 

You couldn’t blame anyone else but yourself, so you knelt down to pick up the wine glass and set it on the coffee table. You then went to the window to close it and looked out. The streets were dark and quiet, but it felt odd. The hairs on the back of your neck rose. You pressed your nose against the glass, attempting to find the reason for this weird feeling. You couldn’t find anything though. 

You shook your head and decided to call it a night. You had to wash your hands and clean the damn rug. 

“Fucking Miguel,” you cursed out as you made your way to the bathroom. 

It was easier to blame him, you’d decided.

#miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv #miguel atsv #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you